Madalynn and I left from Virgie's at 7 am this morning. The roads were all but abandoned, and the moon was gloriously full in the face of the opposing sun. How can I not be thankful?
We only met up with one car at all the intersections on Hwy 421 in Wilkes. And I thought in those few minutes that so much was right with the world.
We had a Christmas station playing and one Santa song after another came on. To which Madalynn said, "People think that's what Christmas is about." I, for once, didn't have anything to add or take away. My seven year old gets it, all on her own now. How can I not be thankful?
We crept in. And so as not to wake anyone, she went for a bath as I went for a shower. By the time I got out, several of the kids were up with Memaw and Pop. Sometime in their little visitations to me as I was getting ready, I was told that we were eating by 11 am so Miranda could go on to work at the Christmas tree farm, the same one she helped Michael prune this summer.
As I moved from room to room, Pop asked me just how it is that I know DJ. Then, Mike looked at me and asked plainly, "Why don't you go get him?" Gladly! How can I not be thankful?
When I got back with him, all the food was ready. It was not planned so, but I did not lift one finger to prepare it. Our daughters had listed, shopped for, cooked, and presented a homemade feast on the table that Mike built and with the chairs that we all refinished. (You know, those chairs from Long John Silver's.) We were to eat together at it for the first time. BUT Michael had not come back from his hunting trip way up a logging road in the middle of a thousand acres. He was without a phone and there was some discrepancy as to whether his Daddy said for him to BE home or to LEAVE for home at 11 am. A mother gets a little wound up even though she knows her son has been out hunting alone since he was old enough to pull back a sufficient compound bow. He arrived just as I was taking DJ back. How can I not be thankful?
Somewhere in the mix, two of the girls decided to go with Miranda. Mike had in mind that we would all go to visit Aunt Cindy and Memaw's other sister and brother from Georgia. It was about enough to send him over the edge. Afterall, in the morning, I had told him to turn down the Christmas music so he wouldn't wake Macklynn ...even though Macklynn didn't really seem to mind.
Then, after one of the kids told, in FRONT of DJ, on the other for saying they were staying in their room because DJ was eating with us; Mike made mention that he didn't like the seating. I was afraid that it would once more hurt DJ's feelings, so I made clear that I would take the odd chair.
Oh, and as we made our way to Aunt Cindy's six or seven miles away in nothing less that four cars, I got bent out of shape that we had confused Michael on how to go and that Mike's racing another direction to beat him must have something to do with the greater issues of life.
No, my ways are not Mike's ways. But why must I digress so? Yes, these are simple and almost innocent gestures compared to the ones of our yesteryears. But, why must I get that two cents in? Is not the Lord my defense? Do I still not believe?
This I do know, that my belief is unquestionably being tested. And as I pondered it once again the other night, I suddenly realized that each and every family member is too being profoundly haunted once more by their own personalized demons from the past: instability, sickness, despair, idolatry, addiction, weepiness, aloneness, covetousness, and self involvement.
I think this time though, God is expecting new outcomes, because He has shown Himself to be faithful. Now, it is our turn to do the same. He finds us worthy to do so and has much work for us to get on with. Charles Stanley tells me so on my rides to and fro Virgie's. The book of Deuteronomy professes it so when I sit and study it at Virgie's table early every morning. And Chip Ingram convinces me so while I exercise in my room after I get home. How can I not be thankful?
So ...we didn't get our family Christmas picture made today, even though we were all dressed matchy, matchy. There are just some days that are better off not documented in pictures.
We didn't get our tree up either. But Megan and Miranda did respond to a call for a woods fire near the Parkway. For all I know, they're still there. Just the way they were the other night, along with McKala, digging a tractor trailer driver out from under the load of bread crumbs he was delivering when he lost his brakes and had to take the runaway ramp. How can I not be thankful?
Madalynn and I are back at Virgie's. We followed that brilliant moon almost the whole way and could hear the coyotes howling when we opened the doors. We sleep in some pretty interesting arrangements, but we are warm and we are together and we are safe, as is everyone else back home. Yes, home, we've been there 3 months already and it feels like home now. How can I not be thankful?
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Well Pleased
I left Michael with another cadet's family in a parking lot off Interstate 77 this morning. His visit was awfully short. Nonetheless, it was his first in 6 weeks. We were just thankful to make it back after Friday's 4 1/2 hour trip up turned into a 6 hour one, when I had Melody take the wrong highway after a bathroom break. It was nearly a repeat of what happened in Atlanta when Miranda was my 15 year old driver, and we wound up in Tennessee instead of South Carolina. Only this time, it was raining and my tires are on their last leg.
Melody was a trooper though, so much so that I let her drive us back until her 9 pm permit cut-off. I was well pleased to see her confidence driving among truckers with a constant spray on the windshield.
We missed Michael's game entirely. We walked to the stands in time to see the clock count down the last three seconds. With all the commotion, somehow we missed the exit where we wanted to eat afterwards and finally settled on a Denny's 100 miles more down the road. I wasn't about to go another road trip without an atlas, so we stopped at the truck stop. And I proceeded to tell the attendant that with my watch, camera, gun, Bible, cash, and now, map, that I still didn't have to have the cell phone the kids claim I do. At midnight, we finally reached home, "If that's what you call it," Michael said yesterday. This has been a world of change for him. When he left, we still lived in the other house and still had the company of his farm animals and pets in their familiar surroundings.
Now, we are close to being suburbanites. In many ways, we're glad not to have the upkeep of the property we couldn't manage anymore. Plus, this house is so spacious that I'm convinced we're meant to use it for hospitality. I hate though that Michael feels like a guest in his own home. But I understand. I'm so accustomed to being at Virgie's that my returns home feel more like hotel stays.
Michael. His outlook at the high school academy is very different this year. On one of our first calls, he said, "It's great being a senior." And on one of our latest calls, he said, "I love my chemistry teacher." Those a big words coming from a reserved young man.
Last year, he went into football season with an undiagnosed broken shoulder AND a case of undiagnosed Mono. He got to play a quarter here and a quarter there. This year, he's playing the whole game, both sides of the ball. Last year, he was mocked for his beliefs. This year, he's the go to. He also has his own room as a respite. Last year, he caught flack from the few fellow students he was placed in charge of. This year, he is second in rank of the whole senior class. He's holding his own academically and has regained the twelve pounds he lost working this summer.
But more than all these was when I was signing him out after the game, and the commandant told his call to hold, while he reached over to me and said about Michael, "I love this guy." No proud parent moment, only well pleased.
Saturday lunchtime, McKala called. "Mama, I had a wreck." If not for her words, I would not have known by her steady tone that anything was wrong. Megan and Miranda were quickly on their way to help. Until I saw a picture of the descent she made off the road and heard the story of the spins she took, I didn't understand what she'd been spared. Turns out that she was neither charged a towing bill nor written a ticket. But her liability only insurance leaves her with presently unknown repair bills. Thankfully, she's just moved back in with us and will have help getting to work. And her Timothy will gladly get her to other needful places. In the two of them, I am also well pleased. They are moving forward with their relationship in a Godly fashion, that I have kidded them I am jealous of.
Megan. Megan to the rescue. Always since she was 12 she's had a patriarchal role. Her talent, reliability, and work ethic give everyone a sigh of relief when she arrives. Because we all know she can handle whatever is in her way. But I want for her something, someone who can share that burden with her, lift it off her shoulders, the weight she was never intended to carry. I know it's up to her to relinquish it, but I believe for the right guy, with the right and true heart, she would.
Miranda. She was all but begged when the move was found out not to leave her last job, helping a woman farmer work chicken houses. Then, a week prior to the move in date, I got a call from someone who wanted a Harper to fill the position. Now, Miranda is working at the Crisis Pregnancy Center. The job was there for her before she pursued it. Because God is front of her now, where He is always waiting to be placed. In this too, I am well pleased, that my children have made a good name that goes before them in the Lord.
Macklynn. This very day the last millimeters of his skin have bonded together. It is healed. Even the plastic surgeon over the department at Wake Forest raised his eyebrows, well pleased by his progress and looked immediately to Melody to applaud her for her good care of it. It looks remarkably good, especially compared to the injuries that the Giants' Defensive End suffered the 4th of July of the very same incident. In my mind, there is no doubt that not only is Macklynn's life meant for the service of the Lord, but so are his hands. Now, to spend my days encouraging him to do so, reminding evermore the things from which he was sprung back.
During these days also, I'm enjoying the sweet fleeting months of the woman/child, Melody. She is my right hand, as each of our daughters that age has been, and will step out into hours of her own work and study before I know it. And although, my Madalynn is years behind her, she is already filling her shoes. We are a team much the way it was when Megan was young before our family grew so large. We sing to her Spanish CD all the way to Virgie's and back. She prepares us herbal tea before bed. Then before we pray, we read to each other between yawns. She already speaks of the job "we'll" get when Virgie has gone on.
Shame on me that in this life I have ever felt alone, left wanting. But for the grace of God, I surely would be. I have learned that there is no noble desire except that I, my children, and fellow and would-be saints cause our Maker to be nothing less than well pleased ..."forever, for always, no matter what."
Melody was a trooper though, so much so that I let her drive us back until her 9 pm permit cut-off. I was well pleased to see her confidence driving among truckers with a constant spray on the windshield.
We missed Michael's game entirely. We walked to the stands in time to see the clock count down the last three seconds. With all the commotion, somehow we missed the exit where we wanted to eat afterwards and finally settled on a Denny's 100 miles more down the road. I wasn't about to go another road trip without an atlas, so we stopped at the truck stop. And I proceeded to tell the attendant that with my watch, camera, gun, Bible, cash, and now, map, that I still didn't have to have the cell phone the kids claim I do. At midnight, we finally reached home, "If that's what you call it," Michael said yesterday. This has been a world of change for him. When he left, we still lived in the other house and still had the company of his farm animals and pets in their familiar surroundings.
Now, we are close to being suburbanites. In many ways, we're glad not to have the upkeep of the property we couldn't manage anymore. Plus, this house is so spacious that I'm convinced we're meant to use it for hospitality. I hate though that Michael feels like a guest in his own home. But I understand. I'm so accustomed to being at Virgie's that my returns home feel more like hotel stays.
Michael. His outlook at the high school academy is very different this year. On one of our first calls, he said, "It's great being a senior." And on one of our latest calls, he said, "I love my chemistry teacher." Those a big words coming from a reserved young man.
Last year, he went into football season with an undiagnosed broken shoulder AND a case of undiagnosed Mono. He got to play a quarter here and a quarter there. This year, he's playing the whole game, both sides of the ball. Last year, he was mocked for his beliefs. This year, he's the go to. He also has his own room as a respite. Last year, he caught flack from the few fellow students he was placed in charge of. This year, he is second in rank of the whole senior class. He's holding his own academically and has regained the twelve pounds he lost working this summer.
But more than all these was when I was signing him out after the game, and the commandant told his call to hold, while he reached over to me and said about Michael, "I love this guy." No proud parent moment, only well pleased.
Saturday lunchtime, McKala called. "Mama, I had a wreck." If not for her words, I would not have known by her steady tone that anything was wrong. Megan and Miranda were quickly on their way to help. Until I saw a picture of the descent she made off the road and heard the story of the spins she took, I didn't understand what she'd been spared. Turns out that she was neither charged a towing bill nor written a ticket. But her liability only insurance leaves her with presently unknown repair bills. Thankfully, she's just moved back in with us and will have help getting to work. And her Timothy will gladly get her to other needful places. In the two of them, I am also well pleased. They are moving forward with their relationship in a Godly fashion, that I have kidded them I am jealous of.
Megan. Megan to the rescue. Always since she was 12 she's had a patriarchal role. Her talent, reliability, and work ethic give everyone a sigh of relief when she arrives. Because we all know she can handle whatever is in her way. But I want for her something, someone who can share that burden with her, lift it off her shoulders, the weight she was never intended to carry. I know it's up to her to relinquish it, but I believe for the right guy, with the right and true heart, she would.
Miranda. She was all but begged when the move was found out not to leave her last job, helping a woman farmer work chicken houses. Then, a week prior to the move in date, I got a call from someone who wanted a Harper to fill the position. Now, Miranda is working at the Crisis Pregnancy Center. The job was there for her before she pursued it. Because God is front of her now, where He is always waiting to be placed. In this too, I am well pleased, that my children have made a good name that goes before them in the Lord.
Macklynn. This very day the last millimeters of his skin have bonded together. It is healed. Even the plastic surgeon over the department at Wake Forest raised his eyebrows, well pleased by his progress and looked immediately to Melody to applaud her for her good care of it. It looks remarkably good, especially compared to the injuries that the Giants' Defensive End suffered the 4th of July of the very same incident. In my mind, there is no doubt that not only is Macklynn's life meant for the service of the Lord, but so are his hands. Now, to spend my days encouraging him to do so, reminding evermore the things from which he was sprung back.
During these days also, I'm enjoying the sweet fleeting months of the woman/child, Melody. She is my right hand, as each of our daughters that age has been, and will step out into hours of her own work and study before I know it. And although, my Madalynn is years behind her, she is already filling her shoes. We are a team much the way it was when Megan was young before our family grew so large. We sing to her Spanish CD all the way to Virgie's and back. She prepares us herbal tea before bed. Then before we pray, we read to each other between yawns. She already speaks of the job "we'll" get when Virgie has gone on.
Shame on me that in this life I have ever felt alone, left wanting. But for the grace of God, I surely would be. I have learned that there is no noble desire except that I, my children, and fellow and would-be saints cause our Maker to be nothing less than well pleased ..."forever, for always, no matter what."
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Weep with Them that Weep
I don't know where to register or categorize what has happened. I'm not okay, but I will be. Because that's the hope I have in Christ.
I've never been particularly sympathetic to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Deep down inside, I imagined it to be an excuse. I mean, we have to give it to the Lord, and get over it, right?
Then why am I still crying?
It happened Sunday. Some would find reason in the fact that we didn't go to church. Trying to dodge bad weather, we wound up moving in the wee hours of the morning. Yes, we're moving to North Wilkesboro by August 31st.
At 10:30 am, no one was awake. So, I let them be and took my Bible with me, to sit by the pond. I don't know that it was a replacement for the fire and fervor of the new pastor down the road, who nearly knocks over the pulpit in his exuberance. But I found solace.
Soon enough, Megan as promised took Melody to the "back to school kick-off" at the lake. Miranda met with her best friend to trudge up Stone Mountain. McKala was napping at the Parks'. Michael's back at school in Virginia, and Mike was in Florida.
My little guys asked if I would walk them through and down the creek as I had given my word to do before we move. I wasn't feeling quite up to it, so I let Madalynn swim in the pond. Macklynn couldn't. because while he was swinging the hammer at the old computer parts I'd gifted him to destroy, he hit himself with the claw on the back of the head. That's after he shocked himself in an outdoor receptacle while plugging up an extension cord last week. Not too many days before that, he and Madalynn were in a wreck with their Daddy on 421 because a car cut them off. And a couple of weeks before then, a piece of metal target deflected and propelled into his arm.
All that I could handle. Even having the pediatric cardiologist coming in with x-rays before they returned him to me after his birth. Even the encephalitis and meningitis he had simulataneously that crippled him when he was only 4 years old. And the three times he's had serious nail punctures. I've mentioned in some circles that he's my barometer. He suffers when I'm out of line.
But this. This was out of the blue.
We had just entered the house, the three of us. Only the two of them can remember the sound. All I can remember is the light, the carport lit up like the 4th of July. Literally.
Then he ran through the door, screaming bloody murder. It was terror, horrifying! His hand was marred with blood and black powder. I knew it was mutilated as he dropped himself into my desk chair. I grabbed a moving blanket from the floor, wrapped his hand and pressed against his leg.
Madalynn was changing from her bathing suit and grabbed something, anything to put on. Neither of them had on shoes. He didn't even have on a shirt, and it didn't matter. We weren't waiting; we were leaving. Now.
Agony. The screams of agony are haunting me still. My God, the suffering. In between the excrutiating pleas for relief, he managed to tell me to turn on the radio. He said, "Turn it to KLove!" a request I don't recall him ever making. As if my heart were not crushed enough, my soul groaned that he was seeking comfort from the Lord in his panic.
The bridge! It was out. I had to take an alternate route.
The exit ramp! It was closed. I had to go to the next one and circle back.
All the while, he was screaming, not crying, screaming. And contemplating amputation. He knew. We both did. We knew we had done wrong. That mortar cylinder had been in the medicine cabinet for how long?! Why didn't I just throw it away when I cleaned it out?! Why of all times, did he have to disobey?! As prone to accidents as he is, they're virtually never because of defiance. Why did it have to look so much like a smoke bomb?! But God bless him, he had the wherewithal to run out and drop it in the driveway, so that it wouldn't start any more fires than it already had. Blood splatters trailed him all the way out there and back in front of my desk.
We made it. No thanks to the general public for moving out of the way, regardless of my flashers being on.
We ran through security as I tossed my purse into the chest of a guard. "There's a gun in there."
I didn't give the check-in nurse a chance to talk. I said, "I'm going in."
They got him out of triage in a hurry. The only glitch we had was the IV. The first nurse dug, with no success. We kept assuring him that help was near. It was as if his desperate pleas were being ignored. He reared his legs up while another nurse had to be called in. The one at his feet was near tears herself.
I put my head down on the rail and cried for the first time. Out of mere frustration. That I couldn't keep my word. I had been forcing him to look into my eyes and be still, promising him that they would stop the pain. The waiting seemed like forever.
When the medicine coursed through his veins, I finally got a chance to see his hand. Even though it was blasted apart, everything was there, all his fingers. Oh, thank you, God!
The doctor called a plastic surgeon at Baptist to double check his decision to fix it right then and there. Despite the holes and burns, Macklynn could still move and feel his fingers. So, they determined it was safe to begin surgery.
Surgery. That means the OR, operating room, right?
They began prep in front of Madalynn and me. She had been sitting there so sweetly, with so much hurt in her face, her bare feet and wet hair.
The RN and doctor didn't agree on what was procedure, but the doctor trumped and went about his business. He explained every step of the way after he put him under with Ketamine. It's the stuff we're given before we're given real anesthesia. He assured me that missionary doctors even use it to perform appendectomies.
So there he lay, his eyes wide open but unconscious to the fact that Doctor Tom, who reminded me some of Doctor "House," was washing his wounds with what amounted to a caulking gun, flooding his wounds with sterile water, then injecting syringes full of novacaine.
The nurse told me they don't sedate adults for burn procedures, so I was most glad at that point he was a child.
Then another "too good to be true." Dr. Tom got the nurse's attention. He said, "Look at his digital nerve. Completely intact." In the chasm between his thumb and index finger, his beautiful nerve was untouched. The doctor was amazed, amazed that his thumb wasn't blown completely off his hand to start with. You see, after I finally got someone on the hospital's phone (because I still don't carry a cell), Megan and Melody got there. And I switched up with them and could hear through the curtain parts of a story the doctor was telling them as they stood tight by Macklynn's bedside. Turns out the doctor is a certified pyrotechnician, because his brother-in-law is a professional one, who incidentally has done The Olympics. Incredible.
Shortly thereafter, Miranda arrived, then McKala and her Timothy. They got to see the upside, and I'm glad for them for that.
Macklynn was uncommonly mannerly to everyone after his awakening. I think he grew up five years in one day. He knew what he'd been spared.
So, when I was given the advice to "switch" him for his disobedience when he gets better, or that it wasn't worth Mike missing overtime for, or that my story was getting long, or that at least it was his left hand, or whatever else people can dream up; I grew bitter, really bitter. More so, towards those who didn't grace us with their voices at all.
Very few calls came in. Most of them were men, specifically Mike's coworkers and volunteers, broken by the prospects for this young fellow. I was surprised to learn just how empathetic men are to the risks that they know their gender are prone to. I blame the rest on social media. Megan posted a picture but because she didn't want to start an uproar over the cause, she didn't put many details except that they virtually had to reattach his thumb. Is that not a clue?!
Is that not a cue? To get off the networks and dial an actual number and put a voice to it?!
I grew more and more discontent over the disconcern.
Can't anyone tell how upsetting this was?! Can't anyone tell that I'm hurting too?! Doesn't someone know that I might not be over this?! I'm not okay?! But that's selfish. I'm not the one who was hurt. I can't help it. I'm not good with this just yet. The devil penetrated my space. He got past my hedge, and he tricked and tormented one of my very own.
But you say, it all turned out good. Don't tell me that. I'm still mad at you. I'm still hurting. Don't you know that your Bible says to, "weep with them that weep." Let me have this. I might lose it all if you don't. Yes, I know it isn't about me, and that's why I've been keeping it to myself. Because the strong don't ask for help.
Then, yesterday. I was going through the piles of books I've procrastinated to make decisions on. "Hinds' Feet on High Places." Back in Georgia, almost 20 years ago, a recently converted woman gave me a copy. She was worried about my circumstances, even though she'd lose her own pregnancy. I remember asking ignorantly if she imagined her babies with angels' wings. She was wise and sober minded enough to say, "No." People don't turn into angels. In trying to soothe her, I made a complete idiot of myself. We do that, and we believe people are okay when they're not. Because it's easier for us that way.
I have learned much. I have learned that I will check on people, up close and personal. Even recently, I've dropped that ball myself. Going forward, that changes. I will drop my agenda for that of my LORD. He tells me to take care of His people and if I have to drag my kids along, then they'll be better for it than having their noses stuck in some book.
But thank God for the words He gave Hannah Hurnard in this one, "But the High Places of victory and union with Christ cannot be reached by any mental reckoning of self to be dead to sin, or by seeking to devise some way to discipline by which the will can be crucified. The only way is by learning to accept, day by day, the actual conditions and tests permitted by God, by a continually repeated laying down of our own will and acceptance of his as it is presented to us in the form of people with whom we have to live and work, and in the things which happen to us. Every acceptance of his will becomes an altar of sacrifice, and every such surrender and abandonment of ourselves to his will is a means of furthering us on the way to the High Places to which he desires to bring every child of his while they are still living on earth."
I've never been particularly sympathetic to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Deep down inside, I imagined it to be an excuse. I mean, we have to give it to the Lord, and get over it, right?
Then why am I still crying?
It happened Sunday. Some would find reason in the fact that we didn't go to church. Trying to dodge bad weather, we wound up moving in the wee hours of the morning. Yes, we're moving to North Wilkesboro by August 31st.
At 10:30 am, no one was awake. So, I let them be and took my Bible with me, to sit by the pond. I don't know that it was a replacement for the fire and fervor of the new pastor down the road, who nearly knocks over the pulpit in his exuberance. But I found solace.
Soon enough, Megan as promised took Melody to the "back to school kick-off" at the lake. Miranda met with her best friend to trudge up Stone Mountain. McKala was napping at the Parks'. Michael's back at school in Virginia, and Mike was in Florida.
My little guys asked if I would walk them through and down the creek as I had given my word to do before we move. I wasn't feeling quite up to it, so I let Madalynn swim in the pond. Macklynn couldn't. because while he was swinging the hammer at the old computer parts I'd gifted him to destroy, he hit himself with the claw on the back of the head. That's after he shocked himself in an outdoor receptacle while plugging up an extension cord last week. Not too many days before that, he and Madalynn were in a wreck with their Daddy on 421 because a car cut them off. And a couple of weeks before then, a piece of metal target deflected and propelled into his arm.
All that I could handle. Even having the pediatric cardiologist coming in with x-rays before they returned him to me after his birth. Even the encephalitis and meningitis he had simulataneously that crippled him when he was only 4 years old. And the three times he's had serious nail punctures. I've mentioned in some circles that he's my barometer. He suffers when I'm out of line.
But this. This was out of the blue.
We had just entered the house, the three of us. Only the two of them can remember the sound. All I can remember is the light, the carport lit up like the 4th of July. Literally.
Then he ran through the door, screaming bloody murder. It was terror, horrifying! His hand was marred with blood and black powder. I knew it was mutilated as he dropped himself into my desk chair. I grabbed a moving blanket from the floor, wrapped his hand and pressed against his leg.
Madalynn was changing from her bathing suit and grabbed something, anything to put on. Neither of them had on shoes. He didn't even have on a shirt, and it didn't matter. We weren't waiting; we were leaving. Now.
Agony. The screams of agony are haunting me still. My God, the suffering. In between the excrutiating pleas for relief, he managed to tell me to turn on the radio. He said, "Turn it to KLove!" a request I don't recall him ever making. As if my heart were not crushed enough, my soul groaned that he was seeking comfort from the Lord in his panic.
The bridge! It was out. I had to take an alternate route.
The exit ramp! It was closed. I had to go to the next one and circle back.
All the while, he was screaming, not crying, screaming. And contemplating amputation. He knew. We both did. We knew we had done wrong. That mortar cylinder had been in the medicine cabinet for how long?! Why didn't I just throw it away when I cleaned it out?! Why of all times, did he have to disobey?! As prone to accidents as he is, they're virtually never because of defiance. Why did it have to look so much like a smoke bomb?! But God bless him, he had the wherewithal to run out and drop it in the driveway, so that it wouldn't start any more fires than it already had. Blood splatters trailed him all the way out there and back in front of my desk.
We made it. No thanks to the general public for moving out of the way, regardless of my flashers being on.
We ran through security as I tossed my purse into the chest of a guard. "There's a gun in there."
I didn't give the check-in nurse a chance to talk. I said, "I'm going in."
They got him out of triage in a hurry. The only glitch we had was the IV. The first nurse dug, with no success. We kept assuring him that help was near. It was as if his desperate pleas were being ignored. He reared his legs up while another nurse had to be called in. The one at his feet was near tears herself.
I put my head down on the rail and cried for the first time. Out of mere frustration. That I couldn't keep my word. I had been forcing him to look into my eyes and be still, promising him that they would stop the pain. The waiting seemed like forever.
When the medicine coursed through his veins, I finally got a chance to see his hand. Even though it was blasted apart, everything was there, all his fingers. Oh, thank you, God!
The doctor called a plastic surgeon at Baptist to double check his decision to fix it right then and there. Despite the holes and burns, Macklynn could still move and feel his fingers. So, they determined it was safe to begin surgery.
Surgery. That means the OR, operating room, right?
They began prep in front of Madalynn and me. She had been sitting there so sweetly, with so much hurt in her face, her bare feet and wet hair.
The RN and doctor didn't agree on what was procedure, but the doctor trumped and went about his business. He explained every step of the way after he put him under with Ketamine. It's the stuff we're given before we're given real anesthesia. He assured me that missionary doctors even use it to perform appendectomies.
So there he lay, his eyes wide open but unconscious to the fact that Doctor Tom, who reminded me some of Doctor "House," was washing his wounds with what amounted to a caulking gun, flooding his wounds with sterile water, then injecting syringes full of novacaine.
The nurse told me they don't sedate adults for burn procedures, so I was most glad at that point he was a child.
Then another "too good to be true." Dr. Tom got the nurse's attention. He said, "Look at his digital nerve. Completely intact." In the chasm between his thumb and index finger, his beautiful nerve was untouched. The doctor was amazed, amazed that his thumb wasn't blown completely off his hand to start with. You see, after I finally got someone on the hospital's phone (because I still don't carry a cell), Megan and Melody got there. And I switched up with them and could hear through the curtain parts of a story the doctor was telling them as they stood tight by Macklynn's bedside. Turns out the doctor is a certified pyrotechnician, because his brother-in-law is a professional one, who incidentally has done The Olympics. Incredible.
Shortly thereafter, Miranda arrived, then McKala and her Timothy. They got to see the upside, and I'm glad for them for that.
Macklynn was uncommonly mannerly to everyone after his awakening. I think he grew up five years in one day. He knew what he'd been spared.
So, when I was given the advice to "switch" him for his disobedience when he gets better, or that it wasn't worth Mike missing overtime for, or that my story was getting long, or that at least it was his left hand, or whatever else people can dream up; I grew bitter, really bitter. More so, towards those who didn't grace us with their voices at all.
Very few calls came in. Most of them were men, specifically Mike's coworkers and volunteers, broken by the prospects for this young fellow. I was surprised to learn just how empathetic men are to the risks that they know their gender are prone to. I blame the rest on social media. Megan posted a picture but because she didn't want to start an uproar over the cause, she didn't put many details except that they virtually had to reattach his thumb. Is that not a clue?!
Is that not a cue? To get off the networks and dial an actual number and put a voice to it?!
I grew more and more discontent over the disconcern.
Can't anyone tell how upsetting this was?! Can't anyone tell that I'm hurting too?! Doesn't someone know that I might not be over this?! I'm not okay?! But that's selfish. I'm not the one who was hurt. I can't help it. I'm not good with this just yet. The devil penetrated my space. He got past my hedge, and he tricked and tormented one of my very own.
But you say, it all turned out good. Don't tell me that. I'm still mad at you. I'm still hurting. Don't you know that your Bible says to, "weep with them that weep." Let me have this. I might lose it all if you don't. Yes, I know it isn't about me, and that's why I've been keeping it to myself. Because the strong don't ask for help.
Then, yesterday. I was going through the piles of books I've procrastinated to make decisions on. "Hinds' Feet on High Places." Back in Georgia, almost 20 years ago, a recently converted woman gave me a copy. She was worried about my circumstances, even though she'd lose her own pregnancy. I remember asking ignorantly if she imagined her babies with angels' wings. She was wise and sober minded enough to say, "No." People don't turn into angels. In trying to soothe her, I made a complete idiot of myself. We do that, and we believe people are okay when they're not. Because it's easier for us that way.
I have learned much. I have learned that I will check on people, up close and personal. Even recently, I've dropped that ball myself. Going forward, that changes. I will drop my agenda for that of my LORD. He tells me to take care of His people and if I have to drag my kids along, then they'll be better for it than having their noses stuck in some book.
But thank God for the words He gave Hannah Hurnard in this one, "But the High Places of victory and union with Christ cannot be reached by any mental reckoning of self to be dead to sin, or by seeking to devise some way to discipline by which the will can be crucified. The only way is by learning to accept, day by day, the actual conditions and tests permitted by God, by a continually repeated laying down of our own will and acceptance of his as it is presented to us in the form of people with whom we have to live and work, and in the things which happen to us. Every acceptance of his will becomes an altar of sacrifice, and every such surrender and abandonment of ourselves to his will is a means of furthering us on the way to the High Places to which he desires to bring every child of his while they are still living on earth."
Thursday, July 2, 2015
What a Week
Saturday I came up to Virgie's, even though we were hosting Mike's fellow worker's family to blackberry picking and wings. I stayed until the EMTs carted her out because she was in "touch and go" shape. She's persevered again and I'm writing from the twin bed where I sleep nearby her bedside.
Sunday, we witnessed an elderly man stand before the church the first time as he proclaimed that the unraveling of the American fabric lies squarely on his shoulders. He said if only he, as every Christian, had done his part. Then, a missionary from Brazil stated his own case, which was relevant to the fruits God asks us to bear. He and his wife had stopped at two children when he heard a definite word from God to grow their family. Now, they have six.
I had posted something to the same effect that very morning, because I had finished Genesis once more and am convinced that as we focus on the sexual taboos of the time that we are completely missing the premium put on the value of children, numbers of children, not necessarily as much as assets but as gifts of seed from the Lord. All seed was paramount whether it be in the crops or flocks. What we try to replace it with are only things that end in corruption and pollution.
Monday I got Melody squared away at www.uplandsreach.org for the week and came back home to get the best news I've had in a while. Mike emailed me the copy of official confirmation on county letterhead that after background checks, he and I are permitted to take DJ from the facility for up to five hours at a time. After asking for 9 months, he can go to church fellowship to eat and hear God's Word preached on Wednesday nights! To you and me, not as big a deal. To him, it might mean the world.
What floored me was that in this social worker's quarter of a century of work in Charlotte, she hasn't heard of such a request and had to get special permission from her supervisor. How can this be?
I realized it was nearly 10 pm and I hadn't heard from Michael. Turns out he'd gone riding on Dr. Miller's horse for a couple of hours after work and when he returned Dr. Miller prepared them both a steak. I was glad for a young man who's gone from sun up to sun down that he caught a break. Tuesday it appeared that a gathering was coming together at our house that evening. Many Sight Management Team leaders for SP from as far as Arizona to New York to Alabama were in town to practice building a tent hospital. We got in touch with several of these friends we've made on different deployments and they agreed to have a wienie roast. Although it poured rain and the bonfire was off, we fired up the Weber grill and couldn't have had better.
The rain cooled things off and didn't put a damper on much else. I had wondered what might become the entertainment when I saw a line forming to take a turn at shooting Mike's crossbow from the carport. As this was transpiring, the kids realized that Patty was in full labor with her piglets.
Every now and then, Madalynn would come up to announce that there was one more. At four though, Michael came in for mineral oil and a glove because she hadn't delivered one in nearly two hours. Come to find out, there was indeed an obstruction and once he pushed it out of the way and with Miranda's smaller hands to complete the task, Patty continued to have 9 more babies. At different intervals, I was also asked for Betadine and a pot of coffee. Patty refused that first "gang" of piglets and the kids were bent on keeping anything from happening again.
So, Michael sat at her head, petting the pig he'd had sent she was given to him as a young one herself. Miranda sat at the other end roughly rubbing and reviving the ones that gasped as they arrived, McKala assisting with a syringe and also blocking with a board in front of the hind leg to keep the mother from pinning her little ones against the wall. Megan kept it all in check moving them about and unwrapping their cords from each other.
I stood taking it all in, like old times. Like a well oiled machine, they took care of business.
Michael was determined to sleep in a lounge chair inside the stall because Patty had placed herself in such a way that was dangerous for her new ones. I couldn't find any satisfaction in leaving him alone because of what she became last time, so Miranda stayed with him even though they were both dog tired from a day's work already. Megan and McKala retired to the house, tuckered out themselves.
To date we've only lost two and considering the mortality rate of pigs, we're happy. One was stillborn with the afterbirth. The next morning, it was more than Miranda could bear as Patty gained strength then let herself fall to rest on nearly half a dozen. Miranda badgered her into standing back up but she began to stomp precariously, so she knew it was lost cause. She came up to the house ...and later we found out only one piglet was smothered by the weight of its mother. "Only one" is still a hard thing to say.
So began the morning of our 26th Anniversary. Mike took a paid day off so was home when I received the call. Manuel has gotten out of hand with his mother. His autism has put him through every program, session, and therapy you can imagine. This I know: she loves him dearly, enough to consider letting him return to us. That is the most high honor.
To my surprise, he said we'd pick him up on our way home from the lake.
Last time at the lake, he kept telling me to ride beside him so he wouldn't have to look back to ensure I was there. But my neck was still hurting and it was easier to ride in his wake just to one side or the other than against the waves the wind was causing.
I'm careful not to draw analogies where there are none, but it felt much like I was his wing man. I realized yesterday that as I rode beside him, that I came perilously close to him a few times as I was checking around for other craft. Too, he was looking for a particular location, so as he diverted I was not as likely to see his move.
That said, I know a lot of people go for the phrase, "A man doesn't need a woman behind him or in front of him, but beside him." I can't say that I agree.
When I rode behind Mike, I was in no particular danger of colliding with him, nor was I apt to get lost when he took off another direction. I rested in the safety of following him. I didn't really want to be in his position of leading the way to such a hard place to find. And instead of feeling agitated or condescending, I actually had sympathy for his predicament. I can't see where it is not a good idea to flank my man. When I trust, God IS in front of him whether he knows it or not.
We had a fine time, ate a great meal, and got our "package." Manuel was glad to see us, creating dubious feelings in his mother. I would also have been a wreck.
He fell asleep on Mike's shoulder sitting between the two of us in that old truck and I could tell by the look on his face that he was empathetic with the little guy for all the medicines he's been put on and all the hoops he's had to jump through. As tears burned my face, I thought to myself, "What an anniversary present, that my husband would do this."
Mike had set the alarm for 5:30 am to help Michael fix a chainsaw for his work up the mountain.
I never even heard it, only Manuel popping up at the foot of our bed and asking, "What are you doing?" I thought I woke him with my snoring.
We got on up, made some breakfast, checked out the dogs and goats, and played with the toys on the porch, which incidentally I had recently thought we had no need of. Miranda took him to see her chickens and the piglets. He was really overjoyed about them. Mike took him to see the disaster relief tractor trailer. Then, he returned him to swim in the pond after the rain cleared.
As far as I know, Manuel hasn't had any encounters with bodies of water to amount to anything since he was 3 or 4 years old (he's 7 now) and walked straight into a pond and began to sink, his mother jumping in her clothes to rescue him. I think I scared the life out of him explaining what could go wrong without a life jacket, so he offered no resistance to it. He floated on his back a lot of the time and kicked like there was no tomorrow. I think he loved it. Enough to get in one more time today.
He was one tired little boy. So as I finished up supper, missing Melody's cooking, cleaning, babysitting, caring for the kitten, making laundry detergent, and checking the well filter for salt; Miranda gave him a bath. She read them stories as I cleaned up. He was completely conked out when I left to come here.
I think it's about that time for me also at nearly 1 am. Virgie and I are having a bout with her indigestion, or is it? She was throwing up this way before they whisked her away to the ER last week, to discover she had another urinary tract infection. You never know in this life. As I sat by "beating" and rubbing on her back intermittently to give her the relief she requested, I thought even in this, touch makes us love people more. It does ...it really does.
Sunday, we witnessed an elderly man stand before the church the first time as he proclaimed that the unraveling of the American fabric lies squarely on his shoulders. He said if only he, as every Christian, had done his part. Then, a missionary from Brazil stated his own case, which was relevant to the fruits God asks us to bear. He and his wife had stopped at two children when he heard a definite word from God to grow their family. Now, they have six.
I had posted something to the same effect that very morning, because I had finished Genesis once more and am convinced that as we focus on the sexual taboos of the time that we are completely missing the premium put on the value of children, numbers of children, not necessarily as much as assets but as gifts of seed from the Lord. All seed was paramount whether it be in the crops or flocks. What we try to replace it with are only things that end in corruption and pollution.
Monday I got Melody squared away at www.uplandsreach.org for the week and came back home to get the best news I've had in a while. Mike emailed me the copy of official confirmation on county letterhead that after background checks, he and I are permitted to take DJ from the facility for up to five hours at a time. After asking for 9 months, he can go to church fellowship to eat and hear God's Word preached on Wednesday nights! To you and me, not as big a deal. To him, it might mean the world.
What floored me was that in this social worker's quarter of a century of work in Charlotte, she hasn't heard of such a request and had to get special permission from her supervisor. How can this be?
I realized it was nearly 10 pm and I hadn't heard from Michael. Turns out he'd gone riding on Dr. Miller's horse for a couple of hours after work and when he returned Dr. Miller prepared them both a steak. I was glad for a young man who's gone from sun up to sun down that he caught a break. Tuesday it appeared that a gathering was coming together at our house that evening. Many Sight Management Team leaders for SP from as far as Arizona to New York to Alabama were in town to practice building a tent hospital. We got in touch with several of these friends we've made on different deployments and they agreed to have a wienie roast. Although it poured rain and the bonfire was off, we fired up the Weber grill and couldn't have had better.
The rain cooled things off and didn't put a damper on much else. I had wondered what might become the entertainment when I saw a line forming to take a turn at shooting Mike's crossbow from the carport. As this was transpiring, the kids realized that Patty was in full labor with her piglets.Every now and then, Madalynn would come up to announce that there was one more. At four though, Michael came in for mineral oil and a glove because she hadn't delivered one in nearly two hours. Come to find out, there was indeed an obstruction and once he pushed it out of the way and with Miranda's smaller hands to complete the task, Patty continued to have 9 more babies. At different intervals, I was also asked for Betadine and a pot of coffee. Patty refused that first "gang" of piglets and the kids were bent on keeping anything from happening again.
I stood taking it all in, like old times. Like a well oiled machine, they took care of business.
Michael was determined to sleep in a lounge chair inside the stall because Patty had placed herself in such a way that was dangerous for her new ones. I couldn't find any satisfaction in leaving him alone because of what she became last time, so Miranda stayed with him even though they were both dog tired from a day's work already. Megan and McKala retired to the house, tuckered out themselves.
To date we've only lost two and considering the mortality rate of pigs, we're happy. One was stillborn with the afterbirth. The next morning, it was more than Miranda could bear as Patty gained strength then let herself fall to rest on nearly half a dozen. Miranda badgered her into standing back up but she began to stomp precariously, so she knew it was lost cause. She came up to the house ...and later we found out only one piglet was smothered by the weight of its mother. "Only one" is still a hard thing to say.
So began the morning of our 26th Anniversary. Mike took a paid day off so was home when I received the call. Manuel has gotten out of hand with his mother. His autism has put him through every program, session, and therapy you can imagine. This I know: she loves him dearly, enough to consider letting him return to us. That is the most high honor.
To my surprise, he said we'd pick him up on our way home from the lake.
Last time at the lake, he kept telling me to ride beside him so he wouldn't have to look back to ensure I was there. But my neck was still hurting and it was easier to ride in his wake just to one side or the other than against the waves the wind was causing.
I'm careful not to draw analogies where there are none, but it felt much like I was his wing man. I realized yesterday that as I rode beside him, that I came perilously close to him a few times as I was checking around for other craft. Too, he was looking for a particular location, so as he diverted I was not as likely to see his move.
That said, I know a lot of people go for the phrase, "A man doesn't need a woman behind him or in front of him, but beside him." I can't say that I agree.
When I rode behind Mike, I was in no particular danger of colliding with him, nor was I apt to get lost when he took off another direction. I rested in the safety of following him. I didn't really want to be in his position of leading the way to such a hard place to find. And instead of feeling agitated or condescending, I actually had sympathy for his predicament. I can't see where it is not a good idea to flank my man. When I trust, God IS in front of him whether he knows it or not.
We had a fine time, ate a great meal, and got our "package." Manuel was glad to see us, creating dubious feelings in his mother. I would also have been a wreck.
He fell asleep on Mike's shoulder sitting between the two of us in that old truck and I could tell by the look on his face that he was empathetic with the little guy for all the medicines he's been put on and all the hoops he's had to jump through. As tears burned my face, I thought to myself, "What an anniversary present, that my husband would do this."
Mike had set the alarm for 5:30 am to help Michael fix a chainsaw for his work up the mountain.
I never even heard it, only Manuel popping up at the foot of our bed and asking, "What are you doing?" I thought I woke him with my snoring.
We got on up, made some breakfast, checked out the dogs and goats, and played with the toys on the porch, which incidentally I had recently thought we had no need of. Miranda took him to see her chickens and the piglets. He was really overjoyed about them. Mike took him to see the disaster relief tractor trailer. Then, he returned him to swim in the pond after the rain cleared.
As far as I know, Manuel hasn't had any encounters with bodies of water to amount to anything since he was 3 or 4 years old (he's 7 now) and walked straight into a pond and began to sink, his mother jumping in her clothes to rescue him. I think I scared the life out of him explaining what could go wrong without a life jacket, so he offered no resistance to it. He floated on his back a lot of the time and kicked like there was no tomorrow. I think he loved it. Enough to get in one more time today.
I think it's about that time for me also at nearly 1 am. Virgie and I are having a bout with her indigestion, or is it? She was throwing up this way before they whisked her away to the ER last week, to discover she had another urinary tract infection. You never know in this life. As I sat by "beating" and rubbing on her back intermittently to give her the relief she requested, I thought even in this, touch makes us love people more. It does ...it really does.
Monday, June 22, 2015
Smile
The last weekends have consisted of different ones of us bowling, sneaking away from the others for Sweet Frog yogurt, running a mud bog fund raiser, helping with a surprise party, and taking off to to the rodeo. Madalynn tested for and got her yellow belt. Macklynn's baseball team made it to the championships.
Last week most all of us attended a local VBS, and Melody rescued a baby deer from the mouths of our own dogs but was not as fortunate finding two of the kittens before they did.
Now, two of our dogs must go. We caught one cornering Mama Mosey's baby goat today. Michael and Megan are going to take it hard seeing their dogs off.
Michael's been to Miranda's ENT doctor and has no interest in the solution he suggests for his congestion. So, to avoid surgery he's taking allergy medicine morning and night.
It's settling in on McKala that her recovery is a long haul. The family she housesat for wants her to move in as a helper. She's been given a car. God has not forgotten her.
She posted recently something to the tune of, "If you see me smiling, it isn't because my life is perfect. It means I appreciate what God has given me." There's just no good reason not to smile and be friendly with people.
We get this a lot, "I didn't know anything was wrong. You seem so happy." It's not that we're not happy or that we're faking it or that we don't have to face the dark like everyone else does. We just know it's not about us, and that it isn't right not to be interested in the events of other people's lives.
As a matter of fact, I've been having some rough months myself, plus found out last week that my good and bad cholesterol aren't jiving. Yet, two different women sent me messages in the last week that they haven't seen me lately and miss my ever present smile. Then, Saturday morning after another one and I talked through some hard stuff, she came to the door as I was leaving and said, "I love you." I don't think she tells that to too many people.
Man, that's what it's about. She didn't know it but she made my week, month probably. Pouring into other people is all in the world that matters. Period.
The employees and spouses of SP get a yearly all expenses paid weekend at The Cove in Asheville. So, three weekends ago Mike and I took advantage of it. It was fabulous, from the renowned speakers and Aaron Shust's tear jerking testimony and daily worship performances, to the catered style buffets and indelible service. But what was better was conversation after conversation of deep spiritual commonalities, good and bad, with other wives and volunteers.
First though, we got an invitation to spend the night with Mike's fellow driver/mechanic. They took us to a quaint restaurant and proceeded to share with us stories of their adventures. It materialized the next morning when I dropped his wife off with her friend on the Blue Ridge Parkway so they could cycle to Asheville. 90 miles! Her hair is white, her children having been grown for years.
They sent home with us a movie, "Machine Gun Preacher," true story of Sam Childers's conversion and how he now uses his resources to rescue children in the war zone of South Sudan. It's racy to say the least. I've never seen anything like it. It makes The American Way seem so shallow.
Miranda rented "Unbroken" for Mike yesterday, Father's Day. After a day of good preaching and berry picking, it was sobering. Mr. Zamperini endured what the rest of us could never imagine, yet most of us can't even endure the hardness of marriage. Melody had watched it at the theater and thought enough of it to mail the book to her Pop.
Not long ago, Michael and I watched a documentary called, "Such Were Some of You." It's many, many testimonials of ones who've left the homosexual lifestyle, how they got in it to start with and how they recovered. Most importantly how we might help others do the same.
These kinds of things are what our kids have grown up on. I have to bring them the "meat" for them to mature. I take it seriously. My goodness, if they're gonna be entertained, let it be something that turns them to Christ. Or once they're grown, you'll be spending the time you finally get to spend on others suffering what you didn't teach your children the first go-round. Nothing, not one thing, not one dream, not one goal that draws your attention away is worth losing a child to this world.
I heard Elisabeth Elliott on the radio today and her words bring to mind again that I have no care for the things of this earth. I'm good with the clothes on my back. What in the United States of America does it matter that I wear the same pair of pants to church every Sunday? What difference does it make if I wear the same T-shirts over and over, just as long as I'm clean and no offense? I'd just as soon have one set of sheets, one towel, one glass, and one plate. I had a notion to start throwing things out of the house today and hauling them off on the trailer. Don't think I won't. But I had to wash dishes and clean my bathroom. As a matter of fact, I still have Comet in my hair as a I sit here in Virgie's recliner, wondering if her weakness is a passing virus or the quick declining of a long life.
I'll sleep in this chair tonight instead of the bed because I've done something to my neck spending time in the evenings proofreading my "book." I like what it says so far, but I don't know how it'll be received. All I know is no amount of "testifying" will ever be worth neglecting the mental, physical, and especially spiritual needs of every single one of my children. I still have work to do at home and always will.
And I'll forever be trying to figure out that husband of mine. Because for all bidding things good riddance, Mike is still winsome and fun loving.
I had a list a mile long of chores Saturday, but he swept me away to the lake, just the two of us. I have to admit that when I finally loosened up and started hossing the jet ski around, I loved it. The smaller, older versions have their advantages. One is "paid in full" and the other is that they can "drift" over the water in sharp turns, much like the cars that do. It was a workout for sure, and I have four blisters to prove it.
He and I may never be alike, so I can have all the high aspirations I want. But I signed up to be his help meet and if fun is what he wants, then fun is what he'll get. If not, all my kids will remember is that I was the party pooper. And all that I will get as a wife is a bad review. How about you?
Last week most all of us attended a local VBS, and Melody rescued a baby deer from the mouths of our own dogs but was not as fortunate finding two of the kittens before they did.
Now, two of our dogs must go. We caught one cornering Mama Mosey's baby goat today. Michael and Megan are going to take it hard seeing their dogs off.
Michael's been to Miranda's ENT doctor and has no interest in the solution he suggests for his congestion. So, to avoid surgery he's taking allergy medicine morning and night.
It's settling in on McKala that her recovery is a long haul. The family she housesat for wants her to move in as a helper. She's been given a car. God has not forgotten her.
She posted recently something to the tune of, "If you see me smiling, it isn't because my life is perfect. It means I appreciate what God has given me." There's just no good reason not to smile and be friendly with people.
We get this a lot, "I didn't know anything was wrong. You seem so happy." It's not that we're not happy or that we're faking it or that we don't have to face the dark like everyone else does. We just know it's not about us, and that it isn't right not to be interested in the events of other people's lives.
As a matter of fact, I've been having some rough months myself, plus found out last week that my good and bad cholesterol aren't jiving. Yet, two different women sent me messages in the last week that they haven't seen me lately and miss my ever present smile. Then, Saturday morning after another one and I talked through some hard stuff, she came to the door as I was leaving and said, "I love you." I don't think she tells that to too many people.
Man, that's what it's about. She didn't know it but she made my week, month probably. Pouring into other people is all in the world that matters. Period.
The employees and spouses of SP get a yearly all expenses paid weekend at The Cove in Asheville. So, three weekends ago Mike and I took advantage of it. It was fabulous, from the renowned speakers and Aaron Shust's tear jerking testimony and daily worship performances, to the catered style buffets and indelible service. But what was better was conversation after conversation of deep spiritual commonalities, good and bad, with other wives and volunteers.
First though, we got an invitation to spend the night with Mike's fellow driver/mechanic. They took us to a quaint restaurant and proceeded to share with us stories of their adventures. It materialized the next morning when I dropped his wife off with her friend on the Blue Ridge Parkway so they could cycle to Asheville. 90 miles! Her hair is white, her children having been grown for years.
They sent home with us a movie, "Machine Gun Preacher," true story of Sam Childers's conversion and how he now uses his resources to rescue children in the war zone of South Sudan. It's racy to say the least. I've never seen anything like it. It makes The American Way seem so shallow.
Miranda rented "Unbroken" for Mike yesterday, Father's Day. After a day of good preaching and berry picking, it was sobering. Mr. Zamperini endured what the rest of us could never imagine, yet most of us can't even endure the hardness of marriage. Melody had watched it at the theater and thought enough of it to mail the book to her Pop.
Not long ago, Michael and I watched a documentary called, "Such Were Some of You." It's many, many testimonials of ones who've left the homosexual lifestyle, how they got in it to start with and how they recovered. Most importantly how we might help others do the same.
These kinds of things are what our kids have grown up on. I have to bring them the "meat" for them to mature. I take it seriously. My goodness, if they're gonna be entertained, let it be something that turns them to Christ. Or once they're grown, you'll be spending the time you finally get to spend on others suffering what you didn't teach your children the first go-round. Nothing, not one thing, not one dream, not one goal that draws your attention away is worth losing a child to this world.
I heard Elisabeth Elliott on the radio today and her words bring to mind again that I have no care for the things of this earth. I'm good with the clothes on my back. What in the United States of America does it matter that I wear the same pair of pants to church every Sunday? What difference does it make if I wear the same T-shirts over and over, just as long as I'm clean and no offense? I'd just as soon have one set of sheets, one towel, one glass, and one plate. I had a notion to start throwing things out of the house today and hauling them off on the trailer. Don't think I won't. But I had to wash dishes and clean my bathroom. As a matter of fact, I still have Comet in my hair as a I sit here in Virgie's recliner, wondering if her weakness is a passing virus or the quick declining of a long life.
I'll sleep in this chair tonight instead of the bed because I've done something to my neck spending time in the evenings proofreading my "book." I like what it says so far, but I don't know how it'll be received. All I know is no amount of "testifying" will ever be worth neglecting the mental, physical, and especially spiritual needs of every single one of my children. I still have work to do at home and always will.
And I'll forever be trying to figure out that husband of mine. Because for all bidding things good riddance, Mike is still winsome and fun loving.
I had a list a mile long of chores Saturday, but he swept me away to the lake, just the two of us. I have to admit that when I finally loosened up and started hossing the jet ski around, I loved it. The smaller, older versions have their advantages. One is "paid in full" and the other is that they can "drift" over the water in sharp turns, much like the cars that do. It was a workout for sure, and I have four blisters to prove it.
He and I may never be alike, so I can have all the high aspirations I want. But I signed up to be his help meet and if fun is what he wants, then fun is what he'll get. If not, all my kids will remember is that I was the party pooper. And all that I will get as a wife is a bad review. How about you?
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Even When
Two and a half weeks ago, our four oldest daughters packed our van and set south to spend a week on the Gulf with Mom and Dad. They caught hundreds of pounds of Lane Snapper from Dad's boat and brought some back home with them. That left only Mike and the two little ones here with me. He decided we'd jet ski the weekend away. First, I determined there were some things to be done. And I made that clear as I toted the ladder down the hill to the garage saying into the air against good sense that, "Somebody has to do it."
On the boat ramp, I climbed onto the trailer wearing Crocs. I knew better and slipped the first time. I asked for Mike's hand and in his hurry, he escorted me right back into the water. Except this time, my shin planted into the corner of the trailer's running board. It hurt so badly that I felt nauseous and when I lifted my leg up, the blood poured. My trite comment about "somebody has to do it" rang through my head. "Michelle, when will you listen?"
Touche. God means business about this respect thing, EVEN WHEN hormones fluctuate. Yes, I had PMS. Some women use it as an excuse to act up. But for the most part, I think it's just truth serum against the trash talk and treatment we put up with from the world the rest of the month. And it's why "red buttons" are dangerous in our hands.
It wasn't long before Mike had the kids behind him on the float coasting across the water. I was riding back a little and thought sentimentally to myself that, although this "investment" he made was not what I would've chosen, it was a beautiful thing to see the fun they were having together. Truly.
That was until the cord got wound up in the propulsion tube and I had to tow them back. He was agitated but I wasn't, UNTIL he goofed off and broke the hook so that I had to grasp the rope and drive my own jet ski for quite a distance.
Once he got his out to work on it, he told me I should go have fun on mine. I decided that I ought to stay nearby to watch over the little guys ...and honestly, to decompress.
Which is what I did but it looked like I was pouting and at first, I was. See, the silent treatment only works if we're truly taking it to the Lord. Otherwise, bitterness manifests and is apparent through our facial expressions.
By the time he got it fixed, Macklynn and Madalynn had lost interest. But he thought they'd read my body language and were siding with me. He threw his hands up and proceeded to get everything together. And he left. I assumed that he went to the store but after an hour, I realized he was really gone. Sweet Heather came to my rescue, just to find out that he didn't know he'd taken my keys.
We did a "do-over" the next day.
The four of us piled into the single bench seat of his old Toyota truck and when we pulled up to the drivethru for lunch, I thought we couldn't have looked more redneck. It's kind of funny really, because I like to see how people treat us when we aren't in our normal setting.
We had a great time on the water, probably looking more like grandparents than parents. Mike hooked the float to my jet ski, and I pulled them in circles for the longest time. I thought how neat it was to be doing it myself. I thought how so many women jump the gun, wanting to "be" and to "do" while they're children are babies and toddlers. Don't rush it. Your time will come, just like mine is.
When we got home, Michael had called from school 3 or 4 times to wish me a happy Mother's Day. I still have it on the machine. My girls were living the Salt Life while I was getting refamiliarized with Lake Life. It was a good day and the sun agreed with me.
In two more days, Mike was gone to Texas and the plumber was at our house trying to figure out what was wrong with the well filter system. And to top it off, the billy goat was harassing his female kid and although we were outfitted for Macklynn's game, we went into the pasture to corral her. But she was wise to us, so I had to go in and get the lasso. Now, unlike McKala I don't know a thing about lassoing, so finally I decide to noose him instead. So, while he was eating grain, I slipped it under his chin. And the fight was on.
He wanted no part of it and struggled tooth and nail all the way up the yard to the trailer. Macklynn was afraid I was killing him but we got him on, not before he rammed him in the stomach and gored me in the leg. I tied all sorts of knots to ensure he didn't jump the walls.
We had DONE something! Just me and the littles. We felt emboldened on the way to the ball field, sweat running down our brows and backs.
The next day, we found out what time to be at the auction, hooked up the trailer, and did fine until a truck pulled out in front of us and we had to brake suddenly. The trailer unhooked and hit the asphalt. Oh yeah, that's what I forgot, the lock! But I DID remember the chain hooks, even showing Macklynn that they were for backup! Thank God that He looks after fools. I'm glad no one or no thing was hurt. We were able to pull over rather quickly. The poor billy was sitting down and shaking and who could blame him. It must've seemed like a slow-mo scene of a movie with the screeching and halting of metal.
We got there in time for him to be the last animal received and the first sold. We made a pretty penny toward a real milk goat and we stayed to witness the sale of lots more animals.
Since we had the truck, we put the flower pots we'd started for DJ in the back. When we pulled around behind the facility to put them out by his window, it was broken and all the beds had been moved. It looked like a crime scene and I was nervous until I got in to see what it was. It turned out to only be an accident. DJ was in a room by himself and very glad about it. It threw a wrench in my plans for him because his new window has an industrial AC outside and is so high that he couldn't see any flowers much less his bird feeder. So, the next Wednesday we brought him Pippy, our Pitbull. She crawled up in his bed and he pet her as he listened intently to the book I was reading, and it was as though the last week hadn't even happened.
Thursday night Macklynn had practice. It was one of those evenings that I just wanted to be a loner, so I took Madalynn over to the playground. There was a 13 year old girl who began talking with me. And within a little while, so was an 11 year old girl. They both sat down and listened word for word and were in agreement with the deep things the Lord had me talk with them about. It was unexpected and beautiful, and I was on cloud nine after we got home. The three of us had the house all to ourselves for three days. We managed it well and enjoyed spending the night all in one room together, them taking turns - one in our bed, one on a mattress in the floor. Just before we retired one night, Madalynn and I saw a foot long snake playing dead in the back yard. Even though they give me chills, I thought I should give Macklynn a shot at it. He took a jar out and coerced it in. We left it on the kitchen counter and researched everything about ringneck snakes.
The next morning he let it out but chanced catching it by the tail. And he did! Covered in goosebumps, I was impressed with his display of bravery, much like that of his brother.
Saturday Sloan and her family came to watch Macklynn play and then to take us to a trampoline park. They bounced until Macklynn got so hot his nose bled. Milkshakes made up for not staying another hour.
The next day the SP volunteer Mike had bought the jet skiis from, which incidentally Mike had likely painted when he worked for Yamaha back in the early 90s, went with us to the lake after he and Mike rode motorcycles, which they had also done the day before for "Operation Heal our Patriots" in Alaska. I was embarrassed that when he first got here, I still had out mounds of clothes to sort through for summer and winter. But I had it done before they returned. In terms of hospitality, the kitchen and bathrooms are most important to me, so those are the things we try to keep done regularly.
He stayed up late enough for the girls to return home and tell some of their vacation stories. Then, he slept in the arrangement we make in the living room floor for visitors. I do like that about disaster relief volunteers - they'll humbly sleep anywhere because most of the time they've worked so hard they don't even care. He woke early the next morning and went back to Alabama.
That Monday most of my hours were spent listening to the unraveling of the girls' tales from their adventures. I have to love that my husband works to give me that freedom, even to wake at my own pace each morning over a cup of coffee and my Bible.
Tuesday and Wednesday were marathons of errands and lessons. I don't even remember Thursday except that it had to have been spent in preparation of Friday. We were to be at Duke University at 7:30 am. McKala had to undergo testing in the POTS Clinic.
After an hour of being hooked up to a dozen monitors on a tilt table and even given nitro glycerin, she was finally diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. It's something central to young Caucasian women, especially those who've suffered a serious injury, surgery, or virus. Well, she certainly qualifies there!
The prognosis is a three to five year recovery. She's already begun heart medication to slow down her rapid heart rate, which is caused by the imbalance the body has in telling the blood to flow back to the heart at a reasonable rate. The heart beats hard to make up the difference often making the individual pass out. There's a constant state of lethargy and even nausea and vision impairment. She'll have to drink a ridiculous amount of fluids and add as much salt as she can tolerate to her diet to retain good blood volume.
Then, when she's stable, she'll begin an exercise regimen to make her heart as strong as it can be. That this makes her test her faith and health will one day prove to be to her good. That there is a light at the end of the tunnel makes this something we can't really complain about. That we grow tough from these things is essential. The toughness is the residual of faith. Be tough or be crying. Crying for a night happens but much longer than that is a choice. That's why we're so tough on people, because if they roll over they will be pummeled by their own ways or that of another. Although we're made to need each other, we can't always rely on each other. So, many things we learn to do on our own because it's either grow strong or grow bitter.
While we were still reeling from finally getting an answer, we walked to the parking deck to drive to Virginia to get Michael from his final day as a junior in high school. We were several hours later than we thought we'd be. He had all his stuff piled up in the grass and was nowhere to be found. We manipulated his things into the cracks and crevices of the van between the 6 of us who'd be driving back. Michael did the honors. He talked quite a bit for a somebody who doesn't ordinarily.
We'd packed a cooler and thought we'd make it to Macklynn's game but traffic stood in our way, so we came on home, the place he gets to operate out of for the next 11 weeks. He'll work most of that time because he's not happy to be down to his last $100. Lots of his hours will also be spent restoring his body from surgery and preparing for his senior year of football.
McKala told him that Dr. Miller intends to put him in charge of his Christmas tree farm. A mother likes to hear that someone has that much confidence in her son. She also likes to see the owner of the 100 year old dealership her daughter repairs cars for write, "She is an asset to our company and we are glad to have her, as I told her dad the other dad. She has an excellent attitude and everyone likes her,,,,,, and she knows what she is doing."
Not that everyone will "like" us, but they know if we care or not. Above all things I want my children to love the Lord with all that they have, including a hard work ethic, AND to be good to people. It turns out that even when people don't carry our same beliefs, they see when they can and cannot trust a person. McKala is house sitting this week for a family who does share our beliefs and said she's the first one they thought of because of her love of animals and her trustworthiness. She's also all but Dr. Sarah's personal assistant.
Melody's gearing up to be a "captain" at camp this summer and has raised virtually all of her money with her T-shirt business, which hopefully is about to branch out. She's making supper again right now. That's after she and Miranda ventured out to rescue the kittens she and Megan found on their walk yesterday. It appeared that someone "dumped" them. It's amazing to me that people can't seem to choose between a meal at Applebee's and getting their animal spayed.
So, not only do we have the ailing cat Mike found for Miranda in the Waffle House parking lot in Pennsylvania on his way home from New York just after I killed hers. Now, we have tiny Berlioz, Toulouse, and Jean-Marie since the kids recollected that the Aristocats favor them.
Mike just called to say a volunteer friend whose husband flies an airbus has offered our kids tickets to fly to and from another Texas church that SP is about to set up in for flood disaster relief. I love what the Lord does for us and whatever He has planned, no matter what it is. You see, something I've learned is that my opinion, my style means nothing in the scope of time. I thought over Mother's Day of my favorite things. I prefer flowers that grow themselves and have intense fragrance, like irises, wisteria, and peonies I like seams that show handsomely on leather and cotton. I enjoy grape flavored anything. I'm a visual learner and an opportunistic teacher of whatever life has to offer. My love language is acts and deeds because there are so many things I'm learning but still can't do.
These things are well and good, and if God sees fit to put them in my life, He will. If not, I don't have any reason to even think about them.
I die, He lives. Like Michael told Mary-Hope the other day, "It's a win-win situation."
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Since You're Gonna Stay, 'Stay Well'
Last week, Mike's Aunt Beverly passed away in the early morning hours. We hadn't expected her second bout with cancer to end so soon. Try as I might, I could not put a good enough plan together for any of the kids to go with us in the middle of the week. Miranda offered herself up to manage the conflicting the schedules and somehow got the entire garden tilled also.
I really was torn. I never "want" to leave the children. Finally, one of the older ones clarified to me that instead of staying, I needed to go, not as a careless mother but as a good wife. After grappling with the condition I was leaving the house in, I let go.
See, although I'dve been here overseeing the children and home, it doesn't mean that this particular time it was God's will. It's safer for the whole family for me to be in His will.
So, I dug in my closet past the Ziploc bags, Band-Aids, and paper napkins, which I keep in there because if I leave them in the kitchen, we won't have any at all. I gathered my favorite things and, true to form, made us late. Mike didn't fuss the way he used to. He just let me be.
Somewhere along the way down to Georgia, I realized I translate into "someone else" when Mike and I get away from the household. I'm very intense at the house and don't always know when to delay things and rest. I had consciously given the children individually over to the care of the Lord. I was at peace that I was in the right place at the right time.
A few miles further, I was comforted in knowing that as the children age out of the home, Mike and I will have a hopeful future because we have things to talk and laugh and tease about.
We playfully changed clothes behind a gas station and made it to the viewing that evening, after which we went with his parents to Peachtree City for exceptional Mexican food at a place we've been to many times and where I remember Megan at the tender age of 4 putting her hands over her ears and telling us to stop fighting.
For me, the funeral was much like any other until Mike got up to speak. He had prepared a list of memories of how Aunt Beverly handled his behavior when he was young. But when he appealed to the audience to settle any doubts about the Lord, it was surreal. I don't know if I'll ever get used to hearing him proclaim the Faith.
Although the family has lost 200 pounds and 50 have been his, Mike still likes to eat like a king, just not so often. He had his mind set on The Varsity across from the Georgia Tech campus. He convinced his parents to go (even though she had prepared a roast the prior day), so we "double dated." It's hard at a place like that, but I managed not to overeat there or anywhere else. And that matters because moderation affects mood and mood affects attitude and attitude affects witness. And we got to witness to several people on this trip, especially to a young man at an electronics store who couldn't get over how Mike and I were carrying on with each other. And just before we made it home, Mike introduced me to the Muslim owner of a gas station he frequents. He told me to go get a drink on him because Mike was his best friend. Wow, talk about influencing your circle.
And anyway, if Mike wants to eat like a king, then that's between God and him. My position is to treat him with enough dignity and kindness that he feels like a king. So, Sunday morning while his parents were gone and he mentioned a mutual shower, I shouldn't have immediately cut him short. I always say something like, "I'm not a 20 year old anymore." To that he said, "Neither am I." Had me on that one.
I retain in my mind a ready list of defects. The most obvious ones are the scars of carrying children, of whom I nursed all seven. Eventually elasticity is lost and things aren't as perky as they used to be. My body is still prone to breakouts and has hair in such odd places that I don't have time left to pluck my eyebrows. But when he said, "If you're all I see ...," he had me again, so how can I not honor his commitment to look away from other women?
Something I held onto from our last out of state "encounter" was that he said later in an email, "You 'felt' different." It was regarding fitness, yes, but also newfound bold illustriousness. We women may focus more on our looks than men intend for us to; because when it comes down to it, close contact does not allow the kind of viewing accessibility we're always worried about. It really is about how it "feels." And if we're mentally or physically "checked out," it's obvious. But if there are true physical ailments/conditions (which ought to be temporary or treatable), of which I've had 3 in the last month alone, then we can give ourselves a little leeway, not that in the meantime there aren't other possibilities with which we can satisfy them. Because leaving our men "under pressure" is never wise. I've recorded unforeseen instances when I believe Mike was able to keep composure with someone because of the "release" of the marriage bed or truck or wherever opportunity appropriates.
Of all things this morning as I lie waking up after he went to work, I had an image, a sanctified one, a gift to me ...because of my skewed past and circuitry. I've been trying to associate the church as the bride of Christ. I used to be an artist, back when I took the time. This morning, I "saw" the transparent rendering of a wife atop her husband "receiving" the seed that brings the fruit she would carry, as her breasts fill with the sustenance of life. Of course, that's a rush depiction, but the "multiplication" that so many of us choose to forego enlightens and makes pure the entire process. Society has it backwards, becoming damaged by taking it before its time or by our own means.
No, we're not going to create a child every time and there comes a time when we can't, but I still believe it's the crux of the matter, a holy image that Satan would tempt our thinking into discerning as pornographic, somehow shameful and distasteful, lending to a vicious cycle of leaving our husbands unfed and brought into the real world of pornography, whether it be soft or hard.
Somehow, with all this insight I succeeded in "dropping the ball" when we got back in town. And I began to question Mike's answers. I heard my voice rising but didn't stop it. Eventually, he reminded me the car doors were open. When I went out to close them, I hardly checked for cats as I normally would. I closed one sliding door and went around to close the other. But when I did, it bounced back. I thought some of our belongings we left for the night were in the way, so I retried.
Miranda's "Kitton" fell out on the ground unconscious. There in the dark, I grabbed her up and ran into the house crying over and over how sorry I was. Miranda had to get out of the bath. She checked the eyes and let the head fall. She cried herself to sleep that night ...because I didn't have the presence of mind to be cautious.
Am I reading too much into it? I am certain that I am not. God knows His willful daughter. I knew instantaneously that it was the repercussion of returning to my sin. God is patient beyond explanation, but there comes a time when we have to decide not to turn back to it. I took Kitton outside as she coughed blood into my hands, her heart beating so quickly. Oddly my prayer was in thanks for how swift God was with my discipline and how bitterly sorry I was that innocent blood was shed. I've had similar instances that permanently changed the course of my obedience to my Lord.
Mike came out and did what falls on a man to do and ended the suffering. Kitton wasn't the average cat, not only in her beauty but in her affection. Because I knew better, a price was paid. And when we have family, the results always affect them.
Accidents happen but so do revelations, and I was secure in the meaning of the events before I got up the next morning to start where I'd left off reading, Hebrews 12. "And ye have forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto you as children, My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him: For whom the Lord loveth he chaseneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?" I know so many people who would've cursed the moment. "Damn it, why did this happen!?"
I knew why this happened, so there was no sense in cursing it away. I had just read before we left for Georgia, "For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again which be the first principles of the oracles of God; and are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat. For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of righteousness; for he is a babe. But strong meat belongeth to them that are of full age, even those who by reason of use have their senses excercised to discern both good and evil," Hebrews 5: 12-14.
First of all, I don't have any desire to become what Lot's wife did. Second of all, the first principle of a wife is to "reverence her husband" and of wives to "submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body. Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be subject to their own husbands in every thing." I, as does my friend, find the word "own" interesting, as though we are not to be subject to other men. Ironically, I believe that's what gives me jurisdiction to take dominion of my home the hours of the day when my husband's away, and I am directly subject to no one, in the physical sense. I think that's a pretty grand post to have!
I also think it's an honor that we can make or break what people think about our husbands upon meeting their wives. We don't have to be knock-outs; we just have to be the best we can be inside and out.
Right now, I've got to recapture the best I can be. She's still reeling from the weekend, the good and the bad. The good is she's never gotten to see as many relatives in a single visit before. To top that off, so many of them sent gifts home with her. Her mother gave HER a Mother's Day necklace and presented her an early birthday gift, a ceramic covered cast iron dutch oven. Her mother-in-law placed in her care a handmade quilt and pillowcase for DJ's bed. It will be by far the best of his meager possessions. Her brother's wife gave her bags of clothes, many with tags still on them, for Mady Z this summer. And the kids are fully funded for camp this summer. This all is after 3 different people have tried to give them cars in the last month.
Melody is still on cloud nine after attending the military ball at her brother's school. She was treated like royalty from the time Miranda took her to meet her ride to Virginia, in a Range Rover no less. The mother who escorted Melody and the two other girls had rented a historic home on the river near the school. They were free to leisurely ready themselves.
Of course, Sloan was Michael's date and looked the part. She graciously loaned Melody one of her dresses. They both were stunning and modest in one. All the more respect is due people who have it and could flaunt it but don't. Melody's date, Drake Davis, is one of Michael's friends whose family has done, let's say, exceptionally well financially. He is also ranked nationally in athletics. Neither of them knew the other could dance.
The next morning Sloan messaged me that people were asking who "that couple" was who could really dance. Michael had warned Drake to keep it "PG." I had admonished Melody to be a "light." Because it's never about the event but the participants. It's marvelous when people are skilled enough to perform, dancing at a distance or keeping comedy clean. I'm told they absolutely danced the night away. She says he was the consummate gentleman. And she showed him what it's like to spend an evening with a lady, amidst girls who hardly knew to do anything more than grind.
Yesterday, as the washing machine washed and the chicken simmered in my new pot, I spent the afternoon emailing state representatives because today they are finally considering the bill to include home schoolers in public junior and high school sports. Today, reality sets back in. Melody's at Driver's Ed. Mike's on the way to New York. Miranda ran to get feed. Megan gave blood last night and is back at it at work today. McKala's taking Macklynn to his game. She's doing well considering she tagged, wormed, and castrated calves all day with Dr. Sarah yesterday then fished into the night. Duke called to say her appointment was moved up from August to May.
The house is upside down. So, it's time for me to strap back in and get some stuff done. There's more than one person should ever consider doing: paperwork, cleaning, organizing, repairing. All I can do is start and not forget that the tasks are not more important than the people. And since we ladies have chosen to "stay," then we need to "stay well," as in, "whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." And as Paul said to Archippus, "Take heed to the ministry which thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfill it."
I really was torn. I never "want" to leave the children. Finally, one of the older ones clarified to me that instead of staying, I needed to go, not as a careless mother but as a good wife. After grappling with the condition I was leaving the house in, I let go.
See, although I'dve been here overseeing the children and home, it doesn't mean that this particular time it was God's will. It's safer for the whole family for me to be in His will.
So, I dug in my closet past the Ziploc bags, Band-Aids, and paper napkins, which I keep in there because if I leave them in the kitchen, we won't have any at all. I gathered my favorite things and, true to form, made us late. Mike didn't fuss the way he used to. He just let me be.
Somewhere along the way down to Georgia, I realized I translate into "someone else" when Mike and I get away from the household. I'm very intense at the house and don't always know when to delay things and rest. I had consciously given the children individually over to the care of the Lord. I was at peace that I was in the right place at the right time.
A few miles further, I was comforted in knowing that as the children age out of the home, Mike and I will have a hopeful future because we have things to talk and laugh and tease about.
We playfully changed clothes behind a gas station and made it to the viewing that evening, after which we went with his parents to Peachtree City for exceptional Mexican food at a place we've been to many times and where I remember Megan at the tender age of 4 putting her hands over her ears and telling us to stop fighting.
For me, the funeral was much like any other until Mike got up to speak. He had prepared a list of memories of how Aunt Beverly handled his behavior when he was young. But when he appealed to the audience to settle any doubts about the Lord, it was surreal. I don't know if I'll ever get used to hearing him proclaim the Faith.
Although the family has lost 200 pounds and 50 have been his, Mike still likes to eat like a king, just not so often. He had his mind set on The Varsity across from the Georgia Tech campus. He convinced his parents to go (even though she had prepared a roast the prior day), so we "double dated." It's hard at a place like that, but I managed not to overeat there or anywhere else. And that matters because moderation affects mood and mood affects attitude and attitude affects witness. And we got to witness to several people on this trip, especially to a young man at an electronics store who couldn't get over how Mike and I were carrying on with each other. And just before we made it home, Mike introduced me to the Muslim owner of a gas station he frequents. He told me to go get a drink on him because Mike was his best friend. Wow, talk about influencing your circle.
And anyway, if Mike wants to eat like a king, then that's between God and him. My position is to treat him with enough dignity and kindness that he feels like a king. So, Sunday morning while his parents were gone and he mentioned a mutual shower, I shouldn't have immediately cut him short. I always say something like, "I'm not a 20 year old anymore." To that he said, "Neither am I." Had me on that one.
I retain in my mind a ready list of defects. The most obvious ones are the scars of carrying children, of whom I nursed all seven. Eventually elasticity is lost and things aren't as perky as they used to be. My body is still prone to breakouts and has hair in such odd places that I don't have time left to pluck my eyebrows. But when he said, "If you're all I see ...," he had me again, so how can I not honor his commitment to look away from other women?
Something I held onto from our last out of state "encounter" was that he said later in an email, "You 'felt' different." It was regarding fitness, yes, but also newfound bold illustriousness. We women may focus more on our looks than men intend for us to; because when it comes down to it, close contact does not allow the kind of viewing accessibility we're always worried about. It really is about how it "feels." And if we're mentally or physically "checked out," it's obvious. But if there are true physical ailments/conditions (which ought to be temporary or treatable), of which I've had 3 in the last month alone, then we can give ourselves a little leeway, not that in the meantime there aren't other possibilities with which we can satisfy them. Because leaving our men "under pressure" is never wise. I've recorded unforeseen instances when I believe Mike was able to keep composure with someone because of the "release" of the marriage bed or truck or wherever opportunity appropriates.
Of all things this morning as I lie waking up after he went to work, I had an image, a sanctified one, a gift to me ...because of my skewed past and circuitry. I've been trying to associate the church as the bride of Christ. I used to be an artist, back when I took the time. This morning, I "saw" the transparent rendering of a wife atop her husband "receiving" the seed that brings the fruit she would carry, as her breasts fill with the sustenance of life. Of course, that's a rush depiction, but the "multiplication" that so many of us choose to forego enlightens and makes pure the entire process. Society has it backwards, becoming damaged by taking it before its time or by our own means.
No, we're not going to create a child every time and there comes a time when we can't, but I still believe it's the crux of the matter, a holy image that Satan would tempt our thinking into discerning as pornographic, somehow shameful and distasteful, lending to a vicious cycle of leaving our husbands unfed and brought into the real world of pornography, whether it be soft or hard.
Somehow, with all this insight I succeeded in "dropping the ball" when we got back in town. And I began to question Mike's answers. I heard my voice rising but didn't stop it. Eventually, he reminded me the car doors were open. When I went out to close them, I hardly checked for cats as I normally would. I closed one sliding door and went around to close the other. But when I did, it bounced back. I thought some of our belongings we left for the night were in the way, so I retried.
Miranda's "Kitton" fell out on the ground unconscious. There in the dark, I grabbed her up and ran into the house crying over and over how sorry I was. Miranda had to get out of the bath. She checked the eyes and let the head fall. She cried herself to sleep that night ...because I didn't have the presence of mind to be cautious.
Am I reading too much into it? I am certain that I am not. God knows His willful daughter. I knew instantaneously that it was the repercussion of returning to my sin. God is patient beyond explanation, but there comes a time when we have to decide not to turn back to it. I took Kitton outside as she coughed blood into my hands, her heart beating so quickly. Oddly my prayer was in thanks for how swift God was with my discipline and how bitterly sorry I was that innocent blood was shed. I've had similar instances that permanently changed the course of my obedience to my Lord.
Mike came out and did what falls on a man to do and ended the suffering. Kitton wasn't the average cat, not only in her beauty but in her affection. Because I knew better, a price was paid. And when we have family, the results always affect them.
Accidents happen but so do revelations, and I was secure in the meaning of the events before I got up the next morning to start where I'd left off reading, Hebrews 12. "And ye have forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto you as children, My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him: For whom the Lord loveth he chaseneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?" I know so many people who would've cursed the moment. "Damn it, why did this happen!?"
I knew why this happened, so there was no sense in cursing it away. I had just read before we left for Georgia, "For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again which be the first principles of the oracles of God; and are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat. For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of righteousness; for he is a babe. But strong meat belongeth to them that are of full age, even those who by reason of use have their senses excercised to discern both good and evil," Hebrews 5: 12-14.
First of all, I don't have any desire to become what Lot's wife did. Second of all, the first principle of a wife is to "reverence her husband" and of wives to "submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body. Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be subject to their own husbands in every thing." I, as does my friend, find the word "own" interesting, as though we are not to be subject to other men. Ironically, I believe that's what gives me jurisdiction to take dominion of my home the hours of the day when my husband's away, and I am directly subject to no one, in the physical sense. I think that's a pretty grand post to have!
I also think it's an honor that we can make or break what people think about our husbands upon meeting their wives. We don't have to be knock-outs; we just have to be the best we can be inside and out.
Right now, I've got to recapture the best I can be. She's still reeling from the weekend, the good and the bad. The good is she's never gotten to see as many relatives in a single visit before. To top that off, so many of them sent gifts home with her. Her mother gave HER a Mother's Day necklace and presented her an early birthday gift, a ceramic covered cast iron dutch oven. Her mother-in-law placed in her care a handmade quilt and pillowcase for DJ's bed. It will be by far the best of his meager possessions. Her brother's wife gave her bags of clothes, many with tags still on them, for Mady Z this summer. And the kids are fully funded for camp this summer. This all is after 3 different people have tried to give them cars in the last month.
Melody is still on cloud nine after attending the military ball at her brother's school. She was treated like royalty from the time Miranda took her to meet her ride to Virginia, in a Range Rover no less. The mother who escorted Melody and the two other girls had rented a historic home on the river near the school. They were free to leisurely ready themselves.
Of course, Sloan was Michael's date and looked the part. She graciously loaned Melody one of her dresses. They both were stunning and modest in one. All the more respect is due people who have it and could flaunt it but don't. Melody's date, Drake Davis, is one of Michael's friends whose family has done, let's say, exceptionally well financially. He is also ranked nationally in athletics. Neither of them knew the other could dance.
The next morning Sloan messaged me that people were asking who "that couple" was who could really dance. Michael had warned Drake to keep it "PG." I had admonished Melody to be a "light." Because it's never about the event but the participants. It's marvelous when people are skilled enough to perform, dancing at a distance or keeping comedy clean. I'm told they absolutely danced the night away. She says he was the consummate gentleman. And she showed him what it's like to spend an evening with a lady, amidst girls who hardly knew to do anything more than grind.
Yesterday, as the washing machine washed and the chicken simmered in my new pot, I spent the afternoon emailing state representatives because today they are finally considering the bill to include home schoolers in public junior and high school sports. Today, reality sets back in. Melody's at Driver's Ed. Mike's on the way to New York. Miranda ran to get feed. Megan gave blood last night and is back at it at work today. McKala's taking Macklynn to his game. She's doing well considering she tagged, wormed, and castrated calves all day with Dr. Sarah yesterday then fished into the night. Duke called to say her appointment was moved up from August to May.
The house is upside down. So, it's time for me to strap back in and get some stuff done. There's more than one person should ever consider doing: paperwork, cleaning, organizing, repairing. All I can do is start and not forget that the tasks are not more important than the people. And since we ladies have chosen to "stay," then we need to "stay well," as in, "whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." And as Paul said to Archippus, "Take heed to the ministry which thou hast received in the Lord, that thou fulfill it."
Monday, April 20, 2015
Ready to Roll
Anybody who knows me well would think RTR means Roll Tide Roll ...and it does. But lately in this off season, Ready to Roll comes more to mind.
Last week, there was a community watch out for a suspect looking group of vacuum salespeople. After the neighbors reported how they were approached, I had the kids on high alert.
Miranda got out of the car wearing her Sig and the UPS man asked why. She explained and he laughingly said that they'd regret it. She said, "Yeah, they will when Mama comes out with the shotgun!"
She'd been working like a dog in the barn all week. The pager went off for a wreck her sisters couldn't go to. She was soaking wet with mud, sweat, and rain. She grabbed her bag of gear and headed out. Upon arrival, one of the men volunteers used an expletive with, "Girl, you've been workin'!"
Mike keeps his bags packed this time of year. The next storm could be any minute; and although a disaster is never to be wished for, his enthusiasm to hit the road is undeniable.
I, myself, traveled with Macklynn and Madalynn early Friday nearly to Richmond, Virginia to get Michael for his follow-up on his shoulder. Now, he's been released to do whatever he can tolerate. Saturday dark morning found him in the woods hunting turkey, and now we have his 20 pounder in the freezer for late May when he returns.
As we arrived home Friday; Megan, McKala, and Melody were packed up for camp and just about to leave. "Daughters of the King" is a weekend they always enjoy and are honored to help the Hatfields with.
Megan had only been home a few days from Texas. She's more convinced than ever that the strong delusion is in effect over our country. What small children are growing up in is more than their little souls should ever have to bear.
We watched the slide show of their sweet faces Wednesday night and returned Sunday to hear the powerful words we always do from Brother Kevin. Miranda volunteered to take Michael and his friend back to school regardless of the rain. I hesitantly agreed and was glad I did when Mike pulled out the lawn mower that hasn't worked in 3 years. He took it apart and had it running in less than an hour.
There's something in a man's eye when his "woman" witnesses him get a job like that done. I foolishly never understood why he wanted me out doing whatever he was doing. I, not always purposefully, meandered around the house enjoying having it to myself. Not only was I missing fellowship with my husband but also how to do it myself.
So, Saturday, as sad as it is, we had a "session" for me to crank all the yard equipment. And after Michael was done plucking and gutting the turkey, he and his Daddy climbed on the roof to clean out the gutters.
Yesterday, it rained so that torrents ran down the drive and the ditches were running over. Macklynn and Madalynn played their hearts out in it for hours as I looked on from the porch.
6 am this morning, the girls were called out to a wreck. Megan went even though she had to be at work at 8, and McKala went even though she had a stress test scheduled at 8:30. Her tachycardia, high heart rate, is back. This time her lungs have been cleared as the cause. And after today's test, the Cardiologist reported, "She has a beautiful heart, perfectly normal."
So what is it? Another doctor believes Duke University will prove that it's something called POTS. It's particular to young women and is associated with the venous system not returning the blood back to the heart quickly enough.
Nevertheless, she persists. She "runs" until she just can't anymore. Then, about the only way she can recover is to sleep it off.
I've made my case that we're Ready to Roll. But getting up and moving is only half the story. What do you do when you get there?
Melody portrayed it nicely this week. The normally reserved one had a brush with a bully at Driver's Ed, and she did not back down. There's a student who has some kind of reading disorder, so she was asked to read the test for him, for which he was answering correctly. One of the 75 or so 14 year olds decided he would get in the boy's face and say, "What's wrong with you?" waving his hands in front of him saying, "Are you in there?" Melody stepped forward and said, "Leave him alone."
The kid said something else and she said more emphatically, "Leave him alone," to which another student decided to back her up.
Then, on the way home Michael told me about the Chinese student who was in his room the other night. They were discussing beliefs. The young man believes in his own version of reincarnation and says he doesn't even think Jesus existed. They talked for over an hour and Michael ended it with, "Why would you try all those ways of getting into 'heaven' when you could try this one way that works?"
He was frustrated that a fellow student who claims Christianity chided Michael for being so firm. Michael returned solidly, "First of all, he was in our room and obviously wanted to talk or he would've left. And would you rather not 'offend' him with the truth than see him in heaven?"
And there's McKala who never shares the influences she makes until we drag it out of her, often accusing her of being cold "hearted." A coworker and friend, who does not profess the Lord but acts better than a lot of people who do, was harboring disquietness against a possible choice her husband would make, when McKala boldly interjected to her that she is her husband's helpmeet and that it's okay for him to make an executive decision..
At that point, McKala risked the relationship. And was pleasantly surprised later when the young woman acknowledged her as her best friend.
Yes, our older children are being shot out as arrows. But take note, that the younger ones are not; most all ministering that I do is alongside them. I am convinced beyond discussion that a mother is not called apart from her children, because they are her second mission and their father is her first.
Therefore, when I ask, "Are you Ready to Roll?" I do not mean without your children. I just mean, are you willing to have your routine upset for the greater cause?
I just mean, are we teaching our children to be capable of doing more than we learned in school? We can read all day, but can we apply it to anything useful or helpful? Can we make or fix or operate things, much less sustain or kill living ones? Can we "defend" ourselves or "save" anyone else in more ways than one, if that? My "education" didn't prepare me for much at all. I am ill-equipped around people who are not.
Oh, wait a minute ...we'll hire people to do it for us. That's right; that's the answer. In some cases, yes, but in most "The Cat's in the Cradle" lyrics are prophetically playing in the background:
"A child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
And he was talking before I knew it and as he grew
He said, "I'm gonna be like you, Dad
You know I'm gonna be like you"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, Dad, I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then
My son turned ten just the other day
He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play
Can you teach me to throw?"
I said, "Not today, I got a lot to do"
He said, "That's okay"
And he walked away but his smile never dimmed
And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah
You know I'm going to be like him"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, Dad, I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then
Well he came from college just the other day
So much like a man I just had to say
"Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head and he said with a smile
"What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys
See you later, can I have them please?"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad
You know we'll have a good time then
I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, "Id like to see you if you don't mind"
He said, "I'd love to Dad, if I could find the time
You see my new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad
It's been sure nice talking to you"
And as I hung up the phone it had occurred to me
He'd grown up just like me, my boy was just like me
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad
We're gonna have a good time then
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad.
We're gonna have a good time then."
Last week, there was a community watch out for a suspect looking group of vacuum salespeople. After the neighbors reported how they were approached, I had the kids on high alert.
Miranda got out of the car wearing her Sig and the UPS man asked why. She explained and he laughingly said that they'd regret it. She said, "Yeah, they will when Mama comes out with the shotgun!"
She'd been working like a dog in the barn all week. The pager went off for a wreck her sisters couldn't go to. She was soaking wet with mud, sweat, and rain. She grabbed her bag of gear and headed out. Upon arrival, one of the men volunteers used an expletive with, "Girl, you've been workin'!"
Mike keeps his bags packed this time of year. The next storm could be any minute; and although a disaster is never to be wished for, his enthusiasm to hit the road is undeniable.
I, myself, traveled with Macklynn and Madalynn early Friday nearly to Richmond, Virginia to get Michael for his follow-up on his shoulder. Now, he's been released to do whatever he can tolerate. Saturday dark morning found him in the woods hunting turkey, and now we have his 20 pounder in the freezer for late May when he returns.
As we arrived home Friday; Megan, McKala, and Melody were packed up for camp and just about to leave. "Daughters of the King" is a weekend they always enjoy and are honored to help the Hatfields with.
Megan had only been home a few days from Texas. She's more convinced than ever that the strong delusion is in effect over our country. What small children are growing up in is more than their little souls should ever have to bear.
We watched the slide show of their sweet faces Wednesday night and returned Sunday to hear the powerful words we always do from Brother Kevin. Miranda volunteered to take Michael and his friend back to school regardless of the rain. I hesitantly agreed and was glad I did when Mike pulled out the lawn mower that hasn't worked in 3 years. He took it apart and had it running in less than an hour.
There's something in a man's eye when his "woman" witnesses him get a job like that done. I foolishly never understood why he wanted me out doing whatever he was doing. I, not always purposefully, meandered around the house enjoying having it to myself. Not only was I missing fellowship with my husband but also how to do it myself.
So, Saturday, as sad as it is, we had a "session" for me to crank all the yard equipment. And after Michael was done plucking and gutting the turkey, he and his Daddy climbed on the roof to clean out the gutters.
Yesterday, it rained so that torrents ran down the drive and the ditches were running over. Macklynn and Madalynn played their hearts out in it for hours as I looked on from the porch.
6 am this morning, the girls were called out to a wreck. Megan went even though she had to be at work at 8, and McKala went even though she had a stress test scheduled at 8:30. Her tachycardia, high heart rate, is back. This time her lungs have been cleared as the cause. And after today's test, the Cardiologist reported, "She has a beautiful heart, perfectly normal."
So what is it? Another doctor believes Duke University will prove that it's something called POTS. It's particular to young women and is associated with the venous system not returning the blood back to the heart quickly enough.
Nevertheless, she persists. She "runs" until she just can't anymore. Then, about the only way she can recover is to sleep it off.
I've made my case that we're Ready to Roll. But getting up and moving is only half the story. What do you do when you get there?
Melody portrayed it nicely this week. The normally reserved one had a brush with a bully at Driver's Ed, and she did not back down. There's a student who has some kind of reading disorder, so she was asked to read the test for him, for which he was answering correctly. One of the 75 or so 14 year olds decided he would get in the boy's face and say, "What's wrong with you?" waving his hands in front of him saying, "Are you in there?" Melody stepped forward and said, "Leave him alone."
The kid said something else and she said more emphatically, "Leave him alone," to which another student decided to back her up.
Then, on the way home Michael told me about the Chinese student who was in his room the other night. They were discussing beliefs. The young man believes in his own version of reincarnation and says he doesn't even think Jesus existed. They talked for over an hour and Michael ended it with, "Why would you try all those ways of getting into 'heaven' when you could try this one way that works?"
He was frustrated that a fellow student who claims Christianity chided Michael for being so firm. Michael returned solidly, "First of all, he was in our room and obviously wanted to talk or he would've left. And would you rather not 'offend' him with the truth than see him in heaven?"
And there's McKala who never shares the influences she makes until we drag it out of her, often accusing her of being cold "hearted." A coworker and friend, who does not profess the Lord but acts better than a lot of people who do, was harboring disquietness against a possible choice her husband would make, when McKala boldly interjected to her that she is her husband's helpmeet and that it's okay for him to make an executive decision..
At that point, McKala risked the relationship. And was pleasantly surprised later when the young woman acknowledged her as her best friend.
Yes, our older children are being shot out as arrows. But take note, that the younger ones are not; most all ministering that I do is alongside them. I am convinced beyond discussion that a mother is not called apart from her children, because they are her second mission and their father is her first.
Therefore, when I ask, "Are you Ready to Roll?" I do not mean without your children. I just mean, are you willing to have your routine upset for the greater cause?
I just mean, are we teaching our children to be capable of doing more than we learned in school? We can read all day, but can we apply it to anything useful or helpful? Can we make or fix or operate things, much less sustain or kill living ones? Can we "defend" ourselves or "save" anyone else in more ways than one, if that? My "education" didn't prepare me for much at all. I am ill-equipped around people who are not.
Oh, wait a minute ...we'll hire people to do it for us. That's right; that's the answer. In some cases, yes, but in most "The Cat's in the Cradle" lyrics are prophetically playing in the background:
"A child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
And he was talking before I knew it and as he grew
He said, "I'm gonna be like you, Dad
You know I'm gonna be like you"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, Dad, I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then
My son turned ten just the other day
He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play
Can you teach me to throw?"
I said, "Not today, I got a lot to do"
He said, "That's okay"
And he walked away but his smile never dimmed
And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah
You know I'm going to be like him"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, Dad, I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then
Well he came from college just the other day
So much like a man I just had to say
"Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?"
He shook his head and he said with a smile
"What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys
See you later, can I have them please?"
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad
You know we'll have a good time then
I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, "Id like to see you if you don't mind"
He said, "I'd love to Dad, if I could find the time
You see my new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad
It's been sure nice talking to you"
And as I hung up the phone it had occurred to me
He'd grown up just like me, my boy was just like me
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad
We're gonna have a good time then
And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you comin' home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad.
We're gonna have a good time then."
Moms, if we aren't living life with our children, then we are the more guilty.
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