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!

Overalls

I posted this note last year on this day, my poppa's birthday. Because today would have been his birthday, I wanted to share it again. He was my best friend.

He must have been 10’ tall. It seemed I needed a ladder to climb up and get that pen out of his bib pocket. He made it easy for me, though. He would sit in his chair and let me sit in his lap. He wore a treasure chest…I could play for hours with his paper and pens, and when I got tired of that, I would grab his comb and stand behind him in his chair. I would comb his hair and laugh with him until no end. He was my best friend. Every Sunday afternoon, he came home from church, he would take off his Sunday hat and socks, take his red bone Case knife out of his pocket, change into his Sunday best overalls and get ready to eat lunch. After every meal he would sop Bob White Syrup up with the homemade biscuits that had been prepared for him. Then, he would take his empty coffee cup and run water in it…he would drink it and let out a BIG ahhhhhhhhhh!

We would get in his truck after lunch. Although we had a mission, he never failed to stop at the store and let me spend a whole dollar on candy and a coke. Then, we would drive around to check on his cattle at different locations. He would get out of the truck and walk around, and tell me to drive all over the field. He always drove a Ford, diesel truck and the floorboard was full of junk. His seats were covered with dust from the barn and from the hay that he had spent hours cutting and raking on the tractor.

He was a strong man who I could always count on to be there when I needed him. In 1991, he was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. I guess I thought that if anyone could make it, he would. He slept in the den for a couple of months…his face would light up when someone would walk into the room, and he listened to piano music with his headphones. It wasn’t just any piano music, it was his favorite…mine.

When he got sick, a caregiver encouraged me to record my music for him. So, with big tears rolling down my cheeks, I played several of his favorite hymns. He listened to them until the end. At the funeral, they played the recording…I know he was doing his funny little dance in Heaven…I’m sure his comb, and pen and paper to draw his crazy pictures were tucked perfectly in the pockets of his overalls.

Broccoli

My friend, who I will call, Lyla, in order to protect the innocent, is one of the most faithful friends I have ever had. I can talk to her one day, and then, not again for 1 year, and we can pick right up from where we started. However, there was a time when she lived so close to me that we could hang out every day…Oh, the stories I could tell! There were many times when I would take Lyla to the grocery store, and it would hurt me so badly when we would get to the counter and she would have to put items back, because she didn’t have enough money. She was so careful with her spending and if she bought something, she used it!

I was on my way to her house to take her to run one day and while I was driving, I smelled a horrible stench in my car! When I got to her house, I told her, “Lyla, I’m really sorry, but there is a horrible smell in my car. We should probably ride with the windows down (even though it wasn’t warm enough to do so), because I think there MUST be a dead animal in my trunk! Lyla agreed with me! She had not smelled anything that badly in a long time! We drove to the park, with the windows down and our heads hanging out, and then, we stopped by my mom and dad’s on the way back home. Oh, my goodness…I told my dad, “Will you please open my trunk and see what has died in there? I don’t think I can handle it if there is some type of dead animal…” Lyla and I went in the house and talked with my mom. Shortly, my dad came to the door…he was clothed in a huge coat and had put on these great big gloves to check out the trunk. So, here stands this man at the door with these gloves, holding a “Kroger” plastic bag…Lyla exclaimed, “My broccoli.” We laughed and laughed until we cried.

We have shared many experiences together, but I never thought I would share one of the darkest experiences ever. I had been divorced for only a short amount of time when Lyla called me from Florida to tell me she didn’t know what to do. The man she had married many years before had gone one step too far and had threatened her son. She packed up all three of her children and moved back to her parents’ home. I didn’t really know what to say to her. My wounds were so fresh and I didn’t want to let my hurt and bad experience spill over into what I told her. I chose my words carefully.

“Lyla, there is never an excuse to abuse children. I know you have been abused verbally, physically and mentally for a long time, and I don’t believe your children should have to endure it. Only you know when enough is enough. God will sustain you. He will give you what you need. He will not turn His back on you. I will pray for you as you make this decision.”

Months went by, and Lyla decided to file for divorce. She has gone to school and is beginning to make a life for herself and her children. God is faithful. As much as life may stink, sometimes even worse than old broccoli, God’s love spills over a fragrance so fresh and unique.