Granny Jessie

   My grandmother was a character to say the least.  She had a true pioneer spirit and was as tough as nails.  She loved to fish with a passion matched only by her hate of armadillos.  The older I get, the more I realize how much I learned from her without really knowing that she was teaching me.  She was a very talented seamstress and a creative force.  She instilled in me a love of sewing and all kinds of stitchery, including: crochet, crewel, embroidery, needlepoint, and cross-stitch. She took it upon herself to teach me.  I shall never forget our crochet sessions that went something like this.  After showing me what to do, she would give me an assignment. For example, she would tell me to have completed 10 rows of crochet by the following week.  I would return with project in hand for her inspection.  More often than not, she would rip out every stitch that I had sewn and say, “Start over.” 

  There were two mistakes that I made that she would not tolerate.  I was careless about the consistency of my stitches.  Some would be extremely tight and others would be extremely loose.  The other thing I stayed in trouble over,  was adding stitches where they did not belong. Either way, had those two problems been overlooked, I would have ended up with a misshapen, unrecognizable project.   However frustrating for me that it was, and believe me, IT WAS, I learned a great deal from those exercises.  The things that she taught me about sewing have been easily translated into other areas of my life, especially in my spiritual walk.

   As a Christian, my walk must be consistent for others to follow.  If my walk is too “loose” or I have one foot in the world and one in the church, I blend in with the world and my witness becomes unappealing to those who are struggling to find something of worth.   If my walk is to “tight”, I become pharisaical.  When I make a practice of constantly pointing out when and where others fall short in their walk with Christ, I set my own self up for a major fall.  If I judge others, Scripture explicitly tells me I will be judged by the same measure. Regardless, the outcome is that I drive others away.

  As a Christian, I should not add anything to my witness.  I must not be guilty of adding in my abilities or my works.  If I rely on anything other than Christ in me, the hope of glory, then I provide a warped view of Christ to those whom I am trying to witness.   Whether I am inconsistent in my walk or am guilty of “adding” unnecessarily to my witness, the result is the same—what I leave others with is a misshapen, unrecognizable Jesus.                         

   If there was an overall idea that my Granny Jessie taught me, it was excellence.  She was all about doing the job – well. 

Ecclesiastes 9:10               Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.

Parenting Tip #25: Discipline on the Road

   It has been said that parenting is the most wonderful and the most horrible thing all rolled into one.  When our sons were small, there were days that I felt like an animal trainer in the circus.  “Up, boy!”  “Down, boy!”  “Sit, boy!”  Once they were tucked away in bed, my husband and I would sneak in and spend a little time just looking at them.  (I would probably do that now, but that would be creepy.)  Anyway, the frustrations of the day seemed to fade away as we watched them resting peacefully.

  Consistency is the key with parenting.  Children have to know that you are serious about keeping the boundaries that you have set for them.  I beg to differ with the man that sells the “Total Transformation” program that purports to have your children minding with respectful attitudes by sundown.  Parenting is hard!  It takes both parents on the same page, working in tandem to see to it that their children are raised to be decent, law-abiding citizens.

   In our house, the rod was never spared…broken a few times, but never spared.  For all the faults that John and I have, and the many times we have failed, we always backed each other up.  Always wary that an uprising was in the making, we were not about to let them get the upper hand.  Dividing and conquering was out of the question.  Whether the issue was with me and a boy(s) or him and a boy(s), we both knew that the other had our back. Sometimes we tag teamed if the offense was of great significance.  Other times, affirmation of the other parent’s position was stated as a simple, “Your dad is right” or “Mom has a point.” The inmates were not about to take over the asylum on our watch.    We were rock solid.   Well……..except for that one time…..

  It had been one of those days, in a vehicle.  Slapping, knocking, hitting, slinging and the boys were misbehaving, as well.  We had upgraded from a Ford Aerostar to a full-size Chevy van just so they could not touch each other.  We always carried three distinct personalities in our boys: the “daddy/rule maker” who always changed the rules if he was losing; the “sneaky/instigator” that would ding everybody to death out of sheer boredom; and the “emergency broadcast system/president of the world” that kept us apprised of everything the other two were doing in a very loud voice.  This day all three personalities were kicking. 

  You really cannot blame my husband for what happened next.  He was delirious from all the fighting and scratching that was taking place, just out of arms reach, in the back of the van.  He had all he could take and exploded, “I’m going to beat your belts with my butt when we get home!!”  You could have heard a pin drop.  Complete silence. I whipped a crick in my neck as I turned my face to the window.  I was almost certain that my lungs were about to explode.  And yet, silence reigned.  My mind raced as I wondered how to back that statement up.  But, a united front had to be presented. 

  Therefore, I mustered my “mom face” and turned toward the back.  In my most threatening tone I added, “And…that… will…not…be…pretty.”  The rest of the ride home was amazingly quiet, except for the occasional snicker, or smothered laugh.  And I must confess….they were mine.

My First Love

   She stood on the creek bank terrified.  She was unable to push past the fear, even though it was what she wanted most.  She was shier than anyone truly knew.  And to have all eyes on her was almost more than she could take.  She had loved to dance, and dance she did, but this was different.  She would have immediate acceptance or immediate rejection based on this performance. 

  And so, it had come to this:  an impromptu rehearsal of the big event.  And yet, her feet would not move.  She was embarrassed.  The people that looked on were the people that she knew the best, her family.  If she could not get past this performance, how would she ever face the one that truly counted?  She had never done this before.  Maybe she should have never signed up to do it. 

  Her thoughts were interrupted with the encouraging cheers of her family.  She saw her mom smiling and prompting her to go.  She saw her brothers watching, as well.  Her heart was pounding, and she had just about given in to the fear.  And then, from the edge of the woods and into the middle of the sandy stage, her dad bounced.  “Hey, Gang!  My name is Davis! And I’m going to do a cheer called ‘Two Bits!”  As he shouted, he had his hands balled into perfect cheerleader fists. (NO thumbs showing!)  As she looked on, amused, he went through the whole routine.  Little by little the fear began to melt away and what had seemed un-doable became doable.  If he could do it, she could do it!

  You were my first love.  You embodied all the qualities of the perfect man.  Big and strong, you were possessive of two arms in which I found safety.  You were funny and witty, and able to quickly elicit my laughter.  I thought you were so handsome!  I often thought of you as my ‘John Wayne’, tough with an unmistakable tenderness. Above all, you showered me with love every day.  You were a first impression of what my Heavenly Father was like, you were my Daddy.

   You continue to be wise counsel.  You taught me the importance of noble character.  You have displayed honor in your own life and encouraged me to follow suit.  You are my cheerleader, and my encourager.  You were the spiritual leader in our family and humble of heart.  You speak your mind with clarity, even though, you are quick to admit that you don’t have all the answers.  You are kind and patient and a wealth of wisdom. 

  We promoted you from “Daddy” to “Pappy” with the births of Seth, Ashley, Zane, Megan, and Wil.  Your mentoring has continued on with them.  I have had the pleasure of watching my own children sit at your feet, as toddlers, hanging on your every word.  I watch them now, as young men, do the same thing. 

  I often think back on that day on the creek bank.  I wanted to be a cheerleader, but was too afraid to even practice in front of family, much less, the student body.  By your actions, Daddy, you challenged me to reach for a goal that seemed impossible.  That same scenario has played out several times in my life, and each time you have been there to cheer me on.  I am so thankful that God chose you to be my Dad.

Happy Birthday, Pap!  I love you.

Chucky

The Problem with Being a Lab Rat

   The problem with being a lab rat is that you never know what is going to happen to you.  Signing on to be a part of a drug trial, to test experimental medications, can be a regular barrel of monkeys.  Over time, there have been several unpleasant side-effects that I have had to deal with, including losing most of my hair and losing the clotting factors in my blood.  But, one such side effect that I was not ready to deal with was a hospital room mate.

   I had been admitted to the hospital because my blood would not clot.  The trial drug that I was testing had an unexpected effect of enhancing the blood thinning medication that I regularly took.  I was admitted for blood transfusions and to make sure that I had not begun to bleed internally.  Unfortunately, I felt perfectly fine.  I was stuck…in an overcrowded hospital….with no private rooms available. I was given the option of staying in the emergency room another night, in hopes that one would come available.  But, my husband quickly jumped in and insisted that I needed my rest in a room on the floor.

  To begin with and needless to say, I did not want to be there.  But, my condition was serious enough that my doctor recently told me it was a God-thing that my brain had not started to bleed.  So, I had to do what I had to do, and that meant rooming with Karen.  (I did NOT change her name, because she had NO innocence to protect.)   Karen was nice enough, I suppose.  We exchanged pleasantries as we got to know one another.  She was in for suspected heart issues.  She was a good bit older than me and had a few more children than I.  Little did I know how intimately I would get to know them…all.   Everything was fine until my husband had to leave. 

   He had never left me in the hospital before…forever by my side…always there…until then.  I remember tearing up like a kid being left at camp for the first time.  If he could only read my mind…and then…what?  I know he didn’t!  Yes, he did!!  His eyes never left mine as he gently nodded toward my roommate and giggled before turning and walking out the door.  On second thought, it was probably a good thing that he could NOT read my mind.

   Karen was hooked up to several thousand dollars’ worth of cardiac monitoring equipment that she periodically knocked, pulled, or otherwise dropped on the floor. The next few nights were a blur of being jolted awake in the night with the clattering of equipment, the smell of cold – one day old, two day old, and finally three day old- fried catfish that she would sit on the side of the bed and gnaw in the middle of the night, and the loud talking.  Ah yes, I remember it still. 

   But in order to truly understand the nights, you must understand the days.  The days started with phone calls, in a quiet - sickly voice, to friends and family to let them know that she was in the hospital and to share with them that the food was bad and that she could sure use and order of (insert your favorite fast food here, and don’t forget the catfish).  The following day would begin with a call back to aforementioned friends and family for the purpose of reaming them out.  “Why you ain’t come to see me?”  Even though, daily, her side of the room, as well as mine, was full of her family members with which she intermittenly fought.  Daily, my husband would return – well rested and chipper and acting as though he knew a really funny joke of which I was a part.   Was vowing revenge a sin in this instance?  Even so, as evening came around I noticed that he was way too eager to leave again.

   Oh and that brings us back to the nights…now where was I?  I remember…the loud talking.  The nights were punctuated with several bouts of, “Oh Lord Jesus, I got the gas!”  followed by more gnawing on leftovers.  Finally, after several nights, I had taken all I could and I agreed out loud, “Yes, Lord Jesus, she does!”  The next morning my husband found me walking laps in the hallway, “I am being released today,” I told him.   He was surprised that the doctor had made it in so early.  I told him I had not seen the doctor yet, but that I was going home TODAY.  If my brain had not already been about to bleed, it was now.  Sure enough, with much arm twisting I was released and happy to go home.  I had never been so glad to leave someplace, in all my life. 

  Although I can laugh about it now, I remember it as a nightmare.  I have not forgotten those few days, and guess I never will.  I have not let my husband forget them either…

There Is No Such Thing As Luck : Conclusion

   The fifteen minute ambulance ride was a pitiful affair.  I cried the whole way to the hospital while the driver tried his best to make small talk.  A short x-ray later and we were moved to a different ambulance and sent to Hermann Memorial at Medical Center-Houston.  A pediatric neurosurgeon was on standby awaiting our arrival. 

   I spent the next hour praying and looking back to check on my sweet eight year-old baby.  He looked so small and so incredibly vulnerable.  If a heart could burst, mine would have been in a million pieces.  My mind could not and would not conceive of what the future might hold.  My fervent prayer was that he would be spared and I would be strong enough to handle come what may.

  Unsure of what to expect when the emergency room doors opened, we were a little unnerved to be met, first, by a camera crew with cameras rolling.  Our story had come over the radio and had caught the attention of the crew filming TLC’s “Trauma: Life in the ER”.   After an initial assessment, Wil was sent for a cat-scan and further x-rays.

   A short time later the surgeon arrived with film in hand and asked me to step into the hallway.  As we began to head toward the x-ray light box he said, “Can I just tell you how very lucky he is?”  As he talked he shoved the film under the clip and immediately I was captured by the picture of my son’s skull.  From the crown of his head to the bottom of the skull was a jagged crack forming a backward “J”.  Although a portion of the bone had been crushed inward, the doctor hesitated to do surgery right away. Because the wound was closed, he had bled inside the skull.  Even so, the doctor wanted to monitor him for a few days to see if the bleeding would stop naturally. 

   Several days later we were released to go home and convalesce.  The best part of the ordeal according to Wil was that he got to miss the last three weeks of school.  For me, the best part was bringing home an on- the- mend second grader.  Shortly after returning home, we were surprised by a knock at the door.  The EMT’s that had come to our house the day of the accident, returned to check on him.  They talked to Wil and wished him well.  I thanked them for helping not only a wounded child, but a scared, desperate mom.  As they were leaving, the one that had driven, nodded toward Wil and said, “I honestly didn’t know if he was going to make it.”     

   He was home from college the other day.  Having recently turned twenty, he has grown into a fine young man.  A semi-horseshoe indention in his skull serves as a beautiful reminder of God’s awesome power and mercy.  Although God always deals in second chances, we know, there is no such thing as luck.

Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, O God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your might to all who are to come.  Psalm 71:18

There Is No Such Thing As Luck

“Mom?”  His tone seemed unhurried, but serious.  “I think Wil is hurt.”  Those were the words that interrupted our “school morning” routine.  After breakfast, they had gone outside to wait for the bus that would pick them up at the end of our driveway.  Today, something had gone terribly wrong.

  Getting outside a little early had always been a bonus for them.  They used the extra minutes to play, what boys play, before school. This day had been like so many others and yet I knew immediately that something was not right.  With a jolt to the heart I realized that I heard nothing.  No screaming, no crying, no threats – nothing.

   I dropped what I was doing and immediately ran for the front door.  As I stepped off our porch, I saw him.  He sat on the driveway clutching the back of his head.  I reached him before his brother said, “He fell from the rim of the basketball goal.”  I reached out to him and found with a sickening touch that the back of his head was mushy.   Without a thought to further injury I scooped him up into my arms and carried him inside.  I ordered his brother to make sure he did not fall asleep while I called for an ambulance.  I rushed to the phone and called, all the while praying that he would be okay.  Thankfully there was a fire station situated in our neighborhood.

  As I returned to the livingroom and held him, time slowed to a crawl.  I was aware that head injury victims could go from lucid to unconscious quickly, as the brain began to swell.  Terror congealed in my veins and turned my heart into an icy lump.  Finding it difficult to breathe and even more difficult to speak, I began to talk to him.  If these were to be his last conscious moments, I wanted to fill the time with everything I wanted him to know.  I told him how much his dad and I had wanted him, how much we loved him, how proud we were of him, and how he fulfilled our hopes.  He lay limp in my arms as the first responders arrived.  I handed his small body over to them and watched as they began to work with him…

But for the Grace of God, There Go I

    I hurried, as quickly as possible, careful to remain just below the need to stop and catch my breath.  The ride in the elevator seemed longer than ever and I rounded the corner for the semi-sprint to the end of the never-ending hallway to my doctor’s office.  I-45 congested with traffic, to Hardy Tollway choked with traffic, to 610 Loop stacked with traffic, to Hwy 59 strangled with traffic, to the Hwy 288 parking lot had sapped our lead time, as well as, our regular drive time making me a not-so-fashionable 40 minutes late to my echo appointment. 

  The patient scheduled behind me had been taken in my place and I was welcomed to change into a gown and wait to be “worked in”.  Trying to remain positive, I reasoned that it would not have been fair to hold my appointment, thereby putting the whole schedule off by forty minutes.  But the longer I sat, and the more people they took in front of me, the more I entertained not- so-happy thoughts. Like the fact that I had been doing this for thirteen years, hundreds of appointments and not one time had I been late.  And further thoughts of those hundreds of appointments and how many extra hours I sat, sometimes as many as two at a time, waiting on doctors that were behind in their schedule or for tests that were late for the same reason.

   Watching the clock nudge closer and closer to my next appointment, I finally gave up and asked to be placed on the schedule for the afternoon.  Changing back into my clothes, I huffed down the hallway to the next waiting room.  Sitting down, I pulled out the needle and thread that was in my purse and began to work out my frustrations.  The sound of others around me stirred me from my self-induced pity party.

   Raising my head, I began to take in the room and its occupants near me.  It was not until I withdrew my focus from my own thoughts and feelings that I noticed the three young women in my midst. Carefully looking at each one, I began to recognize emotions that their faces belied.  With sudden clarity, I was taken back thirteen years to a time when I sat in their places.  It was a somber fear and unbelieving shock that moved behind their eyes.  Thirteen years later, I was pierced suddenly, through and through, that these young women who sat next to worried looking husbands, were very different from me.  Though I had shared their emotions, the noticeable difference was the progression that the disease had taken in their bodies. 

  I sat with a needle and thread in my hand, angry because I had been made to wait.  Each of them sat tethered to a pump by tubing and a catheter, placed inside their jugular veins, that delivered life sustaining medication. I sat with my sneakers in my bag, wondering if I could beat my record in the exercise test that I was to take, while each of them sat with oxygen tanks in the bags at their feet.  I watched as they were called back, and with tired glances moved slowly through the door, carefully carrying the equipment that allowed them to do the things that I had taken for granted.  Finally, my name was called and I moved guiltily unencumbered. 

  My doctor is one of the foremost leading authorities and researchers on Pulmonary Hypertension.  She gave up her position as the Director of Pulmonary/Lung Transplant Program at Methodist Hospital to focus on research for treatment and a cure.  It is because she only sees patients once a week that I was able to see the others that share my condition.  She was happy to see me, after a year, and was pleased with my exam, giving God the credit.  She confirmed my earlier evaluation of her other patients by telling me that it was good to see how well I was doing because she had not seen much good that day.  Pending any unexpected test results, she released me for another year and stopped the blood work that has been done monthly for all these years. 

   After two more tests, we started back home. The ride gave me the opportunity to contrast the despair that I saw in the other patient’s eyes with the hopeful outlook that I had been given. I was immediately ashamed by my earlier attitude, humbled by my own arrogance.  I was broken for the young women that I saw, guilt-ridden that God would choose to allow me to thrive and not them.  Once again, I was reminded of the mercy in which God has bathed me.  Grace, that for reasons unknown He has given.  I do not understand it.  I do not deserve it.  Setting all pretenses aside, I can honestly proclaim that my only worth is what God has done in me.    

I'm Not Afraid! : Conclusion

   The thought of looking through a darkened window still gives me pause, though time and distance has given me a different perspective.  Thankfully, the members of the Brave Club, as well as The Holy, became acquainted with the One whose Spirit now lives in them.  No longer frightened of something on the outside looking in, but grateful for something on the inside looking out.  Forgiveness that is offered through Christ is a beautiful thing.  Thinking back over my life and some of the choices I have made, His forgiveness is the only thing that allows me to sleep at night. 

   Sadly, there are those around me who continually strive to be a member of the Brave Club.  Honing their survival skills, they go about their lives with their eyes averted from their Heavenly Father who sees all, living as though what they cannot see won’t hurt them.  On some level, they know He is there, though they deny His existence. No amount of logic or rhetoric will give them the one thing they so desperately seek.  Only faith can fill the void they continually try to satisfy. 

  As believers, we must take advantage of God’s grace and forgiveness so that the light of Christ can shine through the windows of our souls.  That light is the only thing that can illumine the dark around us and draw the lost to Him. 

   Today is a great day to polish our windows!

“In Him was life, and that life was the light of men.  The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.”  John 1:4-5

“You are the light of the world.  A city on a hill cannot be hidden.  Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl.  Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.”  Matthew 5:14-16

I'm Not Afraid! Part II

   That was the scene that played out week after week at my grandmother’s house.   “The Holy” was short for Holy Ghost.  As kids, we could not come up with anything spookier sounding.   I knew all about God and  Jesus, but the thought of there being such a thing as a Holy Ghost ranked up there with my personal childhood monsters:  Gravel Face and the Cucumber people. 

   My oldest brother filled the bill of The Holy.  He earned the moniker because of the skill with which he could scare the bejeebers out of my other brother, two cousins, and me.  His method was simple, but effective – sneak around the house after dark with a flashlight, waiting for the opportune moment to toggle its switch, as he held it under his chin, for a chilling effect.  Anticipation was the seasoning sprinkled on the event to make it much more frightening.     We knew what was coming.  In fact, we had formed a club, The Brave Club, to train for these exact occasions. 

  Though some might consider our methods unconventional, we worked hard to become stealthy and bold, figuring that by so doing - courage would prevail.   We had nerve all right.  We had mastered the art of running and diving through the window and onto the bed of the “closed in” back porch – with only one casualty (which happened to be a pair of glasses). Thankfully, we suffered from periodic amnesia that kept us from remembering exactly what had happened to the glasses. Our best recollection was that they simply fell off her face and broke.

   We further sharpened our skills by boldly walking amidst the adults to snitch the unprotected “Kool” brand cigarettes, steal away to the bathroom, and with surgical precision-remove a portion of the tobacco to replace it with a broken match head.  Re-packing the tobacco, we then, walked unassumingly back to return the pack to its rightful place.  I am almost certain the theme song to “Mission Impossible” could be heard.  That was our brand of action and certainly our parents would be none the wiser.  Looking back now, we probably did give ourselves away as we nervously awaited the fateful draw on the “doctored” cigarette that would bring a shocking end to a new family member’s nasty habit…our version of the Anti-Smoking Campaign.

   Our talents were furthered stretched as we crawled underneath the house to a position directly under our recently widowed great aunt.  There we tried, in our best ghostly voices, to convince her that her recently deceased husband was speaking to her from beyond the grave…”Luuuuuucy this is Meeeelllvvviiinn”…    What can I say? We were proficient.  We were professionals.  We…were…charter members of The Brave Club.  And yet, The Holy always horrified us…

I'm Not Afraid!

  He stood alone in the dark, his only instrument of torture held under his chin.  There must have been a satisfied smile on his face as he peered through the windows of the old house.    He had the gift.  His talents had been recognized by those he now watched.  They were the ones that had made him what he was, and now, his mission was plain and simple.  He was there to terrorize.

   The ones that he watched were expectant of his arrival.  Before dusk had taken the last few rays of sun, they had piled into the house for the evening meal, anticipating his coming.  Meals quickly eaten, they converged in the back of the house to make their plans.  Preparations had been made and skills honed as they waited. 

   Each of them had become adept at the art of hiding and escape.  The old house had been a proving- ground for them.  They were self-taught warriors.  Their skills were used for covert operations, as well as, feats of bravado.  But suddenly, everything was forgotten as the face outside the window appeared.  All plan of escape was ignored and the sound of their own screams filled the room as they beheld...The Holy... 

Looks Are Deceiving

   Independence comes in many forms.  For my son, it came at the age of ten.  This was a magical age.  The first foray into double digits – Yes!- but, more importantly, it was the age at which he was legally allowed to fill his own plate at the breakfast bar of Shoney’s. 

   Shoney’s was always the choice for us when it came to breakfast out.  There was no wonder, when you walked into the door and your senses were assaulted by aromas of cooking and baking, as well as, the delightful sight of fruit and floral arrangements decorating the buffet tables.  The tastes of the many items offered, insured an all-around satisfactory dining experience. 

   This day found the boys and me enjoying a leisurely breakfast.  We were “vacationing” while my husband worked.  Needless to say, we always got our money’s worth at All-You-Can-Eat buffets. As parents of boys, it was a wise financial move.  Not certain if they ever actually got full, we usually just told them, at some point, they had to stop eating. 

   Finishing up his fourth plate of food, he asked if he could go back for more.  I told him to make this trip count because it would be his last for this meal.  He squared his shoulders, stuck his chin out ever so slightly, and headed back to the buffet.  An act so simple and yet I could hear another apron string snap reminding me, again, how quickly he was growing. 

   Independent though he was, I still watched him as he perused the buffet, making his way slowly up one side and down the other.  When comfortable that he was maintaining a sanitary method of plating his food, I turned my attention back to the other two and became engrossed in the conversation at hand.  As the discourse continued, I looked back toward the buffet and saw him stopped before one of the displays.  Once again, I rejoined the discussion as I finished up my own meal.  When he walked back to our table, I chuckled to myself at the care he had taken in selecting his last item.  Surprisingly, the plate that he returned with carried one, lone banana.

   Joining the ongoing conversation, I watched as he attempted to peel the banana.  After a couple of tries to pull the stem down, I reached across the table and offered to peel it for him, still taking every opportunity to be the “Mama.”  As he placed it in my hand, he said, “You’d think it was  rubber.”  I carefully took it, so as not to bruise it, and picked up my knife to cut it.  It wasn’t until I had the knife on the stem that I realized and exclaimed, “IT IS RUBBER!!”  Without missing a beat he answered, “Well, no wonder it was so hard to pull it off that table.” I smiled to myself as I thought that maybe that apron string had only frayed.

   …I wonder if somewhere there is security camera footage of a little boy struggling to pull an artificial banana from a fruit arrangement, followed by unknown woman, glancing suspiciously over her shoulder, as she struggles to cram an artificial banana back into the same arrangement…

Only the Weak Survive

    The ride home from the hospital had been no different than the previous few.  We had cried, laughed because we were crying, and then, cried again.  We were a mess.   Reality had come and we were struggling to wrap our minds around what we had been told. 

    We had both spent a sleepless night in ICU. The drug trial that had been attempted that day was to no avail.  The doctor told us there was no cure.  No one with this condition had ever been cured of it.   We were sent home to wonder what would happen next.  The best that we could hope for was that the progression of this condition would allow me to be in the 20% of people that survived 2-3 years more, after diagnosis.  Once the scarring of lung tissue had reached a certain level the search for a suitable donor would begin.  In that case, a double lung or heart/lung transplant would increase my chances of survival to 50% for five more years.

    For the first time in my life, I was in the grip of utter sorrow.   And now, back at home and alone for the first time in six weeks, I sought solace from the One who knew me best and loved me most.  Though driven to my knees in prayer, the only words that tumbled from my mouth were, "No one can take care of my family the way that I can!”  Prostrate on the floor, I dissolved into tears.  My tears were replaced by sobs of which I thought I was incapable.  There in my closet, I came to the end of myself.  No longer self-sufficient and able to handle whatever was thrown my way.  The mere thought of what I was up against was obscene.  The only thing that I knew for sure was that I could not carry this burden. Facing the unthinkable, it occurred to me that in order to be at peace, I was going to have to give up that which was most precious to me – my family – and place them in His hands. Though unable to find audible words to convey, my heart spoke to His.  I envisioned myself placing my husband and little boys into the strong and capable hands of the One who had given them to me.  Inexplicably, it was if the walls of my closet were folded away and He was there.  I sensed His Presence as never before.  It was as if He reached into my very soul and calmed my heart.  The sobs that had flooded the room ceased.  

    I stood that day with the understanding that I was powerless to help myself and yet sustained by the Omnipotent One, ignorant of my future and yet certain of the Omniscient One, unaware of where to go but reliant on the Omnipresent One…

II Corinthians 12:9   “But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

Pride Goeth Before a Fall

With three boys in tow, I whirled into the new dentist's office.  Moving to a new city had caused change all the way around.  Among the things that we left behind was a beloved dentist with which were familiar.

  The office was large and housed several dentists.  Once the boys were settled into separate rooms, I asked to use the facilities.  The receptionist pointed and I turned to follow her direction.  Thankfully, the restroom was at the end of the hall.  No mistaking it, the door stood ajar.

  Upon leaving the restroom, I casually glanced to my left.  Sitting on his stool was a dentist that was looking back at me.  I smiled graciously and headed back down the hall, a little miffed at his obvious stare.  Our visit went as expected and I scheduled two follow-up visits for two of the boys.

  About a week later, we returned to the office.  By now, I was familiar with my surroundings and headed to the restroom while waiting for my son’s appointment.  Again, the open door beckoned at the end of the hall.  Though forgotten before I went in, I was reminded of the previous week’s encounter when I left the restroom.  Sitting in almost the same spot as before was the dentist from last week.  And this time, he greeted me with a look that was somewhere between incredulous and smirking.  A semi-smile on his face made me feel uncomfortable. 

   Now, I was bothered.  What was wrong with this creeper?!  I was a married woman, and I did not appreciate his obvious staring.  The hallway seemed to lengthen as I walked back to the waiting room.  I could feel his eyes boring a hole between my shoulder blades.  How dare he?  Oh wouldn’t I like to give him a piece of my mind!  But on second thought, I surely did not want to encourage conversation of any kind. 

   I made a bee-line for my husband’s office and relayed what had happened.  By now, I was irate and ready to change dentists.  I had not dressed provocatively.  I had not asked for his attention.  And yet, I felt as though I was under a microscope. 

  Our final appointment arrived yet another week later.  I had made sure that I would not need to visit the Powder Room while I was there.  Unfortunately, I had forgotten to do the same with my three-year-old.  Before our visit was over, he was dancing on one foot and then the other.  It was with some trepidation that I rounded the corner to head down the hallway.  As I made the turn, I was faced with a most humbling sight.  There at the end of the hall, no longer beckoning was the closed door of the restroom.  Emblazoned across the front in letters that seemed to jump right off the door was the word, “MEN”.

  If possible, I would have crawled into my purse that day.  Ego completely deflated, I laughed out loud drawing a somewhat agitated glance from the receptionist.  Totally embarrassed, I confessed to my husband what I had done…TWICE.  Humility IS a good thing… right?

Romans 12:3  "For by the grace given me I say to every one of you:  Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you."

Parenting Tip #34 "How to Teach Your Children to Sit at the Dinner Table"

  Our three young boys went through a phase of not understanding the importance of sitting down for a family meal.  Most meals consisted of my husband and me eating and trying to carry on a conversation about our day through a cloud of various little boy body parts and action figures.  Whether jumping up to check out what was on TV, imitating their favorite superhero, or simply hanging on the chair by one “cheek”, it became apparent that they were suffering from a lack of respect for the dinner table.  

   One evening proved too much for my husband.  After several warnings, or threatenings to be exact, he decided to demonstrate what “Sit down in your chair!” meant.    Did I mention that when demonstrating proper behavior for children, it is an excellent idea to practice ahead of time?  Or that when one parent is demonstrating the proper way to “Sit down in your chair”, it might me a good idea for the other parent to grab the car keys and head to the mall?  Did I also mention that you should NEVER demonstrate said technique with an antique chair?

   My husband rose from his seat at the head of our table and demanded our family’s attention by stating, “THIS is the way to sit down in your chair!”  --At which time he added his own exclamation point with his actions.  From my vantage point, what I witnessed was one fluid motion that took him from his full 6 foot frame to disappearing underneath the table’s edge.  With a look of mixed horror and hilarity, all three boys whipped their sweet little heads around to stare at me…

   Did I also mention how very important it is to present a united front, as parents, when dealing with children?  What was I to do?  I slowly pushed back my chair and dipped my head beneath the table to find out exactly what had just transpired.  There at the far end of the table lay my husband in a semi-fetal position amongst the four splayed legs of what used to be an antique chair.

   There have been many times in my life that I have failed miserably as a parent but, none as miserable as this time.  Maybe I should have stoically added, “If you want a spanking!”  Instead, after nearly aspirating the bite of food I had just taken into my mouth I committed a colossal fail.  I, as well as, our children completely dissolved into uncontrollable, belly-cramping, wheezing-because-I can’t breathe laughter.  In fact, I have tears in my eyes even as I write.

   The goal of demonstrating proper behavior to children is to make an impression upon them.    From that point on, I do not remember having any more issues with dinner time behavior.  My husband left a huge impression on our three little boys.  They are still impressed today…along with the kitchen floor.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

    He was perfect - 9 pounds and 2 ounces of utter bliss. When he decided to make his debut into our world, he did so in just under an hour. He was walking at nine months and talking before that. As he grew, a pattern began to emerge.

   It became obvious that he soaked up everything around him…especially everything he heard.  I also noticed that as he honed his communication skills, I developed the innate ability to sense when something untoward was about to exit his sweet little mouth.  In fact, it was an uneasy – hair standing on the back of my neck – silent alarm that warned me to take evasive measures -- to move him to a safe distance -- out of ear’s reach.  Unfortunately, most instances found him out of arm’s reach.

   This particular day we were in the grocery store.  He was such a good boy!  He sat under the shopping cart, quietly playing, as we moved up and down the aisles.  I noticed, after about the third aisle, that we were meeting the same elderly lady moving in the opposite direction.   Each time she approached us; she would lovingly look down at my little miracle and nod at me as if to say, “Never have I seen a more precious child.  What an awesome mom you must be!”

  As we rounded the end of the fourth aisle and once again headed toward the little lady, she paused and waited.  The suddenness with which the unease came was almost shocking.  Not unlike a wave of nausea, it hit me full on.  She was looking directly at him.  A quick glance at him revealed that he had not noticed.  A surge of relief started up my spine… and then she spoke to him.

   Inside I was saying, “Keep walking lady!  Don’t make eye contact!”  Sadly, she was not picking up the vibe I was putting down.  That is when my world went into slow motion.  She dipped her head down and looked him directly in the eye and said, “My, what a sweet little boy.” It was too late.  I was too far away from him and too close to her to run down the aisle like a runaway train.  Instead,  I watched as he stuck his beautiful, little two year old blond head out from under the cart and with the clarity of a future preacher said, “You a old buzzard.”

  This was another swoon moment for me.  Can’t really remember what I said, if anything, or whether or not I paid for my groceries, or if I simply left my buggy with the elderly lady before hitting the front door.  The one thing that was screaming through my head was “WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!” 

  And then my mind was drawn back to the previous day.  My sweet baby and I had been in the car headed for the mall when an elderly gentleman almost side-swiped our vehicle.  I was furious that his inattention could have hurt my precious cargo!  Without thought I shouted, “YOU OLD BUZZARD!”  

   The ride home that day was unusually quiet.  I explained that what he had said was wrong, because what I had said was wrong. That day, Humility and I became intimately acquainted.  Although sometimes unpleasant to be around, I have a way of bringing us back together.

   Funny how God has a way of making things abundantly clear.

…but set an example for the believers in speech…1 Timothy 4:12

Which Way Are You Running?

  The story of David and Goliath is one of my favorites.  Every time I read it, I am impressed by something fresh and new.  To understand the story is to take a closer look at the characters involved.

Saul:  He was impressive--a head taller than any of the other Israelites.  He was the obvious choice to go out and face Goliath.  But, sadly—he had chosen to go his own way apart from God.  His lack of leadership put the men that had sworn to serve him in the position of being demoralized.  He had even tried to bribe them with money and his own daughter to accomplish the task of removing the giant.   He didn’t understand that Goliath wasn’t the problem—his lack of faith in God was the real issue.

The Israelite army:  For forty days, they drew up the battle lines. For forty days, they endured the humiliating barrage of a trash talking giant.  For forty days, they were too afraid to meet the challenge on the battlefield.  For forty days, they watched their king cower in fear and they followed suit.  They didn’t realize that God was waiting to give them the victory, had they stepped out in faith.

Goliath:  He was a take charge kind of guy.  He decided to, personally, dispatch the Israelite army by conquering their champion.  He was a fighting man from birth and another battle was nothing to him.  He didn’t realize the battle had already been decided, that the Champion he was about to face was actually God Almighty.

The Philistine army:  These men were warriors that were content to put their trust in another man for their salvation.  They were relying on Goliath’s physical attributes to win the victory without realizing that they had already been handed defeat.

David:  He was a young man with enough faith to believe that God was in control.  He believed that God had chosen the Israelite people as His own and that the victory was already in their hands - had they looked beyond the giant on the battlefield.

    With which character do you identify?   What do you do when you are faced with a giant? Do you do what the Israelites did?  Verse 24 tells us they ran in great fear from the giant.  How about the Philistines?  Verse 51 tells us that when they saw their hero was dead, they ran away in defeat.  Or are you more like David? Verse 48 says that David ran quickly toward the giant.  He ran with abandon - headlong toward Goliath.  He was the only one that understood that the battle wasn’t theirs at all—He was simply running to join God on the battlefield.

     Unfortunately, I can see myself in all of the characters.  Some days I have been Saul….unwilling to give up the throne of my life even though the true King is waiting to lead me.  Some days I have been Goliath…self-sufficient and able to handle what is thrown at me, even though the best that I can do is as "filthy rags".   Some days I have been the Israelites….running in fear.  And even a few days I’ve been the Philistines….running in defeat.

     Oh, for the faith of David daily! – to greet each day with the first thought, that no matter what I may face...“If God is for me, who can be against me?”


Scripture Reference:  1 Samuel 2-4; 8-11; 16; 20-25; 32; 40-41; 45-48; 51c

The Question: Conclusion

   Death was not a taboo subject in our home.  We had lost loved ones over the years and our children walked alongside us through those times, attending funerals as we did.  Each of these instances provided teaching moments for us that we used to talk about our belief in Christ and understanding of death as a doorway to true life.  We had taught them that faith in Christ was the only answer to a fear of dying.  Over time each of them had come to a saving knowledge of who Christ is and what He had done for them.

   The question that he posed that day brought me to a crisis of faith.  Did I believe what I had claimed all these years?  Or was my faith a simple platitude to an electrical impulse of my own brain? In the time that it took to inhale, my faith was solidified. At that moment, it was tested and my heart answered rock-solid.  I DID believe what I had claimed to believe and for the first time I, ALONE, had to stand on that faith.   

   I looked directly at him and began.  I told him that eventually everyone dies, but that I was not going to leave one second before I was “supposed to.”  God knew when that moment was, so it wasn’t ours to worry about.  I asked him, “When I die…where am I going?”  He answered, “Heaven.”  I asked, “How do you know that?”  He said, “Because you asked Jesus to come into your heart.”   I watched as a look of concern on his face was replaced with a thoughtful gaze.  I knew then, that the same Heavenly Father that was speaking peace to my own heart was doing the same for him.  “What do you think I will be doing in heaven after I die?” And with the sweetest grin he answered, “Waitin’ for me.”

The Question

   He lay at the foot of the bed staring intently.  Unaware, I had been absorbed into the books that were scattered about me.  Just a few years earlier I had learned about this very thing and I was desperate to refresh my memory. In my quest for information, I had not noticed that his full attention was on me.  I peered around the edge of the book, that I had propped upon my chest, and with the straightforward innocence of a child he asked, “Are you going to die?”

   For a moment the air left the room.  There it was…the question that had yet to be voiced.  It had been a grueling few weeks of tests, doctors’ appointments, and hospital stays. With a definitive diagnosis in place, the news had come as quite a shock.  The whole experience had been surreal.  One day I had walked into the hospital perfectly healthy, and the next, I had walked out gravely ill. 

   Just the day before, the doctor had stood at the foot of my hospital bed and asked if I understood the seriousness of my condition and the reason for the rapid pace at which testing and treatment were being implemented.  I nodded without speaking.  It was not lost on me that she turned to the nurse and asked her to draw up my discharge papers so that I could go home and spend time with my family.  And now the question that had tip-toed around the edges of my mind, had been asked aloud.

   He had just turned 10.  He was the sensitive one, the thinker.  And now, I knew he was worried.  The one thing in this ordeal that I had been adamant about was normalcy for my children.  Despite my efforts, he had sensed trouble.  And now, how could I possibly answer a question that I was asking myself?

Be Careful...Your Sins Will Find You Out: Conclusion

...Today that memory is tucked away in a place that my family visits ever so often for a good laugh.  In fact, it has become so benign that my mom jokingly tells my children that when I was little, I was NEVER disciplined.  On the contrary, my back side has a completely different recollection.  The consequences of that day were great for both of us.  The physical effects of discipline included a “good scrubbing” to remove the paint from our skin.  We lost our new shirts, as well as, my most prized possession -  white majorette boots with tassels.  Yes, they were painted, too.  More heart wrenching than any of these, was the utter disappointment I saw in my mother’s eyes that day. We had brazenly disobeyed our dad and her.  Even so, the unconditional love that she had for us was evident in her care.  We were still her children and she loved us more than her own life. 

   I have often thought back on that day and am struck by the similarities in my own journey of faith.  Because of my willful disobedience, sin had left a horrible stain that made the black paint on my skin, clothes, towels, and floor-- pale in comparison.  The day I trusted Christ as my Savior, and asked His forgiveness for my disobedience, I was made clean.  The perfect, spotless Lamb was the sacrifice for my sin, as well as, the sin of all people. Although I often fail to live up to His perfect example, His unconditional love is evident in my heart.  And it is on those days, I am thankful He does not wield a switch.

Isaiah 1:18 “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow…”

Be Careful...Your Sins Will Find You Out: Part III

...Woo Hoo!  I could hardly wait as I walked across the yard to the house.  For convenience sake, it was suggested that I enter through the front door for quick access to the bathroom.  Not wanting to waste one second more than necessary, I pushed through the door and headed into the house.  Thank goodness Mother had recently purchased new towels and had hung them on the rack just inside the bathroom, this made clean-up much easier.  I grabbed the first towel and went about the work of getting rid of the paint.  It was then that I noticed it was not coming off my new shirt easily.  The second towel would do the trick.  I was on a time crunch to get back out to the shop to finish the game, so I quickly grabbed it, as well as the matching washrags.  And then, I heard the footsteps.

  I am not certain if it was the horrified look or the startled gasp that escaped her mouth that brought a moment of clarity, unlike any other, to my five year old mind.  At this point, my memory goes somewhat fuzzy.  It is possible that I swooned.  It was an instant of stark realization of what I had done coupled with the understanding of what was about to take place.  Although this was our first foray into the game of “Frankenstein”-- it was not our first foray into “Big Trouble.”

  Because of past experience as well as those subsequent, it is with great certainty that I can say it went down like this.  We ended up in our parents’ room sitting together on the cedar chest until our punishment was meted out.  We were left to consider our actions.  Instead, we used the time to accuse each other for causing whatever we were facing.  Then it was time…a date with the executioner.  She stepped into the room.  With sure footing and graceful arms, she wielded her switch like a Ninja master.  And I am almost certain she never even considered the  self-esteem of either one of us…

Be Careful...Your Sins Will Find You Out: Part II

…Paint cans.  Paint cans of every size lined the shelves of the workshop.  With each can we opened a growing sense of disappointment ensued as we realized that the paint had long been dried.  And then it happened- a moment that will be forever etched in my memory.  He looked up from the can he was holding with a “pinch-me-‘cause-I must-be-dreaming” expression on his face.  As it turned out, one of the cans was not completely dry.  In his methodical testing of this particular can, he had punched through the thickened outer layer of paint to find an ample supply of lovely, shiny, black paint. 

  He always had the most awesome ideas.  He always had a plan, a play agenda, if you will.  He knew how to have fun and he planned the day accordingly.  Even more impressive was the fact that he could think on his feet.  And on this day, all of his creative juices melded into one impressive idea.  “Let’s play Frankenstein,” he said.  And I was all in.  This day could not have gotten any better.  We began to discuss the parameters of the game we would play and it was decided that I would be the “monster” first.  The game would go something like this:  As Dr. Frankenstein, of course, he would bring me to life.  Then, to be fair, I would become Dr. Frankenstein and he the monster.  I would reciprocate the life giving act. 

   I was ready for my part.  I was born for this part.  I climbed up on the table and stretched to my full length.  I lay perfectly still, as would any good corpse.  Dr. Frankenstein then began his magic.  Paint brush in hand, he commenced his work.  Slowly, with a steady hand, he covered his monster head to toe in the lovely black paint.  I became a masterpiece.  What an unbelievable time we had had up to this point!  The only thing better was the thought that I would be Frankenstein next. 

  “But first”, he said, “let’s get you cleaned up”... 

Be Careful...Your Sins Will Find You Out

   Paradise.  We had stumbled upon it inadvertently in a purposeful sort of way.  You see, we had been forbidden to enter the dusty interior of the old upholstery shop. It sat on the same property as the house in which we had just moved.  But, this place was a treasure trove of old junk and the more we explored, the more treasure we began to uncover.

   The first great discovery was a coin operated horse.  How could this be?  How completely awesome that we had access to our very own horse!  We were now rich and famous!  We had just entered wonderland.  And then…in the corner…could it be?  Yes! It was!  Lying innocently against an old box was a surprise to end all surprises.  There in our very own secret world was a prosthetic leg!  How could we have been so lucky?  One day we were just regular people and now we would be celebrities.  This was almost too much!  And to think…we had been forbidden from this place.  Our parents had it completely wrong this time.  If they had only known what lay beyond the doors of this old shop, we probably would have moved in here instead of the house.  They were going to be so surprised and happy at what we had discovered!

   We should have known that we were destined for greatness that day.  Every day was an adventure.  But, this day found us both wearing our brand new Astroworld t-shirts.  What an omen! We were fresh from our first visit, in 1968, and now it was just beginning to sink in that we had found our very own amusement park! Nothing could top this.  And that’s when we noticed the cans…

Why Blog?

  "Okay...that's just depressing." Those were the words spoken by my 19 year old as he read the title of my newly created blog.  I explained to him that it is not my intention to depress anyone, but instead to point people toward the One who has given me life-both physical and eternal.  Let me say from the outset that there is nothing special about me. I simply want to share with others the hope that I have in Jesus Christ.

   My prayer is that through some of my experiences you may be encouraged IN your own faith or encouraged TO your own faith.  Blessings!