Open Heart Surgery

   When I was a child my summers were defined by how often I could go swimming.  I loved to swim!   We never had a pool of our own but what we did have was a swimming hole.    Always!  There was nothing better than cooling off on a hot summer day in the freezing creek water.  Finding the right spot was a yearly ritual that always ended with a dip in the newly cleared swimming hole.  I have such fond memories of swimming, being nibbled on by curious perch, and picnicking—all wonderful remembrances except for one.…the journey there.   Before we could get to that place of sweet relief, we had to travel through the woods on a road that wasn’t really a road.  It was more like a trail, a treacherous trail.  There were spots along the way that were huge mud holes that would have me fearing that our truck, in which we were all piled, would simply sink to the roof.  There were also stretches of washed out areas that seemed like holes large enough to swallow the truck.  One such place was loving named Open Heart Surgery because that is exactly how it looked.  In my childlike mine we were traversing this dangerous trek that required me to hold my breath, pray silently, and hang on!! (That’s right, I was usually in the bed of the truck, sometimes on the tailgate and I’m not ashamed to say it!!)  Bravery was found in knowing that I could trust my dad to get us through the mud holes and washouts and never leave us stranded.  Because of my trust in him, I eagerly looked forward to what lay just on the “other side”— our much- loved swimming hole. 

   I often relish the memories that were made along the way and consider how like our faith journey were those experiences.  In this fallen world in which we live, there can be joy in the journey!  Sometimes there will be scary places and unpleasant things we must traverse.   Even so, just beyond this life…the sweet relief of Heaven awaits.  Our bravery can be found in the One who has promised that He would never leave us or forsake us.

When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.  When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown.  When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.     

Isaiah 43:2

Bread Crumbs

Bread crumbs.  I’m following bread crumbs, just like Hansel and Gretel.  The bread crumbs I’m following were previously placed on the path by me.  These are not just any crumbs…they are from the Bread of Life.  Each crumb represents a blessing, or an answered prayer, or a mountaintop experience in Christ, or a newly learned nugget of wisdom, or a moment when grace poured over me, or a time when God’s Presence was palpable, or instances when forgiveness brought relief from burdens I should have never brought into my life.  I am so thankful for these small beacons.  They light the path when I cannot see. 

Sometimes the way is well lit and following is no problem.  The path is bright and there is no doubt which way to go, which turn to make, and which answer we need.  Conversely there are other times the path is almost invisible…ALMOST.  These are the times we must navigate by faith, not by sight.  That’s where bread crumbs come in handy.  Each remembrance of God’s faithfulness illuminates the way when it seems God is silent and distant. Presently, I walk a darkened path, even so, I see through eyes of faith that compel me to move forward while considering God’s faithfulness in the past.

He Will Make A Way

I love it when scripture leaps from the page!  Several days ago, God gave John and I Isaiah 43:16-19 as our theme verses for 2016. 

                                ¹⁶ This is what the Lord says—
                                 he who made a way through the sea,
                                    a path through the mighty waters,
                                                ¹⁷ who drew out the chariots and horses,
                                    the army and reinforcements together,
                                and they lay there, never to rise again,
                                  extinguished, snuffed out like a wick:
                                                ¹⁸ “Forget the former things;
                                  do not dwell on the past.
                                                ¹⁹ See, I am doing a new thing!
                                 Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
                                I am making a way in the wilderness
                                 and streams in the wasteland.

We committed to remembering these words as we face whatever this year holds. But that was a week ago and how quickly I forgot…

Sadly, today  I find myself in what seems like an impossible situation that could very well take me off the treatment that in recent days (through testing) has shown to have decreased the high pressure in my lungs by half—a pressure my lungs have not felt in 17 years.  This issue has been one that has been mounting over the past couple of months and today served as what seems like the last nail in the coffin of this treatment. And yet, today was one of those days that God spoke directly to my heart with great clarity, “I AM.”

I spent the day, when I wasn’t on the phone with various caseworkers, insurance people and pharmacy reps,  in a place that is best described in 2 Corinthians 4:8, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair.”  In a way, numb-- kind of incredulous, not understanding why this would be happening when the treatment was working so well...

  

And later this evening, that was the frame of mind I found myself in as I relayed what had happened to my son, Zane.  As I was texting, a song came to mind from the past and I began to sing (rather absent mindedly) the words--

               

                God will make a way

                Where there seems to be no way

                He works in ways we cannot see

                He will make a way for me

Suddenly, I began to listen to those words…where did that come from?...a song imbedded in my memory from years ago.  Gee, the writer was speaking directly to me and my situation.  Where did he get those words that were so soothing to my soul?  As I began to research the song, my breath was literally taken away…the songwriter based this song on…Isaiah 43.  The very scriptures that God had given me to lean on were reiterated in lyrics brought to mind 14 years later.  So with frame of mind in check and heart overflowing, I look forward to seeing “the way He will make”!

Things Aren't Always as They Seem

The year was 1973.  I was a new creation, having professed faith in Christ at the age of nine.  The revival at our church that began a few days after my decision set the stage for memories that will be with me for life.  Freddie Gage... Pulpit in the Shadows Ministries...straight from Houston into small town America and I was all eyes and ears as the revival began.

Sunday morning, I took my place conspicuously on the front row, directly in front of the pulpit.  I now realize this was my parents’ doing because they both sang in the choir.  From that distance, I was still able to receive an effective dose of the ‘look of death’ from the choir loft that would put an end to the inappropriate behavior in which I may have been engaged.  Not that I am confessing…I am just saying I was told to sit on the front row and there were a few times that I got the “head slightly  tilted-lips pursed-barely detectable nod –that screamed “DON’T MAKE ME COME OUT OF THIS CHOIR LOFT”.   Even so, I was there soaking up every word as a new believer. 

I was mesmerized as the evangelist began to talk about a life that was spent ministering to folks that like him had been in the shadows of society.   Stan Redding is quoted in the preface of Freddie’s 1970 book, Pulpit in the Shadows, as having said, 

“Freddie Gage is an ordained minister of the Gospel. But there his link with religious convention is severed. In the legions of the Lord, he is a rebel. In the staid hierarchy of the ministry, he is a non-conformist. In the carefully thought-out, polished oratory of the pulpit, his is the rash and dissident voice.
Before the Bar of Heaven, Freddie Gage is the “mouthpiece” for the hustler, the prostitute, the dope fiend, the hood, the killer, the alcoholic, the scuffler, the restless and the troubled. His story is – of necessity – the story of those who people the shadowy domain which society, properly or improperly, terms the “underworld,” where Freddie Gage has set up his pulpit.”

As he preached, I cannot help but believe my mouth was probably a gape.  He used the “cool” vernacular of the day and was unlike any preacher I had ever heard. 

As the invitation ended with many flooding the aisles, I stood taking it all in.  WOW!  This was like nothing I had seen. And according to Freddie, there was more in store.  It was at the end of that first service that he uttered the words that I knew would somehow change my life.  He laid out the plans for the week and talked about different people from his ministry that would be coming to our church and giving their story of redemption from a life bound by sin.  And then he said it…the highlight of the week…he would be bringing in a young man ‘with a monkey on his back.’

At first, I thought I had heard wrong.  But, as he continued to talk I realized he was talking about MY Church!  He was coming to MY Church!  This was beyond my hopes and dreams.  I had been asking Santa for a monkey for some time.  I dearly loved “Cheetah” on Tarzan and I wanted a chimp of my own! This would be my one chance to get up close and personal with a monkey and I could not contain myself! 

Throughout the week, I daydreamed of this man with a monkey.  How long had it been on his back?  Why was it there?  Why wouldn’t it get off his back?  Although I didn't understand what was so bad about having a monkey on your back, I knew I was really good with animals and I was the one person who could coax that cute, little chimpanzee right off his back and into my arms…it was going to be a great week.

And then the day came.  At the proper time, Freddie introduced a young man that made his way to the pulpit.  He began to talk about a life that had been wrecked with drugs and loss.  He talked of how through the outreach of Pulpit in Shadows, he had come to know the Lord.  I listened intently to what he had to say, all the while straining to get a glimpse of his back.  For a monkey, it sure was quiet.  And then, the young man moved to return to his seat and in full view of everyone…was his back…sans a monkey.

I was so disappointed.  All week long I had dreamed about what it would be to hear from a man ‘with a monkey on his back” and instead, we had heard from a drug addict.  Deflated on the way home, my mom explained that having a ‘monkey on your back’ actually meant you were addicted to drugs.  The man had clearly stated what torment his life had been.

I grew a little that evening.  I learned that things aren’t always what they seem and that God is even bigger than a ‘monkey on someone’s back”.  I also learned that maybe monkeys were not all they were cracked up to be… and just maybe Santa had been wise to overlook that request on my list.

The Hummingbird

The conversation had been interrupted by the shadow that intermittently passed by the transoms looking out onto the patio.  Could it have been a wasp or possibly a wayward butterfly?  My parents and I picked up the conversation where we had left it.  The last few months had been hard, a struggle – physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  And as usual, our conversation was both cathartic and just plain fun.

Spiritually, I was in a desert.  I had allowed circumstances that I had no control of to rob me of joy.  During my quiet time, I had begun to pray the first half of Psalm 51:12, “Restore to me the joy of Your salvation…”  I needed to remember the full extent of what Christ did for me.  The things going on around me had so captured my attention that I felt hidden away.  And I knew if I could be reminded again of His great love, refreshment would come.  This was the place I found myself that day.

As we continued to talk, I walked to the patio door and looked out to see a hummingbird traversing the perimeter of the patio, either unable or unwilling to fly out from under the overhang to freedom.  As I walked away from the door, it disappeared from sight.  Thinking it had finally found its way out, I turned back only to find that it had attached itself to the brick- wings outstretched- to cup the wall. 

Immediately, a rescue attempt ensued.  Broom in hand, I attempted to get the bird to attach to the straw end so that I could gently remove him before my cat did.  As the broom neared the bird, he let go and fluttered down to the window sill near where I stood.  I reached down to pick him up believing at any moment he would dart out of reach and be gone.  Instead he lay perfectly still.

It wasn’t until I picked him up that I realized he was bound, beak to tail feathers, by spider webs.  Every part of his tiny body was affected by the silken threads.  I proceeded to my sewing room to put him under the magnifying glass and light to carefully pluck off the webs with tweezers.  My mom, who just happens to be a hummingbird aficionado, took to the kitchen to make nectar for his recovery.  As I worked, he continued to lay motionless, though his eyes were bright and watching everything going on around him. 

Once the webs were gone and he was allowed to drink the nectar we set out to release him in my back yard.  I took him near a bush that was covered with blooms and carefully opened my hand.  He didn’t move.  Not knowing what to do, I brought him back inside.  It occurred to me that my hand is rather small and though I was trying not to, I was certain that my grip was too tight.  There was not enough space to keep him confined, in the event he suddenly recovered, and yet room to breathe.  It was then that I placed him in my dad’s hands. 

Once again, we took him outside and as my dad stretched out his hand, the tiny bird took flight and landed on the lowest limb of a nearby tree.  He peered at us for a few moments and then disappeared in a blur.

Soon after, my parents headed home and I was left with my thoughts of the close encounter with the hummingbird.  It was then that I heard the voice that speaks directly to my heart and understanding followed.  God used one of His tiniest creations to answer the prayer that had been on my lips that very day. 

You see, He reminded me that just as the hummingbird was bound by the webs, before I accepted Christ as my Savior, I was bound by sin.  The little bird had completely surrendered his will to mine when he fluttered to the window sill, trusting me.  Likewise, unable to save myself, only the complete surrender of my will to Jesus' was necessary to make me whole again.  What I did for the hummingbird, in plucking the bindings that had disabled him, is what Jesus did for me on the cross.  He freed me from the sin that “so easily entangles.”  And finally, just as I placed the hummingbird in my dad’s hands, true freedom came for me when Jesus placed me in the “Father’s hands”.  

 I will not soon forget that experience. Thankfully, it is not exclusively MY reminder, but a picture of a love so great that He would set aside His life as a ransom for that which was lost.

John 10:29

Hebrews 12:1

Honesty Is Always the Best Policy, Conclusion

 …Very long story short, the Circle of Concerns came to a screeching halt that day.  That was not our intent.  But, in fact, the principal had NOT been aware of the practice and was none too pleased that this teacher had chosen to keep her students indoors while the other first graders were at recess.  There were no cross words spoken that day.  But, the way the teacher carried herself and responded to her supervisor, in front of us, created, in me, a general distrust.  Throughout the next several months,   I made myself available for homeroom stuff and each time I came away with the sense that she was stuck in a job that she really did not relish. 

   Imagine my unease when one day our son came home with a permission slip for a field trip…to HOUSTON.  Unable to go as a chaperon,  I worked myself into a dither imagining my son in her care…would she allow the frustrations of any trip with children to cloud her judgment?  Would she watch after him as I would? Absolutely not!  I was deathly afraid of her watching after my child on a field trip that far from home.  The only answer was to keep him home that day.  And that’s what I did.

  The next day, I was presented with a dilemma.  Being the rule follower that I was, I knew I had to provide the school an excuse for his absence.  What would I write?  As I discussed this with my husband, I failed to notice the two big ears that were tuned in like radar to our conversation. 

My husband ever the pragmatist, said, “Just say we kept him home because we did not want him to go on the field trip.” 

I answered back, “Then his teacher will know for sure we don’t trust her.”

He said, “We don’t.”

I said, “I know, but I don’t want her to know it.  I think that I will just say we kept him home because he had a temperature.”

“So you would rather tell a lie?” he asked.

“He did have a temperature!” I shot back.  “It was 98.6”

 With a roll of his eyes, I knew he wasn’t in favor, but he left for work with no further protest.

   Excuse in hand, I dropped my son off at school and headed back home to begin my day.  Errands run, and housework begun the dilemma of what to write on his excuse was taken care of -- my mind was a million miles away.  So the phone call from the school caught me by surprise.  It was the nurse calling to say that my precious one had gotten sick to his stomach and had thrown up. Rushing to the school with concern for his well-being, the “little white lie” I had told was forgotten until I pulled open the front door.  In the foyer, I was confronted with a sight that sent cold chills down my spine. 

  I had developed a highly sensitive radar that signaled that something was about to come out of his mouth.  (Need I remind you of this boy’s proclivity to ‘big talk’?) Red lights were flashing and buzzers were going off in my head.  Quickly, I surveyed the situation and ran through the options that came to mind.    Too far away to scoop him up like a football and race for the door-- out of earshot—without looking like a complete nutcase, I soaked up the scene.  There he stood with his sweet little arms crossed standing in the midst of the principal, his reading teacher, and the school nurse.  As I drew near and attempted to speak with the ladies, he, very confidently, put his hands on his hips and quipped, “That’s what you get for lying to my teacher.” 

   Awkward.  Now how do you recover from that?  Being the super mom that I was, I very quickly took my leave from the ladies, knowing full well, they needed the opportunity to guffaw at what had just happened.  Like any loving mother, I reached out and put my arm around him and began to move him toward the front door.  What was unseen to those behind us, was the fact that I actually had him in a ‘vulcan death grip’.  Amazingly, he was rendered silent.  As the doors to the school closed behind us, I bent down and spoke gently into his ear.

  “Do you see that house there across the street?”

He nodded in the affirmative.

I whispered, “You had better be thankful that we do not live there.  As it stands, I will have time to cool off before we get home…otherwise, if we lived in that house across the street, I would blister your behind before we got in the front door.”

   It was then that I recognized the ‘death grip’ on my own heart. I was upset with my first grader for calling me out on a lie.  Even though my motive was pure, I was wrong.  Scripture says that “out the mouths of babes you have ordained praise”.  In that moment, “conviction of wrongdoing” proceeded from the mouth of my own “babe”.  

   Humiliation and conviction together are almost too much! It was enough to stop me in my tracks and prevent me from following through with my very viable threat.  We did have an earnest conversation concerning his mouth, and I reminded him, again, that he was indeed only 7 years old.  21 years later the whole incident is relayed as one of many Personal Moments of Parental Failure.  I shall never forget that day and the lesson that I learned…truly honesty is ALWAYS the best policy.

Honesty Is Always the Best Policy : Part 2

    ……and what was this teacher going to do with her first graders concerns?   After conferring with my husband, it was decided that he would make an appointment to see the teacher.  This was our first (and no, not last) foray into “childhood education concern-ville”.  I had recently read an article about schools integrating yoga into their P.E. classes and I was convinced the Circle of Concerns was a mystical first step into transcendental meditation.  (Did I mention that due to the very recent birth of Wil, my hormones were through the roof?) Needless to say, John was more than willing to get to the bottom of this, what was probably a harmless, situation, to ease my mind.

   Unfortunately, when he returned home, I could tell he had more concerns than when he left.  As it turned out, this particular teacher was keeping her class in from recess to conduct her “Circle of Concerns”—light out—candle in the middle of the circle—OF FIRST GRADERS!!  INSTEAD OF RECESS??  Evidently she was very abrupt with my husband and none too pleased that she had been questioned about it.  According to her, hers was the only first grade class that had adopted the practice.   It was something she started with the blessing of the Principal and she was kind enough to offer John the chance to take it up with her.  He was more than happy to oblige with the added caveat that when the appointment with the Principal was made, she, the teacher, would be in that meeting, as well.

   We had been so spoiled to his Kindergarten teacher.  She had been stellar and we had expected nothing less from this teacher.  No, initially, this one  had not been as personable but, neither had she been a nightmare.  As we sat across from the principal’s desk, she assured us that, although the other classes were full and we could not move him, she felt certain we could work out the issue.  My heart began to lighten as we awaited his teacher’s arrival in the meeting.  I envisioned us forging a bond that would bring us together in the common goal of educating our eldest…Until she walked in the door.

   An empty chair sat to my immediate right and it was the dirty sneaker that first caught my eye.  The dirty sneaker on her foot, that whizzed by my head.  The same dirty sneaker, connected to the leg, of which she hiked over the back of the chair next to me.  With a masterful leap frog maneuver she plopped down in the chair beside me and folded her arms across her chest, all professionalism hopping right out the window.  Two things crossed my mind: #1 This is not good.  #2 This is really not good...(to be continued)

Honesty is Always the Best Policy

   “I get to light the candle tomorrow.”  It was a statement made quite matter-of-factly by my first grader as I was bathing his week old brother.

   “Huh?”

   “Mrs. White said I could light the candle tomorrow.”

   “With what ? ”  I asked.

   “A match,” He answered.

   Immediately, my mind was whisked away to that ‘Mama Bear’ place of WHAT? WHO WOULD TELL YOU, IT WAS OK FOR YOU TO LEARN TO STRIKE A MATCH WHEN THAT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN HERE?!?!  You see, the baby I was bathing was my THIRD son and John and I had put safeguards in place that would hopefully prevent any unfortunate circumstances like, oh let’s say, our boys BURNING OUR HOUSE DOWN, from happening.  Using matches was a no-no and why on earth would anyone tempt my six-year-old with that?

   Not wanting to let him see me sweat, I asked, “What candle?”

   “The candle in the circle of cu-surs.”

   Puzzled, I asked, “What is a circle of cu-surs?”

   “You know….it’s circle where we share our cu-surs.”

   “Why do you need a candle?”

   He seemed a little perturbed as he answered, “Because the light is off.”

   By now, I am beginning to get fidgety.  “What is a cu-sur?”

   With Ninja Turtle in hand, he explained, “Like Daniel.   His dog died and he shared it.  Or like when you get in trouble with your mom and dad..."

   I interrupted him, “Oh, you mean ‘concerns’!  The circle of concerns.”

   “Yes! Cu-surs!!  Miss White asks us if we have any cu-surs and we can talk about them.”

   Now, I am in panic mode.  This precocious child of mine whose mouth, on countless occasions, had been the source of much awkwardness was now given a daily platform and opportunity to dish on whatever he deemed a concern?!?!  Really?? This is the child that stood in my kitchen between my 8 ½ months pregnant belly and a plumber- with arms crossed demanding to know, “Are you kissing my Momma?!?”   This is the one that told his dad’s fellow employee that, “My momma is sleeping with customers”, when I was at a Ladies Sunday school class Slumber Party. (To which his dad quickly responded, “We do what we gotta do.”)  This precious angel is the same who, after having been threatened repeatedly to “whisper” in church, continued to talk out loud.  Upon picking him up and carrying him out, he—mid-sermon—yelled out, “HELP ME!” This is the one.   The blonde haired, blue eyed doll that for all I knew had already been sharing his concerns…and only heaven knows what those were. I could only imagine what he had shared about a spanking he had recently received………………………………………………to be continued

Gravel Face

   His name was Gravel Face.  He was the one thing that could strike terror, in my heart, at the mere mention of his name.  He was hideous and dangerous.  And unfortunately, he lived under my bed.  I never actually saw him…well at least with my eyes, but I knew he was real and that he was there…EVERY NIGHT.  During the day, I was safe.  But when night fell, danger lurked just below the antique four-poster in my room. 

   Every night was the same.  Standing at the door with my hand on the light switch, I calculated the distance I would have to run/jump to make it into the bed, while keeping my legs and feet just out of reach of his nasty hands.  With the skill of an Olympic triple-jumper, I would dash for bed, trying my best to beat the light.  In one motion, I would land in the bed and cover my head.  I was surrounded by an army of ever vigilant stuffed animals, whose sole mission was to protect me from You-Know-Who.  Long before Harry Potter was created… He Who Must Not Be Named was my enemy-- and I would not mention his name out loud.

   Unfortunately, just about the time my heart would calm and I would venture out from under the security of the cover, our nighttime ritual – just like the Waltons- would begin.

   “Good night, Suzy! Good night, Ricky and Robby!”

     I would quickly answer, “Goodnight, Mama!  Goodnight, Daddy!  Good night, Ricky and Robby!”

   And then, my brothers would answer, “Goodnight, Mama! Goodnight, Daddy!  Goodnight, Suzy!...Goodnight, Gravel Face!”

   And that is the moment I would turn to stone.  No movement, just a constant stare into the dark waiting for the moment of my demise.  Somewhere in the night, sleep would come and I would wake up the next morning in virtually the same position in which I had landed the night before.  Happy for the bright daylight, I would go about my day without a thought about him until nighttime.

   Finally, my parents put an end to Gravel Face.  My mom gave me a small antique lamp made of pink glass.  It was in the shape of a lady wearing hoop skirt, holding an umbrella.  Magical!  Sitting it on my nightstand would not do.  No, I put that gem under my bed.  In fact, from then on, my room was bright at night!  My bed looked as though it sat upon a cloud of neon.  It was awesome!  No more Gravel Face.

   I lost track of that life-saving lamp.  And it wasn’t until last year, some 40 years later, that while visiting one of my aforementioned torturers, I meant, brothers, did I come across that lamp again.  This time in an antique store, and yes, I bought it.  And just in the nick of time.

   The last few months have been a struggle.  It seems that I have hit a speed bump with my health.  Pulmonary Hypertension has taken the place of Gravel Face, and recently, I have experienced that awful feeling of turning to stone.  Monday, I will undergo my 6^th heart catheterization, to monitor the progression of this disease.  Statistically, I am living on borrowed time, and yet, I believe that God gave the lamp back to me as a reminder. 

   My parents had given me light to vanquish the scariest thing in my life, a childhood monster named Gravel Face.  Thankfully, my Heavenly Father brought me from darkness into light, so that I no longer fear the dark.   Monday will be terrifying, but I am confident in Him. I am thankful that as I lay upon the gurney in that Cath Lab, I will be surrounded, engulfed, and wrapped in the warm light of His love.

You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.  Psalm 18:28 

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.