Surgery on my heart...a tough season.

     It was a week before my upcoming surgery, and I was a total mess. The pain in my right eye was preventing me from wearing my contact and my reading glasses. I was having such intense headaches that I literally couldn’t read anything for days. 
     I had also been diagnosed with one-sided deafness. I'm 84% deaf in my left ear. (This has it's own story), but over this last week, the noisy room full of children, which is usually just hard, has become raging river of echo’s and roars. Chaos inside my head. 
     These things, however, dim compared to what I want to share with you now.    

    Back in Jan. I began to taste weird things in my throat.  When I walked into certain places I could taste metals in my mouth. I could taste it in my food for days. Other times, when I was around chemicals, bleach and other cleaning agents, my neck would start to spasm, my throat would constrict, and then my head would ache for hours. 

     It all came to a head in Houston Texas at the Siesta Scripture conference. I had been memorizing Scripture with the LPM ladies and had been looking forward to going to the conference with my sister for months.
    A few hours into the teaching with Beth Moore at the First Baptist church, I was so sick that I asked my sister to take me to the Chapel and pray for me. 

     Back in Dallas on Sunday, I went forward at my sisters Gateway church for prayer. I was ushered to a precious couple in their eighties, and as I stepped forward, they each reached out to hold one of my hands.  
     I told them I was scared. That something was really wrong with me. 
     They spoke simultaneously.  “I think you're having a strong allergic reaction to something." And they prayed for me.  

     I had never even considered that, but as soon as they spoke the words, my fear fled, and I had great peace. As the day went on, God reminded me of something I had read in my Juicing book but had forgotten about. When I got home I dug out the book. There was one small section that I had highlighted. "Take it slow. I got really sick when I started this.Your organs are going to release their toxins."

I had not taken it slow.
     Come to find out, my allergic reaction to chemicals and perfumes was near anaphylactic level by the time it was treated, but that's another story. 

     But back to Huston, picture me in a very large church full of beautiful ladies that love hairspray and perfume. I am smiling now, but I that night I wasn't. That night I was scared. 

     I now believed I could at least deal with whatever was happening to me, but I was sicker than I had ever been in my life.  I had no energy. I was exhausted.  I could barely do my job and if someone looked me in the eye, I started to weep. I have never been so thankful to be in communion with women of faith. Their love and prayers simply kept me going.   

     Then the Wed. morning before my surgery came and I opened my eyes. Even before my feet hit the floor, I knew that God had done something in my body.
     Walking to the bathroom I felt light and energetic. I hadn’t felt that way in months. 

     I was able to put in my contact in. And that afternoon, the classroom noise was just loud. 
I climbed into bed that night praising God for what He had done. 
   On Fri., just two days before my cardiac ablation, I had a deep feeling that the reprieve in my allergic reactions might be just temporary, that I wasn't done with all that yet, but I also told two friends that day that I believed God was saving me from something. I felt deep down that it had to do with my upcoming heart surgery, and it did.

     That part of the story will follow, and will always be remembered as a memorial stone I planted. A memorial stone that is shaped like my heart. I am now going to dig a deep hole into the ground of remembrance and plant it.      And for me, as I go back and sit there, I sometimes hold in my hand the precious gift my friend Peggy gave me. It's a small red rock shaped like a heart. She mailed it to me before my surgery. And as I do, I will always remember the blister on my back and what God did.

Planting a heart-shaped memorial stone…Part Two

 

 

     

  Well I can. That one blister represented what God saved me from.  

    

      I have a scar on my back.  Just one single scar.  It is the remnant of a blister that I received during my recent heart surgery and the cause of the only real pain I felt throughout the whole ordeal.  The doctor was asked twice how I got it, and his answer was the same both times. “It’s an allergic reaction.” He told the nurse, “Either from the blue pads or the chemical glue that was on them.”  

     “But the pads were all over me.” I said when the nurse came back from asking the doctor the second time, “My chest and back and stomach were covered with them. "Why would I have only have one spot that reacted?”

    “That’s the weird part," she said shaking her head. "No one can answer that."

    
     Well... I can. That one blister represented what God saved me from.  I rubbed my fingers over it every day and when it popped it hurt like heck and was so tender that I wore a bandage over it for days.  

    The skin that was pink and soft is now red and rough, but it makes me smile because I know I should have been be covered with them.  

     I want it to stay forever. 
     However, whether the remnant scar remains or not, the blister is a memorial stone story that God crafted inside the greatest "Story-teller" room of all and I was there. I was with him as it got imprinted deep into my spirit with all it truth and promise. 
     So the memorial stone I plant and hold might be shaped like a heart, but to me, it will always look like the blister on my side. 

I was just headed home...

     Today was one of those days so I've decided to tell you it's story. I believe it is worth the telling and the remembering.
      I really wanted to show you the story of this day with pictures, but instead, I'm gonna have to put on my big girl pants and use my words so you are going to have to use your imagination.
   
     "Where you lead I will follow. Anywhere, that you you tell me to. When you need, you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead."
     These words are from a song by Carol King, but today, I sang them to Jesus.

     I was just headed home...
   
     "You should drive up to Rock Creek Lake. It's really beautiful today."
     I pass Tom's place restaurant and slow the truck. Hmmm...
     I make the turn.
     20 minutes later I sit in a line of traffic behind the flag man.
     The road is torn up. It's bumpy and dusty and I am irritated. "Really...and why am I here?"
     I pull into "Pie in the Sky" restaurant, let out a big sigh of frustration, and park.
   
     "Go inside and get a piece of pie."
   
     I need a bathroom.
     But I go inside and a lady is fussing about the pie menu. She wants peach. It's written right there, she says and points. It's barely 10 oclock. Why is peach crossed out?
     A couple behind me complain. I am not the only one who doesn't like the road work.      
     So I go outside to the bathroom, do my business, and head to the car. I am dreading the drive back down the dusty construction road.

     "Go inside and get a piece of pie. Take it down to the lake."

     So I sigh, give in, and stand at the counter.

I'm now  behind the fussy lady. She is upset t about the peach pie.
     The young man behind the counter is trying to be kind so he walks away and comes back. Yeah, I checked with the pie guy again, he said. No more Peach.
  
     I don't really like any of the pie choices either, but its my turn. I step up and ask, Rhubarb or Banana Cream?
     Rhubarb. He answers without hesitation.
     I order a piece.
     20 minutes and $7.50 later I get back in the truck with my pie in the sack and know in my heart that I am  just as fussy as the lady who wanted Peach, and I drive to the lake.
     I get out of the car carrying my sack of pie and my phone and my keys.
    S I walk I catch a sight of the lake and I sigh. It is beautiful.

     There is a place in the sun right at the waters edge and so I go and I sit and I open my sack.
   
     "Put your feet in."
   
     And so I do. And I take a bite.
     It might be the best pie I ever tasted.

     (Here is a pretend picture of my feet in water with a half eaten piece of pie in my lap and a lake glistening like diamonds in the sun.)
      I eat most of the pie and flutter my feet back and forth in the water.
     I lean back, hold my face in the sun, realize I feel good and know this a good and beautiful thing. A God designed thing.

     "Walk with me."

     And so I do.
          (Here is another pretend picture of the fly fishermen I run into, five of them, thigh deep and arranged perfectly in a geometric pattern in the water by the big rock.)
 It stops me and I take a deep breath.
     I walk for an hour and it is beautiful and I take lots of pictures.
     I am happy and have forgotten about being disappointed. About being discouraged.
     Thank you Lord.
     I get back in the car and I am the first one at the flagger with the stop sign.
     I don't even care and I smile. His beard is long like the Duck Dynasty guys and his smile is just as genuine.
     Thank you Lord.

     "Stop at the campground."

     I choose the lower rather than the upper campground and park near the lodge. The wildflowers are in crazy bloom. Purple like I have never seen. Long grass in shades of green I can't even describe grow around the trees with the light... oh the light. Just so...
     And the creek...so loud and foamy and dancing. I close my eyes and listen.
     And then I walk.
     And I see and I snap...

     "Get off the path. Go down by the waters edge."
   
     Really? I look down at my rubber flip flops and too long sweat pants already wet around the bottom. And my foot hurts. I was just headed home.

     "You love adventure. So go down to waters edge."
   
     For the next two hours I am off the beaten path. Following a most beautiful creek ducking under branches, climbing over slippery rocks, holding onto tree trunks as I step around and see the most beautiful light and beautiful things and I am smiling.

     "Does your foot hurt?"
     

     No. It doesn't hurt at all. I am happy. All alone and surrounded by glory. The water is so clear. A huge trout nips and plays chase with little ones. The colors of the creek water go from white to turquoise blue to every shade of green you can imagine and the long green grass has so many shades and the wildflowers and...I pull my Maui Jim sunglasses off my eyes just to make sure...and... I am awestruck.

    (I have no words for what these photos looked liked. Just picture the most beautiful creek and grasses that you can imagine)

     When I take my next steps in the thigh high grass, the water suddenly hits the middle of my calf and my foot comes out of the sticky mud without a sandal. I hear a swooshing sound and I laugh.
   
     (Here is a pretend picture of my legs in the deep grass, my foot coming up naked, and my hand holding so tight to my phone that I have a cramp. I'm so worried I'm going to drop it.) But I laugh again.

     "You want adventure."

     Yes, I do. And I smile. But I'm not sure how far I've walked and going forward from here means I might have to wade in waist deep water across the creek. I would be soaked. And so...I turn around.

     I get back to the car and eat the rest of the pie. It's almost three-thirty and I'm hungry.
     When I get home I eat and sit down with my phone. I can't wait to see the pictures.
   
     There are no pictures.

     I spend the next three hours in Bishop at the AT&T store.
     My device storage is full although my camera is set to copy to my SD card which holds all my photos and has 3.11 GB of memory left. He is baffled. I am about to cry.

     I go home with no pictures. No pictures of my amazing God day.

     But then what I realize as I wrestled around with all of this is his that this day was not about the pictures. It was about God. Who He is. What He does. How He speaks to me. Do I want to show you what He showed me today? Yes. because it was glorious, but I can't. Does that change what God did for me today and what He showed me? No. It does not.

     I was just headed home.
     But God had a different plan.
     Thank you Lord...  
   

The greatest stories ever told.

 I love a good story. Really love them. If you give me one, I will usually jump right in to the pages and often linger there between the lines.  And, it's often in these places, that the story takes me down a side road.

    Now please come back in time with me and picture Noah building the Ark.  The scholars say that it took approximately 75 years to built the boat and that it was around 450 feet long. It is however, the years of life not described in the scriptures, where I sit between the lines. I know that Noah was called by  God to do this huge and incredible task, but the people around him were not. His wife was not. His sons and their wives were not, and yet for 75 years Noah continued to do the job God had assigned him.  What did they think about that?

     And so...

     What I can't help but think about and imagine are the whispered, and maybe not so whispered, words of the people who watched Noah do this. Did they think he was crazy? Was he talked about? I think they probably did, and that he was.  "The crazy old man has been doing that for 40 years," someone might tell a newcomer when they asked about the man and the boat.

     And then that day arrived. The day the animals began to show up on the horizon. l thought about this for a very long time. Can you imagine it? Scripture says they arrived two by two and scholars say this probably happened over the course of 7 days. I picture the looks on peoples faces and the gasps they made as the creatures headed together toward the Noah's boat. Giraffe's and elephants, lions and tigers and bears, "Oh my." The town gossipers must have been sleep deprived and exhausted. 

     And then there's Jonah. He spent 3 days in the belly of a whale. He did this alone. No one was watching, but boy do I want to have a talk with Jonah about that one day.

     And then there was a King who heated a furnace 7 times hotter than usual to burn 3 Jewish men who refused to bow to his image. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were tied together and thrown into the flames. I'm sure many people were watching this horrendous thing unfold.  Inside the furnace, the men prayed and praised and the King saw 4 men walking around inside the flames. The solders who placed them in the fire were burned to death, so the King ordered the men to come out, and not a single hair on their heads were singed. 

     And then there's Daniel. He survived being thrown into a pit of hungry lions because an Angel came and closed their mouths. Can you imagine that moment? A stadium full of spectators waiting for Daniel to be ripped apart and devoured. I try to imagine the looks on their faces, their whispers, their unbelief.

     And then there is that Holy Night in Bethlehem where the greatest story of all begins.  I have thought about that night so much since taking part in the "Bethlehem Walk." What an incredible experience that was for me. And inside this greatest of story, I find myself settling in where the Magi finally get to meet the Savior of the world. 

     Scholars say that when the Magi arrived, they found the young child in a home and that Jesus was probably around 2 years old.  I wonder what they found Jesus doing? Was he toddling around outside playing with a stick? Was he watching his Father Joseph make a table? Was he playing with his brother James?  Maybe he was sitting in Mary's lap.  And when the Magi handed the precious gifts to the child did Jesus understand what they meant? Did he understand who the men were? Who he was? A two-year old little boy who was also God. Perhaps he did.

     And when Jesus was 4 and 5, did he climb trees and throw rocks and play sword games with sticks like other boys his age? Did Mary and Joseph worry about him like other parents do? He didn't run away to the synagogue until he was 12. Did he look and act different to the world before then? I have to believe that he did. How could he not?  And yet, wasn't he also just a little boy?

     I believe one day I'll get answers to the questions I ponder. The things that lie between the lines of the, "Greatest stories ever told." Until then, I'll continue my journey of imagining, and questioning and being in love with the stories of God. In all His power, in all His glory, He gave us the greatest gift of all. The baby born in a stable during a cold and possibly rainy night in Bethlehem that saved the world.

     Merry Christmas

And so...I Iron

I think I was 10 when I learned to iron. It was 1967 and it became my main chore. I started with my Dads handkerchiefs. He left for work everyday with a crisp white one folded into his pants pocket. The next thing were the pillowcases. We were a family of five, so there were quite a few. Even at that age there was something relaxing about the warm steam and then the reward of the smooth fabric underneath my touch. As I got better at it, Mom let me iron Dad's white work shirts with just the right amount of spray starch on the collar  and cuffs. It felt like a work of art to complete one masterfully. 

     Anyway...flash forward to yesterday and today. 

     I've been ironing our bedding. I'll explain why another time, but I've been bombarded with memories spending hours behind the ironingboard. At times I felt like I could even smell my house. The one I ironed in. And the smell of our fresh cut grass through an open window. There was something precious and right and good about the way I grew up, with church and family and dinner around the table together every night. Homemade clothes sewn by my mother with love. These were the important things. I learned so much from my Mom and Dad as they instilled in me the things of love and family and manners and responsibility.

    I've  taken a break from the ironing for now. One bed to go, but its hard work and I'm tired.

But my heart...my heart is full!!

It's time...

     On the night of this second political debate, with only weeks until the United States of America picks a new President to lead our country, I am at a loss.
     Confession... I've never been political. In fact, if you asked me how I felt about politics,  I would tell you that I think it is currupt. I would then say that I had a very real dream about my 22 year-old nephew becoming a Senator in Texas and that I'm waiting for him to change the world.
     But all my life, as I think back over the passionate talks my mother and father had. I remember the great debates of my husband, first born daughter, and my son, and I've  often wondered what's wrong with me. Why aren't I passionate? Why don't I care?
     My mother and father raised four children. My brother Ron is 11 months older. He was my best childhood buddy and we were born in the same calendar year.  I'm the second oldest. The oldest of three girls born after.
     Whether this is relevant to my birth order or not, know that I listened to every conversation my parents ever had that I could get close enough to hear. We were Catholic, from both sides,  and I remember passionate and emotional discussions about the Kennedys, and birth control, and the way the world was turning. My mother and father became Democrats because of the Kennedy campaign. They had a genuine and integral belief that he was going to change the world.
     The day he was killed, the principle of our school arrived at the door of my Kindergardern class. He had tears in his eyes as he whispered into the ear of my teacher,  Mrs. Young. I knew something was very wrong as I watched tears form in her eyes also. After a moment, she told us that the President had been shot, and we were all going home.
      I don't really remember going home, but I assume my brother Ron and I walked  home together. What I do remember is walking in the door and finding Mom on her knees in front of the television weeping.
     I was 5. But I loved John F. Kennedy because my mother loved him.  She made beautiful clothes that looked like the clothes Jackie Kennedy wore. We all  believedin them. All of us.
     As children, we watch, listen and learn.
     It was many years later when the truth about JFK was revealed. His blatant infidelities, the politics of hiding it all, the scandal. I think that was the moment for me.  I was a young Mom. I think it was then that I gave up and no longer believed.
     I was a child in the sixties and it was a crazy time in the world. The Vietnam War.  Woodstock. Martin Luther King. The Klu Klux Clan. Revolution and mayhem was happening everywhere.  I was a child, but a young woman was forming inside me too. I began thinking for myself, questioning,  wondering.
      And so now here I am, more than 50 years later reminiscing on the night of this 2016 political debate.
     I sit on my back porch writing this as Paul pops his head out. "Honey, it's getting pretty ugly. I just texted Uncle Todd and..."
     And so now,  I'm hoping to make you laugh a little, but this is the truth.
     Confession number 2... I watch a show called, "Toddlers and Tiaras." It's a crazy show about a crazy world of little beauty queens. And it's often, much more about the Mothers than it is about the precious darlings in the pageant. I cant, however, stop watching it. The reason? In a different life, I could have been one of these Moms. Thankfully,  God knew this and saved ReAnnon and I both. But know this...my first-born daughter was a stunning little girl. She was a beauty,  and in Oklahoma, beauty queens are pretty big deal.
      I'm closing with this, because in the last few episodes of the show these little girls rag on Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton, based on their family's political views. They state as fact what they hear at home and it makes me smile but also reminds me of a little girl who listened to conversations just like these.
     My parents talked with passion, and hope. There were wanting conversations about goodnees, and  righteous and change.
     So to end this, I just find myself thankful.  Thankful that God is greater than Donald or Hillary and all that is ugly in the world.  He saved me from becoming a "Toddlers and Tiaras" Mom, and He will save us through this election. I know His Sovergnicy goes beyond this moment in time.
     But as I study Heaven, it sure looks good. Some days more than others.
   But until then, may God bless America and help us all!
    
    

Three little sisters and a brother...

     Once upon a time, in a place called Oklahoma, there were three little sisters and one older brother who rode bikes without helmets. They had turtle races, caught amazing fat toads, played in the street without shoes until dark, and laid in the grass and stared at the sky. They danced on tables, sang, caught fireflies and put them in Miracle whip jars and sat them beside their beds as nightlights on warm summer nights. They laughed and cried. They scratched and pulled hair. They hugged and played. They were a family. 
    When the sisters and the brother grew into young woman and men, they each got married and moved away from the place they had laughed and cried and played and loved. 
     Years went by and the sisters and brother missed each other, but life moved forward as a new generation of family was born.
     Each of them had three babies. Each of the sisters, two daughters and a son. The brother, two sons and a daughter.
     And now, these daughters and sons are growing a third generation of little boys and little girls into a family. Brothers, sisters, and cousins who love each are having little boys and little girls who too will dance on tables, play games, catch Pokeman, pull each other's hair, and snapchat.
   And in the heart of this oldest sister lies a hope that these new sweet babies will also one day have the pure joy of catching fat toads, chasing lizards, find themselves with a mayonnaise jar of fireflies on their bedside table on a summer night, and stare up into clouds and find rabbits. May they lay under the stars on a warm summer night and dream.      

#lifeandlove #familiesandredemption
#athirdgenerationgrows