The Family that Sings Together...

   My friends and I were laughing the other day, that the idyllic days of families 'singing around the piano', are gone…if they ever existed.  We decided that maybe those were only staged in Hollywood, years ago, as an indictment on the modern family of how far we have fallen from the ‘good ol days’.  And then I remembered…

(Insert Dream Sequence Music Here)

   My family REALLY stood around the piano and sang!  In fact, we didn’t even need a piano to stand around and sing.  We sang in the car, we sang in the livingroom, we sang in church, we sang in my grandparents’ kitchen…we sang a lot!

   My dad was definitely the leader of the group, very musically inclined; he still to this day can pick up any stringed instrument and within a few days can play it!  He also plays the piano, by ear, and so between him and my oldest brother on the bass guitar, we even had a band!  Our group was rounded out with my mother as lead singer.  Oh, and I failed to mention that my other brother and I were the breakout stars of the group.  We were just like Donnie and Marie ….except that they were Mormon and we were Baptist…and they probably sold a few more records than we did…I meant, they actually made records and sold them…………….We BOUGHT records and played them, but other than that, we were just like Donnie and Marie.

   Those are precious times to think back on.  We still sing together occasionally, not nearly enough.  There was a lot of laughter and silliness had around that old upright…and then Pap would quietly pull off his belt and lay it on top of the piano….that’s when we would know, “Things just got serious.”  You cannot imagine the sweet melodies that my brother and I could produce at that point…

Sudden Death

 I am a firm believer that people are placed in our paths for a reason.  But for the life of me, there are some that I have to question their purpose.  One in particular is a nurse that I have had the distinct pleasure(?) of being acquainted with on this journey into the looking glass of Suzy in Serious Illness Land.  She will never be accused of caring too much, nor will she win any awards for her bedside manner.  One often feels the need to take a shower after enduring a barrage of filth that flows from her mouth.  And yet, for whatever reason, she has always felt the need to check on me, call me “Sweetie” (which I dearly LOVE—don’t even get me started) and regale me with stories of her children, parenting skills, and vast knowledge of all things in the medical profession.  And how can I ever forget the time she offered me an expletive laced “Merry Christmas”…rough around the edges is an understatement.  But, the thing that stands out the most in my mind- where she is concerned, is her unwavering need to faithfully ask, “You do realize that you are at risk for sudden death, don’t you?”

  Over the years, the flesh has risen on several occasions to fire back with a tongue capable of slicing her to ribbons.  But instead, I have nodded knowingly, and prayed that the purpose that she was placed in my path, or I in hers, would be accomplished- and sooner, rather than later.  As gauche as her question always was, there was merit to what she asked. 

   The condition that I have places me on a collision course with heart failure.  And for that reason, my heart is monitored very closely.  Time and distance allow me to live a fairly normal existence, provided only by the grace of God.  But, when medical testing intersects with my way too busy life, reality stinks!  And so, while waiting for test results, I sometimes retreat to that place of considering “What if?”  What if this is the beginning of the downhill slide that the same awesome nurse has warned me could “happen quickly”?  Or what if the treatment, that I have been so blessed to be on for the past few years, has run its course and it’s now time to endure a more invasive one?  Thankfully, I’ve never been alone in my place of retreat!

   The past couple of weeks have been no different.  As I awaited test results, I was reminded of the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.  The third chapter of Daniel relays the story of how they were compelled, by threat of -death by fiery furnace, to bow down and worship an idol.  Their refusal was succinct.  In verses 17-18, they answered the King saying, “If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us out of your hand, O king.  But, even if He does not, let it be known to you, O king, that we are not going to serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.”  Just like the three of them, I have come to a place of understanding that faith in Jesus Christ is not dependent on whether He chooses to change my circumstances or not.  Just as He walked through the fiery furnace with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego- He walks with me.

My flesh and my heart may fail, But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.   Psalm 47:3  

The Leopard Song

   There are days when moments from my childhood crash through my present existence in a breathtaking fashion, transporting me back to a time and place where once, I lived.  My childhood was idyllic.  I was a carefree kid that took playtime as seriously as any job.  My only responsibility was to keep my mom apprised of every move taken by my two older brothers.  (Self-appointed, of course!)  So, anytime scenes from long ago make an appearance, they tend to bring a smile to my face. 

   One such incident happened this past Sunday.  My husband and I attend our more traditional service offered at our church.  We were in the middle of worship, singing the hymn, “Jesus Paid It All”.  As we neared the fourth verse, these were the words that served as keys to open the door to my past.

Lord, now indeed I find
Thy pow’r, and Thine alone,
Can change the leper’s spots
And melt the heart of stone. 

   There I stood, as a little girl moved by those words.  I had always heard that “a leopard cannot change his spots”-it’s in the Bible!   And now, in church—where the truth is spoken—we are singing about the fact that Jesus ALONE had the power to change the leopard’s spots.  If that didn’t speak “POWER” to me…nothing could. 

   Delving further in my memory, I thought back to the times in worship when we would sing:

Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves,

We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves,

   Though I loved to sing hymns, this one always confused me.  I did not quite understand what bringing in the sheets had to do with church.  My mother always hung the sheets out to dry and oh how I loved fresh, clean sheets.  But….never thought it was worth rejoicing over.  I always chalked it up to being one of those “grown-up” things that I would understand one day.

   Back to the present, I chuckled out loud as the leopard song came to an end.  It occurred to my grown-up mind that the old songs of the faith are ingrained in me.  I derive comfort from the words that have taken root in my heart.  It also occurred to me that I DO rejoice over clean sheets and if Jesus wanted to change a leopard’s spots….He could.

Dust Bunnies

   Dust bunnies.  I know them well.  They are totally useless and mostly embarrassing.  I have considered them of no worth, until recently.  In fact, I have come to recognize a certain kinship with dust bunnies.   Actually, I AM a dust bunny…of sorts…and so are you!

   Genesis 2:7 says, “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.”  It is staggering to think that we, super-intelligent human beings J, are by nature…dirt.  Not to take a pot-shot at anyone’s self-esteem, it is –what it is.  No matter how we try to frame it, hide it, deny it- or whatever-else “it”—Scripture is clear. 

   We were NOT amoebas…WE WERE—and ARE—walking, talking, breathing, thinking, etc. --Dust Bunnies!!  Pretty amazing, huh?  How incredibly ironic that God chose to fashion His highest creation-man, out of the lowest of materials!  Everything else, He fashioned ex-nihilo or ‘out of nothing” but, His most prized creation He formed from matter-- man from dust and woman from man from dust.    

   Wait a minute!  Why not gold? Or platinum? Or diamonds?  After all, we are His Beloved!   I believe He chose to create us from dust, because, in so doing, we can only find our value in Him.  He gives us our worth.  How much greater the Creator that accomplishes His purposes through the lowliest of stock!  Have you ever attempted to get a dust bunny to do anything, especially get in a dustpan? How awesome to consider, even further, that we, lowliest of stock, would illicit such love and compassion from the Creator Himself, God Almighty.  So much so that He willingly gave His Only Son as our ransom.  He gave His Son for…dust bunnies.  Praise God, that when He looks at me, He sees past the filth, and instead, sees the cleansing blood of the Lamb!     

   Yes, I know dust bunnies very well.  Swiffer duster in hand, and I can’t help but grin at the thought that maybe dust isn’t so bad after all…

It's the Thought that Counts...Right?

   I am really not high-maintenance.   In fact, my husband says I am “Low to No Maintenance.”  But…I do like gifts.  After almost 29 years of marriage, I admit it.  Mind you, I’m not too particular about what it is; there is just something about unwrapping a gift that I enjoy. I think it is the anticipation of what lies beneath.  Throughout our marriage I have loved everything he’s given me…well almost…except for that one Christmas…

  Before the boys were old enough for school, I would pack them up and head to my parents when John was out of town on business.  Part of the time, I was working, and so I would drive back and forth to my parents in my Pontiac Parisian station wagon, complete with simulated wood panels.   One particular day, I was driving back after work, before the advent of cell phones, and ended up broken down on the side of the highway – in the middle of nowhere- well, not exactly nowhere…I was about 200 yards from a bar.  Actually, that’s a little too dressy a term for the establishment.  It was an all-out Honky Tonk/Beer Joint. 

  Here I am, walking along the side of the highway, stethoscope still slung across my shoulders, scared to death some of my church family was going to drive by (even though I was an hour away from home) just as I made it to the front door of the bar.  Not to mention, I was completely intimidated by what I would find on the other side of that door. Thankfully, as God always does, He rescued me…again.  As I was getting out of my car, a man from my parents’ church saw me, recognized me, and came to help me. 

   John said that incident was fresh on his mind that year as he shopped for my Christmas present.  I, on the other hand, had no trouble with his gift.  I bought him a bright red four wheeler.  This was going to be a Christmas to remember. 

  Did I mention that I am really not particular?  Well, maybe somewhat.  Anticipation had almost gotten the best of me as I exercised some modicum of maturity.  Unwrapping slowly and savoring the surprise, as long as possible, I removed the paper, took one look at the box and realized that sneaky devil had wrapped my gift in a box that came from ‘who-knows-where’.  He was always up for a good prank.  With a knowing giggle, I opened the end of the box and looked inside.  That’s when I choked on my giggle.  What was on the front of that box from ‘who-knows-where’ was my surprise. 

  That’s right!  My man bought me a CB radio.  You know, Smokey and the Bandit CB radio – eastbound and down, loaded up and truckin’… CB radio.  A thousand things went through my mind at that moment, none good.  Somewhere in the fog I heard him say, “Now you never have to worry about being broken down on the side of the road…” (Oh, and there was a loving smile on his sweet face.)   I barely heard as I was hurdled into the future on some lonely dark highway, grabbing for the mike with the confidence of a big burly man and interrupting the airwaves with “Uh…hello? Anyone out there?  I’m stuck on this lonely highway?  Can anyone help a stranded 24 year old woman?” 

   Needless to say, the ride to family Christmas celebrations was pretty quiet.  As I look back, I can see myself shoved up in the corner of the passenger seat of my sassy station wagon.  My wonderful husband brought the radio to “try out” along the way.  With the turn of the switch we got the scratch of white noise. Much like this…”SSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZKKKKKKKKKKKKKK”.  I sat with arms folded.                                                                                                                                                                 “Maybe we need to roll down the window for it to pick up the proper frequency,” he said.

  “SSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCCZZZZZZZZZZZKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.”  I sat with arms folded.          

“Oh!  We probably need to pull over to the side of the road for it to work.”

“SSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCCZZZZZZZZZZZKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.”  I sat with arms folded.        

“Wait, I remember, you have to stick the antennae to the roof.”

“SSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCCCCZZZZZZZZZZZKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.”  I sat with arms folded.         

  He looked at me.  I looked at him.  And the front seat of my Pontiac Parisian erupted in laughter.  We have gotten many miles out of that incident.  Who would have ever thought that a gift from who-knows-where would have provided such enjoyment for almost 29 years?

Front Row Seat to a Miracle: Conclusion

    The ambulance arrived and the transport team was preparing to transfer the baby into a travelling incubator.  Before leaving the unit, the doctor sent me to get my sister-in-law.  As I turned to go, he said, “She must begin the grieving process.  The nurse will provide mom and dad with pictures of the baby to remember her by.” 

   What should have taken a few minutes, took over an hour as they moved her from one bed to the other.  Her condition continued to deteriorate as we watched.  Our mom and dad had arrived and looked on as the newest member of their family fought to live.  Daddy led the way straight into the throne room as he pulled us into a huddle in the hallway.  He reminded us that we had come to the end of what man could do for her, and now we must give her over to what God had for her.  And that we did.  He voiced the prayer that was probably the most difficult one he would ever have to pray.  Her mom and dad trusted her into God’s care, not knowing if they would see her alive again. 

   March 5 will mark the 22^nd anniversary of that night, a night that will not soon be forgotten.  Jeremiah 33:3 says, “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”  Through this experience, that Scripture came alive.  From the ambulance ride to Houston, that she wasn’t supposed to survive, to a helicopter flight to Galveston-- God revealed things about Himself that none of us had known until then. 

   A mostly experimental treatment, that was almost unheard of at that point, was her last medical hope.  She would be only the 36^th baby to be placed on ECMO.  Her blood would be circulated from her body into a machine that oxygenated it and pumped it back into her body.  The work of the heart would be greatly reduced and her lungs would be given time to mature and heal.  

   She began her Student teaching a few weeks ago.  She is excited to break out and to make her mark in this world.  The silent witness to God’s unsearchable things is a faint scar from just under her ear and down her neck.  Through the years, she has been reminded of how God used her birth to show her family of what He is capable.   We were invited.  We gave Him our full attention and trust.  And we were given a front row seat to a miracle.  

Front Row Seat to a Miracle: Part 3

   For all the trouble she was having, there were several babies on life support that night.  By God’s grace, each of them was stable, at least for this shift.  Thanks for this fact had no sooner crossed my lips, than the alarm on her ventilator sounded. 

      It had crashed!  Not a simple malfunction, but an outright, no longer working- crash.  The very thing that was pushing breath into her body had stopped.  As I scrambled to fix and finally replace the machine, the doctor stood bedside and manually ventilated her lungs.  As he stood there he told me the story of this family.  “They are counting on me, because I took care of their older daughter, as well.”   She had been a C-section baby that needed a little support after birth because of fluid in her lungs.  Feeling somewhat of a failure, the decision had been made to transport this baby to Houston.  She would have to be travel via ambulance instead of helicopter because of inclement weather.  There was little hope that she would survive the trip.  As he talked, my mind wandered down the hall to her mom’s hospital room.  I wondered if she knew the gravity of her baby’s situation.  But for a few seconds after delivery, she had not seen her.  My heart ached as I looked down at her and wondered if she would leave this world without realizing how much her family loved her.  Would the only touch that she experienced be the mechanical touch of doctors and nurses that manipulated her body just long enough to carry out whatever procedure needed to be done?

   With the new ventilator in place, the wait for the ambulance began.  Her dad entered the unit again and stood as a sentinel.  With resolve that had all but slipped away, I quickly turned my back and busied myself.  Thankfully the nurse across the aisle asked for my assistance with another baby.  I noticed tears in her eyes.  I asked if she was okay.  She told me that her husband had left her that evening.  I tried to offer comfort from a heart that was already bruised and bleeding.  She wiped her eyes and went on to say that even so, her problems were small compared to what this family was experiencing.  That was all I could take.

   “That is my brother.”  It came out as a whisper.  “And she is my niece.  I need to go be with my family.”

Front Row Seat to a Miracle: Part 2

   In spite of all the lines that protruded from her little body, she was beautiful - with a head covered in black ringlets.   I wanted so badly to distance myself from this one, in order to make my job a little easier, but she had already taken up residency in my heart.  And this night, everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. 

   Even though she was heavily sedated, she was hypersensitive to any stimulation.  If she was touched, talked to, or if she heard the alarms on any of the equipment, her heart rate would drop perilously low.  The pressure that we had to ventilate her lungs with was so high, that she was at major risk of suffering blindness.  I watched the normally confident neonatologist pacing.  He had not left the hospital since she was born that morning.  What had started out as a wonderful day to celebrate the promise of a new life had slowly changed as the day wore on.  And now the promise was dimmed to the point of being snuffed out. 

   As I worked, I prayed, ever in quiet conversation with God.  As anyone in the medical profession will agree, there is a place that you retreat to that allows you to carry out the necessary duties to sustain life without the interference of emotion.  This night, would not find me there.  I silently called out to God on her behalf.  I asked for God’s mercy for her family.  My heart was in torment as I watched her dad stand with head bowed and shoulders trembling with silent sobs.  I listened as the doctor spoke in anguish about being at a loss for what to do.  “We have done all we can.  This family trusts me.”  I thought to myself, “You have no idea…”

Front Row Seat to a Miracle

   For the past few hours, I had watched him.  Each time he had walked into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, he was a little more undone.  I dared not approach him, even though my heart screamed out to go to him, to hug him, and to cry with him.  But, that was not an option. 

   He was the daddy of a brand new baby girl.  She was a full-term baby, healthy by all appearances, that for no good reason, was fighting for her life.  She was one of a small percentage of Caesarean delivered infants that suffer from hyaline membrane disease.  Her lungs were not developed enough to sustain her life.  Because of that, she was one of my patients.  As a Respiratory Therapist, I was responsible for monitoring the life support equipment, as well as, her heart and lungs, and arterial blood gases.

   With two preschoolers at home, I found that the 11-7 graveyard shift worked for me.  I would put my babies to bed before I left for work and would be home before breakfast.  This night would be unlike any I had ever worked before or since.  As I took report that night, the Therapist from the previous shift minced no words.  “We’ve got a kid going bad. The unit is full, but this one will take your full attention. Doc is weighing the options at this point, but, it doesn’t look good.  And just so you know, Dad has been given to permission to come and go as he pleases as long as his doesn’t approach the bed.  He stands over at the nurses’ station and watches.  It’s really sad.”   These bits of information were passed along so that while we performed our jobs, we could do so with the utmost sensitivity.  “Which baby?” I asked.