Laughing with Lily

I've read about therapy dogs and even watched a show once called, "Miracles Pets." But I'd never experienced the healing impact an animal can have in your life until this week. As I giggled in the dark, waiting for sleep last night, I was so glad my parents have a new dog.

Thirty minutes earlier, I'd sat on the stairs and scooted up backwards, one step at a time. By the time I reached the top, my right hip muscle burned with fatigue. Drained from the monumental effort, I didn't know how to stand.

Lily, my mom's new puppy, darted around my tired body. Reaching the second floor of the house was an adventure for her. She sniffed the carpet around me and ran up the hall, urging me on. I tried to stand, but couldn't figure out which body part could handle my weight.

Befuddled by the predicament, I was thankful when mom turned the corner with a rolling chair. I pulled myself into the chair and laughed as she wheeled me down the hallway to her guest bedroom. It was funny - almost.

Mom and Lily said goodnight and headed back down the stairs. As I lay in bed with my foot high on pillows, I began to wonder when I'll be able to return to normal life. Since getting up one flight of stairs had wiped me out, I worried about how I'll manage once home. I've spent days and nights on my mom's sofa to avoid the stairs. But I've almost been gone a week. The ankle is healing, but other joint issues have been exacerbated in the process.

As I lay in the dark trying to turn my thoughts to prayers, I heard the soft pitter-patter of Lily's steps. She'd escaped from mom's bedroom, run across the living room, and bolted up the stairs. She scurried down the hall and with a flying leap, landed on my face, licking me as if she'd found her long, lost friend. I forgot my worries and laughed as Lily celebrated her escape.

Soon I heard mom's soft movement on the steps. With her own smile, she took Lily back to her room where she sleeps for the night.

And after a good nights rest, my legs worked a little better today. I've still a long road to recovery. But laughing with Lily and cuddling close to her soft fur has added a distinct sweetness to the journey.

Chasing Shadows

I've been staying at my folks since surgery last Thursday which has given me ample time to bond with Lily, their new puppy. Lily can be calm and cuddly or comic relief - depending on her mood. We've napped together several times. She's licked every corner of my face and hands more than once. And I've watched her chase shadows for much longer than I expected.

When sunlight pours through the windows, reflections on the oriental rug next to where I rest captivate her. She races around the rug chasing shadows, digging at shadows, and even barking at them at times. I'm humored by her persistent pursuit of grey adumbrations. It's cheap therapy.

But while I watched her the other day, I thought about all the mental shadows I chase, all the worries I entertain. And I imagined God being as stumped by my obsession with worry as I am with Lily's need to dig at shadows.

It's easy to shake my head and say, "Silly girl, your digging at nothing! You're mesmerized by mere sunlight dancing on the floor." But then I wonder what God would say to me,"Oh princess daughter of mine, trust what you can't see. Trust this day to me. Don't allow simple shadows to disrupt the flow of peace I long to send your way."

So as I heal during this busy time of the year, I'm going to try to stop chasing shadows of doubt and purpose to trust the God of light who shines on us each day. Laying on this sofa nestled close to a wall of windows, I will bask in His light instead of fretting in the dark.

"Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you. See darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the Lord rises upon you and his glory appears over you."
(Is. 60: 1-3)

Sweetness on Turkey Day

I had a bona fide meltdown last Sunday. After a shower, church, and lunch in a restaurant with a very slippy floor, I arrived home exhausted. My leg hurt. My heart hurt. And I wasn't sure I could make the trip to South Georgia to celebrate Thanksgiving with my husband's family. So I cried and prayed and asked God to show me what to do.

My answer came in a phone call Monday morning. After a short conversation with a family member, I knew I was supposed to go.

So I packed lots of pillows, rode in the back seat, and propped my foot in Sam's lap - all the way to Bulloch County. While I enjoyed several sweet moments with family, this one remains my favorite.

We arrived at the "River House" about thirty minutes before meal time. While all the other women scurried to prepare the food, I sat with my achy foot on a stool. Before long, Lawrence, our nephew-in-law, walked over and handed me his new born son, Tripp. Tripp is only about two weeks old and as I gently traced his tiny fingers, I marveled at the miracle of life.

Soon after, Baby Catherine crawled over to meet tiny Tripp. Baby Catherine is a miracle herself. Doctor's didn't expect her to live. But after months in the hospital, she defied the odds. When I'm close to her, I feel like I'm connected to a concrete miracle of God.

So as I sat holding Tripp while Baby Catherine checked him out, I was overwhelmed with wonder, and thanked God for all that's good in life.

Nikki, my step-daughter, caught us film and posted the photo on Facebook.

The Psalmist once said, "But as for me, it is good to be near God." (Ps. 73: 28) As I cuddled with Tripp and Catherine, I felt near God and it was good.

New Shoes

I have two new shoes. The right one provides stability for my loose ankle. The left one anchors the weight bearing ankle and foot. Both have made my life easier this week.

It took me a while to remember that this morning. While my right ankle seems to be calming down, I'm still overcoming painful memories from last week. The slightest motion in the wrong direction pulled on a tendon no longer stabilized, triggering an intense spasm of pain several times. I taught all my lessons and even showed my house twice to potential buyers, but this morning I was just wearied by it all.

So I put on some make-up, drank some coffee, and took a picture of my feet on my colorful Guatemala throw. And since it's that time or year, I'll take a moment to count my blessings.

For one, Nathan's at Lee University today, playing with their honor band. My first in-laws drove him there and have spent two days toting him to and from rehearsals. I had plans to be there today, but other's are there for me instead. He's in good hands.

Sam is at the Dreamer's Conference at Riverstone Church. So while we're both dealing with odd physical issues, he's still dreaming big, swimming like crazy, making good grades in school.

And as I've struggled to get around this week, I've often thought of those who don't have access to special boots or doctors or surgeons who can tighten their loose ligaments. I'm inconvenienced. But I have hope. Imagine being crippled with no hope.

Some other blessings... Baby Catherine is thriving (see www.letterstocatherine.blogspot.com). Baby Hazel (grandchild #2) is adorable. Our store, "Go Fish" has survived during the economic downturn thanks to my husband's relentless dedication. And the God of heaven that we serve is simply more than able.

As I wobble through another day, hoping not to ignite that tendon, I will "hold unswervingly to the hope that we profess, for he who promised is faithful." (Heb. 10:23)

Changed Hearts

Meet Lily, the Cavalier King Charles puppy my parents recently acquired. She's adorable, a ball of happiness that flits about chasing shadows. She runs like the wind and then collapses like a blob of jello molded to your lap.

There's nothing unusual about someone liking Lily, except when that someone is my dad.

Growing up, we always had a dog. Pele, an Airedale Terrier, ran long and hard for sticks but lost two litters of puppies, the last of which died on an Easter Sunday morning. Pepper, a small Cockapoo, filled our home with flees on more than one occasion and loved to tear up trash when left alone for too long. Still, both dogs brought humor and fun to our home well into my adult years.

But after Pepper died, my dad vetoed another house pet. He bought my mom dog statues and paintings, but wanted to live pet free after years of animal maintenance. And they did, for almost thirteen years.

Then came Lily.

My niece, Jessica, was asked to sell Lily and her sibling after their owner tired of caring for them last summer. Farm girl Jess was the right babe for the job and carried the two pups to the Marietta Square on July 4th, hoping for a sale. No one would have guessed Lily would melt my dad's heart, but she did. Within the month, she began life in my parent's abode and I continue to hear stories that amaze me.

Lily greets my dad with a flying leap to his lap after he returns from work. Then she climbs up his chair and nestles like a warm scarf around his neck. And he loves it. I even heard a rumor this week that she slept in my parent's bed, nestled on a soft fleece.

And I wonder who this new man really is...

But just about the time I got comfortable gloating about dad's changed heart, God did a radical work in mine. I'd sworn I wouldn't move to Don's old home. Living where his former spouse radiated God's glory through her life and death seemed a hurdle not worth trying to jump. The blended families textbook scenario strongly suggests we should to sell both homes and start over with a new one. But just when the house was about to sell, we stopped by and God changed me. In fact, the realtor had called that very morning during church and my heart lept at the thought that someone had made an offer on the house. Little did I know that by sundown, I would be planning a move, trusting an inner peace I still can't explain.

Are you up against a wall? Can't see beyond the brick and mortar you face? So was I.

Take heart. Be of good cheer. God changes hearts, yours and mine.

"The Spirit of the Lord will come upon you in power... and you will be changed into a different person." (1 Sam. 10:6)

Turning Forty

I woke up at Barnsley Gardens on my fortieth birthday. My sweet husband planned the surprise trip almost six months prior to my big day. We have history at the historic resort, thus it was a perfect place to celebrate the milestone in my life.


After loading our bags as we prepared to leave, we took a stroll on the grounds. We'd been there before, crashed a wedding reception once. But I didn't learn the history until that weekend.

Barnsley Gardens is a resort area centered around the ruins of an old mansion built in the 1840's. Godfrey Barnsley, one of the ten most affluent men in the south at that time, built the mansion for the love of his life, Julia. Sadly, the mother of his six children died of a lung ailment before construction was completed. Godfrey abandoned the project until she appeared to him over a year later and told him to finish the home.

The Italian villa came to life by the late 1840's, complete with marble floors and formal gardens. In 1864, however, just over twenty years later, the Civil War caused irreparable financial damage to the estate. When a tornado took the roof off the home in 1906, there were no funds to pay for repairs. And by 1942, the home was sold in auction. Piece by piece, local thieves stole the marble floor. The second floor collapsed. Vines grew thick.

As Don and I walked the grounds, we came upon the family grave site. There, on my fortieth birthday, I thought about what was left of one man's life and legacy: the ruins of his dream. He'd enjoyed all the money in the world for about twenty-five years. But a war changed all that.

In 1988, Prince Hubertus Fugger (A German Prince) purchased the land, opting to revive the gardens and restore the ruins. While a walk among what's left of the house is a peaceful step back in time, it's also a haunting reminder that nothing lasts.

That's what I thought about on my birthday.

Life came and went at the ruins. And similarly, my life will come and go. As I turned forty, the thought made me want to live my life fully now.

"For with you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light." (Ps. 36: 9)

He Who Dwells

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty..." (Ps. 91:1)

I'm a news junky. And my refurbished computer makes surfing the web for odd tidbits of news an easy past time. Sifting through dramatic stories bordering on the morose, however, takes it toll. In time, my spirit is heavy; my soul downcast.

Ironically, I often wallow in news muck when I'm already a bit disheartened, as if I'll find a story to feed my thirst. Instead of "feeding" my soul, the bundle of bad news leaves me numb. And then I dwell in numbness.

"He who dwells in the shelter..."

I went to Emory last week for an EMG, hoping for clarification as to my odd physical issues. They performed the test and stated emphatically, absent a bed side manner, that I do NOT have a myopathy. While I'm fine not having a myopathy, their assertion contradicts what another respected physician noted last June.

And I fight dwelling in crazy lady land.

Sam is scheduled for a muscle biopsy based on the results of our tests last June. Emory's neurologists stated I should ask this other doc about his findings. After a day or two of deliberation, it became clear we should continue with the biopsy.

As a side note, I just googled the pediatric doc's name and found he was featured as the only recommended pediatric neurologist in a recent addition of the Atlanta Magazine. Check this out if you need a "Top Doc"...

http://www.choa.org/Menus/Documents/media/Atlanta_Magazine_Full_Story.pdf

Regardless, as my head hit the pillow last week (after reading too many news stories), the office visit replayed in my mind, the doctor's voices almost hypnotic in their determination to convince me their test was superior to the other. I began to question the last four months of progress, which led me straight down the path to crazy land.

But then a gentle prompting pulled me back. "He who dwells in the shelter..." And I remembered there's a shelter, a divine presence, a place of refuge where the Almighty takes each hit, if only I will dwell there, setting my heart in that place of peace.

He who dwells...

Where do you dwell? I know where I want to dwell. I want to dwell where "I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'" (Ps. 91:2)

My boys and I memorized this Psalm long ago and used to say it each morning on our way to school. I just read it aloud this morning.

The promises are rich for "He who dwells".

Me and My EMG

Sam and I had abnormal EMG's in June. An EMG tests the health of your muscles. So basically, the test showed our muscles aren't quite healthy.

Two and a half months later, I saw an adult neurologist at Emory. He told me I needed to have another EMG to validate the results of the first one. When I left Emory on August 26th, I was scheduled for an EMG on Monday, Sep. 14th.

A week later, a scheduler from Emory called and told me they had to postpone the appointment due to an emergency. The test was bumped to Sep. 24th until she called again last Friday trying to delay it more. After my urgent pleas, she agreed to perform the test on Tuesday, Sep. 22nd.

I'm not holding my breath.

"It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority." (Acts 1: 7)

The delays concern me since I'm not sure what shoes I will wear once the weather turns cold. My ankles are weird and not accommodating many shoe options. And the one pair that didn't hurt my ankles, in time, hurt my back.

"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these." (Matt. 6: 28-29)

Some weeks I must pace my driving. Some days I must choose to sit still. Some times I must run my fingers along a wall to keep balance while moving forward. It's comical in an upside down sort of way.

"Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" (2 Cor. 12: 8-9)

I turn forty in a few weeks and never dreamed I'd be facing an odd muscle thing at this point in my life. And I guess until my test on Tuesday, I can hold out hope for another diagnosis. But the biggest hope I can grab hold of far surpasses normal legs, warm shoes, or medical understanding.


For "he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 53: 5)

That's the crazy, cool part. Right now, right here, through Jesus Christ, we are healed.

Looking Back

My computer died last week. It hadn't worked well for months. Looking back, I put off the inevitable as long as I could. So Labor Day weekend began with a trip to the computer doc.

My computer spent the long weekend in rehab and came home a few days ago. It's amazing. A friend installed upgraded parts I never dreamed I would own right now. I can traffic the Internet with ease and add to blogs without battling for proper word spacing. My desk is a mess since I dug everywhere to find software to reinstall. But the computer's so easy to work with, I can write surrounded by chaos.

It reflects the recent skirmish in my heart.

When I found out Sam had to have a muscle biopsy in early August, I lost normal momentum. I spent days haggling with insurance companies and doctor's offices. Yet even when the procedure was scheduled and close at hand, I felt slowed and unable to find my happy place. Ironically, he got sick last week and the procedure was postponed a month. It's still not over.

But after long hours of quiet last week, perhaps even a shut down of sorts, I found Susan again. It could be the antibiotics I'm on. It could also be the work of that new supplement I've been taking. But somehow it seems more than that.

The creative side of my brain has concluded that God upgraded my hardware to better serve my software. I'm learning what to care about versus what to let go of, and it's an intriguing process, forcing me to go against the normal emotional flow of my heart.

It's tricky. But I spent an hour today surrounded by an enthusiastic group of elementary aged singers and can't wait to teach them my favorite elephant song next week. My ankles are weak. My legs still unsteady. But I could sing and help a few others learn songs that speak of hope and joy and the good in life.

"The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him... Let him sit alone in silence for the Lord has laid it on him." (Lam. 3: 25 & 28)

There are times of quiet; times when hours in a blue recliner offer an escape or perhaps a respite of sorts.

But "men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love." (Lam. 3: 31-32)

A new computer. A stronger heart. Both after a crash of sorts.

Looking back, I understand.

The August Butterfly Dance

Has anyone noticed the number of butterflies dancing in mid air the past few weeks? We spent the weekend in south Georgia for a family wedding. As we traveled country roads, I was amazed at the number of yellow and orange butterflies flitting about.

Years ago, I noticed that Pear Trees shed their blossoms in mid-March, creating what I affectionately dubbed, "March Snow." Just about the time their smell overtook their beauty, a storm would blow the tiny blossoms off the trees, covering my driveway in a blanket of white. I still look forward to March snow; to one last twirl of white before winter is gone and spring grabs hold.

And after driving through a canopy of dancing color this weekend, my antenna will be up next August to see if the phenomenon repeats itself. I have a feeling I've overlooked the late summer occurrence for too many years.

Dancing butterflies stir my deep places. And they've needed stirring lately. Our first genetic test came back negative in early August which means Sam will undergo a muscle biopsy next week--if his recent cough goes away. It's only minor surgery. But the mom in me has felt a little overwhelmed by it all lately.

I know there are much worse things. Even Sam recently said he doesn't like visiting his neurologist's office since we see some fairly sick kids while waiting. Perspective is a good thing.

But if God brings us to mind, I'd appreciate your prayers. Sam needs to get healthy this weekend so the biopsy can take place Sep. 10th at 9 am.

"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made..." (Rom. 1:20)

...especially as it relates to dancing butterflies.

Joy in the Journey

"There is a joy in the journey.

There's a light we can love on the way.

There is a wonder and wildness to life.
And freedom for those who obey."

Michael Card

When I learned that my niece was getting married in Virginia the weekend before school started, my adventurous self awoke. I knew my boys and I would attend the wedding and stop by Wake Forest University on the way. But my wilder side wanted to add random fun to the mix like bungee jumping in the mountains; climbing in search of a view; or riding the highest roller coaster in the land.

I asked a few folks for ideas. I viewed web sites in hopes of finding an affordable, splashy hotel. I waited patiently for the moment of inspiration that would fuel my ambitions and bring our summer to a spectacular end.

But it never came.

When I pulled out of the driveway last week, I didn't even know what city we would stay in that night. Nathan read while Sam chilled to his Ipod. Three hours later, we arrived at the one destination I'd planned -- Camp Greystone, for a walk down memory lane.

Having spent two long summers there, we had lots to remember. After lunch and raucous camp songs, the boys visited their favorite hide out spot while I walked through the outdoor auditorium. On our way back to the car, Nathan and Sam threw their favorite frisbee and recalled the numerous times it was lost and found at camp.

With full hearts, we piled back in the car and headed to Winston Salem. Friends at camp had told me that Wake Forest was only three hours away, not the long journey I'd expected. Still hoping for real excitement, we traveled on.

Nathan drove and an hour later found a radio station with lots of songs I'd never heard. But Sam knew them. He'd learned them traveling to and from school on a bus. A mood hit, and he sort of sang. He crooned. He made noise with feeling. And I enjoyed a different glimpse into my teenager's world.

He sang till we got close to Winston-Salem. There, we found our hotel, ate tons of food at Ihop, and watched sit coms late into the night. Nothing fancy. Just us, in close quarters, living life.

And that's how it was till we got home. We saw some great views--out our car windows. We visited with lots of family. We had some great discussions at meal time. And enjoyed teenage banter via text messaging as we drove late into the night on our way home.

The joy was in the journey. Not in one fantastic moment of fun. It was in several small moments linked together, just us being us, laughing a lot while pondering the meaning of it all. I've been trying to grasp this for years. Trying to relax into the day to day rhythm of life. Not always reaching for the next big thing.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll do a little better this year.

The Hand that Holds

I started a new supplement about a month ago. Just this week I've noticed a big difference. I wake up better, have more energy, and even made it to church on Sunday after staying out till 2 am Saturday night with my sister at a high school reunion. That would never have happened a month ago.

The last two nights I've even had enough foot power left to walk around the block, not once, but twice. Still, the first night out, I noticed how imperative it was that I hold Don's hand.

Balance fascinates me. I read a short write up on balance while visiting my grandparents at their adult living center in Philadelphia last Christmas. While muscle strength is an obvious necessary for balance, vision and touch can make a big difference as well.

Sometimes when I walk into a large store, I feel off kilter until my long distance eye muscles adjust. Sometimes when maneuvering through a large room, I touch a chair here or there or run my fingers against a wall to maintain balance. I even noticed recently that a busy carpet pattern on the floor of a particular church makes walking its halls a challenge.

If I didn't live in this body, none of that would make sense. But it's very real to me that vision, touch, and physical strength all combine to create balance.

As we walked around the block Sunday night, I marveled at my stride and ability to keep going. But if I let go of Don's hand, I stumbled. My legs got heavy and I lost control. When I put my hand back in his, my step stabilized and we continued on. The simple touch of his hand kept me centered and steady.

I'm very grateful for Don's hand but couldn't help thinking about the importance of "puttin' my hand in the hand of the man who stilled the waters..."

While reconnecting with folks from high school, I heard enough painful stories to remind me that this world is not an easy place to live.

It requires strength: "I was pushed back and about to fall, but the Lord helped me. The Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation." (Ps. 118: 13-14 NIV)

It requires vision: "Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame." (Ps. 34: 5 NIV)

It requires touch: "Where can I go from your spirit?... If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast." (Ps. 139: 7 & 9-10 NIV)

He is our strength. He is our vision. And His right hand is at the ready, holding us fast.

Waiting

I'm waiting today. I'm waiting for a fax to make it's way through the Emory referral system so a scheduler can secure an appointment for me. I need to see a particular neuromuscular specialist who works at the Emory clinic once a month. As of Friday, there were a few appointments available on August 26th. But if that fax doesn't make it's way through the system I might get bumped to September.

This is where my emotions tend to derail.

I sent the fax on Friday. They asked me to fax it again today. There's nothing more I can do but wait till three o'clock and call again, hoping the computer highway doesn't fail me. I want to plead, "Please don't give that slot away. I have the referral in my hand. It's real. My insurance company agreed I need to go to Emory." But they can't see what I see, so until it arrives at the proper destination, I must wait.

When I found out last week that parts of Sam's genetic blood test had to be redone, and thus I had to practice more waiting, a pile of sludge covered my heart. Overwhelmed, I went for an evening walk. Green leaves offered a canopy overhead. Breezes blew. Birds sang. Crickets hummed. And I thought about life as one long wait for what's to come.

We ache for eternity. We might not know it, but since we're made for completion in Christ we long to be home with our Creator. We create happy moments here. We love our families. We celebrate life and even work to overcome the sin that entangles. But deep down, much of what we strive for fails to offer the satisfaction we desperately crave.

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2Cor. 4:18)

As I walked with unsteady legs and aching ankles that night, I found comfort knowing that every day we live, we're waiting. Emory's folks will eventually find my fax. I'll get an appointment and Sam's blood test results will soon be finalized.

But even after that, I'll still be waiting.

Somehow that helped. While I can't seem to strengthen my physical muscles, I can surely strengthen my trust and patience in the process. We can text, fax, Fed-ex, and request fast food on the fly. But some days we just have to wait.

Movie Musings

I rented three movies this week. After a long day at the store, they offer low impact family together time. The Pink Panther 2 gave us all a few laughs and me a few thoughts.

That said, I don't really enjoy movies where a bumbling character stumbles through scene after scene. I grow uncomfortable knowing calamity is always moments away and feel for the outsider who can't fit into the norm.

So... as I watched Inspector Clousseau (the epitome of awkward) dangle from the Popes balcony and burn down a restaurant twice, I grew fidgety and eventually gave up on him like everyone else. Yet as some of you know and most would suspect, by the end of the movie, he regained his hero status.

And I found it reassuring.

The last three years have challenged me in ways I never expected. New marriage. Blending families. Growing teens. Lost legs.

Some days I've shown genius, grace, and maybe even godly character. But on many others, I've been a complete basket case, awkward, emotional, an outsider in my own skin.

I was encouraged when Inspector Clousseau overcame the world's annoyance with him and rose above, solving the crime with renewed determination. I decided there was hope for me.

His story is far more the norm than I like to admit. Think about Peter who denied Christ, Moses who got mad, and David who killed a husband for the poor guy's gal. They aren't remembered for their foibles. They're celebrated for their lifelong pursuit of God in spite of their utter humanity.

At times I've fought great frustration that when my boys have needed balance most (during their teen years), I haven't been able to even walk straight, let alone guide with wisdom and discernment. But after watching that movie and pondering the lives of the saints of old, I can look back with grace.

The good news? If our pursuit of Christ remains relentless, God can bring glory out of all of our journeys, especially the most broken places.

Today that brings me great peace. And I remain "confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it onto completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Phil. 1:6)

Moving Forward

Two weeks have passed since I last wrote. I've been waiting, hoping I could move past my current thoughts without putting them into print. It's summer. Time for pools, and boats, and concerts on the lawn. Discussions pertaining to neuromuscular disorders rank low on my list of fun.

But I can't get to fun till I write reality.

After three and half years of odd legs and wobble walking, a test finally brought clarity to years of confusion. A pediatric neurologist listened to my concerns about Sam's shoulder, ankle, and knee pain in early March. He saw the similarity between my son's issues and mine and requested an EMG for both of us. That EMG took place on June 11th and as a result, it's clear that my walking issues are a byproduct of degenerative, shrinking, unhealthy muscles. And I haven't even turned forty like most of my Douglas County High graduate friends.

I waited a week and called the pediatric doc and was finally able to ask a few more questions today. His answers made me feel better about Sam's current challenges. They're real, but mild.

But he was quick to point out I'm a mess. I agreed. It's totally clear. Ask those who know me best. I am a mess.

We sent Sam's lab work to a genetic testing facility this week. Those tests will be complete on July 10th. The tests will verify if we have a certain type of muscular dystrophy. It's a good type to have. No lung or heart issues normally. But weak facial muscles could explain why my eyes are so dried out... as the weakness progresses, eyelids don't stay closed at night. My family can't wait to find out if I sleep with my eyes open. Creepy.

As I packed for the beach, trying to process the information, I realized I felt like I did the day I learned the Easter Bunny, Santa Clause, and the Tooth Fairy weren't real. It was quite a blow. My seven year old self didn't want to face reality way back when and my thirty-nine year old self is fighting it a little even now.

It's just a lot to take in... which is why Don consoled me last week by assuring me that the Easter Bunny is real.

The good news is, the Great Big God of the Universe is very much real. And while I don't understand all this, I know from experience that He is more than capable of carrying us through.
I got a referral to a neuromuscular specialist today and hope we start moving forward now that we have clear answers.

What a blessed journey we're on.

True Confession

After a long day at the store, Don and I sat hand in hand watching dancers twirl on stage. Rich, interpretive ballets stirred the tired depths of my soul as we waited for Nathan to appear in his tap routine. During an applause break, Don leaned towards me and said, "I like being with you."

My response flowed with ease, "I like being with you too... especially when I don't think you're bossing me around."

Don chuckled, "What did you say?"

Surprised by my own words, I repeated, "I like being with you too... especially when I don't think you're bossing me around."

I whispered as the applause abated, "The important thing here is the word think. Cause at times I probably think you're bossing me around when you aren't; while at other times, I think you're bossing me around and you are, even if you don't realize it."

Since Don doesn't think I can read his mind, he doesn't believe I can claim he's bossing me around unless he thinks he's bossing me around, which on his planet he would never do. Female intuition aside, after almost three years of marriage, I'm fairly certain he's not aware of his tendency to keep me from coloring outside his carefully constructed lines, which leads me back to the place where I fear he's "bossing me around."

God surely scripted a divine romantic comedy when he put us together. Mr. Twenty-Five Years Happy Marriage met Ms. Ten-Years Single Mom. His learned dependence embraced my forced independence and we've been trying to figure things out ever since we spoke our vows at the altar.

That moment of brevity brought clarity to the conflict and for a moment it seemed manageable. If I can just remember he's not trying to tell me what to do every time I think he is, perhaps we'll breathe a bit easier as we manage a store and families side by side... yet on different planets.

My wise husband with kind eyes grinned at my honest confession. And I wondered how many times God has shaken his head while his independent children have strutted about, determined to maintain control.

He knows the best plan. He can see the biggest picture. He really wants to help. Even sent His son to die in our place. Yet time and again, we respond, "I like being with you... especially when I think you're not bossing me around."

Oh to let loose the reigns.

"You never saw him, yet you love him. You still don't see him, yet you trust him -- with laughter and singing." (1 Pet. 1:8, The Message)

My New Friends

I just survived one of those gloriously full weekends. My legs aren't up to par and my head hurts, but my mind is a whirl. So before I go back to bed after an early morning dental appointment, I'll write.

Nathan danced in two recitals last week because he participated in two tap classes this year. I tried to limit him to one. Didn't like the fact that his teachers had more pull over my desire for less activity. But when I watched him dance, I understood.

On Thursday, he held a mic and mouthed the first verse and chorus to the country tune, "Be My Baby Tonight" while one tapper started their routine. Before long his feet were moving fast and my mom feelers almost burst my heart wide open. On Friday night, he impersonated Elvis. He was the cool guy in a fifties soda shop, dancing with all the girls.

A few weekends ago, he sat at home with a high fever uploading CD's into Itunes. When I asked him about his day, he told me, "I spent some time listening to Vivaldi and reading Lee Strobel's The Case for a Creator."

When his feet got moving on stage, Mr. Professor met Mr. Performer and I relished the balance.

On Saturday, I found a pair of shoes, grocery shopped, and finished stocking our store with products from another shipment. I was bone tired when we drove home, but about burst in two again when I searched a random place in the car Don drives and found my CD tracks that had gone missing. A local worship pastor had asked me to sing a particular song Sunday morning that I can only perform with background tracks. God gave me what I needed right when I needed it (after a two day search) and I was so thankful.

On Sunday, I played and sang for the Sunday service, grabbed lunch (with the money I earned selling CD's!), and then headed south of Atlanta to hear my nephew play in his level three Suzuki graduation piano recital.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, I shared my latest revelation with my family: Late Saturday night, as I functioned on fumes, I decided that ants are actually my friends. They insist on cleaning my dishes when I'm busy else where. In my former life, I thought they were an indication of my failure as a housewife. Late Saturday, I realized they're my new friends.

Sammy, my rising sophomore, had only one response, "Mom, do you remember last week when we decided that any epiphany moments occurring between the hours of 11 pm and 10 am are considered void? I'm betting you came up with this during those hours. So... it doesn't count."

Hmmm. He has a point. But I sure like embracing those creepy crawly black things as friends rather than predators. In the midst of non stop activity, it just makes life easier.

"God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the live stock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good." (Gen 1: 24)

I'm just agreeing with God.

Now... back to bed.

The Pursuit of Balance

I had an appointment with Dr. Re, a neurologist, Tuesday. He checks on me every few months. While no one has been able to pin point a specific medical cause for my walking struggles, I rarely leave his office without something of value.

On Tuesday, however, I waited with low expectations.

I sprained a ligament in my right ankle, little by little over time this spring, until one fatal step left me unable to walk or drive without pain in early May. After the initial swelling subsided, I realized the special shoes I wear that help me walk were actually part of the problem. My shoes have a rocking bottom that enable my weak ankles to move forward with ease. But they turn the ankles in just enough to stress the inner ligaments in the process. I spent about four days in flip flops last week before my feet said, "No more." So I'm facing a shoe dilemma that has me a bit stymied... and maybe a little down.

I didn't say much to Dr. Re because I knew he didn't have any answers for me. I told him I'd had a few good walking days after sitting still to which he responded, "You need exercise."

I replied, "Maybe I'm just trying to find balance."

His next words made me laugh out loud, "Women always seek balance. Men, on the other hand, are unilateral. They see something and they just go for it."

With two short sentences he offered great insight into my life and marriage. He explained the neurological reasoning behind the difference which I can't relay here with any accuracy since I didn't need the neurological explanation.

I live with three men.

My husband is focused on making our store a success. Suffice it to say, that's his life right now. My oldest son wants to graduate with a performing arts seal on his diploma next May. To accomplish his goal, he must take Economics and Government online this summer. He even saved his own money to pay for the classes. My youngest son zeroed in on entering a magnet high school program last year so he could play lacrosse. And he did just that. He bought his own equipment and lived with that stick in his hand most of the year.

And in the midst of their pursuits, as Dr. Re said, I've been the one seeking balance, as in family verses store; exercise coupled with rest; academics balanced by fun; and busy life quieted by time with God.

They do need me. I pursue balance, both literally (due to weak ankles) and spiritually, while they run after life.

Interesting.

Perhaps this is another glimpse into why a great writer once penned, "Two are better than one because they have a good return for their work." (Ecc. 4: 9 NIV)

My Thing About Bunnies

A high school friend recently commented on my facebook photo, "Susan, you've been petting that bunny a long time now." I laughed. Micki, a friend of old, used to share dinner with me and our spouses in the home where my bunny fetish began.

I didn't set out to fall for bunnies. And my house isn't full of bunny trinkets and statues. Okay. A cute one made from parasite wood sits on my piano. (I bought it at our Go Fish store!)

Still, when your husband battles a brain stem tumor and your mere existence requires a relentless pursuit of hope, you find it in the oddest places. For a time, I found it in the evening hours when a family of bunnies hopped out from behind a shed that rested against the right side of our fenced in back yard.

They didn't show themselves every day and when they did, they snuck out with the greatest of care. Squirrels ran relentless all day. Bunnies appeared in the haze of twilight just before darkness crept in. When I caught them in action, hope lept inside and broke through the haze of an internal twilight that threatened to fade into darkness.

I know this isn't logical, theological, or even Biblical. But over time, the sight of bunnies lifted me high, reminding me of the contractual promise represented by a rainbow: God will carry mankind (and me) through the storm.

After I read Micki's post on facebook, I realized I haven't been petting a bunny all this time. I've been touching hope. And I've been touching hope all along because I found that bunny in the Virginia hospital where Baby Catherine was taken only hours after she born.

Baby Catherine, my first step-granddaughter, born last August, was not expected to live. A diaphragmatic hernia hampered her ability to grow enough lung power to sustain life. God broke in with His miracle touch and gave her just enough lung capacity to keep her on this side of eternity. Nine months later, she's still with us. She's lived in the hospital just about as long as she's lived at home. None the less, our miracle baby is smiling, growing, and slowly healing.

Check out: http://www.letterstocatherine.blogspot.com/ for her amazing story as recorded by her mom.

When the emotion of it all sent me looking for a hospital chapel a few days after she was born, I missed the elevators, walked a long corridor, and found that bunny--that big, fluffy, white bunny--right down the hall from the NICU behind a large glass window. The second time I visited the bunny, someone offered to let me in the room where the bunny lived and opened his cage so I could touch hope.

Don took the photo.

Nathan claims he's going to buy me a bunny when he goes to college. I don't know that I want a baby bunny to clean and pamper while I miss my oldest son.

Still, I like the surprise of finding them when I least expect them. I like the thrill of hope their presence stirs inside. Deep down, for whatever crazy reason, I just like bunnies.

The Summer Ahead

I took a step almost two weeks ago and am still sitting still as a result. A ligament on the inside of my right ankle grew weary of supporting the tendon that holds my knee in place. The knee only swells without the ankle brace, but the underlying weakness has forced me to keep a pair of crutches in my car. Driving is a bit of an issue, so I let my 17 year old son take the car today. I'm home, sitting with my lap top, trying to believe in the writer in me.

There's a chance this injury will require surgery. If so, there's an even greater chance I won't be able to have that surgery for a few months. I've been asking for time to write; craving the opportunity to let my creativity flow. Yet, now that I'm here, with ample time to fill, I fight a gravitational pull towards the black hole of insecurity.

Maybe I'm just a little bummed. I know God is at work since I would have thrown myself into our "Go Fish" store this summer--stocking shelves, steaming clothes, arranging jewelry--if both ankles worked. Now I can write without the pull of other things. But writing beckons an author to embrace an aloneness I often avoid.

"Let my heart not be proud. Let me eyes not be vain. Let my mind be on you and not on things that I could gain." (adapt. Psalm 131: 1)

When I arrange shelves and clothing, I relish a job well done at the end of a day. I can see the tangible difference I made. When I write, I simply wake to another day of writing, hoping it will lead to yet another, all the while wondering if my words really matter.

"But let me still my soul within you like a child with its mother. Let me still my soul within you and cling to no other. For you are my hope Lord both now and forevermore." (adapt. Psalm 131)

The quiet may not last forever since school will be out next week. But the summer ahead may offer lots of opportunity for me to embrace stillness. From there, I hope to pour my heart out in words--for He is my hope, your hope... our only hope through it all.