Goodness, as I logged onto my Blog today, I couldn't believe how long it has been since I've written a post! It's been an eventful spring and summer in our family.
In March, I met a cousin that none of us knew we had. She's the daughter of my uncle who died over 30 years ago. At the time of his death, he was divorced from the mother of his son - the cousin we knew about. She knew about her half-brother and that he had a larger family of aunts, uncles and cousins. Imagine our surprise when she found him via a Facebook search. Since then, we had our annual family Reunion in May - and she came with her husband and daughter. Absolutely one of the most wonderful things that has happened in our family in a very, very long time. What a blessing! And we are all so thankful that God brought her home to us.
In April, my husband and I went to visit our daughter in prison for the last time. She transferred to a halfway house back in our home state in June. She has a new job working at the front desk of a motel, but she's making herself useful there in many ways. Over the weekend, one of the toilets was broken beyond what a plunger would fix and the maintenance guys weren't quite sure how repair it. Mandy told the owner she could fix it and gave him a list of supplies she would need to do so. He had her call me to confirm that she had worked on a plumbing crew and really did know what she was doing. Armed with the supplies and a bit of elbow grease, she had the toilet running again in no time.
Mandy was originally interviewed for a housekeeping/laundry position at the motel. But the owner realized she had the ability to do much more. She's already reorganized the office by creating much-needed spreadsheets. Now, she's pinch-hitting with the plumbing. Her confidence is growing in leaps and bounds and I know my little eaglet is getting ready to fly on her own.
Next month, she will move into the motel in one of the efficiency apartment suites. This is her "fresh start". No one, other than the owner who hired her, knows of her past so there is no old reputation to live down. She's hundreds of miles away from old influences and determined not to seek those types in her new city. I'm so proud of her and the changes she has made in her life. And I'm confident that she's really going to soar now. I can't wait to see all the ways God will use her in the future.
In June, Hal and I went to visit our son, daughter-in-love, and three grandchildren in San Antonio. What a wonderful week that was! We got to watch the girls compete in 2 swim meets - the second one was their Division Finals Meet which was held at a local university's natatorium. Their team came in first place - so there was much celebrating! Our grandson had already finished his baseball season, so we didn't get to see him play this year. But, we had such a great visit with them. And we came home with a new car - an extremely fuel-efficient hybrid.
So far this month, I've made two trips. Hal and I went to visit Mandy in her new city. Because of halfway house rules - and her work schedule - we didn't get to spend a great deal of time with her over the weekend. But it was indeed quality time. Then I went to Houston to help my sister house hunt. She and her husband will be retiring in a couple of years and they wanted to go ahead and buy their retirement home. If I'm remembering correctly, we saw over 40 houses in 4 days. I laughed and told everyone that we were doing an entire season's worth of "House Hunters", the HGTV show. That was quite an experience!
Compared to Hal's and my cozy little cottage, these homes were mini-mansions. Most of them were very lovely, but there were a few quirky ones. There was one home in particular that belonged to a rather "artsy" couple. The home was filled with original art and sculpture. From the front of the home, you'd never guess at the whimsy contained within those walls.
As you stepped into the foyer, your eye was immediately drawn to the white marble floors and gently curved floating stairway to the second floor. What was unexpected was the gigantic neon cow on the foyer wall. It just didn't seem to be in character with the formal look of the marble. As we wandered through the rooms, we found all manner of other whimsical things in unexpected places. But there's one group of sculptures that still sets off the giggles in me.
From the foyer, the marble continued down a couple of steps into a beautifully appointed formal living room - white upholstered couch and chairs sitting upon a white rug. The fireplace was faced with the same polished white marble. There were huge floor to ceiling windows which looked out upon a large swimming pool. On the opposite side of the pool, between Grecian columns, there was a little bistro table with 2 chairs. So far, that's all "normal." However, sitting in the chairs were "The Blues Brothers" - full-sized, full-color statues of Dan Akroyd and John Belushi in characteristic costume. From the living room, it felt like they were staring at you all the time. That's one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life. (And a little creepy too.) My niece, an artist herself, wanted to know if the Blues Brothers stayed - 'cause she really liked them.
We didn't get to meet the couple who were selling the home, but I would have loved to have spent a few minutes with them. They must have a really interesting background - and probably are a hoot to be around. We did learn from the photos on the walls that their son is a Pulitzer Prize winner in the field of photography. And I can't help but wonder whether he's as quirky as his parents. My Sis elected not to purchase that home, so I guess we'll never know the story behind "The Rothchild".
They did eventually find "The One" and are currently waiting to "close" on the house next week. All-in-all, my visit there was quite special. My Sis lives overseas, so we only see one another when she and her husband are home for re-pat each year. It'll be wonderful to have her stateside all the time.
Now my summer is already at a close - work starts officially tomorrow morning. No more traveling for a while. I hope that wherever you are today, you are surrounded by family and friends.
I'll try not to stay away for so long again. <>< Marsha
Monday, July 25, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A Song of Remembrance
This is the time of year in our city when thoughts turn toward fundraising activities for St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. We have a long history of giving to St. Jude's and it always amazes me how much money is raised every year - whether the economy is doing well or not. Our city, Minden, Louisiana, consistently gives more per capita than any other city in the nation - that's pretty impressive for a population of about 14,000. Unfortunately, we also have a high number of children in our community who are, or have been, patients at St. Jude's. So, it's those children who are on our minds when we dream up creative ways to raise funds which go, not only to research, but to the treatment of these children in our community.
Today, I'm reminded of a student I taught in the early 1980's. She was the first of my students who became a St. Jude’s Hero. Martha Harris was her name and her all-too-short life still impacts mine today, nearly 30 years later.
From 1981-1985, I taught a Non-Categorical Preschool Handicapped Class - one of only two such programs in our school district at that time. My students ranged in age from 15 months to 9 years old. Instead of having separate classes for each type of disability, or “Category”, my classroom was the generic melting pot for students with a wide range of special needs. Some of my students were blind; others were deaf. Some of my students were profoundly mentally disabled; others were gifted but had rare physical challenges. That classroom was both a challenge and a joy.
Some of my students had been diagnosed with medical conditions that I had only read about in college texts – conditions my professors had never seen in person either. Treacher-Collins Syndrome, Arthrogryposis, Apert's Syndrome, Anencephaly, Pituitary Dwarfism, Hydrocephaly, Microcephaly, Aphasia, and Cancer are only a few of the many syndromes and “_isms” that I learned about first-hand in that classroom.
There was one particularly difficult year when we had five terminally ill children under the age of five in a classroom of 28 students. It was frightening to read their medical reports and to hear their doctors attempt to reassure me and my staff. Their standard comment was, “Don’t feel guilty if he/she dies in your classroom. There is nothing you or anybody else can do for them even if they were in the hospital at the time.” None of the doctors could explain how we were supposed to go about doing that and I am thankful that we didn’t have to find out through experience. (Their stories are for another song on another day.) But nothing prepared us for our little Martha being diagnosed with a type of leukemia.
When I first met Martha, she was a two-year-old toddler; just 3 months shy of her third birthday. Martha, a Christmas Eve baby, came along late in her parent’s lives and was born with Down’s Syndrome. All of her siblings were already grown, married and had families of their own. Martha was definitely the darling of the family and was “spoiled rotten,” as all the members of her family would tell you. (I have to admit to being a contributing factor to that “spoilage”.) Her little dresses were always the height of toddler fashion – perfectly pressed, pleated and ruffled. She rarely wore pants or shorts. Her hair most often was coifed in 4 braids – one on top, one at the back and one over each ear. Her chocolate colored skin was buttery soft and she had an infectious giggle. She lived life to the fullest.
Martha was mischievous too – one of her favorite things to do was to escape from the classroom and go exploring down into other classrooms in the K-5th grade school. Baby gates didn’t prevent her escape – she’d just climb over them. You would think that one teacher and three paraprofessionals would be able to keep track of all the children in the classroom, wouldn’t you? We also had an occupational therapist, a physical therapist, a speech therapist and an adapted physical education teacher who frequently took students out of the classroom for activities or therapy, so it was never unusual for several students to be out of the classroom at any one time.
Because there were so many adults and 25-28 children in the classroom, we had developed a pocket chart that helped us know where each student was at all times. There were columns for each service provider across the top of the chart and a row of children’s names down the left-hand side. We used wooden ice cream sticks, the kind that are shaped like spoons, and glued foam circles to the top which were then painted to resemble each child. Some of the children were able to move their own sticks to the appropriate column when they left the classroom. The adults were responsible for making sure the others were moved correctly. At any moment, we could glance at the chart and know where all of our children were. Well, that’s the way it was supposed to work anyway.
Martha knew how to move her stick, and she had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly when all of us would be distracted just enough for her to escape. There was one memorable morning when one of the Kindergarten teachers came into the classroom holding Martha with one hand and a Little Tykes shopping cart with the other. She said, with much exasperation I might add, “Do these belong to you?” Having Martha escape to the classroom next door would have been bad enough, but the Kindergarten classrooms were nowhere near our classroom. We were the first class by the office. To get to the Kindergarten classes, one had to go all the way down the first wing, hang a left and go all the way down to the end of another wing. Apparently, our little escape artist had “shopped” her way this teacher’s classroom. We learned later that she had wandered into every open door and had visited with quite a few classes along the way. I still don’t understand how she got so far away and visited so many classes without somebody catching her and bringing her back sooner. When we scolded her for leaving the classroom without an adult, she simply batted doe eyes at us and giggled. Soon we were giggling right along with her.
Naptime was always a challenge with Martha. The classroom had baby beds for our smallest and most disabled students. Older students had mats on the floor; but Martha had a playpen. It was one of the square types with 2 drop-down sides and a hinged board in the bottom. This was before the Pack-N-Play of today. The playpen had a foam pad on top of the board and we put blankets down to make it more comfortable for her. Once all of the children were down for nap, the adults would gather at the back of the room for our own lessons. Sometimes we learned Cued Speech or Sign Language taught by the Deaf Ed Coordinator for the parish. Other days we would learn positioning, feeding, or lifting techniques taught by our occupational therapist. I also worked on learning to read and write Braille so that I could teach our blind student to read. Soft music always played in the background and it didn’t take long for most of the children to fall asleep. Martha always fought going to sleep in creative ways. She would sing or talk to imaginary friends. She would jabber at us to indicate that she wanted to be picked up or at least let out of the play pen. When her eyes started to get heavy, she would take off both shoes and throw them as far as she could. (We learned to position her play pen so that she couldn’t hit any children with flying shoes.) After the shoes came off, the blankets would be dumped over the edge of the playpen followed closely by the foam pad. When Martha had everything out of the playpen, she would take off her socks and poke them through the hand cutouts in the board. Only then would she lie down and fall asleep.
Not only was Martha the last to fall asleep, she was the first to wake up. Sometimes she would sit in the play pen and entertain herself quietly. Most of the time, she would perform another form of daring escape. She could climb over the edge of that play pen in total silence. Before we knew she was awake, she would be at our sides jabbering to be lifted onto our laps. She was very difficult to resist – one look at her big brown eyes and your heart would melt. On the occasions that we resisted, she would become more and more frustrated until the only word she ever learned to speak would fly out of her mouth. It wasn’t a nice word – (it was an alternate word for “poop”.) It’s a wonder she recognized her own name because she heard, “No! No!” so frequently.
In the spring of that year, we noticed Martha didn’t have as much energy as usual and we were very concerned about the dark bruises that appeared on her arms and legs. She began losing her balance and started falling when she tried to walk or run. Her parents were so concerned that they took her to the doctor. We were stunned to hear the diagnosis of leukemia. We knew about St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. Many of us had been involved in fundraising efforts for St. Jude’s through various civic clubs in town. One of our paraprofessionals joined the group of Jaycees that literally pushed an ambulance gurney all the way from downtown Minden to the front doors of St. Jude’s in Memphis. That was one of the most creative, and exhaustive, fundraising efforts ever! (The gurney is still there.) We had such hope as Martha went to St. Jude’s for evaluation.
After spending only a brief time at St. Jude’s, Martha was back home and back in our class. Tearfully, her mother told us that there was nothing St. Jude’s could do for Martha. There was a chemo protocol which had been discovered at St. Jude’s which would have cured her form of leukemia; however like many children with Down’s, Martha had a heart defect. The chemo which would cure the leukemia would instantly stop her heart. Her family was told the only thing they could do was to keep Martha comfortable until God called her home. We knew her time on earth would be short.
Martha’s parents could have chosen to keep her at home for her last months, but she loved coming to school so much. They decided to allow her to remain in school for as long as possible. We provided a summer program for our students, so Martha joined us at school most days. As the summer waxed, Martha waned. It was heart wrenching to watch her fade away before our eyes. Dark circles underlined her dull eyes which no longer sparkled with mischief. She no longer climbed. She no longer escaped. She no longer giggled. Somedays, she didn't have the energy to sit up.
We had a brief two-week break between the summer and fall semesters. All of us wondered whether Martha would be able to come back once school started again, but she did. By October though, Martha was too weak to come to school anymore. Every day we wondered if that would be the day when Martha would “earn her angel wings.” We stayed in contact with her parents and we knew time with her was growing very short.
Just a few days before her fourth birthday, our Martha went to sleep here and woke up in Heaven. I can still see her lying in the all-too-tiny coffin with her arms around her favorite Raggedy Ann doll. Yet, I knew she wasn’t really in the coffin. She was running alongside the River of Life giggling, climbing, and even escaping whenever she could.
Through the years, far too many children from our city and the surrounding area have become Heroes at St. Jude’s. Sometimes there are miracles – one such young man is serving in Afghanistan today. Others, like Martha, earn their wings when their healing is completed in Heaven.
For St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital to continue saving lives and researching new treatments, there must be adequate funding. You can help by donating. February 3rd-6th, 2011 is the annual Minden St. Jude Auction. If you live in this area, you can come by the Civic Center to see the various raffle items and donated items. To find out more about the Minden St. Jude Auction, please join us on our Facebook page.
Or click this link www.mindenstjude.com for the Minden St. Jude Auction website. Click on the donate/raffle tab to see the list of items which will be auctioned or raffled. You can donate or bid on items by calling 318-377-1100 or via website. You’ll also find a link on the home page to watch the auction on live streaming video. Every little bit you give adds up to cures. Won’t you join us? Do it for Martha. Do it for your own children and grandchildren.
UPDATE POSTED 2-11-11 The Minden St. Jude Auction raised a total of $951.228.00 for St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital over the 4 days. Approximately $75 per person. Pretty amazing for our community! Many thanks to all who gave of their time, talents and money!!!
UPDATE POSTED 2-11-11 The Minden St. Jude Auction raised a total of $951.228.00 for St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital over the 4 days. Approximately $75 per person. Pretty amazing for our community! Many thanks to all who gave of their time, talents and money!!!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
A Song of Monsoons and Rainbows
I love the illustrations that my Pastor used Sunday morning in the Worship Service. God’s Message had my name written across it in crimson. Brother Leland firmly gripped one fist inside the other and reminded us that as Children of God, there is absolutely nothing that can pull us from God’s grip. He went on to say that we are held there and protected so well, that nothing can come to us unless God first gives His permission. “We are runners in this race we call life. God has assigned each one of us a lane in which to run. We cannot run in someone else’s lane; and no one else can run in our lane.”
I have been pondering that Message as it relates to the monsoon season I’m experiencing in my “lane” at the moment. The definition of monsoon is: “a season of very heavy rainfall.” I find that challenges are raining down like ping pong balls in a Captain Kangaroo episode.
On November 24th, we learned that my Uncle Doc had passed away. What a shock that was. We had been expecting “The Call” about Aunt Juanita whom I wrote about in a previous post, but we thought Uncle Doc was recuperating well from the broken hip. He was 91 years old and until this past summer was still mowing his own grass and driving his car around the Metroplex. His mind remained sharp and he cared for his wife as her mind slowly slipped into the past. At times, she thought he was her “roommate” or “that man who lives here”, and she even thought he was her “Daddy.” It wasn’t supposed to be Uncle Doc who died first, but God had a different Plan. When Aunt Juanita learned of his death, she at first thought her Daddy had died. But God granted her a moment of clarity so that she understood her precious husband had gone ahead to get the home at their new heavenly address ready for her arrival.
On November 28th, I received a phone call from my Dad around 1:30 in the morning. Mom was “very dizzy” and he needed me to come check on her and help figure out what we needed to do. I tried contacting her primary care physician’s on-call Nurse Practitioner twice over the next 3 hours, but was unsuccessful. I realized that Mom needed attention sooner than Monday when the clinic would re-open and I knew I’d never be able to get her to my car, much less drive her to the hospital. It was time for a 911 call. While others were preparing for a morning of Worship, we were at the hospital waiting on test results. As they were leaving Sunday School and moving to the Worship Center, I was driving Mom home. The diagnosis was Vertigo and UTI. No matter how slowly I drove or how easily I took the turns, Mom was nauseated. How thankful we were that there was a plastic trash bag in the floorboard!
It was clear that Mom wasn’t going to be driving Dad to dialysis that week, so my nephew and I figured out a schedule between us that would meet Dad’s needs and allow us to both continue working. His wife helped me provide meals for the week and I ran errands and did the shopping. Busy week at work and at home!
On December 1st, I learned that Mandy, my Prodigal Daughter, had begun the transfer process from a parish maximum security facility to the federal prison where she will spend the rest of her sentence. We knew we wouldn’t hear from her until she arrived at her destination. On December 5th, my husband and I took one last trip to the parish facility to pick up her personal property. Every visit there had been emotionally draining for us, and this was no exception. Hal and I realized we would no longer have weekly visits with her and that it would be some months before we will be able to travel out-of-state to visit her. There was something unsettling in holding the garbage bag in which her belongings had been placed. The bag wasn't labeled and it took the guards some time to find her things. It was if her life was so worthless, no one could be bothered to give her another thought.
At eight PM on December 8th, I had just returned from Keyboard practice in preparation for an upcoming Instrumental Concert. Hal followed me into the bedroom and said, “You need to call your father.” When I asked if something was wrong, he only repeated, “You need to call your father.” I looked into his eyes, saw the sadness and concern there and said, “It’s about Aunt Juanita, isn’t it.” He nodded. A phone call to Dad confirmed that his sister slipped into a coma and that her passing was peaceful. He reminded me that she died 2 weeks to the day after Uncle Doc. My Dad and Hal were so concerned about how I would receive the news that they purposely delayed telling me until after rehearsal. Truthfully, her death didn't sting as much as Uncle Doc's had. She hadn't recognized me in over a year and sometimes she didn't recognize Daddy even when he said, "I'm your baby brother." She wouldn't have wanted to linger on machines and she knew Uncle Doc was waiting for her along with her parents, a sister and two brothers. I could rejoice that her memory and health were now restored.
After our conversation ended, I began the task of contacting cousins to let them know about her death and the funeral arrangements. That's always an emotional task - retelling the events, hearing the sighs and tears on the other end, and reminiscing together. As I was talking to one cousin, I heard the familiar “boodle-doop” ring tone which meant a text message had arrived. My daughter-in-law, Jenny, texted to say that she had taken my son, Chris, to the ER and that the doctor thought his symptoms were consistent with MS. I knew that he had been having odd sensations of numbness in his hands and feet – and that he had been working with his doctor to figure out why that was happening. But that problem was slight and intermittent so tests hadn’t been able to pinpoint anything. Jenny said that Chris had been experiencing "bad headaches" all week - much worse than a tension or sinus headache - and that while he was at work that afternoon, he suddenly lost sight in his left eye. A CT Scan came back clear which meant that there was no mass or bleeding in his brain. But appointments were set up for him to see two specialists the following day. Sleep eluded me that night so I prayed as I tossed and turned.
Over the 9 days since Mandy left the parish facility, Hal and I had been tracking her progress across the United States to her new “home-away-from-home” much like everyone else has been tracking Christmas packages they’ve sent via USPS, UPS, or FedEx during this holiday season. A few clicks on the computer would bring us to a website which told the name of the facility where she was currently being held. We knew she had been held for about a week in Oklahoma City, OK but had yet to reach her designated prison. Finally on the morning of December 10th, the website indicated Mandy had indeed completed the journey.
That same day, Chris’ neurologist said that he didn’t believe the problem was MS. He feels there are 2 unrelated issues: migraine headaches which caused the temporary loss of vision and something else causing the numbness. While we all expected the doctor to perform an MRI that day, he told them that he wanted Chris to have an MRA instead. I had never heard about that medical term before. From what Jenny said, it must have something to do with scanning the arterial system. There is also some concern that Chris could have a condition which can cause stroke or aneurysm. But the MRA couldn’t be scheduled until December 23rd – so we float. . .
Later that evening we received a call from Mandy. It was a blessing to hear her voice yet startling to hear about the long journey through several states before she arrived in a state adjacent to ours. But that is a Song for another day.
December 11th dawned and we had our final Keyboard Rehearsal for the Christmas Concert. I felt extremely uncertain as I tried to keep up with the others. Ever since the rehearsals began in November for this year’s concert, I have felt overwhelmed and there were several times when I almost backed out of playing with the group. I hadn’t been able to practice at home like I should have to prepare. But, I couldn’t just quit – too many others were counting on me to do my part. With ten keyboardists playing, there is some doubling of piano parts; but when one person is missing the balance is thrown off.
Another ongoing challenge I’ve been experiencing for a while now is that hearing any type of Christian music causes me to weep uncontrollably. I don’t break out into wracking sobs, but I cannot stop the stream of tears from flowing down my face. I’m not really sure what causes me to weep and it is frustrating. I love to sing and I deeply enjoy singing in the choir, yet I have been unable to sing – partly due to upper respiratory health issues and partly from this weeping. It happens in rehearsal, during the church service, driving down the road and at other random times throughout the day. Sometimes I wake up at night to find that my face is wet with tears.
On December 12th as we ran through the music before the service, I was fine. Our keyboardists played with the orchestra on the Christmas Carols and Songs of Praise. We listened or sang along as the orchestra and ensemble went over the special music to be presented that day. No tears or fears for me then. But when the service began, so did my tears. As my fingers struggled to play, tears streamed down my face and fell onto my blouse. At times, I could not see my sheet music for the tears welling up and spilling from my eyes. I would alternately lift one hand from the piano to wipe my face on one side and then repeat the process on the other side. Through the hymns, through the praises and Christmas Carols I continued to weep. I felt as if everyone in the congregation was distracted from Worship by my embarassing tears. I wanted to escape but I couldn’t jump up and run off the stage – I’d have had to vault over the grand piano or the entire orchestra to reach the choir door. Or, I’d have had to jump over a sea of poinsettias to the floor below. So I sat and I wept until the music portion of the service ended and I could go sit with Hal in the pew. No one said a word about my tears, but a precious Sister in the row behind reached up to pat my shoulder in a silent signal that she was lifting me in prayer.
Many loving friends have said that they see me as having "great strength" because of the way they see me face these challenges. I don’t feel strong, and they must not notice my tears or they would see how weak I am. One co-worker said, “The devil must be so scared of you!” I don’t feel very scary either; in fact, at times I feel afraid. I feel weak, weary and emotionally drained in this monsoon season. It’s difficult to stay afloat in this turbulent ocean.
Have you ever wondered why God told Noah, “Build a boat; I need you to float!” Noah had never seen rain, much less flood waters. He couldn’t fathom the flood that God described would come in the future. The architectural plan alone must have sounded crazy to Noah, much less the directive to gather 2 of every type of creature on the earth, (or 7 pairs of certain ones.) His sons had to think he was a bit odd for spending 120 years to build a gigantic ocean-going vessel - the likes of which no one had ever seen - on dry land and so far from any known body of water large enough to float such a vessel. The people thought he was absolutely insane – until the flood came.
God didn’t need Noah to float for just the 40 days of torrential world-wide rain – he had to keep on floating for months and months after the rain stopped. For approximately 370 days they floated in the shelter of that ark. The ark had no provision for steering – it simply floated where the waters took it. There was no provision for navigation either – Noah didn’t know where they were going or even in which direction they were heading. Noah trusted God to know where He was taking them and when they would arrive. His instructions were to float, but I don’t imagine his days were idle. There were many mouths to feed and care for. There was life to live in those long months.
My cousin, Becca, and her husband, Kent, were Missionaries in Africa until their oldest daughter entered college. I remember Becca telling of one flight across the ocean when the girls were small. One of the youngest kept looking out the window with a puzzled expression. Finally she asked her Mama, “Why aren’t we moving?” I think Noah must have peeked out the hatch in the top of the ark day after day at the endless expanse of water and wondered if there would ever be dry land again.
Why did God tell Noah to float? Well, God didn’t create us with the ability to swim in turbulent waters. He reserved that ability for the fish of the sea. The more we struggle to stay afloat in the gigantic waves, the weaker we become. We can’t touch land with our feet, we can’t see the nearest shore and the waves toss us about. We panic, we despair – and we drown. God wants us to learn to Trust Him in all things.
We don’t learn how to do that unless we’re given an opportunity to put our Trust or Faith into action. My struggle is not with Faith. My faith is Rock Solid. God has proven to me over and over and over again that I can Trust Him to lift me out of the stormy sea and to set me on solid ground once more. I think about God’s promise of the Rainbow and I am comforted. Yes, that first Rainbow was a Promise that God would never again flood the entire world. But, I believe it was also a Promise to us today that no matter what storm, flood, fire or famine that He gives permission to come to us, He will carry us safely through.
My struggle is with my human heart. I hurt when my children are frightened or in pain. I hurt when family members experience illness or loss. I hurt when Brothers and Sisters in the Faith struggle. I cannot stop the flood of emotions, but I can float. When I was a teenager, a swim instructor had us jump into the deep end of the pool fully clothed and tread water for 30 minutes. We were allowed to briefly roll onto our backs and float, but then we had to continue treading water. The weight of the clothing combined with the exertion of trying to keep our heads above water was exhausting. God doesn’t want us to tread water; He knows we couldn't survive that way. Floating is a deliberate choice to obey. I can’t look at the entire struggle and worry about how long it will last or what other challenges will fall. What I can do for this moment in time is to trust that God’s strength will sustain me and continue to do so in the next moment and beyond.
I am floating through this stormy sea, but I am not without purpose. My Anchor is set deep within the Solid Rock. My instructions are to care for others who are running in lanes to my left and right. I am to pray for others and to encourage them when their struggle is difficult and their strength begins to falter. I cannot cross into their lane to run their race, I can only be part of their Support Team. I have two precious Sisters who are running extremely difficult races, ones I fear would destroy me were they in my path. One lost her youngest child to suicide just over a year ago. She is struggling with that anniversary and Christian music hurts her too. She said she had tried to explain how the music made her feel, but no one understood until I told her I feel that way too. The other one has a child with Cystic Fibrosis who had a double lung transplant on November 21-22. I have prayed for him since he was a very tiny, sick baby and through these 22 years. I prayed with her through the long surgery and continue to pray for his recovery. As much as I love these women, and as much as my heart bleeds over their struggles, I cannot run their race - and truth be told, I wouldn't want to exchange lanes with them.
I am beginning to see rainbows ahead. Some are just barely visible and others are only faint glimmers in the distance. But God is Faithful and I know those rainbows will soon be radient - in His time.
“The anchor holds though the ship is battered. The anchor holds though the sails are torn. I have fallen on my knees as I face the raging seas. The anchor holds in spite of the storm. The Anchor holds!” Ray Boltz http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWXngxNJY-k
Monday, November 8, 2010
A Song of Imminent Homegoing
As I write today, my Aunt Nita, Dad's last survivving sibling, is nearing the moment when she will step into Heaven. Though our family is understandably saddened by that news, we know that doctors have done all that is medically possible here on earth and we don't want her to linger here as she is now.
When I was very, very small and both of my parents worked, Aunt Nita, "kept" me. We moved away before I was old enough to remember staying with her. The last time I talked to her, she told me that she always thought of me as "her" little girl, the one she never had. She loves her sons and their families very much, and she loves all of her nieces and nephews. But she had always wanted a little girl of her own. She told me I was the "next best thing" to having a daughter of her own. (No doubt because she got to send me home at the end of the work day!)
The dynamic of my parents' families is very different. My Mom is one of twelve children, eleven of whom grew to adulthood and went on to have families of their own. Her family is very close-knit and we have a huge family reunion every year. We've grown up knowing not only each other, but all the spouses and too many cousins to count. We don't pay attention to whether we're first, second, third, or fourth cousins - we're all simply Cousins. (It's so much easier that way.) Most of us are on Facebook so we have many opportunities to stay in touch between Reunions.
My Dad's family is very different. He is the "baby" of five children, all of whom had families of their own. But we've been separated by death, divorce and distance over the years. We haven't gathered for a family reunion in well over twenty years. I have only nine first cousins on Dad's side of the family. As adults, six of my cousins and I have "found" each other through Facebook - what a blessing! And we are growing closer now through our "Walls" - sharing photos of our children and grandchildren and learning about one anothers' lives. It isn't that my Dad's family members love each other any less than those in my Mom's family; it's just that we haven't had the same opportunities to be together or to know the spouses and generations of cousins. Aunt Nita's the one who called everyone and kept our "family ties" securely knotted.
Almost three years ago my Mom was diagnosed with Lymphoma and a few months later, my Dad was diagnosed with Kidney Failure. Aunt Nita would call them first to find out how they were doing or what the latest report from their doctors indicated. Then she would call me saying, "I know they're not telling me everything, so you tell me the truth. How are they really doing?" If Aunt Nita couldn't catch me, she'd call my sister or brothers. Our family would chuckle about her calls because Mom and Dad really were telling her everything; but at the same time, we loved knowing that she loved us all enough to call.
A week ago on Saturday morning, I received a phone call from my Dad about Aunt Nita. We have known for some months now that dementia was stealing her away from us little by little. She hasn't known me for about a year and the last time my Dad called to talk to her, she didn't know him either. She believes Uncle Doc, her husband of over 60 years, is "Daddy" and she wonders when Daddy will come to see her. Uncle Doc is in a Rehab facility recovering from a broken hip. At 92, his mind is sharp but his body is very frail.
Aunt Nita contracted pneumonia and was hospitalized about a month ago. Doctors were able to cure the pneumonia, but Aunt Nita's body is not healing. She's on a feeding tube because everything she swallows aspirates to her lungs. Doctors have told us that there is nothing else they can do but keep her comfortable. Last week, Aunt Nita was transferred to the facility where Uncle Doc is so that they could spend these last days together. And Hospice is in charge of her care. We dread hearing the telephone ring because we know *THAT* call is coming soon.
Our prayer is that Aunt Nita will be granted clarity of mind long enough to say goodbye to her beloved Doc, and that she not hang around here on earth one moment past when God's purpose for her life as been fulfilled.
When I was very, very small and both of my parents worked, Aunt Nita, "kept" me. We moved away before I was old enough to remember staying with her. The last time I talked to her, she told me that she always thought of me as "her" little girl, the one she never had. She loves her sons and their families very much, and she loves all of her nieces and nephews. But she had always wanted a little girl of her own. She told me I was the "next best thing" to having a daughter of her own. (No doubt because she got to send me home at the end of the work day!)
The dynamic of my parents' families is very different. My Mom is one of twelve children, eleven of whom grew to adulthood and went on to have families of their own. Her family is very close-knit and we have a huge family reunion every year. We've grown up knowing not only each other, but all the spouses and too many cousins to count. We don't pay attention to whether we're first, second, third, or fourth cousins - we're all simply Cousins. (It's so much easier that way.) Most of us are on Facebook so we have many opportunities to stay in touch between Reunions.
My Dad's family is very different. He is the "baby" of five children, all of whom had families of their own. But we've been separated by death, divorce and distance over the years. We haven't gathered for a family reunion in well over twenty years. I have only nine first cousins on Dad's side of the family. As adults, six of my cousins and I have "found" each other through Facebook - what a blessing! And we are growing closer now through our "Walls" - sharing photos of our children and grandchildren and learning about one anothers' lives. It isn't that my Dad's family members love each other any less than those in my Mom's family; it's just that we haven't had the same opportunities to be together or to know the spouses and generations of cousins. Aunt Nita's the one who called everyone and kept our "family ties" securely knotted.
Almost three years ago my Mom was diagnosed with Lymphoma and a few months later, my Dad was diagnosed with Kidney Failure. Aunt Nita would call them first to find out how they were doing or what the latest report from their doctors indicated. Then she would call me saying, "I know they're not telling me everything, so you tell me the truth. How are they really doing?" If Aunt Nita couldn't catch me, she'd call my sister or brothers. Our family would chuckle about her calls because Mom and Dad really were telling her everything; but at the same time, we loved knowing that she loved us all enough to call.
A week ago on Saturday morning, I received a phone call from my Dad about Aunt Nita. We have known for some months now that dementia was stealing her away from us little by little. She hasn't known me for about a year and the last time my Dad called to talk to her, she didn't know him either. She believes Uncle Doc, her husband of over 60 years, is "Daddy" and she wonders when Daddy will come to see her. Uncle Doc is in a Rehab facility recovering from a broken hip. At 92, his mind is sharp but his body is very frail.
Aunt Nita contracted pneumonia and was hospitalized about a month ago. Doctors were able to cure the pneumonia, but Aunt Nita's body is not healing. She's on a feeding tube because everything she swallows aspirates to her lungs. Doctors have told us that there is nothing else they can do but keep her comfortable. Last week, Aunt Nita was transferred to the facility where Uncle Doc is so that they could spend these last days together. And Hospice is in charge of her care. We dread hearing the telephone ring because we know *THAT* call is coming soon.
Our prayer is that Aunt Nita will be granted clarity of mind long enough to say goodbye to her beloved Doc, and that she not hang around here on earth one moment past when God's purpose for her life as been fulfilled.
Friday, October 29, 2010
A Song of Innocence
But Jesus asked the children to come to him. "Let the little children come to me," he said. "Don't keep them away. God's Kingdom belongs to people like them." Luke 18:16 New International Reader's Version
Lest you think that my heart has only sad songs to sing, I wanted to share two of "my kids" with you today. By "my kids" today, I mean any child or youth who has come through VBS , children's choirs and/or youth choirs with me as their leader or helper. Today's two guys fit all three descriptions - and I'm so happy to say they still greet me with hugs though they are both in college. {Since I haven't asked them whether it is okay to use their real names, I've changed their names to protect their privacy. Their moms will recognize them because these stories were shared with them years ago.}
My first little guy, Brody, was all of 4 years old one summer during VBS. For some unknown reason - it had to have been a definite God thing - I had agreed to be the director of that department instead of just leading the music rotations as I have done in the recent past. It's been too long ago for me to remember the theme of that year's VBS - but I had a canoe in my classroom that the little ones loved to pile into, so it must have had something to do with water.
Besides having some adult helpers, we also had some youth workers. Youth workers are indespensible for helping to round up the wiggliest tykes and for taking them out to the playground for "bubbles" or the all-important energy release! On this particular day, recreation was over and it was time for the children to return to our classroom for snacks. While the youth had the children outside, my helpers and I set their tables with cups of juice and whatever our snack ladies had prepared for that day.
One by one, the children came back into the room and took their seats at the tables prepared for them. But one seat was conspicuously empty. Uh-oh, they lost one. That's a teacher's worst nightmare - for a student to go AWOL. The youth helpers ran back outside to look for the lost lamb while the rest of us supervised much-needed hand washing table-by-table. (If you've ever had a room filled with 30 four-year-olds, you understand why we had only a few at a time at the one and only sink.)
While the children were washing up, they waited semi-patiently at the tables because they knew that we would have a blessing before indulging in the tasty treats. As thirsty as they must have been, no one grabbed the juice cups. But as the children continued to wait, and wait, and wait, and wait for this last straggler, Brody had reached his limit of waiting.
I'll bet you're all thinking that he grabbed his juice or snacks and chowed down. But that isn't what happened. As the adults in the room sent out another search party for the youth and missing child, Brody simply bowed his head and began to offer his own blessing and then had his snack. As quickly as Brody began to pray, the Holy Spirit filled the classroom. As we watched, one by one, the other children began to ask offer their personal blessings and began to enjoy their snacks too. As long as children were praying, it was very still and quiet in the room. When the last child finished praying, the Presence of the Lord lifted and the usual classroom noise returned - along with our MIA and Entourage.
Lots of lessons were learned that day, but the greatest lesson was that children don't need to wait on adults to pray with or for them.
Gavin, another of "my kids" was in my third grade choir. For some reason that year, the schedule had been flip flopped so that children went straight to Missions from supper and then came to Music. The girls went to GAs and sat around tables completing projects and learning about Missionaries at home and around the world. The guys went to the gym and usually ended up playing basketball. When it was time for choir, the girls would come in excitedly talking about the projects they worked on or the Missionaries they met. The boys came in boisterously and were more likely to punch or hit one another than take their seats. How was I going to settle them down for choir without physical restraints or loud voices??? (Mrs. Marsha never yells!)
God provided the answer. Directly across from our choir room, there was a small unused classroom. It was actually the size of a walk-in closet, but it had a window. Storm damage to one corner needed to be repaired so the furniture had been moved out until those repairs could be made. (It wouldn't happen that year or for the next couple of years.) So I brought an old queen-sized comforter to put on the floor and we moved in a standard Sunday School cabinet usually used to hold all of the lesson photos and helps. No one was using it at the time so it was perfect for our purposes.
The first night we used our Prayer Closet, the other adult leaders and I "herded" our wild children into the tiny room and asked them to sit on the floor. We talked about God's answers to prayer: Yes, No, and Wait. A large posterboard was pinned to one wall and crayons and pencils were provided for each child to go in turn and write a prayer request on the board. (I still chuckle at the little girl whose baby brother was just a few weeks old and had come down with some type of illness. She wrote, "Please help my baby bother." Her spelling skills needed a little help, but the sentiment was priceless!)
After each child had written a prayer request, we had a closing prayer and went across the hall for choir. We didn't get a lot of singing done that night, but unless we were able to deal with all of the behavior issues we weren't going to be singing anyway. Sometimes you have to spend a little longer getting control of a class before the real work gets done.
The next week, we reminded our children to come into the Prayer Closet first. Each child went to the board and indicated how God had answered. "Yes" answers were marked with a red cross. "No" answers were X'd out. "Wait" answers were circled so that we could continue to pray. After a couple of weeks of using the corporate posterboards, each child received his/her own Prayer Journal with blank pages inside. These were stored in the little cubby shelves - 1 journal to a shelf. Pencils and crayons were kept below in the storage cabinet. The children learned to quietly enter the room, find their journal, make their entry, put the journal away and sit on the comforter till everyone was finished. After a closing prayer, we walked across the hall for choir.
In just a couple of weeks, we no longer had to spend time on behaviors - the children came into the choir room ready to sing. And though we technically had 10 less minutes to sing than scheduled, it was more than enough time because it was all quality singing time.
Instead of having an adult to always close prayer time, we asked for volunteers. Gavin always volunteered - and sometimes he was chosen. His pattern of speech was unique even for our area of the south. I'm not sure where his Southern Drawl came from since neither his parents or brother spoke that way. He talked v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y, drawing each word out as long as possible. On the nights when he was chosen to lead the prayer, he would begin, "O-u-r-F-a-t-h-e-r....." That was the longest Lord's Prayer any of us had ever heard! If any of the children interrupted Gavin, he would start over from the beginning accompanied by groans.
We knew that Gavin had head knowledge about God, but he had not asked Jesus into his heart yet. One night, there was a difference in Gavin. He came up to me and whispered (loudly), "Mrs. Marsha, did you know that God is in here?" I replied, "Yes, Gavin, I know He is waiting for us every week because He knows we're going to be in here at this time. I'm so glad you feel Him too." That night, Gavin asked to say our prayer. I saw a few eyes roll as children braced themselves for the long, drawn-out prayer. We were all surprised when Gavin simply talked to God as he talked to his friends. His prayer that night was straight from his heart, albeit still with each word stretched as far as possible.
When I got downstairs to Adult Choir Practice that night, I asked Gavin's Mom to step aside with me for a moment. I told her how precious his prayer had been and asked if he had been talking with them about making his profession of faith public. She indicated that she and his Dad thought he was ready and I told her that I agreed. That Sunday when it was time for the Invitation, Gavin didn't wait for the music to start, he simply stepped out in the aisle and began walking forward to the Pastor.
There is nothing so precious as watching the change in a child's life when Jesus takes up residence in their heart.
When the burdens of each day begin to wear you down, I hope you'll remember Brody and Gavin and go to the Father as they both did - as Little Ones.
Lest you think that my heart has only sad songs to sing, I wanted to share two of "my kids" with you today. By "my kids" today, I mean any child or youth who has come through VBS , children's choirs and/or youth choirs with me as their leader or helper. Today's two guys fit all three descriptions - and I'm so happy to say they still greet me with hugs though they are both in college. {Since I haven't asked them whether it is okay to use their real names, I've changed their names to protect their privacy. Their moms will recognize them because these stories were shared with them years ago.}
My first little guy, Brody, was all of 4 years old one summer during VBS. For some unknown reason - it had to have been a definite God thing - I had agreed to be the director of that department instead of just leading the music rotations as I have done in the recent past. It's been too long ago for me to remember the theme of that year's VBS - but I had a canoe in my classroom that the little ones loved to pile into, so it must have had something to do with water.
Besides having some adult helpers, we also had some youth workers. Youth workers are indespensible for helping to round up the wiggliest tykes and for taking them out to the playground for "bubbles" or the all-important energy release! On this particular day, recreation was over and it was time for the children to return to our classroom for snacks. While the youth had the children outside, my helpers and I set their tables with cups of juice and whatever our snack ladies had prepared for that day.
One by one, the children came back into the room and took their seats at the tables prepared for them. But one seat was conspicuously empty. Uh-oh, they lost one. That's a teacher's worst nightmare - for a student to go AWOL. The youth helpers ran back outside to look for the lost lamb while the rest of us supervised much-needed hand washing table-by-table. (If you've ever had a room filled with 30 four-year-olds, you understand why we had only a few at a time at the one and only sink.)
While the children were washing up, they waited semi-patiently at the tables because they knew that we would have a blessing before indulging in the tasty treats. As thirsty as they must have been, no one grabbed the juice cups. But as the children continued to wait, and wait, and wait, and wait for this last straggler, Brody had reached his limit of waiting.
I'll bet you're all thinking that he grabbed his juice or snacks and chowed down. But that isn't what happened. As the adults in the room sent out another search party for the youth and missing child, Brody simply bowed his head and began to offer his own blessing and then had his snack. As quickly as Brody began to pray, the Holy Spirit filled the classroom. As we watched, one by one, the other children began to ask offer their personal blessings and began to enjoy their snacks too. As long as children were praying, it was very still and quiet in the room. When the last child finished praying, the Presence of the Lord lifted and the usual classroom noise returned - along with our MIA and Entourage.
Lots of lessons were learned that day, but the greatest lesson was that children don't need to wait on adults to pray with or for them.
Gavin, another of "my kids" was in my third grade choir. For some reason that year, the schedule had been flip flopped so that children went straight to Missions from supper and then came to Music. The girls went to GAs and sat around tables completing projects and learning about Missionaries at home and around the world. The guys went to the gym and usually ended up playing basketball. When it was time for choir, the girls would come in excitedly talking about the projects they worked on or the Missionaries they met. The boys came in boisterously and were more likely to punch or hit one another than take their seats. How was I going to settle them down for choir without physical restraints or loud voices??? (Mrs. Marsha never yells!)
God provided the answer. Directly across from our choir room, there was a small unused classroom. It was actually the size of a walk-in closet, but it had a window. Storm damage to one corner needed to be repaired so the furniture had been moved out until those repairs could be made. (It wouldn't happen that year or for the next couple of years.) So I brought an old queen-sized comforter to put on the floor and we moved in a standard Sunday School cabinet usually used to hold all of the lesson photos and helps. No one was using it at the time so it was perfect for our purposes.
The first night we used our Prayer Closet, the other adult leaders and I "herded" our wild children into the tiny room and asked them to sit on the floor. We talked about God's answers to prayer: Yes, No, and Wait. A large posterboard was pinned to one wall and crayons and pencils were provided for each child to go in turn and write a prayer request on the board. (I still chuckle at the little girl whose baby brother was just a few weeks old and had come down with some type of illness. She wrote, "Please help my baby bother." Her spelling skills needed a little help, but the sentiment was priceless!)
After each child had written a prayer request, we had a closing prayer and went across the hall for choir. We didn't get a lot of singing done that night, but unless we were able to deal with all of the behavior issues we weren't going to be singing anyway. Sometimes you have to spend a little longer getting control of a class before the real work gets done.
The next week, we reminded our children to come into the Prayer Closet first. Each child went to the board and indicated how God had answered. "Yes" answers were marked with a red cross. "No" answers were X'd out. "Wait" answers were circled so that we could continue to pray. After a couple of weeks of using the corporate posterboards, each child received his/her own Prayer Journal with blank pages inside. These were stored in the little cubby shelves - 1 journal to a shelf. Pencils and crayons were kept below in the storage cabinet. The children learned to quietly enter the room, find their journal, make their entry, put the journal away and sit on the comforter till everyone was finished. After a closing prayer, we walked across the hall for choir.
In just a couple of weeks, we no longer had to spend time on behaviors - the children came into the choir room ready to sing. And though we technically had 10 less minutes to sing than scheduled, it was more than enough time because it was all quality singing time.
Instead of having an adult to always close prayer time, we asked for volunteers. Gavin always volunteered - and sometimes he was chosen. His pattern of speech was unique even for our area of the south. I'm not sure where his Southern Drawl came from since neither his parents or brother spoke that way. He talked v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y, drawing each word out as long as possible. On the nights when he was chosen to lead the prayer, he would begin, "O-u-r-F-a-t-h-e-r....." That was the longest Lord's Prayer any of us had ever heard! If any of the children interrupted Gavin, he would start over from the beginning accompanied by groans.
We knew that Gavin had head knowledge about God, but he had not asked Jesus into his heart yet. One night, there was a difference in Gavin. He came up to me and whispered (loudly), "Mrs. Marsha, did you know that God is in here?" I replied, "Yes, Gavin, I know He is waiting for us every week because He knows we're going to be in here at this time. I'm so glad you feel Him too." That night, Gavin asked to say our prayer. I saw a few eyes roll as children braced themselves for the long, drawn-out prayer. We were all surprised when Gavin simply talked to God as he talked to his friends. His prayer that night was straight from his heart, albeit still with each word stretched as far as possible.
When I got downstairs to Adult Choir Practice that night, I asked Gavin's Mom to step aside with me for a moment. I told her how precious his prayer had been and asked if he had been talking with them about making his profession of faith public. She indicated that she and his Dad thought he was ready and I told her that I agreed. That Sunday when it was time for the Invitation, Gavin didn't wait for the music to start, he simply stepped out in the aisle and began walking forward to the Pastor.
There is nothing so precious as watching the change in a child's life when Jesus takes up residence in their heart.
When the burdens of each day begin to wear you down, I hope you'll remember Brody and Gavin and go to the Father as they both did - as Little Ones.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A Song of Compassion - and Surrender
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV
I had a frightening experience today as I worked with my little "Stevie", a student from one of my previoius posts. I do understand that my terminally ill students may die while I'm working with them - but understanding that intellectually doesn't mean I want that to happen. I always pray for God's Mercy in their lives, but I'd rather He didn't answer those prayers with me standing there holding a little hand.
Today Stevie's heart rate was fairly "normal" for most of our time together although his body was in constant seizure mode. All of a sudden, Stevie emitted a blood curdling scream. I've never heard Stevie's voice before - not ever! As he screamed, his body was slammed by a grand mal seizure. I watched helplessly as his apnea monitor indicated Stevie's heart rate had spiked to 155. We are to alert the RN when his heart rate goes above 135 so I was heading out the door to the nurses' station when the monitor went silent. Total flat line -----------------
The nurses' station is right next door so I went around the corner as fast as my feet would carry me. When I explained what had happened, she stood up and moved toward the door, but she wasn't in a hurry. He's DNR, (Do Not Resuscitate), so nothing would have been done to try to save Stevie's life. At most, she would have turned off the ventilator and called the coroner. We walked toward Stevie's room together fully expecting him to be gone. But as we entered Stevie's room, we found him resting quietly with a normal heart rate.
Some days, I don't enjoy this part of my job very much. I left the skilled nursing facility with tears in my eyes this afternoon. Who wouldn't have?!
Compassion is a difficult lesson to learn because with Compassion comes Pain. We cannot feel someone else's pain unless we have experienced hurt of our own. I think about how God felt as Jesus hung there dying on the Cross. He knew He could have stopped the death of His Son at any moment, but He loved us too much to do that. Our God does understand pain - more than we ever will. And though I cannot understand the purpose God has for Stevie here on Earth, I have no doubt that Stevie's purpose hasn't yet been completed.
God restarted Stevie's heart because He wasn't ready for Stevie to join Him in Heaven today. When will God call Stevie Home? No one knows except Father God. I will continue to pray for Stevie's purpose here to be completed so that he can be made healthy and whole.
Afterthoughts -
God and I had a conversation after I posted this today. And I realized that I needed to revise my attitude a bit. Maybe I'm part of the reason Stevie needs to stick around a little longer - maybe I still have more to learn from him. Maybe today was a test for me - or a dress rehearsal.
Except for when the Adapted P. E. Teacher and I have Stevie for school - 4 hours a week - he is confined to his bed. He has no roommate, so he is totally alone most of the time. Nurses come in to dispense medications which keep him "comfortable" and to give him nutrition through bolus feedings. Custodial staff come in once a day to empty trash and mop the floor. CNAs come in several times a day to change his diaper, give him a bath, and change his bedding. He's a ward of the state, so he has no family members who visit. Mostly, Stevie is alone.
Do I really want to be there when Stevie exchanges my hand for that of a Death Angel? No - because that would be exceedingly painful for me. Do I really want Stevie to pass from this life all alone? Absolutely not! The thought of that happening would be painful too.
What God wanted to hear from me tonight is that I surrender to His Will. That means if God chooses for me to be at Stevie's side when his heart stops for the final time, then I will stay by his side as he crosses over. I will sroke his face, hold his hand, and give thanks for the time we've had together, though my tears will fall. I will rejoice in knowing that Stevie will be waiting for me in Heaven. And most of all, I will thank God for all that loving Stevie has taught me.
I had a frightening experience today as I worked with my little "Stevie", a student from one of my previoius posts. I do understand that my terminally ill students may die while I'm working with them - but understanding that intellectually doesn't mean I want that to happen. I always pray for God's Mercy in their lives, but I'd rather He didn't answer those prayers with me standing there holding a little hand.
Today Stevie's heart rate was fairly "normal" for most of our time together although his body was in constant seizure mode. All of a sudden, Stevie emitted a blood curdling scream. I've never heard Stevie's voice before - not ever! As he screamed, his body was slammed by a grand mal seizure. I watched helplessly as his apnea monitor indicated Stevie's heart rate had spiked to 155. We are to alert the RN when his heart rate goes above 135 so I was heading out the door to the nurses' station when the monitor went silent. Total flat line -----------------
The nurses' station is right next door so I went around the corner as fast as my feet would carry me. When I explained what had happened, she stood up and moved toward the door, but she wasn't in a hurry. He's DNR, (Do Not Resuscitate), so nothing would have been done to try to save Stevie's life. At most, she would have turned off the ventilator and called the coroner. We walked toward Stevie's room together fully expecting him to be gone. But as we entered Stevie's room, we found him resting quietly with a normal heart rate.
Some days, I don't enjoy this part of my job very much. I left the skilled nursing facility with tears in my eyes this afternoon. Who wouldn't have?!
Compassion is a difficult lesson to learn because with Compassion comes Pain. We cannot feel someone else's pain unless we have experienced hurt of our own. I think about how God felt as Jesus hung there dying on the Cross. He knew He could have stopped the death of His Son at any moment, but He loved us too much to do that. Our God does understand pain - more than we ever will. And though I cannot understand the purpose God has for Stevie here on Earth, I have no doubt that Stevie's purpose hasn't yet been completed.
God restarted Stevie's heart because He wasn't ready for Stevie to join Him in Heaven today. When will God call Stevie Home? No one knows except Father God. I will continue to pray for Stevie's purpose here to be completed so that he can be made healthy and whole.
Afterthoughts -
God and I had a conversation after I posted this today. And I realized that I needed to revise my attitude a bit. Maybe I'm part of the reason Stevie needs to stick around a little longer - maybe I still have more to learn from him. Maybe today was a test for me - or a dress rehearsal.
Except for when the Adapted P. E. Teacher and I have Stevie for school - 4 hours a week - he is confined to his bed. He has no roommate, so he is totally alone most of the time. Nurses come in to dispense medications which keep him "comfortable" and to give him nutrition through bolus feedings. Custodial staff come in once a day to empty trash and mop the floor. CNAs come in several times a day to change his diaper, give him a bath, and change his bedding. He's a ward of the state, so he has no family members who visit. Mostly, Stevie is alone.
Do I really want to be there when Stevie exchanges my hand for that of a Death Angel? No - because that would be exceedingly painful for me. Do I really want Stevie to pass from this life all alone? Absolutely not! The thought of that happening would be painful too.
What God wanted to hear from me tonight is that I surrender to His Will. That means if God chooses for me to be at Stevie's side when his heart stops for the final time, then I will stay by his side as he crosses over. I will sroke his face, hold his hand, and give thanks for the time we've had together, though my tears will fall. I will rejoice in knowing that Stevie will be waiting for me in Heaven. And most of all, I will thank God for all that loving Stevie has taught me.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
A Song of Sacrificial Praise
Through Him [Jesus], therefore, let us constantly and all times offer up to God a sacrifice of praise, which is the fruit of lips that thankfully acknowledge and confess and glorify His name. Hebrews 13:15 Amplified Bible
Okay, I get that it is very easy to offer praise when things are going well in our lives. there are Family Celebrations like weddings, anniversaries, births. There are Life Celebrations like graduations, new jobs, promotions, retirements, new cars, new homes. And there are so many other joyful reasons to lift our praise both great and small. But the Bible doesn't tell us to praise God only when things are going well.
So what happens when we are crushed by circumstances? What happens when our hearts have been shattered by the devastating choices of loved ones or others? What happens when praising God is the absolutely last thing on our minds - and in our hearts? Not only do we find it difficult to praise Him - we just don't want to. That's a real emotion - we don't have it within our humanness to praise God when our world is lying in shards at our feet.
Another question I have is this: Is something really a sacrifice if we find it easy to do. And not even just easy, but almost mindless - meaning that it's so easily and quickly done that we don't even have to stop and consider making the deliberate choice to praise. It's not a sacrifice when our hearts automatically offer that praise without it costing us something.
According to the writer of Hebrews, we're supposed to praise Him anyway. But wait, we don't have to do that in our own strength because we simply don't have the breath, the strength, or the will to do so. Look at the verse again. It says "Through Him" - we aren't being asked to do the impossible. God has provided us a way to do what He has commanded us to do. That Way is Jesus. Through Him we live and move and have our meaning. Through Him we can praise when praise is impossible. Maybe you don't ever struggle with this; but, oh I do!
A few days ago, I mentioned my Prodigal Daughter and said that she was facing harsh consequences because of her choices. That post was written on October 4, my son's 30th birthday. What I didn't realize is that just a few hours after that post was published, my daughter was arrested by federal marshalls. I knew that her arrest was imminent because her probation officer had told us he was getting a warrant for that purpose. I believe that's why I needed to put what I was feeling down in blog form that day - for myself, to help me with my struggles.
I knew that this was God's answer to my prayers because the road she has been traveling for nearly 7 years would have ended in something much worse if she hadn't been stopped. My greatest fear was that her step-father and I would get a call in the middle of the night and have to go identify her body. (I started to clean that last sentence up and use the word "concern" instead of fear, but that would have been a lie. And if my pain is to help someone else through theirs, I have to be honest with how I feel.)
On a day which should have been celebratory, I had to tell my son about her arrest. Our phone conversation sounded a bit like this - "Happy Birthday, Son!!! I can't believe I'm old enough to have a 30-year-old son. I'm so proud of you, and of the way your life has turned out. (He too had been a Prodigal for a time.) I love the woman you married and I adore my grandchildren. You are such a good husband, father, and provider. By the way, your sister was arrested this afternoon."
Since the day of that first post, my daughter has gone before the judge for sentencing. She will spend the next year in a federal penentiary for women, 10 months of which will be in a drug treatment program. And following her release, she will have another year of probation. I don't even know where she will be sent yet - but it will not be anywhere near where we live. We learned that there are 7 main sites which are scattered across the 48 states. One is in an adjacent state, but that facility is almost always filled beyond capacity. It is more likely that she will be too far away for us to visit. She is 21-years-old and was a semester and a half from graduating with a college degree.
So, I am struggling with being obedient in praising God right now. Yet, I hold on to the fact that my prayer had been, "Do whatever it takes, no matter how my heart breaks, to bring her back to You, Oh Lord." And that's all I prayed - because that's all He allowed me to pray. I tried to pray for her safety - but God stopped me. I tried to pray that she would be able to finish this semester so that she wouldn't lose all those hours and all that money - but God stopped me. I tried to pray that she would turn around without having to go back to prison - but God stopped me. I tried to pray that she would choose different friends, different activities, have a different attitude - but again, God stopped me. What He wanted was for me to surrender my precious baby girl to Him.
I am grieving the death of many dreams I had for her. I am grieving for the baby I carried in my womb; the infant who loved singing with me during those wee-hours feedings; the toddler whose knees and elbows I "kissed and made better"; the elementary school child who would sneak "I love you, Mommy!" notes into my purse so that I would find them later in the day. I know that she's still in there somewhere and I hope to see her again someday. But I have to trust God to do what I prayed for - and what He wants to do in her life. But He can't work in her life if I get in His way.
As parents, we want to shelter our children from anything harmful. But there are times that we have to allow them to feel the consequences of their choices in order to teach them what is good and right and true. Do you remember teaching your baby the meaning of "hot, don't touch"? I have bandaged tiny hands that touched anyway; so did my own mother when I didn't listen. I can't rescue her. I can't save her. I can't do anything in this situation but to tell her that my love for her is unchanged - it's unconditional.
If anyone had asked me a few years ago if my daughter's salvation experience at age seven was true, I would have answered, "Yes!" Now, after talking with our Ministers and viewing her choices honestly, I have to answer that I am not sure. So that's the only prayer that makes sense right now - that God would either draw her to Himself and that she would ask Jesus to be her Savior and Lord; or that God would draw her back to Himself from where she has strayed. I know that it is His Will for all of us come to Him through Jesus and become adopted sons and daughters.
So today I simply ask God to help me leave my daughter in His hands. And I choose to offer the sacrifice of praise believing that He will have the victory in her life. Does it hurt to praise Him for what is happening in her life right now? Yes. Do I have moments when the grief overtakes me? Yes. Is praising Him in this situation one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Yes. But I am not offering praise in my own strength. I am able to offer praise because of Jesus - through Jesus' strength, I can and I will.
"We bring the sacrifice of praise into the House of the Lord;
We bring the sacrifice of praise into the House of the Lord.
And we offer up to You the sacrifices of Thanksgiving.
And we offer up to You the sacrifices of Joy."
Okay, I get that it is very easy to offer praise when things are going well in our lives. there are Family Celebrations like weddings, anniversaries, births. There are Life Celebrations like graduations, new jobs, promotions, retirements, new cars, new homes. And there are so many other joyful reasons to lift our praise both great and small. But the Bible doesn't tell us to praise God only when things are going well.
So what happens when we are crushed by circumstances? What happens when our hearts have been shattered by the devastating choices of loved ones or others? What happens when praising God is the absolutely last thing on our minds - and in our hearts? Not only do we find it difficult to praise Him - we just don't want to. That's a real emotion - we don't have it within our humanness to praise God when our world is lying in shards at our feet.
Another question I have is this: Is something really a sacrifice if we find it easy to do. And not even just easy, but almost mindless - meaning that it's so easily and quickly done that we don't even have to stop and consider making the deliberate choice to praise. It's not a sacrifice when our hearts automatically offer that praise without it costing us something.
According to the writer of Hebrews, we're supposed to praise Him anyway. But wait, we don't have to do that in our own strength because we simply don't have the breath, the strength, or the will to do so. Look at the verse again. It says "Through Him" - we aren't being asked to do the impossible. God has provided us a way to do what He has commanded us to do. That Way is Jesus. Through Him we live and move and have our meaning. Through Him we can praise when praise is impossible. Maybe you don't ever struggle with this; but, oh I do!
A few days ago, I mentioned my Prodigal Daughter and said that she was facing harsh consequences because of her choices. That post was written on October 4, my son's 30th birthday. What I didn't realize is that just a few hours after that post was published, my daughter was arrested by federal marshalls. I knew that her arrest was imminent because her probation officer had told us he was getting a warrant for that purpose. I believe that's why I needed to put what I was feeling down in blog form that day - for myself, to help me with my struggles.
I knew that this was God's answer to my prayers because the road she has been traveling for nearly 7 years would have ended in something much worse if she hadn't been stopped. My greatest fear was that her step-father and I would get a call in the middle of the night and have to go identify her body. (I started to clean that last sentence up and use the word "concern" instead of fear, but that would have been a lie. And if my pain is to help someone else through theirs, I have to be honest with how I feel.)
On a day which should have been celebratory, I had to tell my son about her arrest. Our phone conversation sounded a bit like this - "Happy Birthday, Son!!! I can't believe I'm old enough to have a 30-year-old son. I'm so proud of you, and of the way your life has turned out. (He too had been a Prodigal for a time.) I love the woman you married and I adore my grandchildren. You are such a good husband, father, and provider. By the way, your sister was arrested this afternoon."
Since the day of that first post, my daughter has gone before the judge for sentencing. She will spend the next year in a federal penentiary for women, 10 months of which will be in a drug treatment program. And following her release, she will have another year of probation. I don't even know where she will be sent yet - but it will not be anywhere near where we live. We learned that there are 7 main sites which are scattered across the 48 states. One is in an adjacent state, but that facility is almost always filled beyond capacity. It is more likely that she will be too far away for us to visit. She is 21-years-old and was a semester and a half from graduating with a college degree.
So, I am struggling with being obedient in praising God right now. Yet, I hold on to the fact that my prayer had been, "Do whatever it takes, no matter how my heart breaks, to bring her back to You, Oh Lord." And that's all I prayed - because that's all He allowed me to pray. I tried to pray for her safety - but God stopped me. I tried to pray that she would be able to finish this semester so that she wouldn't lose all those hours and all that money - but God stopped me. I tried to pray that she would turn around without having to go back to prison - but God stopped me. I tried to pray that she would choose different friends, different activities, have a different attitude - but again, God stopped me. What He wanted was for me to surrender my precious baby girl to Him.
I am grieving the death of many dreams I had for her. I am grieving for the baby I carried in my womb; the infant who loved singing with me during those wee-hours feedings; the toddler whose knees and elbows I "kissed and made better"; the elementary school child who would sneak "I love you, Mommy!" notes into my purse so that I would find them later in the day. I know that she's still in there somewhere and I hope to see her again someday. But I have to trust God to do what I prayed for - and what He wants to do in her life. But He can't work in her life if I get in His way.
As parents, we want to shelter our children from anything harmful. But there are times that we have to allow them to feel the consequences of their choices in order to teach them what is good and right and true. Do you remember teaching your baby the meaning of "hot, don't touch"? I have bandaged tiny hands that touched anyway; so did my own mother when I didn't listen. I can't rescue her. I can't save her. I can't do anything in this situation but to tell her that my love for her is unchanged - it's unconditional.
If anyone had asked me a few years ago if my daughter's salvation experience at age seven was true, I would have answered, "Yes!" Now, after talking with our Ministers and viewing her choices honestly, I have to answer that I am not sure. So that's the only prayer that makes sense right now - that God would either draw her to Himself and that she would ask Jesus to be her Savior and Lord; or that God would draw her back to Himself from where she has strayed. I know that it is His Will for all of us come to Him through Jesus and become adopted sons and daughters.
So today I simply ask God to help me leave my daughter in His hands. And I choose to offer the sacrifice of praise believing that He will have the victory in her life. Does it hurt to praise Him for what is happening in her life right now? Yes. Do I have moments when the grief overtakes me? Yes. Is praising Him in this situation one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Yes. But I am not offering praise in my own strength. I am able to offer praise because of Jesus - through Jesus' strength, I can and I will.
"We bring the sacrifice of praise into the House of the Lord;
We bring the sacrifice of praise into the House of the Lord.
And we offer up to You the sacrifices of Thanksgiving.
And we offer up to You the sacrifices of Joy."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)