I'm tired, run down. All the activity looks good on Facebook: 6 doctor appointments in one day, seeing all 7 kids on others, doing anything from checking on a baby horse Michael delivered to racing down the drag strip with Mike. When I posted that, in 24 hours, Mike had been flung by a tornado, Miranda had broken her leg at work, and Melody had had a seizure waking up from oral surgery, I got a lot of prayer and concern comments. My first thought was I hadn't gotten my point across that this is pretty predictable for us.
As the days have gone by, I've been hoping those prayers are still in play. Because often it isn't the event that's as cataclysmic as the fallout is, the upheaval of daily routine. Now, sometimes it's God moving us out of our comfort zones, but oftentimes it's the devil removing us from the discipline of Godly living.
When I'm "running," there's less sleep, more caffeine, whatever food, a disorderly house, more acne, less exercise, more haze, less accountability, more irritability, and more importantly - less intimacy, on every level with everybody. I have an actual list of times when the distraction of exhaustion led to life altering circumstances in our family.
So, I've learned to guard the fundamentals, to rid anything that isn't essential, to welcome the cleansing fire. Since we've moved back in together in March, we have been careful not to reintroduce things that don't matter, clutter of any kind. I have learned during the separation to take things directly to the Lord for his approval or disapproval. "Seeming good" is no longer good enough. I want answers. I want God.
You know what it is on these busy days? I realized it crying in the shower while ago. In only a matter of days, I miss my Father. I miss waking up talking to Him and lingering there. I miss studying His word with great intention and wonder. I miss finding His will so neatly pieced together, in the little things throughout the day and conversations. I know these things can and should happen regardless, but there is something about home, something about not being in a rush every morning, something about looking forward to how I might please my Lord by pleasing my husband, something about sharing my God with my children in all things, something about knowing what's going on at home, something about having time to maintain and feel like a woman, something about pulling things together for a meal, something about sitting in the sun or watering the plants. There is life in these things.
When I get led away from home, something begins to die; everything begins to die. That was part of the unraveling of last summer. I remember vividly lying down in complete and sheer exhaustion the afternoon before our 28th anniversary, even posting the song, "Worn." After all, in the prior month alone, McKala had delivered twins and Melody had had brain surgery, among other things. That day my life spun out of control, much because of distance and disillusionment.
So, I've seen up close and personal that, "The thief cometh not but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: ...," the very fiber of family, by dividing out, one by one, and by throwing off attentions so that yet another might be lost.
But God ... but God continues, " ...I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly” (John 10:10).
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Monday, May 29, 2017
Teach Me
I woke up in the bed in Madalynn's room again but with tight shoulders from a stressful dream. Soon enough I realized I had the migraine aura. I took a Benadryl, got an ice pack, and went back to bed. I woke up feeling okay. But within minutes, it returned, compounded. I got 3 more Benadryl, a strong cup of coffee, nose spray, and a bag of broccoli (because we can't keep a good ice pack to save our lives).
All that came through for me. But I'm as ornery as a bull. I've gotten onto everyone, which cleared the room. Macklynn and Madalynn are outside even though her wrist still hurts from being sprained while I was in the hospital with Melody, and even though Macklynn has allergy symptoms. Everybody in the house does and is probably the real reason I started having a migraine.
I hate feeling this way, not in charge of myself. It's so sad to me that people would choose to numb their reality like this. I want them to be free of what inhibits them from seeking the Lord, the only solace they will ever find. "There is no peace, says the Lord, for the wicked." (Isaiah 48:22).
Contrarily, Melody has not needed any pain medicine today, not even Ibuprofen. I am floored. I can't believe my own disbelief. Just like that, she is fine. I'm shaking my head even now. Five days ago we were readmitted into Baptist with uncontrolled pain and declining vision in one eye.
In the interim, Mike's shoulder pain has taken a turn for the better also.
Question, do you ever get so used to the misery that you don't know what to do without it? I confessed this weekend to an old friend that it's as though I need to stay in a low place to stay close to the Lord. How shameful is that?
But my children have exhibited what I so often do not. I found out that two of them sacrificed their personal liberties to sanctification while they were on vacation. It is a rare thing that a parent could find out anything better. Yet, there is unrelated information I have found out this weekend that I wish I hadn't, especially since I can't do a thing about it. But can I? There is always prayer, which is the greatest of all resources. I have seen the Lord already at work about it.
Just now, I had to go dig something out of a bag in the back of the truck. Never fails that when I clean out the kids' stuff, I always throw away something I shouldn't. One kid is mad that I wouldn't let them leave with another. I accused one of something they didn't do. It's like when I pray for the Lord to teach one, and particularly in regard to my husband, I am immediately convicted of my own form of that sin. So, I have to switch up in the middle, for him to teach "us." And by the end of the prayer, it is always teach "me." Nothing like marriage to teach you how bad a person you really are.
Contentment, something else my old friend and I talked over, to be thankful for all the good in today while it is still called "today." We view lust/greed as the worst of many sins, when all it might be is wanting what is not meant to be yours not necessarily forever, but yet. The disregard of any commandment is the mistrust that God knows vastly more what is better for our souls and those of our families.
Our family, as it stands, will expand by two on June 12th. McKala isn't due until July 11th, but all things considered including that the babies are resting firmly breach, taking them really is safer for everyone involved. I still can't entertain the idea of new life. I feel like it will be the "lose it" of all losing its. It's bad enough that I lost it in Walmart, of all places. Four days after Melody's original admission to Baptist, I was restocking a little, in a daze. I can't remember what started the conversation about Melody with the cashier. But by the time I was paying, we both were crying.
I almost lost it in Walgreens too, when they would not refill Melody's pain medicine, because there was a discrepancy between that and the prior prescription. Thankfully, someone I know was standing there, so I was especially accountable for what was going to come out of my mouth. Within a few minutes, the pharmacist overrode the problem, and I was on my way.
It's been like that the whole time. When I thought we would have to battle the system, individuals have made exemptions and extensions for Melody's assignments and exams. The doors have been wide open for us to walk through. To Melody's credit though, every teacher has reported that she is a "great student." Reputation walks before us as we are led of the Lord, which is also what invalidates the gossip from mean girls and perverted boys that she has been this place and done that thing, when she was never there to have done those things. It doesn't prevent them from hateful looks and catcalls in the hallways though. She wrote a poem about it, which the teacher asked her to read aloud. She has been publicly mocked for it. But she stands strong ...and goes places like she did last night, fishing with her friend and her parents, aunt, and grandmother.
There will be no fishing at the lake this Memorial Day. The docks are flooded. It goes without saying that we are free to be concerned with such frivolities because of the ones we give tribute to today. Sacrifice, a fading trait. Without personal sacrifice, there is no real love, no real purpose.
Again, it begins at home, with family. Last Thursday, Mike and I were still at the hospital with Melody and needed Michael to stay home from the job he loves, to babysit for us. He agreed without hesitation, made a big breakfast, and finished the sanding Miranda started on the baby bed that Victoria gave for McKala. Friday, her day off, Miranda went to McKala's appointment with her, cleaned her house, and took her shopping. And wouldn't you know it, when a person is trying their best, the world falls in around them? But true to form, Miranda keeps moving, like the good soldier she is determined to be.
It has not been all work. Mike took me out to eat, and who was there but Megan and Shannon? We all went to the theater together. And, of course, the phone vibrated right in a pivotal scene. But between the uncertainties of Melody's and McKala's conditions, I had to find out who it was. It was only Madalynn wanting to know if she could make herbal tea. I don't know if this speaks to good training or to their fear of me. I can be a tyrant (which I'm guessing "rant" comes from). Toward training, I'll mention that today she asked if she could have the other half of her chocolate pie. She said, "Yesterday you didn't say 'Lord willing;' you said I could have it today." She had me. And as she sat at the table, she said, "I think the refrigerator is broken. It's making a boiling sound."
It was the ice maker. That's how much either the TV has been on or the tablets have been running lately. Silence, so rare. I'd like to say we'll be back in the groove soon, but McKala has requested that I stay with her for the first week as she learns to nurse both babies. There will be another family push to care for Macklynn and Madalynn. It turns out Melody's surgery already having been done will lend us a babysitter that week, the week after school gets out and ideally when she would have gotten a job. I recognize that sacrifice, and we have covered her on some costs we wouldn't have otherwise.
McKala hasn't gone to work in two months (which the owner there and the one at her prior job actually were brought to tears over). So, she doesn't quite know what to do with herself. She has things prepared: the new and the old, the white woven cotton blankets and sheepskins that were hers and Michael's, my "almost" Irish Twins, the closest I will ever come to real twins. We found them while she was here last and the baby book she didn't look twice at when she was about to be married that finally came to life in her hands, as she sat there taking care of Melody who was throwing up from the combination of pain and strong medicines and didn't want her to leave her side.
Funny how our need for each brings us closer than any other thing can. This I am learning to accept. "So, teach us, Lord ...teach me," the way David Jeremiah described this week about the Lord's Prayer, "to have a heart coming in praise to You, the Almighty God, and understanding that in Your love and dominion, I can rest in and be thankful for Your goodness and perfect will."
Without praise and thankfulness, there is no such thing as contentment and peace.
All that came through for me. But I'm as ornery as a bull. I've gotten onto everyone, which cleared the room. Macklynn and Madalynn are outside even though her wrist still hurts from being sprained while I was in the hospital with Melody, and even though Macklynn has allergy symptoms. Everybody in the house does and is probably the real reason I started having a migraine.
I hate feeling this way, not in charge of myself. It's so sad to me that people would choose to numb their reality like this. I want them to be free of what inhibits them from seeking the Lord, the only solace they will ever find. "There is no peace, says the Lord, for the wicked." (Isaiah 48:22).
Contrarily, Melody has not needed any pain medicine today, not even Ibuprofen. I am floored. I can't believe my own disbelief. Just like that, she is fine. I'm shaking my head even now. Five days ago we were readmitted into Baptist with uncontrolled pain and declining vision in one eye.
In the interim, Mike's shoulder pain has taken a turn for the better also.
Question, do you ever get so used to the misery that you don't know what to do without it? I confessed this weekend to an old friend that it's as though I need to stay in a low place to stay close to the Lord. How shameful is that?
But my children have exhibited what I so often do not. I found out that two of them sacrificed their personal liberties to sanctification while they were on vacation. It is a rare thing that a parent could find out anything better. Yet, there is unrelated information I have found out this weekend that I wish I hadn't, especially since I can't do a thing about it. But can I? There is always prayer, which is the greatest of all resources. I have seen the Lord already at work about it.
Just now, I had to go dig something out of a bag in the back of the truck. Never fails that when I clean out the kids' stuff, I always throw away something I shouldn't. One kid is mad that I wouldn't let them leave with another. I accused one of something they didn't do. It's like when I pray for the Lord to teach one, and particularly in regard to my husband, I am immediately convicted of my own form of that sin. So, I have to switch up in the middle, for him to teach "us." And by the end of the prayer, it is always teach "me." Nothing like marriage to teach you how bad a person you really are.
Contentment, something else my old friend and I talked over, to be thankful for all the good in today while it is still called "today." We view lust/greed as the worst of many sins, when all it might be is wanting what is not meant to be yours not necessarily forever, but yet. The disregard of any commandment is the mistrust that God knows vastly more what is better for our souls and those of our families.
Our family, as it stands, will expand by two on June 12th. McKala isn't due until July 11th, but all things considered including that the babies are resting firmly breach, taking them really is safer for everyone involved. I still can't entertain the idea of new life. I feel like it will be the "lose it" of all losing its. It's bad enough that I lost it in Walmart, of all places. Four days after Melody's original admission to Baptist, I was restocking a little, in a daze. I can't remember what started the conversation about Melody with the cashier. But by the time I was paying, we both were crying.
I almost lost it in Walgreens too, when they would not refill Melody's pain medicine, because there was a discrepancy between that and the prior prescription. Thankfully, someone I know was standing there, so I was especially accountable for what was going to come out of my mouth. Within a few minutes, the pharmacist overrode the problem, and I was on my way.
It's been like that the whole time. When I thought we would have to battle the system, individuals have made exemptions and extensions for Melody's assignments and exams. The doors have been wide open for us to walk through. To Melody's credit though, every teacher has reported that she is a "great student." Reputation walks before us as we are led of the Lord, which is also what invalidates the gossip from mean girls and perverted boys that she has been this place and done that thing, when she was never there to have done those things. It doesn't prevent them from hateful looks and catcalls in the hallways though. She wrote a poem about it, which the teacher asked her to read aloud. She has been publicly mocked for it. But she stands strong ...and goes places like she did last night, fishing with her friend and her parents, aunt, and grandmother.
There will be no fishing at the lake this Memorial Day. The docks are flooded. It goes without saying that we are free to be concerned with such frivolities because of the ones we give tribute to today. Sacrifice, a fading trait. Without personal sacrifice, there is no real love, no real purpose.
Again, it begins at home, with family. Last Thursday, Mike and I were still at the hospital with Melody and needed Michael to stay home from the job he loves, to babysit for us. He agreed without hesitation, made a big breakfast, and finished the sanding Miranda started on the baby bed that Victoria gave for McKala. Friday, her day off, Miranda went to McKala's appointment with her, cleaned her house, and took her shopping. And wouldn't you know it, when a person is trying their best, the world falls in around them? But true to form, Miranda keeps moving, like the good soldier she is determined to be.
It has not been all work. Mike took me out to eat, and who was there but Megan and Shannon? We all went to the theater together. And, of course, the phone vibrated right in a pivotal scene. But between the uncertainties of Melody's and McKala's conditions, I had to find out who it was. It was only Madalynn wanting to know if she could make herbal tea. I don't know if this speaks to good training or to their fear of me. I can be a tyrant (which I'm guessing "rant" comes from). Toward training, I'll mention that today she asked if she could have the other half of her chocolate pie. She said, "Yesterday you didn't say 'Lord willing;' you said I could have it today." She had me. And as she sat at the table, she said, "I think the refrigerator is broken. It's making a boiling sound."
It was the ice maker. That's how much either the TV has been on or the tablets have been running lately. Silence, so rare. I'd like to say we'll be back in the groove soon, but McKala has requested that I stay with her for the first week as she learns to nurse both babies. There will be another family push to care for Macklynn and Madalynn. It turns out Melody's surgery already having been done will lend us a babysitter that week, the week after school gets out and ideally when she would have gotten a job. I recognize that sacrifice, and we have covered her on some costs we wouldn't have otherwise.
McKala hasn't gone to work in two months (which the owner there and the one at her prior job actually were brought to tears over). So, she doesn't quite know what to do with herself. She has things prepared: the new and the old, the white woven cotton blankets and sheepskins that were hers and Michael's, my "almost" Irish Twins, the closest I will ever come to real twins. We found them while she was here last and the baby book she didn't look twice at when she was about to be married that finally came to life in her hands, as she sat there taking care of Melody who was throwing up from the combination of pain and strong medicines and didn't want her to leave her side.
Funny how our need for each brings us closer than any other thing can. This I am learning to accept. "So, teach us, Lord ...teach me," the way David Jeremiah described this week about the Lord's Prayer, "to have a heart coming in praise to You, the Almighty God, and understanding that in Your love and dominion, I can rest in and be thankful for Your goodness and perfect will."
Without praise and thankfulness, there is no such thing as contentment and peace.
Friday, May 19, 2017
We're Home
I just heard Megan and Melody drive up. I'm waiting for them to find me in what we fondly call "the sideyard," where I weedeated the overgrown natural area yesterday so that we could hang up our hammocks and have a bonfire tonight. We're missing four of the kids, but that's all right because two have been almost 30 miles out to sea with Dad today. One has stayed back at the beach house to relax with Mom on this Mother's Day. And the other spent the night here.
Timothy and McKala came last night and helped us make fajitas and homemade salsa. She said she was so dizzy at church this morning that she didn't stand for prayer.
That was Sunday. This is Friday. I brought Melody back to Wake Forest Baptist Hospital on Tuesday after she could barely comprehend and particularly not see her classwork. Last fall, she was finally diagnosed after four years of headaches different doctors pondered were caused by bite alignment, hair heaviness, or hormones, with Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension. That means for her the "bottle neck" in the veins which leave her brain let spinal fluid build up in her head, so much so that her optic nerves swell and cause her to lose vision, never mind the chronic headaches she suffers.
Tuesday was her breaking point. She said there was no way she could do EOGs in that condition, much less study for them. Her right vessel is dominant, so it's the one they went through, her Femoral Artery in the inner thigh, to carry stents into by catheter.
No holes in the skull for a shunt, no shaved head, no complications, right? During the exploratory catheterization the night before the surgery, Fentanyl was administered too quickly and she all but stopped breathing on the table. She was awake and saw the doctor tear off his scrubs, start grabbing equipment, barking out orders, and having people called in "Stat!" THAT is why I call for prayer in times like these. Yes, what Melody has could be something worse; it's a condition, not a disease. BUT as Satan would have it, uncomplicated procedures become complicated.
I've been reading in Ecclesiates these last days. It says, "Things come alike to all: there is one event to the righteous, and to the wicked; to the good and to the clean, and to the unclean; to him that sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not: as is the good, so is the sinner; and he that sweareth, as he that feareth an oath. This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that there is one event unto all ..." (Ecc. 9:2-3). This is easy for me to quote. But I'm not the one suffering. Just know that calamity is never a reason to denounce Christ. Our reaction to and through it is what proves who we are and are not in Christ.
Yesterday was bad. We were set to leave but were on the tail end of the meds. They had taken her off the IV meds and there were no orders to give her anything else before we left. That's when the pain became unmanaged, and it took four hours to get orders to put the IV back in. Then, in the wee hours the night nurse decided Melody was "sleeping soundly," and she let all her medicine lapse. When Melody woke up, she was crying out loud. I can't say that I've seen her do that more than one time in the last four years. They got her meds going, but it was too late. It took almost two hours before they got it back under control, finally with morphine.
This morning is round two of trying to leave. She's off the IVs again. They've switched her oral meds to stronger/different ones. Another neurosurgeon came in this morning and said that the pain stems from the fact that the nerves are not in the brain, but they are in the covering of the brain, the dura, which is exactly where they've placed stents a centimeter in diameter. Imagine a large foreign object exerting pressure on the fibers, trying to expand itself between your brain and skull.
They can't say when the pain will subside. They can't say how long the stent will last. They don't know why this phenomenon happens. Seems to me that it's an anatomy defect. All I know is that this is feeding her passion for medicine. AND that prayer is always needed. Because although, some of the people on staff here at Brenner Children's Hospital are the best of the best, they still are human and do err. It's a big reason I pray so heartily for McKala. Yes, her babies are "safe," but she still has an active case of walking pneumonia, mycoplasma that is a particularly sinister and hard to kill bacteria, which the infectious disease doctor wants untreated. The "dizziness" at church I mentioned earlier is because her pulse is racing. The stress on her body is keeping her heart meds that she takes for POTS (a condition she's seen for at Duke and is likely caused by the four walking pneumonia infections she's had since she was 14) from working effectively. Her heart is in overdrive trying to "call up" the blood from her lower extremities because her nervous system does not do its job.
As I was telling Pastor Dale, who so apparently loves the Lord, when he came here to see us, it seems that Satan has realized that he cannot have the hearts of my children, so he will "try" their bodies to discourage them. I am not devastated over the physical state, not that I wasn't in great distress last night and could've just kicked myself that I didn't set my own alarm for her meds. What would be despairing though is to know that any one of them denied Christ in the end or lived their faith laxidazically, which is the same. While we are waiting for that end, we are tested, put to the fire. I pray that it pushes each of us to crave His Word and to seek Him fervently in unceasing prayer, not always in requests but in praise, that we might trust and obey. There really is "no other way to be happy in Jesus but to trust and obey," similar to what Soloman had to say after all his getting of wisdom then folly,"Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man." (Ecc. 12:13).
It's Friday night, and we're home. They finally found the right cocktail of oral medicine to keep Melody's pain at a reasonable level. It'll just be Melody, Mike, and me for the weekend, since Megan has taken Madalynn to Georgia for their twin cousins' birthdays and graduations, where they'll also meet up with Miranda, Michael, and Macklynn on the way back from Florida. Madalynn and I didn't exactly get the week we'd planned together. But we did get to swim at Aunt Cindy's pool and go to that bakery she's always asking me about. Mike colored with her AND did some major cleaning for me. (He said if his shoulder's gonna hurt either way, he might as well do something.) And she got to spend two days with our friends, the Heacock's, while I was at the hospital.
I just love the kids all being back in North Carolina, Megan at work, Michael at school, and McKala married. They went from somewhat of a disconnect to doing things together regularly. Some of the things I was afraid Macklynn and Madalynn would miss out on, even the travel, are suddenly upon them.
It got started up in December when Michael and Melody convinced Megan it was a good idea to buy a timeshare weekend while they were in Bass Pro Shop. So, on Michael's spring break, when he could've been "other places," he went with Megan, McKala, and Melody to Charleston.
During Melody's spring break, she stayed at McKala and Timothy's house for two days, tie dying shirts, buying ducks for his grandmother, and going to a free Triple A ballgame put on by Duke Energy, where Timothy is gainfully employed as a lineman. They kindly invited Macklynn, so Melody drove all the way home to get him. The next two days Melody spent with Megan playing softball, hiking, cooking, and going to the gym. Melody was invited to do a lot of unseemly things, and she chose to stay on the up and up, with family.
That's the deal. And although, they sometimes get a little too loose, crass, or blunt with each other; they are forever bound together. They've spent their childhood days playing, learning, and working and their teenage years volunteering all over the east coast, training, and even working together sometimes. They hold each other accountable. They are built in counsel and chaperones to each other. They don't have to find a place to "hang out," where things might go south. They don't have peer pressure, because they didn't grow up with it. Community really does start at home.
So does teamwork, just like the shower we put on for McKala. Melody baked another incredible lemon blueberry cake that was six layers. Miranda and Megan bought decorations. And Miranda pulled them together to make a first class affair. Megan bought games, but the conversations were so lively that we didn't need them. So, they're tucked away for the next time. Madalynn was so elated to be asked to go with the "big girls" to get a manicure before the shower. She's learned the value of saving her money to get to do big girl things.
There's an annual local music festival, and we all got to go because Miranda volunteered two whole days with the fire department parking cars. The tickets would've been many hundreds of dollars. Then, a couple of weekends ago, after Michael, Miranda, Melody, and Megan rode in her new Jeep to Mount Airy, McKala and Timothy came to spend the night with us. I pulled off some homemade pizza, and we all watched a movie.
Last week after work, Megan and Miranda put in an AC compressor in Miranda's car. A couple of days later, Megan and Mike put one in my van. Megan didn't go on the fishing trip this year, so when the three left, she went to the movies with Timothy and McKala. I love first of all that Mom and Dad invite them and that Miranda was willing to take Macklynn on the getaway she's so been looking forward to. And I love that the boys are there together.
There is a seven year gap between them. And Michael's been away at school and working when he's at home. He managed though to take Macklynn to the lake to try out the boat. He also took and stayed with Macklynn for the free Y summer camp day. Above all, he took him to his favorite trout stream up the mountain, which is normally a solemn place he has for himself Sunday afternoons, near Dr. Miller's place. Michael's either interned with or worked for him for four years now. He got to do a large animal call last week, and they rode together with Megan to have lunch. I like how they know each other's "others." There is a weaving together that only God can do.
Melody's good friend, Kaylee, came bearing gifts to the hospital and you can bet that big sister was there this week, too. Megan was a second mother to Melody. "Megan" was even Melody's first word. I was on the phone with my friend, Amy, and we both heard it.
So, here I am at 11:25 pm scratching my arms from the poison ivy I got myself into weedeating. Melody is resting, thoroughly medicated with 2 Percocet and 800 mg of Motrin intermittently. I can hear the videos Mike is watching in bed. We don't normally go to bed separately, so I'd better head on in there. Our oldest is headed south with the youngest, and the second will be headed north with the boys tomorrow, forever giving me something to pray over and about, but mostly to give praise for. My life is better than I ever imagined it might be. I'm so profoundly thankful that in our ignorance, simplicity, and youth, we were still able to understand and appreciate the command of fruitfulness and are here together to see what continues to grow from it ...and to hear those fishing stories when they get home.
Timothy and McKala came last night and helped us make fajitas and homemade salsa. She said she was so dizzy at church this morning that she didn't stand for prayer.
That was Sunday. This is Friday. I brought Melody back to Wake Forest Baptist Hospital on Tuesday after she could barely comprehend and particularly not see her classwork. Last fall, she was finally diagnosed after four years of headaches different doctors pondered were caused by bite alignment, hair heaviness, or hormones, with Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension. That means for her the "bottle neck" in the veins which leave her brain let spinal fluid build up in her head, so much so that her optic nerves swell and cause her to lose vision, never mind the chronic headaches she suffers.
Tuesday was her breaking point. She said there was no way she could do EOGs in that condition, much less study for them. Her right vessel is dominant, so it's the one they went through, her Femoral Artery in the inner thigh, to carry stents into by catheter.
No holes in the skull for a shunt, no shaved head, no complications, right? During the exploratory catheterization the night before the surgery, Fentanyl was administered too quickly and she all but stopped breathing on the table. She was awake and saw the doctor tear off his scrubs, start grabbing equipment, barking out orders, and having people called in "Stat!" THAT is why I call for prayer in times like these. Yes, what Melody has could be something worse; it's a condition, not a disease. BUT as Satan would have it, uncomplicated procedures become complicated.
I've been reading in Ecclesiates these last days. It says, "Things come alike to all: there is one event to the righteous, and to the wicked; to the good and to the clean, and to the unclean; to him that sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not: as is the good, so is the sinner; and he that sweareth, as he that feareth an oath. This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that there is one event unto all ..." (Ecc. 9:2-3). This is easy for me to quote. But I'm not the one suffering. Just know that calamity is never a reason to denounce Christ. Our reaction to and through it is what proves who we are and are not in Christ.
Yesterday was bad. We were set to leave but were on the tail end of the meds. They had taken her off the IV meds and there were no orders to give her anything else before we left. That's when the pain became unmanaged, and it took four hours to get orders to put the IV back in. Then, in the wee hours the night nurse decided Melody was "sleeping soundly," and she let all her medicine lapse. When Melody woke up, she was crying out loud. I can't say that I've seen her do that more than one time in the last four years. They got her meds going, but it was too late. It took almost two hours before they got it back under control, finally with morphine.
This morning is round two of trying to leave. She's off the IVs again. They've switched her oral meds to stronger/different ones. Another neurosurgeon came in this morning and said that the pain stems from the fact that the nerves are not in the brain, but they are in the covering of the brain, the dura, which is exactly where they've placed stents a centimeter in diameter. Imagine a large foreign object exerting pressure on the fibers, trying to expand itself between your brain and skull.
They can't say when the pain will subside. They can't say how long the stent will last. They don't know why this phenomenon happens. Seems to me that it's an anatomy defect. All I know is that this is feeding her passion for medicine. AND that prayer is always needed. Because although, some of the people on staff here at Brenner Children's Hospital are the best of the best, they still are human and do err. It's a big reason I pray so heartily for McKala. Yes, her babies are "safe," but she still has an active case of walking pneumonia, mycoplasma that is a particularly sinister and hard to kill bacteria, which the infectious disease doctor wants untreated. The "dizziness" at church I mentioned earlier is because her pulse is racing. The stress on her body is keeping her heart meds that she takes for POTS (a condition she's seen for at Duke and is likely caused by the four walking pneumonia infections she's had since she was 14) from working effectively. Her heart is in overdrive trying to "call up" the blood from her lower extremities because her nervous system does not do its job.
As I was telling Pastor Dale, who so apparently loves the Lord, when he came here to see us, it seems that Satan has realized that he cannot have the hearts of my children, so he will "try" their bodies to discourage them. I am not devastated over the physical state, not that I wasn't in great distress last night and could've just kicked myself that I didn't set my own alarm for her meds. What would be despairing though is to know that any one of them denied Christ in the end or lived their faith laxidazically, which is the same. While we are waiting for that end, we are tested, put to the fire. I pray that it pushes each of us to crave His Word and to seek Him fervently in unceasing prayer, not always in requests but in praise, that we might trust and obey. There really is "no other way to be happy in Jesus but to trust and obey," similar to what Soloman had to say after all his getting of wisdom then folly,"Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man." (Ecc. 12:13).
It's Friday night, and we're home. They finally found the right cocktail of oral medicine to keep Melody's pain at a reasonable level. It'll just be Melody, Mike, and me for the weekend, since Megan has taken Madalynn to Georgia for their twin cousins' birthdays and graduations, where they'll also meet up with Miranda, Michael, and Macklynn on the way back from Florida. Madalynn and I didn't exactly get the week we'd planned together. But we did get to swim at Aunt Cindy's pool and go to that bakery she's always asking me about. Mike colored with her AND did some major cleaning for me. (He said if his shoulder's gonna hurt either way, he might as well do something.) And she got to spend two days with our friends, the Heacock's, while I was at the hospital.
I just love the kids all being back in North Carolina, Megan at work, Michael at school, and McKala married. They went from somewhat of a disconnect to doing things together regularly. Some of the things I was afraid Macklynn and Madalynn would miss out on, even the travel, are suddenly upon them.
It got started up in December when Michael and Melody convinced Megan it was a good idea to buy a timeshare weekend while they were in Bass Pro Shop. So, on Michael's spring break, when he could've been "other places," he went with Megan, McKala, and Melody to Charleston.
During Melody's spring break, she stayed at McKala and Timothy's house for two days, tie dying shirts, buying ducks for his grandmother, and going to a free Triple A ballgame put on by Duke Energy, where Timothy is gainfully employed as a lineman. They kindly invited Macklynn, so Melody drove all the way home to get him. The next two days Melody spent with Megan playing softball, hiking, cooking, and going to the gym. Melody was invited to do a lot of unseemly things, and she chose to stay on the up and up, with family.
That's the deal. And although, they sometimes get a little too loose, crass, or blunt with each other; they are forever bound together. They've spent their childhood days playing, learning, and working and their teenage years volunteering all over the east coast, training, and even working together sometimes. They hold each other accountable. They are built in counsel and chaperones to each other. They don't have to find a place to "hang out," where things might go south. They don't have peer pressure, because they didn't grow up with it. Community really does start at home.
So does teamwork, just like the shower we put on for McKala. Melody baked another incredible lemon blueberry cake that was six layers. Miranda and Megan bought decorations. And Miranda pulled them together to make a first class affair. Megan bought games, but the conversations were so lively that we didn't need them. So, they're tucked away for the next time. Madalynn was so elated to be asked to go with the "big girls" to get a manicure before the shower. She's learned the value of saving her money to get to do big girl things.
There's an annual local music festival, and we all got to go because Miranda volunteered two whole days with the fire department parking cars. The tickets would've been many hundreds of dollars. Then, a couple of weekends ago, after Michael, Miranda, Melody, and Megan rode in her new Jeep to Mount Airy, McKala and Timothy came to spend the night with us. I pulled off some homemade pizza, and we all watched a movie.
Last week after work, Megan and Miranda put in an AC compressor in Miranda's car. A couple of days later, Megan and Mike put one in my van. Megan didn't go on the fishing trip this year, so when the three left, she went to the movies with Timothy and McKala. I love first of all that Mom and Dad invite them and that Miranda was willing to take Macklynn on the getaway she's so been looking forward to. And I love that the boys are there together.
There is a seven year gap between them. And Michael's been away at school and working when he's at home. He managed though to take Macklynn to the lake to try out the boat. He also took and stayed with Macklynn for the free Y summer camp day. Above all, he took him to his favorite trout stream up the mountain, which is normally a solemn place he has for himself Sunday afternoons, near Dr. Miller's place. Michael's either interned with or worked for him for four years now. He got to do a large animal call last week, and they rode together with Megan to have lunch. I like how they know each other's "others." There is a weaving together that only God can do.
Melody's good friend, Kaylee, came bearing gifts to the hospital and you can bet that big sister was there this week, too. Megan was a second mother to Melody. "Megan" was even Melody's first word. I was on the phone with my friend, Amy, and we both heard it.
So, here I am at 11:25 pm scratching my arms from the poison ivy I got myself into weedeating. Melody is resting, thoroughly medicated with 2 Percocet and 800 mg of Motrin intermittently. I can hear the videos Mike is watching in bed. We don't normally go to bed separately, so I'd better head on in there. Our oldest is headed south with the youngest, and the second will be headed north with the boys tomorrow, forever giving me something to pray over and about, but mostly to give praise for. My life is better than I ever imagined it might be. I'm so profoundly thankful that in our ignorance, simplicity, and youth, we were still able to understand and appreciate the command of fruitfulness and are here together to see what continues to grow from it ...and to hear those fishing stories when they get home.
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
A Day in the Life of this Mother
I woke up this morning in Madalynn's room in the bed we made for Aunt Mandy to sleep in after she and Memaw drove all the way from Georgia for the baby shower. Since Mike is still dealing with pain from the shoulder surgery, coupled with sleep apnea, I usually have to get up in the night.
In a departure from my normal morning priorities, I got country ribs boiling to bake for bbq later. And I got a load of laundry going to ensure Macklynn has all he needs for the adventure he's setting out on with Miranda and Michael tomorrow. Mom and Dad have invited the kids down once more to their Florida vacation rental to spend the days offshore fishing with Dad. A change of scenery will be welcome, even to Mady and me left here at home.
I'm still diligently praying that the Lord would provide responsibility and exposure for our younger children who don't have other little people to take care of and nothing more than two dogs and two cats to tend to. But just in the last month, not so much yet in work for the kids but opportunities in the face of Mike's hours being cut to 38, Macklynn and Madalynn have been whisked away by our friend, Shannon, to Mystery Hill up near Tweetsie; Macklynn to the Y summer camp fun day, to fish in the boat Pop sent up, and to a Triple-A baseball game; Madalynn to get sister manicures with money she saved from Christmas and to the baby shower for McKala.
McKala, it's coming full circle. My young ones will be aunts and uncles, with someone to be responsible for. It all struck me hard the other day and again today when I was listening to my play list and the baby music that I planned for the shower came on. The sobering realization finally came over me that spirits breathed into new lives by God will once more be in my realm. I haven't had much anticipation, neither did I for my own, because children are not simply goals, legacies, or experiences. There is no true preparation of understanding to meet completely unique eternal souls. And that they are identical just blows my mind. That a barrier finally "appeared" between the two of them to prevent them from a high mortality rate is answered prayer. That they are both already around 4 1/2 pounds at 31 weeks is amazing.
I just got back from the high school having had to bring Melody another 800 mg of Tylenol. I don't know what this means. It appears that she is having a spinal leak from the lumbar puncture she had last week. Her spinal fluid pressure is back up to 28, normal being 8 resting. We're waiting for an appointment with the neurosurgeon who did her catheterization last fall to determine that she has stenonis/narrowing of the veins exiting her brain. The remedy he recommends is the insertion of stents.
So, I cannot afford to have hindered prayers. I have a daughter with a high risk pregnancy, a daughter who is in line for what amounts to brain surgery, a daughter who is training to go into fires for a living, a daughter who is preparing for disaster relief learning to drive a tractor trailer, and a son who is a up against a line of 300 pound football players now that he has been moved to Center, ironically the position he started at as a little boy. That's just the big stuff. We have other diagnoses we've received recently. Plus, four of us have caught the latest sore throat and cough. That makes 6 times Macklynn's been sick since January. All these things together have brought my immunity so low that what I normally can stifle with rest and peace has gotten the better of me, forcing me onto daily meds.
But today, today I got to sit on the porch for a while basking in the sun, like a big ole mother bear out of hibernation, in the chair Michael made for me for Mother's Day three years back, listening to music on the phone Megan got me for Christmas, and seeing the good in all that's happening. As the devil would have it, we'd stay wound up in prayers over the physical state of our loved ones. And I do, but what gives me great joy is knowing the place I will be with them all one of these days, and that during these hard ones we're to affect as many people as possible toward Christ.
The Lord has led me to raise the children to get up in the morning with a smile, regardless of the emotional and physical pain they carry, with hope for the best and with thanksgiving that it's not worse. That's why most people who know that Melody just finished up a championship softball season would never think she has a debilitating condition, left untreated causes blindness from sheer pressure on the optic nerves. They don't see me taking her medicine to school for the headaches, and some of them even doubt the kinds of procedures she's had done already.
I'm convinced that if the Lord doesn't heal us that not only is He teaching us but we also are meant to influence the ones who are helping us. During her spinal tap last week, which is without anything but a local anesthetic, a nurse shared with Melody her daughter's attempted suicide. Whatever Melody said brought her to tears.
No matter the age, a professing Christian ought to be counsel to someone, available and willing always. Otherwise, something is amiss. Look, we don't even have to go out searching for some special opportunity. They're everywhere, like the girl at the grocery store. I usually get her line. Her name is Selena, so I wrote it down on my prayer list. I was in a big hurry two nights ago to get home to finish making enough supper for the guest list that had grown to eleven throughout the day. She could see the frustration in my face and so that she would not take offense, I explained and found an in to tell her I thought enough of her to have her on my prayer list. Her eyes widened and she eagerly whispered, "Pray about 'this' for me." Now I know she knows that I care, and next time I'll be prepared to ask her if she knows the Lord.
It's not that hard to figure out, this Christian life. As a wife and mother, it involves pleasing my Lord, helping my husband, and training my children. By helping my husband, I am pleasing the Lord. By training my children, I am helping my husband and pleasing my Lord. And all the while "reaching forth" my "hands to the needy" and "opening" my mouth in "wisdom" and having the "law of kindness" in my "tongue" to anyone and everyone I come in contact with. Period. Every other endeavor burns.
In a departure from my normal morning priorities, I got country ribs boiling to bake for bbq later. And I got a load of laundry going to ensure Macklynn has all he needs for the adventure he's setting out on with Miranda and Michael tomorrow. Mom and Dad have invited the kids down once more to their Florida vacation rental to spend the days offshore fishing with Dad. A change of scenery will be welcome, even to Mady and me left here at home.
I'm still diligently praying that the Lord would provide responsibility and exposure for our younger children who don't have other little people to take care of and nothing more than two dogs and two cats to tend to. But just in the last month, not so much yet in work for the kids but opportunities in the face of Mike's hours being cut to 38, Macklynn and Madalynn have been whisked away by our friend, Shannon, to Mystery Hill up near Tweetsie; Macklynn to the Y summer camp fun day, to fish in the boat Pop sent up, and to a Triple-A baseball game; Madalynn to get sister manicures with money she saved from Christmas and to the baby shower for McKala.
McKala, it's coming full circle. My young ones will be aunts and uncles, with someone to be responsible for. It all struck me hard the other day and again today when I was listening to my play list and the baby music that I planned for the shower came on. The sobering realization finally came over me that spirits breathed into new lives by God will once more be in my realm. I haven't had much anticipation, neither did I for my own, because children are not simply goals, legacies, or experiences. There is no true preparation of understanding to meet completely unique eternal souls. And that they are identical just blows my mind. That a barrier finally "appeared" between the two of them to prevent them from a high mortality rate is answered prayer. That they are both already around 4 1/2 pounds at 31 weeks is amazing.
I just got back from the high school having had to bring Melody another 800 mg of Tylenol. I don't know what this means. It appears that she is having a spinal leak from the lumbar puncture she had last week. Her spinal fluid pressure is back up to 28, normal being 8 resting. We're waiting for an appointment with the neurosurgeon who did her catheterization last fall to determine that she has stenonis/narrowing of the veins exiting her brain. The remedy he recommends is the insertion of stents.
So, I cannot afford to have hindered prayers. I have a daughter with a high risk pregnancy, a daughter who is in line for what amounts to brain surgery, a daughter who is training to go into fires for a living, a daughter who is preparing for disaster relief learning to drive a tractor trailer, and a son who is a up against a line of 300 pound football players now that he has been moved to Center, ironically the position he started at as a little boy. That's just the big stuff. We have other diagnoses we've received recently. Plus, four of us have caught the latest sore throat and cough. That makes 6 times Macklynn's been sick since January. All these things together have brought my immunity so low that what I normally can stifle with rest and peace has gotten the better of me, forcing me onto daily meds.
But today, today I got to sit on the porch for a while basking in the sun, like a big ole mother bear out of hibernation, in the chair Michael made for me for Mother's Day three years back, listening to music on the phone Megan got me for Christmas, and seeing the good in all that's happening. As the devil would have it, we'd stay wound up in prayers over the physical state of our loved ones. And I do, but what gives me great joy is knowing the place I will be with them all one of these days, and that during these hard ones we're to affect as many people as possible toward Christ.
The Lord has led me to raise the children to get up in the morning with a smile, regardless of the emotional and physical pain they carry, with hope for the best and with thanksgiving that it's not worse. That's why most people who know that Melody just finished up a championship softball season would never think she has a debilitating condition, left untreated causes blindness from sheer pressure on the optic nerves. They don't see me taking her medicine to school for the headaches, and some of them even doubt the kinds of procedures she's had done already.
I'm convinced that if the Lord doesn't heal us that not only is He teaching us but we also are meant to influence the ones who are helping us. During her spinal tap last week, which is without anything but a local anesthetic, a nurse shared with Melody her daughter's attempted suicide. Whatever Melody said brought her to tears.
No matter the age, a professing Christian ought to be counsel to someone, available and willing always. Otherwise, something is amiss. Look, we don't even have to go out searching for some special opportunity. They're everywhere, like the girl at the grocery store. I usually get her line. Her name is Selena, so I wrote it down on my prayer list. I was in a big hurry two nights ago to get home to finish making enough supper for the guest list that had grown to eleven throughout the day. She could see the frustration in my face and so that she would not take offense, I explained and found an in to tell her I thought enough of her to have her on my prayer list. Her eyes widened and she eagerly whispered, "Pray about 'this' for me." Now I know she knows that I care, and next time I'll be prepared to ask her if she knows the Lord.
It's not that hard to figure out, this Christian life. As a wife and mother, it involves pleasing my Lord, helping my husband, and training my children. By helping my husband, I am pleasing the Lord. By training my children, I am helping my husband and pleasing my Lord. And all the while "reaching forth" my "hands to the needy" and "opening" my mouth in "wisdom" and having the "law of kindness" in my "tongue" to anyone and everyone I come in contact with. Period. Every other endeavor burns.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
How We Do
Madalynn started throwing up yesterday. I started throwing up Thursday. Macklynn started throwing up Monday. Melody started the 8 days before that and McKala in between, rupturing the vessels in her eyes. Even Michael reported from WCU a raging ear infection. Mike is looking at a lengthy recovery from shoulder surgery but at least finally got his CPAP equipment.
Mom and Dad arrived, despite the warning, Wednesday from Georgia with Megan's belongings in a trailer, two meals, dozens of eggs, gallons of milk, and other provisions. Megan arrived soon after with Macklynn's boat sent by Mike's dad. None of them are sick yet, and I hope to goodness they won't be.
I went over with everyone to help move Megan into Shannon's new place before I understood that my runny nose was associated with the bug. In my stupor the next day and as the rain fell, Dad, 65 years old, was out tearing down the old wood fort to replace it with the industrial swing set he built for us 8 years ago. Meanwhile, McKala and Timothy were moving from their apartment to their first rental home, and Megan started her first day at Samaritan's Purse.
The next day got Macklynn out in the sunshine to learn how to square up the swing frame, to hoist it up, and to secure it. Mike and I chipped in. Saturday put sun on Macklynn's face again while he and his Daddy tried all afternoon to get the boat motor running that hasn't in almost a decade. That's why I prayed for a boat for him: work, relationships, and the outdoors.
Inside, Melody cleaned their bathroom and room. Then McKala fixed Melody's hair for 2 hours and Megan did her nails and took pictures, for the prom. McKala also saved the day, sewing the dress after a last minute malfunction. Miranda got back just in time from her concealed carry class to see them leave. Mike was very straightforward with his charge to her date. Everything went like clockwork, as we watched Perry Mason to rest and pass the time until her return, 15 minutes early, before 11.
This morning we watched Uncle Dennis' livestream sermon. Mike got that motor running. Miranda cleaned her room and organized for the week. Melody wrote an essay and went to see McKala's place. Megan came over and sat on the porch with me for a while.
And to think we almost planned the babies' shower for this weekend too!
Mom and Dad arrived, despite the warning, Wednesday from Georgia with Megan's belongings in a trailer, two meals, dozens of eggs, gallons of milk, and other provisions. Megan arrived soon after with Macklynn's boat sent by Mike's dad. None of them are sick yet, and I hope to goodness they won't be.
I went over with everyone to help move Megan into Shannon's new place before I understood that my runny nose was associated with the bug. In my stupor the next day and as the rain fell, Dad, 65 years old, was out tearing down the old wood fort to replace it with the industrial swing set he built for us 8 years ago. Meanwhile, McKala and Timothy were moving from their apartment to their first rental home, and Megan started her first day at Samaritan's Purse.
The next day got Macklynn out in the sunshine to learn how to square up the swing frame, to hoist it up, and to secure it. Mike and I chipped in. Saturday put sun on Macklynn's face again while he and his Daddy tried all afternoon to get the boat motor running that hasn't in almost a decade. That's why I prayed for a boat for him: work, relationships, and the outdoors.
This morning we watched Uncle Dennis' livestream sermon. Mike got that motor running. Miranda cleaned her room and organized for the week. Melody wrote an essay and went to see McKala's place. Megan came over and sat on the porch with me for a while.
And to think we almost planned the babies' shower for this weekend too!
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Girded with Gladness
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Books
Books, stacks of books everywhere. One for the young ones' summer learning. One for Michael's NCAA core curriculum worksheets. One for McKala and Timothy to read excerpts on marriage. One Melody took to camp with her to be academically confident upon entering high school.
But you know what? I've gotten rid of the ones that didn't stand the test of time. And that includes the mounds of workbooks I've always drug along, just in case. All anybody really needs to teach young people is a good, right to the point math workbook and well written older books that have a moral to the story. I would say the Word also, but it is wiser that the parent have a good working knowledge of it themselves rather than treat the Holy Bible like a mandatory textbook.
I've been going through the roomful of storage that flooded when the dehumidifier quit on the air unit. I dumped out the plastic bin of my childhood activities. Seems like I went to every camp, jamboree, lesson, and VBS in the region. I entered and won almost every contest, exhibit, and officer's position I could. But for what? Ribbons, trophies, letters, and awards to look at these many years later?
Achievement is good. Service is better.
I have cards from all the way back. I'm keeping the handwritten notes, like the one from a classmate thanking me for helping out. That's what really matters all those years ago. Wish I had more of those to speak of. That's what I'm pursuing in raising my own children, that they might be a help, not a star, but a help.
Among the cards separated into years, intermittently I have letters written to myself of how I might improve so that my husband might love me, not equating my bouts with gluttony and vanity with his drunkenness, the way the Bible does. That's why I can't get this mess up and done in the basement, for the flow of memories that come with it.
I was always trying to reach the pinnacle of a more perfect household and body, waiting for the day that things would go just right, not understanding that God is looking for a perfect heart, not a perfect day.
I've had friends who believed adversity was always a direct result of personal sin. I've studied too many stories in the Bible now to believe that. "Asa's heart was perfect with the LORD all his days ...Nevertheless in the time of his old age he was diseased in his feet." And there "was a great woman" who made her home open to Elisha and was then blessed in her old age with a child. Yet, "And when the child was grown, it fell on a day, that he went to his father to the reapers. And he said unto his father, My head, my head." He died and was later restored to life by Elisha. And then there was the man who was blind from his birth and Jesus' disciples asked,"Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind? Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."
What I am convinced of is that "The Lord's mercy often rides to the door of our hearts on the black horse of affliction." Mike's cousin posted this Spurgeon quote today. Similarly, Megan posted, "Pressure makes diamonds."
So, as I wrote the last blog post, awaiting those summer days I could hammock with the young ones and reclaim lost time, the storage room was about to flood. A head cold was about to invade the house and has yet to leave. Melody had to go back to the doctor, plus she's gotten a very black eye playing ball and has a serious case of poison ivy at camp. But the camp nurse messaged me that she is getting better and "smiling as her usual." Megan has hurt a place on her back that even the chiropractor can't help and has taken the cold with her to work in the 100 degree weather in Georgia. Michael has managed to elude the problems the rest of us have. His summer is no easy task though. He gets up at 4:30 am, gets home no earlier than 4:30 pm, spends most every evening in the gym, and tries to consume 6,000 calories a day. And virtually every dime he makes is going back to the school or to the gas tank.
And McKala, she's the real reason I'm writing today. Last week, I noticed she was speaking lightly. Then, I noticed she was oversleeping. So, I asked her what else might be wrong. A while later, she said, "My back (lungs) hurt like they used to."
Today, we found out the labwork shows another active case of walking pneumonia. This time she's been prescribed antibiotic therapy for 6 months. Thankfully, the doctor considered that she doesn't have insurance and got us huge discounts on everything.
So, the young woman who will soon be a bride will carry this burden into her new life. I pray that it will only draw her closer to the Lord in whatever He has to teach or show by it.
Because we don't always have to sit by and suffer needlessly. Hezekiah "trusted in the LORD God of Israel; so that after him was none like him among all the kings of Judah, nor any that were before him. For he clave to the LORD, and departed not from following him, but kept his commandments, which the LORD commanded Moses. And the LORD was with him; and he prospered as he went forth: and he rebelled against the king of Assyria, and served him not." Later in 2 Kings 20, "In those days was Hezekiah sick unto death. And the prophet Isaiah the son of Amoz came to him, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Set thine house in order; for thou shalt die, and not live. Then he turned his face to the wall, and prayed unto the LORD, saying, I beseech thee, O LORD, remember now how I have walked before thee in truth and with a perfect heart, and have done that which is good in thy sight. And Hezekiah wept sore. And it came to pass, afore Isaiah was gone out into the middle court, that the word of the LORD came to him saying, Turn again, and tell Hezekiah the captain of my people, Thus said the LORD, the God of David thy father, I have heard thy prayer, I have seen they tears: behold, I will heal thee: on the third day thou shalt go up unto the house of the LORD. And I will add unto thy days fifteen years; and I will deliver thee and this city out of the hand of the king of Assyria; and I will defend this city for mine own sake, and for my servant David's sake. And Isaiah said, Take a lump of figs. And they took and laid it on the boil, and he recovered."
But in the meantime, we press on. That "perfect day" doesn't come often and when it does, there isn't much to claim in it. For even the heathen can manage as well, just as they take care of their own. But we are called to a higher place, not to wait for seamless circumstances to control our tempers or our appetites or our spending or our duties. The discipline of a seasoned believer is tested in the midst of the mess. "Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you." Funny how we like to only apply that to outlandish persecutions and not to everyday temptations. Ending out this saying is verse 19, "Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator."
Today is another less than perfect day. I would have it be perfect, but that perfect schedule is always just past my grasp. But that basement has to be done sometime or another. So, we rescued part of the day by pulling the car around nearby the basement doors so that Macklynn and Madalynn could clean it without being so near the road and out of sight. And before that, Macklynn read his word problems to me and tackled some new concepts, though it was for a few minutes before I got the call about McKala's results. God knows I want to do what is right. He knows if we groan in our spirits when we are prevented from performing what seems good, just as He knows when we sigh of relief when we get out of having to do something. He knows if I'm glad I got out of that walk because of my cold. He knows that I got out anyway just for the sake of discipline for the kids. Something is always better than nothing. That is all that matters, the heart cleaving to what is good. That we pursue the right track but are willing to pause for the needs of others. It is nothing to boast of a pristine routine that rejects the inconvenient and immediate needs of a lost and dying community. 1 Corinthians 13 says I can move mountains and bestow all my goods on the poor, "and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing."
Teetering, I'm always teetering somewhere between dying for structure and denying it the inherent stranglehold it brings. I rewrite my day over and over. For someone who's used to winning, it makes sense that losing would be the way God shows me I am not the one in control.
July 1st, our 27th anniversary it will be. We thought I'd get to ride up and be with Mike in the hotel where he's staying to help his new employer gather propane tanks that have been swept away by the floods. It doesn't look like that's gonna work out either. But something I have found in the oceans of things downstairs is history, a history that no one has but us. I even feel kind of lost without him here. I used to breathe a sigh of relief when he left (as I'm sure he did, never able to live up to my expectations). We have progress. We have something to go on now. We have a mutual desire to serve the Lord and make Him known. So, here I am crying again, with little cause compared with the souls that were washed away in the flood or the people in the explosion today at the aluminum plant my father used to supervise.
As if all this is not emotional enough, I got a letter just this afternoon from Melody saying the kind of things a mother longs to hear, of thanks and acknowledgement of our friendship and sentiments of regret, and that she misses us - the one who was so frustrated and eager to leave. Can't say that I blame her though. She had to fill my shoes for many months of the last year. As the card I found from Megan states, "Motherhood is not for sissies. Motherhood is not for women with weak stomachs, strict routines, or white wall-to-wall carpeting. Motherhood is not for women unable to juggle three things at once, read between the lines, or face fear on a regular basis. Motherhood is not for women who can't answer the same knock-knock joke 'umpteen' times a day, the endless 'whys?' of childhood, or hear the unspoken feelings of a child's heart. Motherhood is for women who can taste the tea in an empty cup, see the smiles behind the peanut butter, and the genius in the tiny scribbles. Motherhood is for the caring and courageous women who make a difference in the lives they touch - women just like you."
So, while some of you will be in church tonight wondering where I am, I'll be in the basement fighting back the residual cough I have ...and more tears, I'm sure. Because I'm not quite done going through those old things that remind me how far we've come and give me hope that we will make it to where we're supposed to go ...
Then again, I might be downstairs listening to the bats chirp and laughing about last night when the kids were trying to smoke the bats out of the fireplace insert, and Miranda decided to take the airsoft machine gun with Mike's night vision scope on it to inspect from the rooftop, as the police drove by suspiciously. We have plenty of times to look back on and to realize that while we have lagged here and there, we stopped the regimen for something different than we could have imagined and learned life spontaneously and delightfully without stunting one part for the other.
Some of you probably took offense when I posted over the weekend that if your Christian walk is boring, it isn't God's fault you're an ungrateful prude. I only meant that there is endless adventure and that you can jump in or you can sit back and watch. But don't blame God for an uneventful path and nothing to bring to the table of relationships when you are unwilling to sacrifice that which is safe and comfortable. Most of the time, you just have to throw the book out the window and let God write the rest. Grace doesn't excuse oneself from the law but supercedes the law. Else if we all had a textbook life, we would have no need to go before the throne of our Father all hours of the day and of the night to know Him as such.
But you know what? I've gotten rid of the ones that didn't stand the test of time. And that includes the mounds of workbooks I've always drug along, just in case. All anybody really needs to teach young people is a good, right to the point math workbook and well written older books that have a moral to the story. I would say the Word also, but it is wiser that the parent have a good working knowledge of it themselves rather than treat the Holy Bible like a mandatory textbook.
I've been going through the roomful of storage that flooded when the dehumidifier quit on the air unit. I dumped out the plastic bin of my childhood activities. Seems like I went to every camp, jamboree, lesson, and VBS in the region. I entered and won almost every contest, exhibit, and officer's position I could. But for what? Ribbons, trophies, letters, and awards to look at these many years later?
Achievement is good. Service is better.
I have cards from all the way back. I'm keeping the handwritten notes, like the one from a classmate thanking me for helping out. That's what really matters all those years ago. Wish I had more of those to speak of. That's what I'm pursuing in raising my own children, that they might be a help, not a star, but a help.
Among the cards separated into years, intermittently I have letters written to myself of how I might improve so that my husband might love me, not equating my bouts with gluttony and vanity with his drunkenness, the way the Bible does. That's why I can't get this mess up and done in the basement, for the flow of memories that come with it.
I was always trying to reach the pinnacle of a more perfect household and body, waiting for the day that things would go just right, not understanding that God is looking for a perfect heart, not a perfect day.
I've had friends who believed adversity was always a direct result of personal sin. I've studied too many stories in the Bible now to believe that. "Asa's heart was perfect with the LORD all his days ...Nevertheless in the time of his old age he was diseased in his feet." And there "was a great woman" who made her home open to Elisha and was then blessed in her old age with a child. Yet, "And when the child was grown, it fell on a day, that he went to his father to the reapers. And he said unto his father, My head, my head." He died and was later restored to life by Elisha. And then there was the man who was blind from his birth and Jesus' disciples asked,"Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind? Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."
What I am convinced of is that "The Lord's mercy often rides to the door of our hearts on the black horse of affliction." Mike's cousin posted this Spurgeon quote today. Similarly, Megan posted, "Pressure makes diamonds."
So, as I wrote the last blog post, awaiting those summer days I could hammock with the young ones and reclaim lost time, the storage room was about to flood. A head cold was about to invade the house and has yet to leave. Melody had to go back to the doctor, plus she's gotten a very black eye playing ball and has a serious case of poison ivy at camp. But the camp nurse messaged me that she is getting better and "smiling as her usual." Megan has hurt a place on her back that even the chiropractor can't help and has taken the cold with her to work in the 100 degree weather in Georgia. Michael has managed to elude the problems the rest of us have. His summer is no easy task though. He gets up at 4:30 am, gets home no earlier than 4:30 pm, spends most every evening in the gym, and tries to consume 6,000 calories a day. And virtually every dime he makes is going back to the school or to the gas tank.
And McKala, she's the real reason I'm writing today. Last week, I noticed she was speaking lightly. Then, I noticed she was oversleeping. So, I asked her what else might be wrong. A while later, she said, "My back (lungs) hurt like they used to."
Today, we found out the labwork shows another active case of walking pneumonia. This time she's been prescribed antibiotic therapy for 6 months. Thankfully, the doctor considered that she doesn't have insurance and got us huge discounts on everything.
So, the young woman who will soon be a bride will carry this burden into her new life. I pray that it will only draw her closer to the Lord in whatever He has to teach or show by it.
Because we don't always have to sit by and suffer needlessly. Hezekiah "trusted in the LORD God of Israel; so that after him was none like him among all the kings of Judah, nor any that were before him. For he clave to the LORD, and departed not from following him, but kept his commandments, which the LORD commanded Moses. And the LORD was with him; and he prospered as he went forth: and he rebelled against the king of Assyria, and served him not." Later in 2 Kings 20, "In those days was Hezekiah sick unto death. And the prophet Isaiah the son of Amoz came to him, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Set thine house in order; for thou shalt die, and not live. Then he turned his face to the wall, and prayed unto the LORD, saying, I beseech thee, O LORD, remember now how I have walked before thee in truth and with a perfect heart, and have done that which is good in thy sight. And Hezekiah wept sore. And it came to pass, afore Isaiah was gone out into the middle court, that the word of the LORD came to him saying, Turn again, and tell Hezekiah the captain of my people, Thus said the LORD, the God of David thy father, I have heard thy prayer, I have seen they tears: behold, I will heal thee: on the third day thou shalt go up unto the house of the LORD. And I will add unto thy days fifteen years; and I will deliver thee and this city out of the hand of the king of Assyria; and I will defend this city for mine own sake, and for my servant David's sake. And Isaiah said, Take a lump of figs. And they took and laid it on the boil, and he recovered."
But in the meantime, we press on. That "perfect day" doesn't come often and when it does, there isn't much to claim in it. For even the heathen can manage as well, just as they take care of their own. But we are called to a higher place, not to wait for seamless circumstances to control our tempers or our appetites or our spending or our duties. The discipline of a seasoned believer is tested in the midst of the mess. "Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened unto you." Funny how we like to only apply that to outlandish persecutions and not to everyday temptations. Ending out this saying is verse 19, "Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator."
Today is another less than perfect day. I would have it be perfect, but that perfect schedule is always just past my grasp. But that basement has to be done sometime or another. So, we rescued part of the day by pulling the car around nearby the basement doors so that Macklynn and Madalynn could clean it without being so near the road and out of sight. And before that, Macklynn read his word problems to me and tackled some new concepts, though it was for a few minutes before I got the call about McKala's results. God knows I want to do what is right. He knows if we groan in our spirits when we are prevented from performing what seems good, just as He knows when we sigh of relief when we get out of having to do something. He knows if I'm glad I got out of that walk because of my cold. He knows that I got out anyway just for the sake of discipline for the kids. Something is always better than nothing. That is all that matters, the heart cleaving to what is good. That we pursue the right track but are willing to pause for the needs of others. It is nothing to boast of a pristine routine that rejects the inconvenient and immediate needs of a lost and dying community. 1 Corinthians 13 says I can move mountains and bestow all my goods on the poor, "and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing."
Teetering, I'm always teetering somewhere between dying for structure and denying it the inherent stranglehold it brings. I rewrite my day over and over. For someone who's used to winning, it makes sense that losing would be the way God shows me I am not the one in control.
July 1st, our 27th anniversary it will be. We thought I'd get to ride up and be with Mike in the hotel where he's staying to help his new employer gather propane tanks that have been swept away by the floods. It doesn't look like that's gonna work out either. But something I have found in the oceans of things downstairs is history, a history that no one has but us. I even feel kind of lost without him here. I used to breathe a sigh of relief when he left (as I'm sure he did, never able to live up to my expectations). We have progress. We have something to go on now. We have a mutual desire to serve the Lord and make Him known. So, here I am crying again, with little cause compared with the souls that were washed away in the flood or the people in the explosion today at the aluminum plant my father used to supervise.
As if all this is not emotional enough, I got a letter just this afternoon from Melody saying the kind of things a mother longs to hear, of thanks and acknowledgement of our friendship and sentiments of regret, and that she misses us - the one who was so frustrated and eager to leave. Can't say that I blame her though. She had to fill my shoes for many months of the last year. As the card I found from Megan states, "Motherhood is not for sissies. Motherhood is not for women with weak stomachs, strict routines, or white wall-to-wall carpeting. Motherhood is not for women unable to juggle three things at once, read between the lines, or face fear on a regular basis. Motherhood is not for women who can't answer the same knock-knock joke 'umpteen' times a day, the endless 'whys?' of childhood, or hear the unspoken feelings of a child's heart. Motherhood is for women who can taste the tea in an empty cup, see the smiles behind the peanut butter, and the genius in the tiny scribbles. Motherhood is for the caring and courageous women who make a difference in the lives they touch - women just like you."
So, while some of you will be in church tonight wondering where I am, I'll be in the basement fighting back the residual cough I have ...and more tears, I'm sure. Because I'm not quite done going through those old things that remind me how far we've come and give me hope that we will make it to where we're supposed to go ...
Then again, I might be downstairs listening to the bats chirp and laughing about last night when the kids were trying to smoke the bats out of the fireplace insert, and Miranda decided to take the airsoft machine gun with Mike's night vision scope on it to inspect from the rooftop, as the police drove by suspiciously. We have plenty of times to look back on and to realize that while we have lagged here and there, we stopped the regimen for something different than we could have imagined and learned life spontaneously and delightfully without stunting one part for the other.
Some of you probably took offense when I posted over the weekend that if your Christian walk is boring, it isn't God's fault you're an ungrateful prude. I only meant that there is endless adventure and that you can jump in or you can sit back and watch. But don't blame God for an uneventful path and nothing to bring to the table of relationships when you are unwilling to sacrifice that which is safe and comfortable. Most of the time, you just have to throw the book out the window and let God write the rest. Grace doesn't excuse oneself from the law but supercedes the law. Else if we all had a textbook life, we would have no need to go before the throne of our Father all hours of the day and of the night to know Him as such.
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