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...