Monday, November 28th
This morning after leaving Melody at school, I walked back into the house through the rain, the God-given rain to this parched earth. Fire's everywhere burning up these Appalachian Mountains. Miranda's deciding to lean hard into her training and pursue firefighting full on. Never quite sure how I feel about it, but I won't subdue her by withholding my approval the way I did with Megan's flying because of my fear, ignorance, or traditionalism.
Speaking of, the tree is up, one of the last remaining sentiments for Christmas. I whittled it all down to two boxes from that flooded basement, just how I like it, minimal, the way we are doing gifts this year, even with our 8 and 11 year olds, which I have not bought the first of. On Thanksgiving, the 10 of us, son-in-law, Timothy, included, drew names with a limit of $50 spending. No Santa, no surprises, just those sought after most desired $50 gifts. There are the grandparents though who faithfully send money, in large part to spend on each's most recently needed item/s.
Not that we have the credit to, but there will be no borrowing to get through Christmas, just as there was no borrowing for the wedding. The Lord provided and McKala accepted His provision whether it was her ideal or not. Even the location was moved because of increasing threats of rain, the one thing we've scarcely had since.
My Dad made the smoked Boston Butt. The rest of us pitched in late night for the sides and drinks. Melody made a gorgeous, naked lemon blueberry cake with flowers and fruit and some 200 cupcakes that all tasted as superb as they looked. McKala herself fixed most all the bride's maids' hair in curled loose braids. My great friend, whose mother is a professional florist, and her daughters brought and arranged all the flowers as their gift to her. My sister-in-law and nephew kindly took photos. McKala's sisters all decorated the reception hall with borrowed books and crates, candles, and knicknacks Megan found in Georgia.
And in response to that was my first "moment" had. I arrived midafternoon, no make-up, no hair, no dress, looking for the wedding party. I opened the door to the large banquet room, not a soul in sight, only the tables handsomely set, waiting for their guests. A lump formed in my throat. "This is it."
My other "moment" was when I opened the door to the bridal room, again no one is sight. There were wedding things strode out everywhere. "This is happening."
I found them finally in the bathrooms looking as flawless as manikins. I retreated to a private bathroom I'd found off the kitchen. There I held back tears to get my make-up on and hair straightened. Then, I put on a dress for the first time in 12 years. Only my girls knew I had it.
It all went seamlessly. Then, our 19 year old bride was off with her groom for the night to their furnished apartment, thanks to my Dad's handiwork of refinishing items he'd bought at an estate sale, then to the prepaid honeymoon my parents-in-law saw to. Thankfully, for the penniless couple, it was right in the threshold of Grandfather Mountain, where they hiked and made do with their agreeable surroundings, getting by on the abundant leftovers from the rehearsal dinner and reception.
Fast forward to Thanksgiving Day. Everyone: all the kids, Mike, and me here making final preparations for the meal. McKala slides off her jacket and walks toward me as I read the glittery words on her shirt. "There's a Little Turkey in the Oven." I grab and hug her as hard as one could safely hug a pregnant woman. My reaction was far more than at the wedding. I cried that my daughter has made a person with her lover. I cried because it's all she's ever wanted. I was the only person who saw the shirt, so everyone else just sat immobile and watched, mostly sure they knew, I know.
Lingering questions: the 6 month round of antibiotics for walking pneumonia? the beta-blocker heart medication? the insurance? We knew pregnancy is supposed to improve her POTS tachycardia. But the answers still lie in the Lord's hands. He can and will heal at any time, just as it appears he has done with Melody.
We had follow up visits with her pediatric gastroenterologist and her neurologist the day before Thanksgiving. All results, especially the reduction of optical nerve swelling, were unmedicated improvements. Last month, she underwent both venous and arterial catheterizations of her brain, from which after-the-fact we are certain she suffered a small stroke. Following the procedure, she also had a lumbar puncture to recheck the spinal fluid pressure. Once more, she had a spinal leak. Knowing the symptoms and having already been treated for one at the local hospital, the staff jumped right into position and did another blood patch to stay her suffering.
A couple of weeks later, she had biopsies done of her stomach and small intestine. The brain and the digestive procedures indicated abnormalities, but her symptoms have subsided. What I know is that she feels good except for a UTI, that she's making straight As, and that she's been in the paper on the swim team 3 times, having won an event her first meet.
Some other things we are still wading through and led to my explosive "phone throwing" on Saturday. We have to come, as a family, to a meeting of the minds. Any logical parent knows that it starts with us. So, for the third time in the last year or so, I found myself at the altar Sunday morning, asking the Lord to finish me, empty me of myself so that I am not a stumbling block for my children, or anyone for that matter, that daily discipline of moderation in all things: modesty, music, meals, minutes, and money, be found final and not teetering. "Clean" versions of songs is not what David spoke of in Psalm 18, "Therefore will I give thanks unto thee, O LORD, among the heathen, and sing praises unto thy name." It's more like, "It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools," in Ecclesiastes 7. What are people hearing us ride down the road to, the praises unto His name or the song of fools?
With money, do I piddle it away? Do I buy needless things? Or do I wait for my Lord to show Himself. Recently, I bought the first new shirt I have bought for myself in I don't know when. It took almost a month to arrive, the whole while I was anticipating the beginnings of a new "look." When it finally did, it wasn't at all what I thought it would be. Not only do I have no business wearing that fabric, it wasn't long enough to cover the derriere of the jeans I'd like to wear. Funny how when we're in the perpetual state of losing weight/getting in shape, we excuse ourselves with that needed support, otherwise known as tight jeans. With modest, upstanding dress, it actually should work in reverse, a tight hind end with roomy jeans, or slacks for those of us who are still wanting class, or maybe us soon to be grandmothers. I don't wish to become matronly or sloppy, but I do think my casual self could move it up a notch, especially since we don't live on a farm anymore nor do we have drooling children.
Do I think my new clothes are just going to show up? In a way, yes, because when it came down to it, I found out the new shirt was meant for someone else. I love that God is gentle enough to show us that even our smallest mistakes can be redeemed for beautiful causes. And it turns out when I was at the gym the other day that I had on a shirt McKala gave me, pants Miranda gave me, and shoes Megan gave me; and it all looked really good!
We're supposed to be content with our food and clothes alone. So, when it comes down to the nitty-gritty on spending, I don't think we're supposed to use it on much else. Even then, did He not say that He feeds and clothes the sparrows. So, why is it that I assume I have to go looking/shopping? Matthew 6 tells me not to worry about it. Seeking the Kingdom first will take care of that.
Over the last weeks, have I been to the grocery store? Yes. But during the "short" weeks, where it was getting tight before the next check, something has been happening consistently. One week someone Mike met gave us 3 packs of beef from a cow he had slaughtered. Later, hamburgers were sent to our house after a company picnic. The next week our new friend gave us a turkey, as though we were doing her a favor. Then, the church gave us a big bucket of soup. Last week, my parents sent a turkey (and apples) with Megan, and Dr. Miller sent three pounds of sausage home through Michael. This week someone gave Mike a pack of deer burger and a pack of deer sausage. I know we can't require meet every meal; that's how I know these are not only provision but gifts of God.
Just this morning, I used our leftover mashed white (and sweet) potatoes to make fried potato cakes. And tonight, we'll have quiche with the last of the ham and the bag of cheese Shannon gave us. (Yes, we have our Kentucky friend as a house guest, who kindly pays rent, until she finds a place of her own.) Lately, we've had freshly ground grain pancakes, frozen fruit smoothies, popcorn - the kind you have to cook on the stove, and all manner of whole foods, which is what you have when you're down to nothing. Guess what? It's a very healthy, modest, and sobering way to live. Plus, all that cooking and washing keeps you in the nerve center of the home, the kitchen.
As we Americans do after Thanksgiving, we (hopefully) come down from the high of sugar, caffeine, salt, and fat. Interesting that "All the labour of man is for his mouth, and yet the appetite is not filled." (Ecclesiastes 6: 7) It doesn't take much for most of us to fall back into our addictive eating patterns. Yesterday even, I had thought that a particular doughnut would satiate my fancy and that I would give myself until the end of the week to get back on course since my cycle hadn't ended yet, to "allow" me back to my regular activities with Macklynn at the Y while Madalynn swims on the team.
My friend and Madalynn's art teacher, Melanie, whom I met in the parking lot did not know the cause of the beeline I was on when I took her cart for the "one" item I was there for. Oddly enough, they were out of the one and only kind I wanted. I settled for less. And as I bit into it, expecting it to be full of cream, alas, it was not. I got a good laugh at myself, and with God for subtly showing me that my satisfaction is no longer found in things that are bad for me, plus I'd "piddled" $4 for a box of something I didn't even want.
So, in the quiet of this morning, while the ones who have left are at their posts and the ones who were home were sleeping late, I considered all these things and my return to a "normal" week, which is almost too normal. I have the status quo of two children to teach, a husband who has a daily job returning home in his soiled Carhartt overalls, to me oftentimes in my apron trying to piece together a meal. We hardly know what to do with routine, the absence of distress and imminent disaster.
It must be where "the finishing" starts. It must be where we are made useful. It must be where I remember who I am, that I am David, guilty of unspeakable things, and that God alone without any of my "Southern pride" in my boots or "country roots" with my gun or "big family status" with my crew will refine me into a woman whose repute transcends generations and cultures. Nothing matters to me any more now than that the name of Jesus be known. I understand that I am not to just chat but to bring God in the conversation by forming the habit of prayer with my friends and family. And I understand now, specifically after a conversation with one of Melody's doctors, that I'm to speak the name of not only God but Jesus, the way Michael did in the video for his school. God knows he is not ashamed and will be guiding him soon into a place of study that Michael has fought long and hard for, possibly to play Division 1 football - a homeschooled, country boy who went hunting every morning the last trip home.
That's the part of the premise of the book I'm reading now in the carline for Melody, "How to Make a Meatball," that God can and will use anyone. Shannon gave me that book after we heard the author at the Festival of Tables, which was my first real go at participating in being a help to organized women's ministry. After all, I did have the wedding decorations to use. But the word "organized" scares me sometimes, because a lot of the time we do more damage than good when we get "organized," especially when we misuse our time and resources from our first loves: God, husband, and children. That said, I also just finished up my first time being part of a "Women's Bible Study" and for several reasons am considering hosting one at our home in the near future.
It's a struggle, that balance, between home and ministry. Now that my children are more independent, I have some freedom to venture out. But I prefer that they venture with me. It's good for children to see their parents passionately reach out to people, ideally one person at a time, before we can be trusted with many more Especially now that the last of us, Macklynn, was baptized with all his siblings looking on, and understands that life lived to ourselves is no life at all.
Wednesday, December 14th
After visits, calls, and emails with several colleges, Michael verbally committed to play football at the D1 AA level with Western Carolina University today. Four year, full ride. He won't have to pay for anything. He's spent his summers working since he was 11 years old. He became Company Commander, Cadet of the Year, and football MVP then captain, at military school. He got up at 4:30 for workouts, even when he didn't have to. He made the National Honor Society. Most importantly, he and the assistant chaplain began a Bible study. The Lord has made the way and the provision, and Michael has followed and performed all that he could to get to this day.
Mike will have been clean a year January 6th and is "planting seeds" all over the county.
Megan has already paid off half her debt.
Miranda is still in the business of saving the unborn and training diligently to save the victims of fire.
McKala and Timothy are pregnant with TWINS.
Michael has landed the scholarship.
Melody is well and on her way and a trusted ear to her peers.
Macklynn is baptized into the congregation of the saints.
Madalynn still aspires to make beautiful things, as her brother makes scientific ones, both of which I loved the most in school. Another gift of my Lord.
"Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness; to the end that my glory may sing praise to thee, and not be silent. O LORD my God, I will give thanks unto thee forever." Psalm 30: 11-12
Even though two days ago, I did not get such happy news. McKala's lab workup came back showing higher numbers of the mycoplasma (walking pneumonia) that troubles her lungs. She's being sent to an infectious disease doctor. I'm thankful they don't have to search blindly for what it is, and I'm hopeful that God will draw her closer as she trusts in Him for her own life and the two within. Pray that she pulls her strength from Him for not only one but two babies. And pray for my mother, who has fallen from an 8 foot ladder and shattered her heel in three places, requiring extensive surgery.
