Plans

Jeremiah 29:!1 says, “For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans not to harm you, but plans for a hope and a future!”

Maddox was born on July 11, 2014.  A pre-natal ultrasound showed us that Maddox had 2 potential issues with her heart.  After many doctor’s visits, we learned that she would have complete AVSD, Atrial Ventricular Septal Defect.  Complete AVSD is also called a “Cushion Defect,” because there are no separated chambers of the heart.  There is an indention in the middle which looks like a cushion.  We were asked time and time again by medical professionals if we wanted to terminate the pregnancy, and we answered with a resounding, “No” each time.

Maddox was whisked away from the delivery room to the NICU after I held her and kissed her sweet, little face.  We met with cardiologists the following day.  The doctor walked in and said, “Well, Maddox does have AVSD, but it’s an unusual kind, and not as bad as we thought.  I told him I wasn’t surprised.  When I found out I was pregnant and our baby would face different challenges, I told God I knew she was His and I gave her to Him.

We visited with a cardiologist every month for Maddox to be examined.  Maddox did have a partial AVSD.  She had a hole between the 2 lower chambers of her heart, the ventricles, and a cleft mitral valve, BUT she DID have 4 chambers!  We knew she would need open heart surgery, and thought it could be as early as when she was 3 months old.  However, her heart functioned in its own way, and she didn’t require surgery until she was around a year old.  Until a year, a baby’s tissue is so thin we were told stitching anything would be like trying to sew through a kleenex.  On May 26, 2015, just weeks before her first birthday, we arrived at the hospital very early for Maddox’s first open heart surgery.  The surgery lasted approximately 6 hours and successfully repaired the hole in her heart, but the mitral valve appeared to still have leakage.  Initially, post-op echocardiograms showed Maddox to have “Mild” leakage from the mitral valve.  After a LONG 6 weeks, her leakage had been determined to be moderate.  Leakage is classified in this order, Trivial, Mild, Moderate, Severe. 

Maddox was discharged on my birthday, July 3, just 8 days before she would turn one.  We were so thankful to be at home, and were able to celebrate her 1^st birthday with family and friends.  She had been practicing holding up 1 finger for weeks in the hospital, and she really enjoyed every bit of her celebration! 

As time passed, I became so worried about Maddox. She would play, smile, eat (cake and spaghetti with meat sauce, especially), but soon Maddox began to grow tired when she play and just wasn't the energetic baby she had been. Even after the repair of the hole between her ventricles, she wasn’t the baby she had been prior to surgery.  Every night, I whispered a prayer in Maddox’s ear and ended with, “Father, please heal her heart.”

After a Summer of heart caths and echocardiograms, Maddox’s cardiologist told us it was imperative to go back in and repair the mitral valve.  Maddox would not survive without intervention, and could possibly have to be placed on the heart transplant list if her valve couldn’t be repaired.  Our surgeon told us that the only 2 options she had would be to insert an artificial valve or to repair Maddox’s own.  As time grew close, the surgeon told us Maddox couldn’t have an artificial valve, because hers was not big enough.  Maddox’s own valve would need to be able to be repaired.

On October 29,2015, Maddox had her second open heart surgery. Dr. Karla Christian, the surgeon, had her nurse call us every hour with an update.  We knew every step that was taken.  The call that we cherish the most was that YES, MADDOX’S VALVE COULD, INDEED, BE REPAIRED!!!  Dr. Christian walked out and said had she not been the one to perform surgery the first time, she wouldn't have known that an attempt had been made to repair Maddox's mitral valve, as there was NO scar tissue. She told us that while the absence of scar tissue made her job so easy to repair it this time, she was concerned that maybe Maddox's tissue wasn't healing properly or something that wasn't right (although, the patch between the ventricles had healed beautifully). The attempt to repair the valve in May was reported as leaking "mildly" at first but over the course of time got worse. Maddox was said to have severe leakage from a cleft mitral valve prior to surgery. Remember, leakage can be classified as trivial, mild, moderate and severe. The post-surgery echo showed Maddox's new repair to make her leakage TRIVIAL this time.

Dr. Christian stopped by several times post-op to say how wonderful the repair was doing, and her words were, "Trivial is the closest a human repair can be to the work of God." "The echo shows there is NO leakage, but we call it trivial, because I know there has to be leakage SOMEWHERE."  However, don’t let me lead you to believe that Dr. Christian didn’t live up to her last name.  She talked to me about praying.  She rounded on Sunday mornings while we were inpatient at Children’s Hospital, EN ROUTE to church services.  She gave me her personal cell number to contact via text or call at ANY time.   She loves Maddox, and calls her a Wonder Baby. 

I spent many days and nights crying out to God, asking Him why it was all happening, why Maddox felt so badly, why her heart couldn’t have been fixed during the first surgery, and a thousand other whys. Sitting in PCICU for many days while Maddox was heavily sedated and healing, I had time to process things that we had been told. "There is no scar tissue from the attempt to repair in May." "The absence of scar tissue made my (Dr. Christian) job much easier. "Trivial is the closest a human repair can be to the work of God." “We say trivial even though we don’t see any leakage, but I know there has to be leakage SOMEWHERE.”

We spent another 6 weeks in the hospital.  We had ups and downs, but FINALLY got to go home 2 weeks before Christmas.  Maddox visited the cardiologist in January and the echo still showed the leakage to be trivial.  We were told we didn’t have to come back for 3 months!  Maddox has felt better and better as time passed.  Dr. Thomas is Maddox’s cardiologist.  We didn’t really know anything about any of the cardiologists when we began this journey.  We honestly just chose one based on the fact that we could have appointments at a local office instead of going downtown.  As we got to know Dr. Thomas, his stories of church homecomings with his mom, his spoken belief in Divine healing and his transparency with us regarding his relationship with the Lord were all I needed to figure out that WE had not just “chosen a cardiologist.”  GOD chose HIM for Maddox! 

Our most recent appointment with Dr. Thomas was on Monday, April 11.  Appointments begin with an echo. The guy who performed the echo told us that he really wasn’t the “official” person to read the echo, but he said, "While they have classified the mitral valve leakage as 'trivial,' I can't find any...but that may just be my machine." (Hmmm. 😊)   Next, we move to an exam room where a nurse asks us the same questions we’ve answered a thousand times before, lol, Maddox is weighed, her height is measured.  Maddox has gained over 5 lbs since surgery and has grown over 2 inches! Then, we wait patiently for Dr.Thomas to come in and tell us what he sees on the echo, talk about how Maddox has been doing and talk about what the next step will be.

This time, in passing as Dr. Thomas was going to see another patient before us, he stuck his head in the door and said, "She's healed. Go home."  We waited our turn to hear more, but he meant what he said.  Maddox’s echo is still showing the mitral valve to have “TRIVIAL” leakage.  Other parts of her heart that had been affected by the poor heart function prior to the repair are improving.  He has begun to take away medications that she doesn’t need anymore.  We will go back in another 3 months and begin weaning more medications.  The truth is, GOD has healed her heart!

God's timing is ALWAYS perfect. His plan is ALWAYS perfect. He is ALWAYS faithful.  I firmly believe God didn't want Maddox's mitral valve to leak mildly or moderately as it was said to do following the first surgery. I believe God’s plan was for Maddox to have a mitral valve that functioned with "Trivial" leakage....the least amount repaired by human hands...the closest human work can get to God's work. AND while Dr. Christian thought it was odd that there was NO scar tissue, I believe God intended it that way to make her work easy. AND while Dr. Christian says there has to be some leakage SOMEWHERE, I'm not so sure.

I cannot tell you how humbling it is to have people praying for you all over the world.  There is more to Maddox’s life story that I don’t have time to share this morning and she is only 21 months old!  In this short time, I have seen families come together because her story has touched them.  Maddox can make my 15 year old smile and do things a mom has a tough time getting a teenager to do.  My middle child is 12 and loves children, but I have seen qualities developed in her in these last 21 months that I believe are showing her a road she would like to travel for her future.  I could go on and on. 

In the last year I have learned so much about patience, mercy, prayer, love and faithfulness.  Maddox’s story is an amazing testimony of God's loving kindness that I will shout from the rooftops, writing down and sharing it in every way in hopes that His message, the message of Jehovah Raphe, our Healer, will be shared with many.  I'm taken back to a song that I would sing with my cousin, Esther, as a child...He's still working on me...and thank goodness, He NEVER stops! ❤

Default in My Charts

As a young athlete who had to have yearly sports physicals, my parents took advantage of the free physicals and examinations that were offered through the school system.  Students from all across the county would line up at a selected school on a Saturday, and wait expecting that everything would be fine leaving with the official "ok" to play sports in the year ahead.  Well, most people walked out with the "ok," but not this girl. 




In 6th grade, the teachers lined all of us up, and we went in the room one by one.  I walked out with a failed physical, because one of my hips was higher than the other, and they thought I had scoliosis.  After several specialist follow-up appointments, it was determined that I did not have anything.  In the Summer before my 8th Grade year, we lined up at Brentwood High School.  I was so excited, because I had made the Freshman Basketball Team, and couldn't wait to go to camp that Summer.  I left with a failed physical due to what they thought to be a heart murmur.  After several specialist appointments, it was determined that my heart was fine, only that when it beats, it sounds like lub-sha-dub, rather than lub-dub.  The doctor said I was fine, and released me to play sports. 


I'm not sure why my mom insisted that I go to any other "free" physicals, because she paid more for specialists than 1 office visit, but she took me one more time.  Only this time, I ended up visiting several doctors for what seemed to be signs of diabetes.  All visits turned out to be fine, and again, I got to play another year. 




Finally, my mother decided that we would not worry about "free" physicals anymore.  That was a time of an underlying tone of a lesson I should have learned then as a young person...nothing in life is easy, free or convenient...OR cheaper doesn't always mean the best.






Now, I'm a mom of two.  We avoid "free" exams like the plague...well, except that one time.  Two years ago, a group came to school to test hearing for free.  My youngest didn't want to be left out, so she failed to bring the form home for me to sign opting out of the "free" exam.  So, she goes, they test, and voila...you guessed it...I had to take her to the pediatrician for a follow-up appointment, which led to yes, you guessed it...an appointment with a specialist.  Again, the same lesson...NOTHING in life is free nor is it EASY! 






I got married in September 2013.  In November, we found out we would be expecting a baby in August.  I am employed by a hospital, and there just happens to be an OB practice next door.  I chose them, not only for the convenience, but also, they are in my insurance network.  All charges will be less, because they are in my network.  At 10 weeks, I was strongly encouraged, because of my age, to have a Non-Invasive Prenatal Test performed that would give us the risk for the pregnancy.  Results returned with a 99% chance our baby would have Down Syndrome.  Why wasn't I surprised?  Let me see, the doctor's office was convenient and it was more economical.  I was overwhelmed with grief.  Day after day, I walked past the door where the boxes sat for the courier with the name of the company who read the results. 




In the back of my mind, I thought I would go to a specialist, as they did send me, and the specialist would look and say, "The test was wrong.  There are no risks in this pregnancy."  Instead, I heard the opposite, which would lead to months that seemed like years.


There appears to be a default in my charts.  A preselected medical option that for me ensures great mental anguish.  Most of the time the anguish is unnecessary, but as of late, it's a deep-rooted, heart-wrenching, overwhelming feeling that makes pain water stream from my eyes. 

I Want to Be Just Like You

Finding time to write has been a difficult task since I began my new job.  Things happen daily that I think about including, but at the end of the day, I'm so tired, I barely make it to my bed.  Tonight, my girls are gone for half of their summer visitation time with their dad, and I have a moment to sit down and think through some of the things I have experienced since April. 

Almost three years ago, I made a decision to get out my pencils and my books, and head back to school for those teachers' dirty looks.  I hadn't thought about studying or taking a test in many, many years - not since the day I received my diploma at Lipscomb University.  However, I had begun to feel like it was time to take a different direction in my career.  So, I enrolled in a bunch of science classes, completed all of the pre-requisites, and was accepted to Nursing School.  However, unforeseen circumstances kept me from pursuing a future as an RN.  I really couldn't understand it, but I had to trust that there is a reason for everything.

During the 2011-12 school year, my girls had a "What I Want to Be When I Grow Up" day.  My girls wanted to be everything from a zookeeper to a rock star, and of course, having a dad for an attorney, they considered that.  As ridiculous as it may sound to anyone who reads this, I got my feelings hurt when they, not even once, wanted to be like me.  I wore so many hats, it was difficult to describe in one word what I did for a living, much less figure out how to dress for it.  Maybe that's petty, I don't know, but for the sake of being transparent, I was genuinely sad.  I knew that if I had gone to Nursing School, my girls would have considered the option of wearing scrubs to school that day with a stethoscope around their necks.  I guess in all, I was having a pity party.

In June, I had the opportunity to take my girls to the beach while I went to work each day.  That is an advantage of having a job whose headquarters is in Florida. :)  They had been out of school for a couple of weeks and they had been listening to me make phone calls to churches all day long.  So, it was a good change to hop in the car and drive South for a few days.  On the way home, my girls were playing games on my phone, singing loudly, talking and giggling.  At one point, I looked up and saw them each with a straw placed as if it were a phone headset and they began making videos pretending they were calling churches...like their mom.  Then, I heard one of them say, "I want to do what you do when I grow up."  Yes, I cried like a baby, and still am as I type this.

There have been countless moments since I accepted this job with COSCO & Associates that I have realized, without a doubt, that I am doing exactly what I am supposed to do,  and there will be more to come, I'm sure, because God is just like that.  Of course, at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter what I do for a living, and whether I'm an RN or a JD, as long as I'm serving my Savior...working to become more like Him, so that when my girls say, "I want to be just like you," what they really mean is they want to be more like Jesus.

Ordinarily Extraordinary

Last Summer, God allowed me to cross paths with an amazing man (I will call John).  We spent hours upon hours laughing and loving life.  We spent a memorable Thanksgiving together with his family and then, December came, along with some really dark days.  I don't know exactly what the purpose of our time together might have been, or why our paths ever crossed.  However, I am thankful that he was sensitive to the Word and never hesitated to share it with me. 

Tonight, I came across an e-mail he sent me on October 19.  The night before I had shared with him how I felt like I was an outsider looking in on my life...how I didn't know where God wanted me, but I so wanted to know.  The next morning, he shared his daily devotion with me...Elijah and the widow...

"A famine was ravaging the land, and it was severely affecting the life of that young widow. With no husband, no food, and a hungry child, it looked like she and her son would die soon.

She was planning their final meal when Elijah arrived. Tired from his journey, he asked her for water and food.

She explained that she was preparing a last meal for her son and herself. But Elijah asked if she could first make him a small loaf of bread, and he shared with her a promise from the Lord: “The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD sends rain on the land.

She did as Elijah asked, honoring the Lord with her act of hospitality. And God miraculously provided her with flour and oil that never ran out until the end of the famine. She gave—and God gave even more.

This “ordinary” person was someone whom God would use for his extraordinary purposes."

John commented on the devotion and encouraged me with these words:  "I know that we are always striving to make our lives and the lives of our families better, wishing and hoping that we'll get a break.  We just don't know when to expect it. All we can really do is live each day and make the best of it being thankful for what we have been given. I guess I was relating the stories together because the widow was on the down and out thinking that she was at the end of her rope when her break happened and they were given their hope back."

How true his words were...and are.  About a month after I got this message, God began to reveal to me in a big way His plan for the next chapter of my life with my new job.  While I lost John along the way, his words of encouragement will resonate in my mind and in my heart. 

Just as recently as this afternoon, I was reminded of God's provision.  He has confirmed my decision to change jobs over and over again, and I am completely humbled by His love for me.  His faithfulness is overwhelming.  God STILL uses ordinary people for HIS extraordinary purposes.

While my heart is saddened that John is no longer in my life, I am thankful that he allowed God to speak to me through him. 

Letting Go

My dad sometimes went to the “shop” at the barn to work on various contraptions and sometimes I was lucky enough to be able to go with him! I LOVED to go to the barn, dig in the dirt, play in mud puddles, watch the baby calves, talk to my poppa and climb on the tractors. I was well aware of the bull pen and the fact that it was enclosed by an electric fence. As a little girl, I didn’t know what “electrical shock” was, but it sounded really scary to me…not to mention the fact that my mother had told me a thousand times to “stay away from the bull pen, because the electric fence might shock you and you might die.” (Side note: She also told me that if I touched a cat I would get cat scratch fever and die.) Needless to say, I kept my distance…well, all except one day.

For some reason on this particular Fall day, my dad had to go into the bull pen to do something for my poppa. Because I was afraid of the bull myself and had been told he was so mean, I was concerned about my dad being inside the pen. I watched the bull intently, as if I were going to step in the pen and fight him if he made a move even remotely in my dad’s direction (I don’t know where I was going to find a cape). I’m not sure what the bull did, and he may have even twitched because a fly had landed on him, but out of fear for my dad, I reached out to the fence to hold on and yell at my dad to “watch out!” In my moment of concern and without thinking about my mother’s words of warning about “electrical shock”, I learned what it meant. I didn’t only grab the fence, but the fence grabbed me. I cried, screamed and pulled and pulled, but the fence would NOT let go! My dad, being the hero that he is, ran to my rescue and after a few seconds, or what seemed minutes, he was able to pull me away from the clutches of the fence. I was crying hysterically (and shocked at the same time that I didn’t die) and hugged my dad so tightly because I was so afraid and in a lot of pain. All 10 of my fingers were blistered and hurt so badly it hurt to touch anything. The blisters remained for a couple of weeks and were a constant reminder of the pain and fear I had experienced in the blink of an eye.

How similar life experiences have been since then when “letting go” has been so difficult in so many situations. Whether it be letting go of a loved one who has left this world or just stepped out of my life, someone who has hurt me with words said or actions made, maybe I’ve been in a situation where I have become complacent, etc., etc…I can cry, scream, pull and pull, but it’s impossible for me to let go alone. Many times, the pain seems to linger. My Heavenly Father, being the hero that He is, runs to my rescue and pulls me from the clutches of the struggle. While my “blisters” are only temporary, the permanent scars in His hands are the only reminder I need that He is the only One who can pull me away from the clutches of bondage and pain and allow me to “let go”. “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

Butterflies, Holy Macaroni and CHIPS

Many people will cross our paths during our lifetimes, but Esther Perry has been one of the most prominent characters in mine. Every summer day she would put on her halter top and shorts, I would put on my t-shirt and shorts, and we would head out to save the world, solve a crime, teach a class or be heroes…we never knew what our day might bring.

Some days we would ride our bikes until our legs felt like jello, pretending to be Ponch and John from CHIPS. Some days we would pretend to get married to our latest crush…”Today, we are here to join this man and this woman in Holy Macaroni.”

I can remember walking barefoot through rocks and making mud pies with her. I remember singing songs with her, and I remember when she hit me with the stick from our stick ball game. However painful or happy any of those memories are, I wouldn’t trade a single one…they contributed in making me who and what I am today.

When I was a little girl, I was more afraid of butterflies than the thought of a monster in the dark. Oh, how my neighbors would torture me with butterflies. I was a short, little, chubby girl who loved to play outside, drink kool-aid and draw in the dirt. Esther, my neighbor, cousin and closest friend, would catch a butterfly by the wings, chase me with it and tease me until I cried.

As I have grown, I have realized the great bond Esther and I have shared through the years. She is someone who is real…no judgments, no assumptions. When I got married, she was in my wedding. She wrote and recited this poem as we were getting ready:

I remember skating on the porch,
And playing football in the yard.
I remember that you would run home crying
Because Neal threw the ball too hard.

I remember that big ‘ole rock
Where we piled the leaves so high.
We would run and take a flying leap
As if we could touch the sky.

I remember riding bikes and playing CHIPS
All day long.
We’d always fight over who was Ponch
And who got to sing the song.

I remember we had a dirt track
For our Hot Wheels on the hill
And I was wondering…
Do you run away from butterflies still?

I remember playing “Holy Macaroni,”
And singing “I’ve Been Redeemed.”
This day didn’t take as long to get here
As it so long ago seemed.

We then grew to be teenagers,
And we went our separate ways,
But it’s the bond we made as children
That brings us together again today.

When I gave birth to my sweet, little girls, she always came to visit. When I got divorced, she encouraged me. Every year on her birthday, March 29, I reflect on the many wonderful memories of our childhood together. I’m not afraid of butterflies anymore. The memories of her chasing me with one make me giggle and make for great stories to share with my girls.

Happy birthday, Esther! We've come a long way!

Transition and Provision

A little more than 11 years ago I was sitting in this same place attempting to put on paper what thoughts were running through my mind.  At the time, I was a new mother with a precious baby at home to whom I wanted to devote EVERY moment loving, nurturing and teaching her all that I could possible squeeze into each day.  I had been employed by the Executive Board of the Tennessee Baptist Convention (TBC) since 1996, and they allowed me to slowly transition back into my full-time position.  While I was so very grateful, my heart and mind were at home with my new gift.  God answered my prayer in a very definitive way making it possible for me to resign my position at the TBC and assume my new role as a stay-at-home mom.

A little more than 7 years ago, life's challenges led me to a point where I would need to find employment outside my home, once again.  God had already been at work, just as He always is, and there was a position at TBC that I would eventually fill.  That part-time position would prove to be an eye-opening, God-sized reminder that He certainly wasn't through with me yet. 

Since that time, I have been allowed to experience so many different character-building moments among Christian brothers and sisters who have taken me under their wings.

Here I am again with a God-given opportunity to invest more of my time at home with both of my sweet girls.  In November, the TBC entrusted me to coordinate the first-ever Vendor Exhibit Hall.  Little did I know that God's plan would include more than just communicating with vendors and acting as their liaison.  COSCO & Associates, Inc., was one of those vendors and they began communicating with me regarding the possibility of joining their team.

In January, I was offered a position with them to work out of my home full-time...another reminder that God still isn't finished with me!  :)  After MUCH prayer, consideration, and counsel from friends and family, I decided to resign my position at the TBC, effective March 29, 2012, and will be joining the sales team of COSCO & Associates, Inc. April 1. 

COSCO & Associates, Inc. is a company which has specialized exclusively in the design and build of churches and church-related facilities across the country for over 43 years.  Their passion and calling is to assist churches in building church structures that will facilitate worship and make visions realities as well as sharing a common goal with the local church in the desire to build God’s Kingdom.  COSCO provides numerous, unique services to churches including no “up-front” money from the church and providing a GUARANTEED MAXIMUM PRICE CONTRACT once the design is completed. 

While I am excited to begin a new phase in my life, at the same time I will always be grateful and mindful of the TBC and all the ways my heart has been blessed...and the ways I have grown.  I am thankful a thousand times over for the opportunities I have had in serving the Lord alongside so many faithful servants.  The relationships I have built with church leaders across this state are invaluable to me.  I look forward to continuing those relationships, as well as buildnig new relationships and partnering with church leaders of all denominations across the country in building God's Kingdom.  Visit our website http://www.churchdesign.com/!

Stretch Armstrong

From very early in my life, I felt like it was my responsibility as a little sister to make sure I played with every toy my big brother ever got to the point of aggravating him as much as I possibly could.  Not only did I take my “responsibility” very seriously, I happened to like many of his toys much more than I did my own.   Many times I would play so rough with his toys, I would end up breaking something and he would get so angry with me!  J

Christmas 1979 was a present year for my brother that I will never forget!  He got a “Stretch Armstrong!”  For anyone not familiar with this nostalgic figure, I included his picture!  Now, to most, he would look like just some other Hulk Hogan type phenomena in a box, but Stretch was cooler than any WWF wrestler we could ever know…even Jake, “the Snake” (I will share my WWF knowledge with you another day, haha). 

Stretch Armstrong was a doll that was about 15 inches tall.  Wikipedia says that Stretch was made of “latex rubber, filled with gelled corn syrup.”  The fascination with him was that when you pulled on his arms and legs, he could stretch from his original size up to four or five feet!  Can you imagine how amazing that was?  I pulled and pulled at him trying to stretch him as far as I possibly could.  Yes, it was cool that he would “stretch” like that, but looking back, I really wanted to know what would happen if he was stretched farther than he could go.  More importantly, because there wasn’t an encyclopedia, like our Wikipedia, now, that would allow me to know exactly what was inside.  Plus, when I would pull and pull to make him bigger than myself, he would immediately begin to retract into his original 15 inch size and shape.

I was sitting in the Atlanta airport on Sunday during a 3-hour layover.  I was alone (of course, in theory, I wasn’t really alone, because that airport is ALWAYS full), but I was travelling without a companion.  I called my friend, Linda, to check in and just to chat.  I was a little emotional because of many factors and after listening to a few sniffs, Linda said something to me that I needed to hear.  “Isn’t it amazing how God STRETCHES us to show us how to depend on Him more?”  That question opened up a conversation that changed my tears of sadness and loneliness into a smile and a feeling that His arms were wrapped around me.

When we hung up, Stretch Armstrong came to my mind.  I would pull and pull on him trying to stretch him so far so he would burst open and I could finally see for myself what was inside!  It’s amazing to me how God stretches us WAY beyond ourselves, and it’s not a test for Him to see what we have inside, but it’s how He shows US what we have inside ourselves.  It’s how we learn to depend on Him to retract us into the shape that HE wants for us.  The fabulous thing about all of it is that if we stretch to the point that we break, He knows how to put us back together.  In fact, He does His best work when we’ve reached the end of ourselves. 

Stretch Armstrong’s arms would stretch up to 4 or 5 feet.  Jesus’ arms stretched out on a cross.  Stretch Armstrong had corn syrup running through his body.  I’ve got Jesus living in my heart.

We're Playing Bas-ket-ball, We Love that Bas-ket-ball

Both of my girls wanted to sign up to play basketball this year.  I had tried to hard not to influence them either way, so when they decided they wanted to play, I was ecstatic!  :)  While I had volunteered the past few years to coach, I had decided at the end of the last basketball season that retirement might be good for me.  Who would have thought that coaching recreation basketball could be so stressful...of course, when you tend to be competitive, stress is always a factor. 

Two weeks ago, Lauren's team was playing a strong team from a different community...somewhat of a rival community...a rival community since I was in the 2nd grade.  Watching from the stands would be a difficult task.  At the end of the first half, I only had about 2 nails left that I hadn't bitten.  As the third quarter began, I could feel the tension rising from the other side of the court where Lauren's coach was standing.  He had spent a lot of time, although no more than usual, yelling at the referees rather than keeping the girls' minds on the game.  While that is my opinion, the referees obviously agreed with me, as the next thing I knew, they were huddled around him and eventually escorting him out of the gym. 

Ever get that feeling inside that you HAVE to do something?  You know, like you feel as if everyone and everything around you becomes a blur and then a huge light comes on with a voice that says, "You better do something."  Okay, okay, maybe it's not that way for everyone, but suddenly, I felt like some unknown force was lifting me out of my seat and sending me over to take care of business.  Well, how could I argue with such a force?  In my high-heel, black boots, I began walking.  I passed the coach as he walked (aided by a couple of guys) out and politely asked him if he minded if I went and helped...as if he were going to change my mind.  :)  There were 7 pairs of eyes glued to me as I got my piece of paper out and told them what we were about to do.  They listened and rallied...it was like a new group of girls had hit the floor.

Over the course of the next week, changes took place.  The recreation officials contacted our community leaders and said, "I don't know who the woman was that came out of the stands to help, but we saw a whole new ballgame for the last quarter and a half." 

This past Saturday was my first game back as a coach, and I cannot begin to tell how invigorating it was to watch the team execute the new style of play they had learned in just a week.  What style is that?  It's a style that my Lady Patriot peeps still understand well, I'm sure.  In fact, I've seen Stephanie B. and Kelly L. enforcing that style this season with their own teams.  It's fundamentals...dribbling, shooting, passing (BOUNCE passes)...and my favorite, HUSTLE...making teamwork inevitable.   

You've Got to Give It Away

"He took me to people with gifts that I needed, gifts of healing, acceptance, and joy. They gave me their gifts to take on my journey, our journey, God’s and mine.

And we were off again. He said, “Give the gifts away. They’re extra baggage, too much weight.” So I did, to the people we met, and I found that in giving I received, and still our burden was light." (From a poem by an unknown author in my first blog entry, "The Bike Ride" )

Six years ago I became a single parent...on paper that is.  Two years prior, I realized my marriage was failing. For a while, all I could do was sit on the couch in my pajamas and stare, trying to figure out if I knew how to clean the house.  Although I joke a lot when I write, I'm being serious when I say that I couldn't figure out how to do the smallest chore. 

Several people stand out in my mind as rocks who gave me something to hold onto so as to keep me from drowning in that horrible, downward spiral that seemed so dark.  My pastor's wife, Debi, recognized my hurt and sadness and shared so many words of wisdom with me that I call to mind today.  My neighbors, Scott and Kelly, were my coaches.  Both my pastor's wife and my neighbors never hesitated to offer me gifts of healing, acceptance and joy.  Sometimes, they were in the form of words, sometimes tears, many times a hug and even though it was hard to come by, there was laughter. While now my neighbors are someone else's neighbors, every time I see them, I am blessed by their generous offerings of the same gifts, only now, there's a whole lot more laughter.

Going to work full-time was a challenge, because I had been at home being mommy for several years.  I had to brush off the bubbles and baby powder and jump back in to e-mails and earning a paycheck.  I was hired full-time in November and Aurie came to work in January.  She quickly became like a sister to me.  She, herself, had plenty of wisdom to share with me...many times it began, and still begins, with "My mama always said..."  God knew exactly what He was doing.  She offered me gifts of healing, acceptance and joy.  She never hesitates to share those gifts with me today. 

I am often amazed at the way God presents me with someone who needs me to share those same gifts with them.  I've been at gymnastics, at the community pool, at church, at work, at school, at the grocery store, and many, many other places, along with phone calls, when many times someone who barely knows me will share their story with me.  While often times I can't imagine why they would be coming to me, when it's all said and done, I realize it's that I've been given special gifts... of healing, acceptance and joy...and it's simply my turn and how could I hesitate to give them away...they are "extra baggage, too much weight.  I find in giving, I receive, and still, our burden is light." 

"And when I'm sure I can't do it any more, He just smiles and says, 'Pedal.'"

Snakes and Elves and Santa Claus' Tale...

In the past few years I have made it a habit to decorate for Christmas the weekend after Thanksgiving. This year, my intentions were the same, however, it just didn't happen. So, the girls were gone to their dad's last weekend and on Friday night, I decided to get everything out and begin. I would put up the tree and the girls would decorate when they got home on Sunday night. Of course, there were more things to do than just the tree, like decorating the mailbox, putting the lights on the shrubbery and putting other decorations in their place. All of my plans came to an abrupt halt, because evidently, I have had a very special (yes, I'm being sarcastic), unwelcome Christmas guest in the garage storage closet...a snake. I'm going to spare you the details of how I discovered this varmint. I will tell you, however, that I pulled the Christmas tree box out into the garage, left the light on (as if the critter needed it)and ran inside for my life. I was the lunatic in the 'ville the next morning pushing the box over and chasing the sections of the tree down my hilly driveway giving the snake one last chance to escape...THANK GOODNESS the snake wasn't in the box, in the tree or still around...COILED around anything

My girls, 10 and 8, had not been introduced to the "Christmas Elf" tradition until last year...which, at the same time, I lost what little sanity I had remaining. Our elves, Buddy and Rosie, will now arrive around December 1 every year and go home with Santa on his sleigh on Christmas Eve. In the meantime, they wreak havoc in our home...as if we didn't already have that. Those elves are the most mischievous little creatures I've ever met! Some of their shenanigans take me a while to clean up...like rolling the living room, making "snow angels" in the sugar, and drinking syrup and eating marshmallows leaving a trail all over the kitchen! I've been threatening to send them back early (because their helper is getting tired - wink, wink). Although, when I say I'm sending them back early, I see my youngest tear up because she LOVES this daily mystery of waking up to see what they've done. So, I suck it up and begin planning the next adventure.

Santa Claus. Yes, I have a 5th grader and a 3rd grader. They've heard at school that "Santa Claus isn't real." However, there's something about the sparkle I see in their eyes when they ask me if that's the truth and I ask,"What do you think?" I'm not sure if the sparkle is because it gives them something to add to their imagination, if they think I'm lying or if they think maybe I still believe and they don't want to ruin it for me.

At any rate, the conversation ends, both girls giggle and they play along with me. Last Sunday the girls were part of their children's choir Christmas presentations. They stood so boldly and sang their hearts out about peace, love, joy and adoration...of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Last week, I attended a Christmas Chapel service that stirred my heart and reminded me that in ALL circumstances - pain, hurt, loss, joy, love, and the list goes on - He is Emmanuel - God with us. Last night I got to sing with the church choir and orchestra in our Christmas presentation. Different choir members sang unforgettable lyrics that will ring in my ears for a very long time..."it's still a mystery to me, that the hands of God could be so small, how tiny fingers reaching in the night were the very hands that measured the sky." "Oh, I believe and I will always sing, this little child, is THE KING!" Finally, "Baby Jesus, do you know you'll die for all our sins...don't be afraid 'cause in three days...YOU WILL RISE AGAIN! Oh, HALLELUJAH! The KING is here!"

My girls love the decorations (a snake not so much), laugh about the elves, question the reality of Santa Claus, and all of those things put that innocent sparkle in their eyes. For those trivial happenings of Christmas, I have no good, solid answer. However, when we talk about Jesus, all of our eyes light up with hope, we KNOW He lives in our hearts and we all know that Christmas is about God sending His only Son to be the Savior of the world.

Snakes and Elves and Santa Claus' Tale...that's NOT what Christmas is made of! :)

Half 'n Half

How do you look at life? Is the glass half full or half empty? I am definitely a half-full kind of girl. Well, on most days. I’ve been a single mom for about 6 years now, and I try really hard NOT to be the stereotypical, “poor girl who has no help.” I don’t want to be lumped into the category with helpless people, but I do want to take a moment to vent on living what I am from now on going to fondly (tongue in cheek) call the “half ‘n half” life.

About 4 months ago I was carrying on with my busy schedule of working 8 hours a day, teaching piano in the evenings, driving the girls around to every gymnastics and dance class they could take, coaching cheerleading until time to coach basketball season, sleeping occasionally and folding clothes rarely. All the while, I was trying to continue to see the glass “half-full.” Then, one night as the girls were eating dinner at our kitchen table, the darkness set in. No, there is no dark cloud that hangs over our house and the piano didn’t mysteriously begin playing by itself…but the light bulb over the kitchen table blew. So, I did what most people would do when a light bulb blows – I changed it! Two weeks later, we found ourselves in the same situation in the kitchen eating dinner and the light bulb blew again. So, what did I do? Well, I changed the light bulb again, of course! I just thought I must have used a faulty light bulb. Two weeks later it happened again. Instead of coming to the conclusion that I shouldn’t prepare dinner anymore, I decided to go on a light bulb changing strike. Lori is such a great friend…she offered to send her fearless light bulb-changing hubby over to replace my light bulbs, and I thanked her and said, “Nah, it’s okay! I’ve decided to teach the girls about different cultures...Mennonites have no electricity in their homes!” To date, there are 5 light bulbs in our house that aren’t working. Three out of the 4 in the bonus room ceiling fan are gone, so that room will soon be dark. Our house is well on its way to being half lit!

Several months ago the girls and I were at home on one of those rare occasions when we had time to watch television. It was a Saturday evening and we thought we would watch a movie on Disney, you know, probably one of the High School Musicals. Much to our surprise our cable seemed to be out…or at least the screen said we had no signal. We worked and worked on the television, all the remotes and the dvd player, but still could only get the television, half of what we needed, to work. I went over and over in my mind knowing that I had certainly paid the cable bill, so I just chalked it up to technical difficulties. It puzzled me for weeks that we weren’t getting a signal! So, I decided one Saturday, probably 3 weeks later, that I should probably call Comcast. The technician did a “reset” while we were on the phone, but there was still no signal. Yes, I’m electronically challenged and that became evident to the Comcast tech on the phone. “Ms. Williams, have you checked to see if your television is on channel 3?” Why, OF COURSE it’s on channel 3…nobody changes that in this house. “Well, Ms. Williams, if you would please do check it. We have done everything we can to do a remote reset and it should be working.” Okay, so YES, for 3 weeks, I was thinking there was something wrong with the cable…hmmm, operator error. Light bulbs and cable…and don’t even get me started on weed eaters.

The girls and I were looking for a new church home. We had visited so many and one Sunday, in particular, we decided we would try a larger church less than 10 miles from home. We got ourselves ready in a hurry that morning. We would have to go into church a little late, but probably only during the first song of the service. The girls and I like to sit up front in church when we can, so it seemed only appropriate that we find seats at this church close to the front. I just knew that during the welcome time, we would shake hands with a ton of new people and it would be a great day of worship. However, I was disappointed. No one was overly friendly and I had trouble even getting a smile out of some of the other women who appeared to be my age. I just couldn’t figure it out…well, until I got home. The girls and I went home to change and go visit friends. When I walked in front of my mirror on the way to my closet, it dawned on me why we didn’t receive a warm welcome. I had gotten ready in the normal rushed, half-baked kind of way. I remember not being able to reach the back of my dress, and I remembered thinking I needed to ask the girls to help me. Hmmm, a half-zipped dress IS NOT a way to win friends or influence people.

Half ‘n half…how do you see your glass? Mine is not so much a half-full or half-empty attitude anymore. I’m just doing my best to keep all of the plates spinning and not appear to others as if I’m the helpless single mom who lives down the street. So, I’m thinking my half ‘n half life is more like an Arnold Palmer…half sweet tea, half lemonade…some days the lemonade is so sour makes me pucker and some days the tea gives me just the right amount of zip…yes, zipped all the way to the top!

"I see," said the blind woman!

To me, writing is therapy. If my blog were to get hacked, there would be a ton of entries that could be read that have never made it to the "published" stage...sometimes, because I can't finish it, other times because I might get sued if I publicly share my thoughts.


My grandmother, "Hi", as we called her (umm, that was my brother's fault), seemingly chose to do much of the same. While my writing is random, short stories of stupid stuff that happens to me, hers was of life, and many times death, through the eyes of a woman who couldn't see. Although, when my brother or I would explain something to her, she would sometimes say, "'I see,' said the blind woman."


As a child, Hi suffered from an illness that damaged her optical nerves and caused temporary blindness for about 6 weeks. She was home schooled during that time, but was able to return to the classroom once she regained her vision.

Hi went to Austin Peay and became a school teacher until she came to Nolensville one day, spotted my grandfather and decided he was going to be her husband. Yup, that's right, she saw him pumping gas at the Gulf station, looked at her cousin and said, "There's my husband." They married 10 weeks later.


My grandfather was a farmer (see my earlier post, entitled Overalls), so once my mom was born, Hi stayed home and took care of her new baby and the housework. Once my uncle was born 7 years later, dynamics at the Scales household changed. My grandmother, 32 years old, woke up in the recovery room completely blind...her sight never to return. A mother who suddenly couldn't see with a newborn would take time for adjustment. My mother was 7 and became my grandmother's eyes.


Hi was one of the smartest women I have ever known. When I had a geometry problem that I couldn't work, which was about every geometry problem, my grandmother could walk me through the answer. She kept up with politics, loved Vanderbilt basketball and loved to talk on the phone. She wrote poem after poem, some about her grandchildren that she loved dearly, some about life in general, but many about death. She remembered most EVERY poem that she had ever written and would recite them from time to time. When I was old enough to realize what she was saying, I couldn't understand why she would write about sadness. Now, I understand it...Hi used writing as therapy, too!

Still, until just a few months ago, it didn't really click with me why death seemed to be a common theme in much of her writing. I realize now that she could SEE so much more than I could ever imagine. She wasn't just writing about death...she was writing about HEAVEN! I remember waking my girls early in the morning on August 3, 2007 to tell them that Hi had gone to live with Jesus. My youngest, who was only 4 at the time, looked me in the eyes with a glimmer in her own and said, "Mommy, Hi can see!" Both of my girls were so sensitive to Hi's needs and obviously learned early on that Heaven is a place without sorrow or sickness.

I read Hi's poems with a different perspective these days. I read them with a longing for an eternal home where I will no longer have to deal with the trials of this world. Here's one of the poems I heard her recite most frequently:

What Lies Beyond

What lies beyond the sunrise
At the break of each new day?
Maybe another heartache
As I have to go my way.

What lies beyond noon's high sun
As it travels its blue path?
It might just cast a shadow
To dull the edge of God's wrath.

What lies beyond the sunset
As night come crawling in?
It hides many sorrows a
And covers many sins.

What lies beyond death's black veil
That saddens many souls?
There, many get just reward
And others attain their goals.

-Kathleen C. Scales 1923-2007

Hi was a smart, brave woman. She could see what lies beyond this world so much more clearly than most people I know. I think I, personally, can now use her phrase, '"I see,' said the blind woman."

"He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." Revelation 21:4

Change

“Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.” Author unknown

Change to me is variety…you know, the spice of life. Growth and improvement are usually products of change. However, I’m finding it difficult to surrender to an upcoming change.

Long before I was even a twinkle in my momma’s eye, my grandfather began farming land in Nolensville on Clovercroft Road. When I was a little girl, my parents built a home on an acre lot just beside the farm. I spent many days walking back and forth between my house and my grandparents’ house through the pasture between our houses. My grandfather would take me out on the tractor and we would drive back on the farm and tend to cows, look at hay and talk about everything under the sun. We would drive to the top of the highest hill on the farm, park the truck and get out and walk. I don’t even know that we were looking for anything in particular, but being up there seemed like I was on top of the world.

Several winters there was enough snow for bunches of us to pile in a car and take our sleds to the top of the hill. There were no fences to stop us at the bottom of that big hill (go to “Fences” to appreciate this comment). We would sled until our legs were too tired to carry us back up to the top of the hill.

My grandparents’ home was part of the farm at the time. As a child, if I were outside, I could always hear a tractor, my uncle’s loud truck or his motorcycle echoing through the hills. There was a bull housed in the lot next to the home where an electric fence marked his boundaries. There were calves in the barn, and cows would line up twice a day for milking. In the summer, the hay was baled and there were barns stacked full of square bales at the bottom of the hill.

In 1988, when my uncle was killed in a car accident, things changed around the farm drastically. Within 3 years, my grandfather was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor and the farm was where he wanted to go each day. There wasn’t a lot of farming going on anymore. In 1992, he died and shortly after that, the cows and all of the farm equipment were sold in his estate auction. The farm had changed from a constant operation to nothing. Eventually, it was rented out, which is the state of operation today.

The farm has changed multiple times since I was a little girl, but now I see a change coming that is next to impossible for me to swallow. The farm is going up for sale.

I find it no coincidence that my quiet time just yesterday was written referencing Psalm 24:1, “The earth and everything in it belong to the Lord." My grandfather was faithful to work the land to provide for his family. We are merely managers of land that belongs to God. "Be willing to surrender what you are to what you could become." As much as it pains me to think of letting it go, I realize that God must have another plan.

Knock It to the Weeds

I love Spring, minus the tornado season, of course. When the lights are on at the ballfield after dark and when I’m standing outside and can hear the “ping” of a ball on a bat, so many memories come to mind.

MUCH of my childhood was spent at a baseball park while my dad coached and my brother played. I generally spent my time digging in the dirt, eating nachos (some things never change) and occasionally, cheering for my brother’s team. When they played in Franklin at Jim Warren Park, I didn’t get to do much other than climb on the bleachers and sit with my mom, because the playground was too far away for my mom to be able to watch me.

My brother ALWAYS made the all-star team, which meant not only a regular season full of games, but several extra tournament games. Many of those I remember being played at Jim Warren Park. My brother mainly played shortstop and was a power hitter. After Pete Rose made the head-first slide so popular, my brother was the first kid I knew who added the same slide to his bag of tricks. So, I have to admit that it was always exciting to watch him if I absolutely had no other choice. My brother could hit the ball so hard and he hit several homeruns every year in the tournament games alone.

One year, in particular, there was a gentleman who became an avid fan of my brother’s team, and always cheered louder and more uniquely than most any other fan. I mainly remember the way he would cheer when my power-hitting brother would step up to the plate. His words were always, “KNOCK IT TO THE WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDS!!!” Since that time, and I was probably 6 years old then, every time I went to a baseball game and my brother would step up to the plate, I would hear in my mind that same man telling my brother in his own fashion, to hit the ball out of the park.

Since my dad coached, my mom kept score and my brother played baseball, it seemed only fitting that I would play softball as soon as I was old enough. I played for a while, but as many know, basketball was my sport of choice. However, my dad taught me how to field, catch, and hit the ball. I played for a few years in the Rec League and our small church in Nolensville even had a team in a coed league for a few years.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me if I wanted to sign up to play coed softball. I quickly agreed and signed my name! I haven’t played in 10+ years, so it sounded fun! I brushed off my glove on Monday and showed up for a practice. I met our coaches and they asked another gal to throw and warm up with me. Then, we took batting practice, ladies first. Since I was the last girl there and had missed practice on Saturday, I batted last.

When it was my turn, I made my way toward the collection of bats leaning against the backstop. The head coach talked me through all the bats giving me a few pointers on how to choose the right bat. After looking for a few minutes, I told the coach, “I like blue, so I think I will go with this one.” So, I took my blue bat and headed to the plate. The coach really didn’t know anything about any experience I might have. With the exception of a few people who know that I am a very loud basketball coach, most others know me as the girls’ mom, a piano teacher and a cute dress and heels kind of girl. Since I verbally chose my bat based on color (I did mindfully take note of the bat weight and swing it a time or two) that my round of batting practice would be interesting to say the least.

The coach had been instructing the other girls on which pitches were good, and those that were not so good. He began to follow suit with me and I did listen intently. I choked up on my bat and stood up to my lefty side of the plate. The pitcher delivered the first pitch and it was almost as if there were a familiar fan cheering in my mind…I sent the ball deep into centerfield over the outfielder’s head…yes, I “KNOCKED IT TO THE WEEDS!” When my round of batting practice was finished, the assistant coach looked at me and said, “You’ve played before, huh?” I humbly replied, “A little.”

I do love to hear the "ping" of the ball off the bat...maybe I'll buy my own bat...I think I will choose pink. Imagine how close the outfielders on other teams will scoot in when they see me walking up to the plate with my girly bat. Oh, and by the way, I'm not afraid to slide head-first, either. :)

Yes

A year ago on a Sunday morning, I was challenged by a story I heard about a little girl, named Elizabeth. She told her daddy after a Sunday morning service that she had written her name on a card and the word "yes" indicating to God that she would do whatever He wanted her to do, whenever the time was right and had left it on the altar. She didn't know when or where God was going to use her, but when He found it to be the right time, she wanted Him to send her. The gentleman that shared the story in his sermon yesterday, challenged church members to do the same.

It's no surprise to me that God put that message in that gentleman's heart or inclined him to tell that story. I'm sure there were many purposes God had for that message, but I know what the purpose was for me. I almost missed it. For the last couple of months I have been praying that God would reveal to me His plan for my life. While I have a daily walk with the Lord, I have realized that I have lost sight of what it is He has in mind for me.

I began serving the Lord at an early age as an assistant accompanist for the small church I attended in my hometown. My love for music and children naturally made me a candidate to serve as a children's choir director, which I did for several years. I served in leadership roles from Sunday School to Vacation Bible School, youth leader and anything else God put before me. To serve Him seemed so easy and His will seemed so evident to me.

As I grew older, I became a wife and a mother, and continued to serve the Lord in similar capacities as before. However, once my marriage fell apart, so did I...and my 20/20 vision of God's plan for my life worsened.

I have never had any doubt about God's love for me. He has seen me through all of my trials. He has continued to pick me up and brush me off, telling me in so many different ways, "This too shall pass."

Now, years later, I have found that I have experienced the darkest times in my life, and my eyes have yet to adjust to the light He provides. While I know He holds me in His hands, I am seeking what it is I am supposed to do, what it is that He wants me to do.

A few months ago at church, my pastor made a statement I will not forget. He said that the people who know the will for their lives and are walking in it are being blessed and are so fortunate. He said that there are also those who don't know God's will for their lives and may never know. I don't want to be the person who never knows. So, I began praying then for definition. The pastor also said that we ask God to bless us, and then, out of fear, we shy away from the blessing. I don't want to be that person, either.

I do have a daily walk with the Lord. I, like many, let my own plans get in the way of His. I don't know what it is that God has in store for me. I know it is MUCH bigger than any plans I could have crafted in my mind. Maybe He wants me to go to a different country to serve. Maybe He wants me to move to a different state to serve. Maybe He wants me to serve in a church a mile away. I don't know what it is that He wants. I almost missed an opportunity to tell Him, "Yes," that Sunday morning. I was comfortable sitting in my seat while others were walking to the front to make a commitment to listen for God and be willing to go wherever He leads. Sure, I could have done that from my seat. However, I grabbed a pen, wrote my name on my card and wrote the word "yes." Now, I will wait for Him to call me to serve and I will be willing to go.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

Good, or Maybe Not So Good Samaritan

I was minding my own business today when I was approached and asked what I was doing for the next hour. Because this guy is somewhat pushy and tends to pass the "grunt" work off on others, I hesitated and tried to come up with a good answer. Instead, I said, "I'll be here working." Anyway, he then asked me if I would like to do a "good samaritan" deed. He told me there was a homeless lady in the next room and asked if I would take the next hour to drive her to a church she had requested. Why he picked me, I'm not sure. I was immediately taken back to a day in college when I was given an opportunity to do something nice to help someone.

It was the last week of school prior to graduation and I had been enrolled in a class, called "Social Problems." We had spent the last few months talking about psychotic people, sociopaths, rapists and everything under the sun that could possibly give me the creeps any time I stepped foot outside the classroom. We spent a couple of weeks talking about rapists alone and our professor gave us signs we should look for when encountering someone who had plans to hurt us.

I took my final exam and was walking to my car in what seemed to be an empty parking lot. Once I got closer to my car, I noticed a strange looking character several cars away from my car with the hood up and battery cables attached. The car was facing out of the parking space. We were the only two in the parking lot. I had never seen this character before and the school wasn't large. I immediatley began to think about what the professor had said about someone waiting to attack. It seemed pretty fishy to me that he had parked with his car facing out of the space and conveniently, his battery had "died" and he needed a young, female student, a.k.a. his next victim to help him. My thoughts grew more scary when I saw him quickly approaching me. I picked up the speed of my fast walk to a moderate jog and raced for my car. Once I got in, I locked the doors and it still didn't stop him from coming after me. He tapped on my window and I rolled it down about an inch. He asked me if I would be willing to drive my car over and let him boost his battery with the cables.

About a thousand more thoughts of him killing me and never seeing my family again ran through my mind. By then, I had decided that he was probably facing his car out of the spot so he could throw me in the trunk and drive me to my grave. Besides, I had never seen him since I started school there and he just looked creepy.

Finally, I told him that I would drive right up there and help him. He thanked me and walked back toward his car. I backed out of my parking space, drove toward his car, and made the FASTEST getaway I could from the parking lot. I drove as quickly as I could home, thinking he was probably going to follow me in his falsely battery-dead car. I left him in my dust and he never caught me.

The next morning I went back to school for graduation rehearsal. I was walking with several of my friends down the hall when to my surprise I saw that same creepy face from the parking lot the day before. He was there for graduation rehearsal, too. I was so embarrassed. I guess he wasn't a rapist after all (or at least he hadn't been caught). I felt so badly that I had not helped the guy and even thought about apologizing. Instead, I walked away quickly.

He didn't have any intentions on hurting me, I guess...well, until I told him, "Sure, I'll help," and then drove out of the parking lot like a bat out of h-e-double hockey sticks. I bet some really mean thoughts went through his mind then!

So, today I felt as if I were given an opportunity to make up a "good samaritan" deed which I had shunned so many years ago. However, I will have to admit there was a flash of that Social Problems class that popped into my head and made me wonder if this homeless lady was going to pull out a knife and as Bon Qui Qui says, "CUUUUT" me. So as not to be completely frightened, I asked another person to ride along with us. Instead of something horrible I had envisioined, I found this woman to be afraid, lost and so sad. My co-pilot began telling her that no matter what, she could find hope if she put her trust in God. I realized I had been given an opportunity to give someone a "cool glass of water" rather than giving them a an easy target for something bad to happen. I felt guilty for the thoughts of fear that had crossed my mind. I made conversation with the traveller and even shared my faith.

Once we were able to drive this woman where she wanted to go, I spent the drive back thinking how grateful I am for a Savior. How thankful I am that I have a safe, warm place to go home to at night and two, beautiful, little girls that I can hug.

Would I be less afraid if someone asked me to do the same thing today? Probably not. However, maybe I would be a little more sensitive to the subject.

Please Don't "Hit Me with Your Best Shot"

I promise everything I share really does happen to me. Once again, I have replaced names - this time in order to protect not the innocent, but crazy.

One, sunny afternoon almost 6 years ago, Mom called me to say that Harlan James had dropped off a gift for me at her house.

He said, “Mrs. Williams, I had heard that Leigh was going through a divorce, and I wanted to bring her something that I thought might cheer her up.” Mom said she didn’t know what to say or do, so she just thanked him and he left. She laughingly told me to hurry over, because she couldn’t wait to see what it could be.

The mysterious gift was packaged simple, little gift bag and a Hallmark card. When I opened the gift bag, there they were - three, little, stuffed, pink poodles…What was that supposed to mean? The Hallmark card explained their purpose, along with a dissertation on Harlan’s attraction to redheads. Here’s an absurd tidbit from the card:

“Some friends caught me turning down a Pam Anderson look alike back in college for a plain looking red head. The next day they had me admitted to the Murfreesboro Psychiatric Ward. After 6 months of intense experimental treatment, I was released. I still have to see a shrink once a week and take antidepressants 3 times a day, but I’m getting better. The doctors call it Obsessive Compulsive Red Head Attraction Disorder (OCRHAD)."

One Sunday, my mom looked over to the piano at me from the choir and mouthed, “Oh, no!” I didn’t know what she meant until the welcome time and I followed her eyes to yes, you guessed it, Harrlan James. Oh, why had he come here? Harlan followed me to the car…I thanked him for the gift and gently told him that my divorce wasn’t yet final. He just kept talking. I finally said, “Harlan, I’m just not interested.”

For several months I have been working on a video project. The videographer is some kind of creepy guy, but he was hired to do the work and I was forced to work with him. Because my girls were interviewed for the project, he met them. He asked me to bring them over to play with his children the next time I had to go to his studio for editing. Because I thought he was creepy, I made up excuses for their absences. After the last editing meeting in November, he began telling me that he had something he wanted to give my youngest…a stuffed animal that he thought she would like. After a month of doing my best to avoid picking up CDs and other video-related materials from his home, he sent me an e-mail asking if I was going to come by and get the stuff or not. So, I told him I would run by in a hurry on my way home from work.

The closer I got to his driveway the more disturbed I became. It was dark and rainy. His studio was around the back of the house in a converted garage. There were really tall bushes EVERYWHERE. I left the car running, put my phone in my coat pocket and held my finger on the “9” just in case he tried to kill me and bury me in the back yard. He handed me the CDs and other items and then held up the stuffed animal he thought my youngest would like. It was a big, lavender horse. When he held it up, he said, “It just has a few holes and stains, but other than that, it is like new.” For one of the few times in my life, I was speechless. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I mustered out a “thank you,” jumped in my car and drove home. The horse found its stall somewhere close to the poodles’ doghouse in the landfill. You would think that I had been drinking, but of course that would be elephants I would be seeing, not horses or poodles.

I don’t know what it is with me that would make anyone want to give me weird, pastel, stuffed animals. My friend commented, “Hey, at least the guys weren’t afraid to take a shot at you.” After thinking about this I’m pretty sure that the kind of “shot” these crazies would take wouldn’t be anything like the “old college try.” However, I’m pretty sure theirs would be with something that resembled an AR-15, and I doubt it would be pastel or merely a stuffed toy.

Basement Birdie

While I sometimes forget to thank my parents for all they do for me, I do understand what a blessing they are to me and my girls. Be it from something large or small, my mom and dad would go to great lengths to protect my girls and me.

Lauren and I were in a car accident last Friday. Our car had to be towed and we were transported by ambulance to a local hospital. As independent as I generally am, when I was told I would not be able to drive my car, I suddenly felt dependent upon my mom and dad. I called them and they drove straight to the hospital.

Lauren was completely traumatized by the accident and the ride on the ambulance was the icing on the trauma cake. My mom and dad sat with us while we answered question after question, waited on x-rays to be read and whatever else done in the ER that appears to take at least 4 hours regardless of the reason for the visit. The nurses brought Lauren popsicles and that helped, but she insisted that I tell her a funny story to help make time pass more quickly (AND to forget she was missing the PREMIER of Camp Rock 2, which she had been eagerly anticipating for several days).

With my mom sitting there, I immediately thought of the perfect funny story to tell:

Prior to my dad’s appointment of the position of State Sergeant Major, he had served in the Tennessee Army National Guard for as long as I could remember. He went to “guard drill” one weekend a month and spent 2 weeks of every summer at camp somewhere outside the state of Tennessee. This meant that my mother, who worked crazy hours (beginning at 3 a.m. or earlier for many, many years) for the post office, had to figure out a way to make sure my brother and I got to every church activity, summer basketball practice, baseball game, social activity, etc., with little assistance. My poppa helped as much as he could, but summer meant endless hours in the hay field or other farming duties for him.

It was summer and my dad had gone to camp. My mom and I were the only 2 home one afternoon, and my mom had just awakened from sleeping after finishing another early morning shift. She had asked me to go downstairs and switch a load of clothes from the washer to the dryer, so I opened the door to the basement to do as I was told. When I opened the door, there was a bird in the stairwell flapping its wings like crazy and headed straight for the door. I screamed bloody murder and quickly slammed the door and threw my body against it as if the bird were going to try and knock it down. I had no plans of trying to fight the bird to get to that load of clothes. I told my mom we needed to call my poppa so he could come and get the bird out of the basement. Of course, my poppa was out in the field somewhere on a tractor, and even if we had all used cell phones then, my mom wouldn’t have called him to come home and get rid of a bird. So, my mother, being the protector that she has always been, grabbed a broom and decided she would take care of the bird herself.

I opened the basement door just wide enough for my skinny mom to get as skinny as she could to squeeze through the door with her broom and immediately closed it behind her. With every step she descended I could hear the broom going back and forth from the walls on each side of the stairwell in a very steady rhythm. I had no doubt that my mom had taken care of that bird by the time she had reached the landing, because of the death dirge the broom had already played. Then, I heard the rhythm change to that of retaliation from the bird from the landing to the last few steps onto the basement floor. The new beat sounded something like “bump, bumpbumpbump, bump…bump.” It didn’t sound very good at all.

Being the big chicken that I am, I ran to my room and picked up the phone not to call for help, but to call downstairs to talk to my mom. When she answered the phone, she sounded defeated and said, “Leigh, I have fallen and have injured my ankle/foot badly.” I interrupted her to ask what I thought was the most important thing, “Did you kill the bird? Call me back when you get rid of it and I will come down there.”

My mom’s ankle and foot were black and blue for days after her battle with the basement birdie.

From a little basement birdie to calmly sitting in the ER waiting for my little girl and me to be released and everything in between, my mom would go to great lengths to protect and care for us. While Lauren, my mom and I laughed hysterically at that silly story about the basement birdie (yes, my mom even laughs about it now), I was reminded of what a blessing my parents have always been to me and how thankful I am for them.

French Fries

Long and skinny, short and fat, waffle, crinkly, curly, mooshy, mostly crunchy, brown, hot, zesty, seasoned or plain with a pool of Heinz Ketchup – that’s how I like my fries! McDonalds, Wendy’s, Arby’s (YUMMY CURLY), Burger King, Back Yard Burger, Ore Ida, or just about any brand…even Applebee’s!

I was in college and played the piano at my small, home church, which was in a country community where everyone ran into everyone else in aisles at the community Piggly Wiggly. A member of the congregation always made a point to hug me and tell me every Sunday how much he and his wife loved me! I had known them for most of my life. They had a son who was a few years older than me who had played many seasons of baseball with my brother. A year or so before, their son, who I’ll call Bill, had divorced and was living at home again. I’m sure you can tell where I’m headed with this, but for the sake of making this complete, I’ll tell you!

All these hugs, and “my wife and I just love you” were laced with, “We want you to go out with our son, marry him and live happily ever after.” I never saw it coming, but one day, it hit. The phone started ringing, Bill asked me out, and when I saw his parents at Piggly Wiggly, you would have thought I was the grocery item they had come to buy. Nevertheless, I agreed. One cold night, I found myself fixing my hair and putting on lipstick because Bill was on his way to get me. We were going to dinner and a movie. When we got in the hand, spray-painted, white, black-tinted windowed, mile-long station wagon, he asked, “So, Leigh, where would you like to eat.” Well, at this point, I’m thinking I’ve been abducted by a crazy man and no one will see me tied up and thrown in the back, because the windows are so dark! I didn’t care if we ate anything or even left the driveway so long as I could see my family again.

Bill was a nice guy, though, so I somewhat got over my anxiety as we drove to the mall. Every time we turned a curve, I would slide around because there was so much Armor All on the seats they were like ice. In an effort to escape the wagon, I quickly suggested we go to Applebee’s. Big mistake.I ordered a salad, because that’s just what we girls do on first dates, right? Well, Bill decided that of all the yummy things on the menu, he would order a grilled cheese and French fries. I was a little shocked, because I thought that on a date you would order something you wouldn’t eat at home. I don’t have many more memories from that date, other than what happened next.

I love French fries…so much that I could eat them alone for a meal. However, I’m not sure I love them as much as he did. Before I had taken two bites of my salad, he had swallowed his whole grilled cheese and all of the fries faster than the whale did Jonah! Then, as my face turned several different shades of red, he sighed and said to the server, “I just love these fries. Please bring me some more.” Oh, my, instead of being abducted by a criminal, I had been taken to Applebee’s by a McDonald’s Fry Guy…I’m pretty sure he had on those crazy sneakers, too! I was SOOOO ready to go home! Forget the movie…I was afraid the “Hamburglar” was not far behind! I have no idea how I was able to talk my way out of a movie or anything more…maybe I had a headache? I don’t know!

However, I do know that I never went on another date with the kidnapping fry guy! I am still haunted by long white station wagons with black tinted windows! If my memory serves me correctly, those fry guys on McDonald’s commercials might show up anywhere – and what do you know, it still holds true!

I just needed a few groceries. I was on my way home and I decided to stop in Piggly Wiggly to grab a couple of things. Of course, even 15+ years later, the same people in the same community still shop at the same store! Lo and behold I ran into guess who? Bill’s parents! Immediately I had a horrible flashback of French fries. This time, I wasn’t a single, college student, but a divorced mother. . Amazingly enough, Bill’s mother noticed right off that I didn’t have on rings. (I should have kept my rings to shove on during these cases of emergency!)

Bill no longer lived with his parents…he had bought a house a few years back – just two streets over from my home. After a short, courtesy conversation, I quickly got out of there…casing the parking lot to make sure there were no signs of a the hand, spray-painted white , black-tinted windowed, mile-long station wagon…whew, the coast was clear! Several weeks later, the girls and I were outside enjoying a beautiful, spring afternoon. I kept seeing the same person riding his bike past my house in the neighborhood, and on this particular day, he stopped to say hello. I didn’t have much to go on for recognition purposes, so I just waited until he got closer…

Oh, no! Since a bike has no tinted windows, I had trouble at first. For a moment, I felt as if I were sitting in Applebee’s again. The conversation was okay. He didn’t ask me out, so that was good. He just said hello and asked about my family. Whew, I was relieved.The girls and I spent a lot of time outside that Spring, probably too much. The next visit was about a week later. This time, he was wearing his sneakers ! I was a little too relaxed since the precious visit had seemed to be so innocent. Here’s how the conversation went:

Bill: Hey, Leigh. Sure is a beautiful day.

Leigh: Yeah, the girls and I are enjoying it.

Bill: Wow, I noticed you aren’t wearing your wedding rings. (In other words, “My mom told me she saw you and that you are divorced.)

Leigh: Nope, no rings.

Bill: Well, I know being divorced is not easy, especially when you are a parent…(Then, all my worst thoughts came true.)

Bill: Well, if you ever want to go out and talk about it, I would love to just give you an ear so you can vent, etc.

Leigh: (Thinking about French Fries and how I wanted to run in the house and shut the garage door on him) Oh, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.The girls and I continued to enjoy the beautiful, Spring afternoons, but invited every neighbor over we could think of for the rest of the season. We would see him run by or ride by, but we kept one finger on the garage remote at all times.

Thank goodness the Piggly Wiggly went out of business!