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?