The Call that has Echoed Since the Day He Was Born





The King of Angels

When Nathan and I decorated for Christmas the week of Thanksgiving, I didn't feel the holiday spirit. In fact, I felt a lot of holiday nothing and kept wanting to take short cuts and leave things in boxes. I went through the motions so as to not buck tradition. But even now there aren't as many lights in my yard as in previous years.
But a week later, my parents and I drove to Athens for the annual Hodgson School of Music Holiday Concert. Doctor appointments early in the week forced me to teach later that Friday than intended, so we battled traffic on the way and found our seats only moments before the first note was sung.

The lights dimmed and the Hodgson singers began with a soft a capella piece. After a short pause when they finished, the full orchestra began the one Christmas carol that still makes me weep today. I'm having a hard time typing through tears which is ironic because I've only cried this month when I've sung this song or thought about what I felt that night at the concert.

Three hundred (or more) choral students processed in as the orchestra played O Come All Ye Faithful.
When the conductor urged the audience to join in and I began to sing, the very essence of Christmas filled my soul.

O Come All Ye Faithful... Come Joyful! And Triumphant!

A gentle command. A divine nudge. Don't just show up. Drop what you're doing. Leave it all behind. Seriously, just let it go. Come with Joy, and strength, and song, as the victor.

Come ye, o come ye, to Bethlehem.

Go to the manger. Spend time with the one who came to change the world.

Come and Adore Him, Born the King of Angels.

We, the faithful, the ones who believe, the ones who have accepted the call from darkness to light all around the world are called to abandon doubts, fears, concerns, worries, and commanded to go the manger... together. Mighty. Healed. Assured. Confident. To adore the King of Angels.

The song buckles my knees. It's declarative style, especially when accompanied by a full orchestra,  makes me feel part of generations of the faithful. I'm no longer just me and my muck. I'm part of  a whole host of humanity rising up to worship our Savior on Christmas morn. To celebrate His life. To bask in God with us, Immanuel.

With the recent national crisis, my impending ankle reconstruction surgery, and a host of other situations I could list that remind us of the constant barrage of evil we daily overcome, I'm all the more looking forward to singing this song one more time on Christmas Eve at First Presbyterian Church in Douglasville, Ga.. My mom's hand bell choir will accompany the organ with trumpet and timpani. So while not quite a full orchestra, it's a pretty decent showing.

[If you live out that way and don't have a home church to worship in Christmas Eve, the above link should display their Dec. 24th service schedule.]

We'll be celebrating the King of Angels, something I really can't wrap my brain around. But I sure enjoy trying. Because that's what it's all about. Not my surgery. Not cancers that takes lives. Not the deranged who inflict pain on the innocent.

No this is all about something so much bigger and so much more important. The God of love who sent His son to change the world.

O Come all ye Faithful. Come Joyful. Come Triumphant. And adore the one born the King of Angels.

A Crazy Surprise on a Night Out with Dad

 

 

My dad and I met at a local mall last night on our way to Christmas with the ASO. While my mom has sung with the group for twenty years, I'd never seen the holiday performance. So my parents bought me a ticket for my birthday.  And Friday was our date.

We met early so we could grab dinner at a nearby restaurant. Dad picked Longhorn Steakhouse since he'd won several gift cards and there was one close to our rendezvous point. We left my car, drove across the street, and entered what seemed a normal place of food operation.

As we settled in, however, a waitress brought menus and said something I'd never heard a waitress say before, "Tonight is opening night so almost everything on the menu is free." She went on to name three cuts of steak that weren't included in the deal, but insisted we could order anything else we wanted, including an appetizer or dessert, free of charge.

Free, savory food. An entire menu full of choices. The richest of fair.

I haven't eaten out in that calibre of a restaurant in quite a while. To walk in and be offered the best -as a guest - made my mind wander in different places. Lyrics to an old song: "He brought me to His banqueting table; His banner over me is love." Scripture: "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever." (John 6: 51) A story: "That evening quail came and covered the camp, and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. When the dew was gone, thin flakes like frost on the ground appeared on the desert floor. When the Israelites saw it, they said to each other, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread the Lord has given you to eat." (Ex. 16: 13 -15)

As I searched the menu, I thought about how God's offerings are  more rich and varied than the delectable fare I chose from that day. Still I often fail to relish His goodness; to live off His daily sustenance, or to believe He can do crazy things like lead us at just the right time to just the right restaurant where a mouthwatering, free meal awaits.

We've since learned that Longhorn always offers free food the first two days a new restaurant opens. And that those two days are normally "by reservation only." Dad and I just happened to walk in about fifteen minutes before the reservations kicked in and got a table. After the memorable meal, we drove to Symphony Hall and listened to one of the premier musical groups in the country perform varied Christmas numbers I've heard about for years.

And it all makes me wonder if I really grasp what the baby alone was all about. When I look at my ceramic Jesus surrounded by nativity figurines, do I realize what He symbolizes? What His presence really means in my life? That He came to save the world - the entire world?

Probably not. But I'm going to think about it a little more this week. The wonder I felt looking at the menu should only be a taste of what I feel basking in the Savior's birth.

"O come, O come, Emmanuel; And ransom captive Israel..."

  

Check out Music by Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Comfort From My Christmas Tree

It took several days of  napping, after working the store for Don on Black Friday, for me to recharge. We own the Go Fish Clothing & Jewelry Co. located on the Marietta Square. Since Don has worked Thanksgiving weekend for five years running, I encouraged him to head south to his family farm this year. His kids and grandkids had planned a trip there as well. While I expected the day to take a toll, I didn't expect to still need a nap after a shower three days later.

Some memories are worth the added effort though, even if boredom strikes during recovery.  Sometimes the silence (or mindless TV) turns my living room into a lost place;  a prison of sorts, especially if the tiredness drags on and it takes days to shift into a higher gear.

But this week was different.

My oldest son, Nathan, arrived home several days before Thanksgiving and pulled out Christmas boxes. Since I was laying low in preparation for the big Friday, the two of us slowly filled our house with season decor. We spread it out over three days. By the time we ate turkey, however, my living room sparkled.

The tree was up. Lights covered the front porch. And the boxes were back upstairs.

As I sat in my living room, succumbing to nap after nap, I realized how much comfort I found from my Christmas tree. It's not  fancy and leans at the top with varied (and aging) ornaments. But distant memories came alive with its presence in the room.

My first husband and I picked up a box of these little China girls when we smuggled Bibles over Asian borders. She's not my favorite. But I love the memory.

 

Next to her hangs a reminder of why we moved back to Atlanta from Nashville a few years after that trip. With the 1996 games looming, my graphic artist/freelance illustrator hoped for more work in the peach state.

 

One year to save money,  he hand decorated glass ornaments to give away as Christmas gifts. This is a photo of one of my three:

Don's former wife, also an artist with impeccable taste, left several of these fine snowmen packed away in boxes. I love them. And I love having part of her mixed in our tree. After three years of combining ornaments, they're all blending together.

My camera battery died or I'd post a few more photos. But there's a large globe with glittery butterflies symbolizing the years we spent traveling to Fantasy in Lights at Callaway Gardens. Trips to The Day Butterfly House included.

There's a Swedish doll with one arm my grandparents gave me as a child. In fact, my tree is full of ornaments my grandparents gave through the years. Glass nativity globes. Wooden pianos. Ceramic angels.

And there's the stained glass ornaments papa made. The same papa who taught my son to craft similar ornaments for his friends. That story's so good, it's already been published: A Stained Glass Healing.

Memories of our families hang all over our tree. So while the room is silent, the tree tilts forward, and my tired body requires rest, it's just a little less lonely.

When we pulled out the boxes, the task seemed daunting. But now I'm grateful for the comfort I feel; comfort from a Christmas tree. A tree that reminds me of family.

Check out and download music by Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

When Flowers Appeared on the Earth - and My Kitchen Table

I've learned something the hard way the last forty-eight hours: You can't rotate a photo from your phone that you send to your computer and then paste it to your blog without it turning side ways again. I give. The photo of the first of three flower arrangements I received last month will remain unposted. But I'll tell you about the Mosaics.

 

Two days after Sam left for college, an acquaintance from church invited me to a Bible study she leads on Monday nights. A day later, I sat in a room with The Mosaics, a colorful group of women from all walks of life with challenges that exceed my own.

 

One fights ALS and can't use her arms. Another suffers the consequences of a botched lasik eye surgery, hoping for corrective help in time. Another can't eat and carries a backpack with a g-tube for sustenance. Sitting in a room on a weekly basis with others who are going after Jesus in the midst of their ongoing health battles strengthens me.

 

They surprised me, the week of my birthday, with a flower arrangement as wild and vibrant as the Mosaics themselves. I thought about posting the sideways photo since they've rotated my perspective on life like the skewed picture, but decided it was too out of the box. For now you'll just have to imagine yellow tulips, white chrysanthemums, purple moon flowers, and a variety of other back yard beauties draped from a muted blue vase.

 

About the time pedals began to fall and the moon flowers shriveled up, I went to UGA for a weekend visit with both boys. Georgia Tech's club swim team competed in a meet at UGA in the afternoon while the Hodgson Singer's perfomed in an opera the same evening. Sam swam. Nathan sang. And since we were together only two days after my birthday, Nathan had a surprise arrangement waiting  before I left Athens. He befriended a local florist during a horticulture class last spring and she came up with this arrangement after he described my personality.

 

Notice the red hot chili peppers.

 

 

 

Those flowers sat on my table the week grandma died speaking color, life, and beauty. 

 

It took a few weeks to get everything together post grandma, but last Sunday, my voice and piano students presented a recital at a local retirement home. We gathered in their community room with a less than stellar piano and offered our best. It was a sweet time for all.

 

When the recital was over, one of my students came up and handed me a bouquet of flowers. Her sister had a similar batch in hand and I realized the flowers had been intended for my student, not me. I said, "Are you sure you don't want them?" She just smiled her shy smile and indicated that she wanted me to keep them. They're on my table now.

 

 

 

I could hardly walk to bed last night. Me legs wobblier than I understand. But my heart is full. And I'm grateful for new friends, for my boys who are growing into men, and for my students who face their fears and still give me flowers in the end.

 

"My lover spoke and said to me, 'Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come" (Song of Songs 2: 10 - 12)

 

 

Check out and Download Music by Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

 

Finally Home

The sky turned a hazy blue as Ole Miss succumbed to UGA on the football field, meaning my UGA boy should enjoy a decent bowl game this Christmas. A peaceful end to the sixteenth anniversary of my former spouses' promotion to glory.

Sixteen years. It's left me without too many words today. Just a picture and a song.

The photo is from a mito moms gathering we held at our store Tuesday night: Go Fish Clothing and Jewelry on the Marietta Square

Notice my bare right foot amongst the giraffes - the giraffes which come alive at night. (Think, Night at the Museum.) For that moment, however, they were great props after we learned to tie scarves and picked out hats.

Sure appreciate those ladies joining me for an evening out. And am grateful to Don for serving us well and even teaching a scarf tie I couldn't remember.

But when my heart gets full of happy things, I do too much. My hair and my hand controls got a six month fix this week and grandma's song is now recorded. But my left leg is in scary pain today.

Between sixteen years and scary pain, I'm going simple. Closing with a song. Hope you enjoy this musical remembrance...

Finally Home

 

Check out Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Love, Loss, Life

Grandma at my home for Sam's graduation party last May.

When life gives me the most to write about, I tend to have the least amount of time to write. I'm currently resurfacing from the depths after watching grandma breathe her last just a few days ago. Catching up on mindless TV with UGA boy last night helped.

I've missed a lot lately. But life always seems clearer in the face of death.

Grandma stopped eating about ten days ago. I saw her almost every other day and her features shriveled with each visit. Skin and bones and heart. That's what was left.

As the end neared, my mom mentioned the Atlanta Symphony was performing a piece she thought I'd enjoy. Since she sings with the Atlanta Symphony Chorus, we get a free seat in the auditorium on dress rehearsal night. When I learned dad had plans to attend the rehearsal which fell on the eve of my birthday, I threw mito caution to the wind and drove down town.

Mom forgot to mention Verdi's Defiant Requiem was being performed in honor of the holocaust victims and survivors who gave it that name.

Fresh from a visit with grandma, I could well imagine a chorus of hungry, tired prisoners at Terezin, digging deep into a reservoir of strength few ever access. From there, they learned Verdi's Requiem and performed it over a dozen times in the coarse of three years - even as members were deported to certain death, and new voices took their place.

Their conductor, Rafael Schachter, told them, "We will sing to the Nazi's what we can not say to them." His leadership brought hope, life, defiance in the face of utter depravity and loss.

I wept as the performers left the stage. This review explains it well: Arts Atl.

The story hit close to home due to three dates highlighted during the dialogue portion of the performance. The chorus performed the requiem for the Red Cross when they visited on June 23, 1944. I married my first husband, Jason, on a June 23rd. Rafael Schachter was born on May 27th, 1905. Ironically, my first husband was deemed terminal on a May 27th almost four years after we married. The beloved conductor was sent to Auschwitz (where he died soon after) on October 16th, 1944. Jason had brain surgery on Sam's third birthday, October 16th 1996, and died almost three weeks later, on Nov. 3rd.

While I'm trying to not make too much out of the coincidental dates, as my birthday dawned, I couldn't help thinking about it all. And all I could figure is love, loss, and life grow us or break us.
And I want to keep living like that conductor who thrived in his exile. Who made music with an out of tune piano. And who kept conducting, even as the singers faded away.

That must be why I sang a song of mine at Jason's funeral and grandpa's... and am working on one now for grandma's service next Friday. It's my defiance. My hope. My life and love in the wake of loss.

"For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock. Then my head will be exalted above the enemies who surround me; at his tabernacle will I sacrifice with shouts of joy; I will sing and make music to the Lord." (Ps. 27:5-7)

Check out Susan schreer Davis' Music on Itunes!

An Evening with Holly Robinson Peete

Candid. Real. Honest. That's what you'll sense when you hear Holly Robinson Peete's story.

The talented actress married star quarterback, Rodney Peete, in a stunning California wedding. But neither was prepared for the Autism diagnosis their twin son received a few years later. Their marriage survived only because they decided autism wouldn't win; the trial would not pull them apart. It took years and tough choices. But their marriage and family won.

Read Their Story in Redbook Magazine

Holly and Rod now run a foundation, HollyRod.org, that offers compassionate care to other families dealing with Autism and Parkinson's Disease. With years of experience to share, Holly will speak in Atlanta on Nov. 8th at the Four Seasons Hotel. She'll share her personal story to be followed by a panel of experts from Harvard University, The Mayo Clinic, Medical Neurogenetics, and GA State.

Personal insight. Clincal observation. The perfect combo for someone needing encouragement today.

Tickets are available at: An Evening with Holly Robinson Peete

Hope to see you there!

Check out Susan Schreer Davis' Music on Itunes!

From OakTara: Hot Off the Press

I'm sitting in a CarMax waiting room, trying to form thoughts. Blog ideas float in my mind, mingling with TV chatter, other's dialogue, and the annoying crunch of snack food.

I want to give up but was just told I have another hour and a half wait till my car is fixed. So write, I will.

A lot happened last week that led to a heart season change as real as the crisp weather outside that has me in long pants and a fleece jacket today. Bible study friends reached out. A very cool newly diagnosed mito mom contacted me. And two books with my stories were published by OakTara and are still hot off the press!

Every day I thought, "A real writer would be writing." Yet, every day rich conversation led to internal growth and new God perspective I wouldn't trade for a thousand well written words.

God's changing me. With the help of others. They serve as sounding boards and offer advice from their lessons learned. And sometimes they just offer advice how to make a cool wreath for my front door. However it works, today I relish rich community, the iron that sharpens iron... And two stories that tell me I'm moving forward, slowly, like the tortoise. But definitely forward.

And if you're looking for a collection of heartwarming love stories; stories from those who know God brought the right spouse at the right time to journey for whatever lifetime they were given, check out these links:

Falling in Love with You

My Love to You Always

 

 

 And check out Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!!

To Fuse, or Not to Fuse: that's been my question

By mid-summer this year, my right leg grew weaker than specialists understood and I was encouraged to fight for its survival. So I got referrals and made appointments.

Physical therapy. Neurosurgery. Podiatry. Orthopedics.

The neurosurgeon suggested an L4-L5 Spinal Fusion in addition to cleaning out the S-1 nerve root. The podiatrist explained I have a Neuroma under the ball of my right foot causing several issues with my toes. The orthopedist recently discovered my left ankle ligament has loosened again, making it a candidate for a partial ankle reconstruction using a cadaver tendon to replace the existing ligament.

I looked like Sam in the above photo when I left the last appointment.

Through it all, I've worked with Adam, a physical therapist at Physiotherapy Associates, once or twice a week, and am finally convinced I'm building muscle strength.

The right leg is stronger.

I've seen three physical therapists since I fell in Nov' of 09', requiring ankle and back surgery five weeks a part. The first didn't know what to do with me after four weeks because I didn't have the mitochondrial disease diagnosis at that time. The residual numbness didn't make sense to him or anyone else until the muscle biopsy and spinal tap diagnosed weak muscles and unhealthy nerves months later. I tried therapy again six months after but worked with a female who once stated, "I don't know how you walk on this leg." I felt more fragile after my time with her than before I went in.

There's no doubt I was weak. But I've cut back on activity, another year and a half of walking has gone by, and Adam isn't afraid to push my limits. I'm getting used to new pain that sometimes signals progress and sometimes forces a shut down. But after pondering back fusion verses ankle surgery verses exercises in hopes of avoiding both, I'm choosing the latter for now.

My left foot hurts due to unstable ligaments and tendons. The right one is tight and numb almost three years after a ligament reattachment surgery.  My reality? They're never going to be normal. And for now, I value walking on one foot that's not numb.

Accepting there's no perfect fix is a step towards freedom.

I may be forced to go under again. But after years of feeling stuck and stymied by muscle weakness and pain, the progress I've made has me ready to overcome. I'm choosing exercise, diet, and even rest when needed. It's hard for mito patients to balance exercise and rest. But I've become a believer again that exercise helps. Even in small amounts.

"Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baka, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion." (Psalm 84: 5-7)

"They go from strength to strength..." I love those words. Have quoted them before. They resonate in my heart today.

Check out Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Mitochondrial Awareness Week (part 3 and final)

What more is there to say?

After mito mom Lauri and I shared our first cup of coffee, I walked away strengthened in a way I didn't know I needed. At the time, our table talk was more beneficial than any Beth Moore Bible Study (which I highly recommend!) While I valued sharing my life with someone who knew the mito lingo and was learning to live with the day to day reality of our disease, bottom line, I needed to know I wasn't alone in the journey.

What struck me the most when I met Tina was the peace she emanates in the midst of it all. Having traveled and lived large, I struggle to accept limits. But Tina and her husband see their role as parents to three diagnosed kids as a ministry. A trip to Disney? Probably not. Life as most know it? Not on the radar.

But Tina rolls with it all. And I think of her often.

I met a women in the nursery last night who has a child with a totally different genetic disease, with challenges much bigger than my own. After hearing stories about families in their disease community, I marveled at their "underworld". And it reminded me again of how many exist.

Cancer. Alzheimers. Lou Gerigs. Type 2 Diabetes. Spina Bifida.

And that's the few biggies that come to mind because I know people closely affected.

So while this is Mitochondrial Disease awareness week, perhaps the greater challenge is simply: be aware of those around you fighting through whatever challenge they face. Look it up. Google it. Learn something about it so you know how to discuss it with even just a basic level of knowledge. Believe me, your friend will be grateful.

Take a meal. Share coffee. Listen. Celebrate life. Lots of people live with low energy, severe limitations, and daily reminders that good health really is a fragile thing.

In closing, take a minute and absorb one more video. My music's in the background, the chorus sung at the end. Meet families from my underworld. Some are still journeying and some have fought the good fight. But together, a difference is made.



Check out Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Mitochondrial Awareness Week (part 2)

Mitochondrial Disease is often referred to as an invisible disease. We "the sick ones" often look fine on the outside while our bodies betray us in various ways inside.

My friend Lauri raced her kids to the ER on a regular basis until after their diagnosis. Both children had life threatening illnesses around six years of age. The oldest was airlifted to Emory and put in an induced coma for several days. The youngest suffered encephalitis and wasn't expected to live.

Their bodies didn't produce enough energy to battle a basic ear infection. A minor illness could erupt into an emergent situation in a matter of hours. Now after a muscle biopsy and years on the "mito cocktail", a combination of energy producing supplements, they're thriving, growing, and stretching boundaries little by little.

Tina, on the other hand, has three children who presented in very different ways. The oldest exhibited weak muscles from birth, though a diagnosis took years. Looking back Tina remembers, "He conquered all the expected milestones, but since we were new parents, we didn't understand that he wasn't doing them as well as he should have." In time, the gap became obvious. Now in middle school, he faces continued muscle weakness and fatigue but excels in academics.

Her second child, however, is a thriving lacrosse player who battles extreme concentration issues in the classroom - perhaps even undiagnosed mini-seizures that couldn't be treated with normal meds due to side effects mito patients can't tolerate. And her daughter? She's struggling to eat, to gain weight. Her gastro system not up to par.

In many ways I feel blessed with my joint issues compared to their stories. But I struggled to pump the pedal while playing the piano yesterday; my ankles tiring easily from the up and down motion.
My arms felt heavy and flu like by the time I taught for two hours, the fatigue heightened from weekend activity. My left ankle reacted so poorly that in the end that I had no choice but to rest and allow heat to relax the tight muscles. I see an orthopedic doctor Friday and am hoping the tendon isn't in need of surgical repair. The pain concerns me. But surgery would bring a host of new issues.

When one area of our bodies requires more energy to heal, other parts suffer. I have two potential surgeries looming. Both would potentially solve current problems. But in this body, there's no telling what other issues could arise.

So I pray. I rest. I use the microwavable heating pad my mother gave me. AND I've spent hours in physical therapy this summer and early fall trying to strengthen what I can. I highly recommend Adam and Dustin at Physiotherapy in Kennesaw, GA. I've worked with Adam, but the entire team has made the experience fun, relaxed, and well worth my time.

Adam wasn't intimated by mito and has pushed me more than I expected. I'm grateful for the push. I think he's the reason I could climb more stairs than normal last weekend. But there's still a delicate dance to learn. Some days I get it right and others I end in pain.

But I wake to new mercies every day. I rest and start again, shut down and reboot, holding firm to the promise, " For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Cor. 4: 18)

Check out Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Mitochondrial Awareness Week (part 1)

Mitochondrial Awareness Week began two days ago. I'm late joining the discussion because I battle mitochondrial disease. Last weeks energy allotment and part of this weeks went to the great furniture exchange that took place when a doctor decided my grandmother will never return to her assisted living apartment last Wednesday. I received an influx of furniture Thursday and have been sorting through it ever since.

I used to clean out drawers and closets with ease. I used to carry things up and down stairs without thought. Now I wonder which step will lead to the one too many that will land me in front of the TV nursing undesired pain.

My joints held up better than I expected over the weekend, but as my husband said Sunday night, "It's going to take you a week to recover."

I just couldn't put thoughts on the page yesterday. Too much fog to write. Too much tired to concentrate. Joints that turned to jello due to too much activity were in need of rest to coagulate once again.

I'm getting there.

So in honor of mito awareness week, I'll begin by posting a photo taken at the event, Hope Flies, a yearly fund raiser for mito disease. Two of my favorite mito moms joined the fun and we snapped a fuzzy picture:

Tina and Lauri both have kids who have battled mito since birth. Their stories are far more intense than mine and I find great strength spending time with them and hearing how they manage the daily challenges we face.

And since I have to keep this short today, I'm going to close by linking to a video created by "MitoAction and students from CDIA in Boston". Take a minute and watch:

The Way Energy Is Made.

You'll understand our lives just a little bit more.

And no matter how my mito cooperate on one day verses another, I try to lean into these truths: He is my source and my strength. My song in the night. My joy in the day.

Check out Susan Schreer Davis on Itunes!

Lost in Manhattan One Year Ago Today





Meet my 91 yr. old grandparents: Gladys and Merrill Hughes from Media, PA, just outside of Philly. They've lived there for as long as I can remember. When their health issues raised concerns last fall, I decided to overcome travel fears due to my unpredictable body and visit.

I was also motivated by Sam's college test scores which resulted in mail from a few Ivy League schools. Since Don's oldest son graduated from Yale, and they sent the most, we combined a trip to Philly with a visit to his son's Alma mater. When schedules took shape, our trip coincided with the tenth anniversary of 9/11.

After a night in Philly, my cautious grandparents detailed a route for us to travel to New Haven, avoiding New York and all its bridges. But as we drove north, I got edgy. I wanted to see the sky scrapers - especially that weekend.

My husband and son tolerated my urge and we diverted, ignoring weekend warnings of explosives and closed bridges. Within a hour or two, I took this photo  of the George Washington Bridge as worship music blared and a shadow of Manhattan shimmered to the right. For me, it was the equivalent of bungee jumping.

The back seat view.



On the morning of 9/11, Don and Sam took the official college tour. I stayed behind because I couldn't have kept pace. But when they came back hours later, Don had secured a wheelchair to take me to all his favorite places. 

Smiling at the beginning of tour #2. 

 

We ate in  the Harry Potter looking cafeteria which is located directly behind Sam. Then we toured a museum to the right which holds a copy of the Gutenberg Bible. We even touched the glass wrong and set off an alarm.

 

 

As we left the museum, several black SUV's pulled up outside the president's office. It was like an episode of NCIS. Ready for a break, we sat on a bench to see what was up. A photo op soon broke out and we learned top Air Force military personnel had arrived on campus for a signing ceremony, initiating the return of the ROTC program to the campus this fall.

 

 

Next, we hiked to another corner of the university where this cemetery commemorates the lives of some very famous people. Don loved to jog here when visiting his son. 



Getting tired on tour #2. 

Don pushed me in the chair on bumpy and smooth paths for two or three hours. He never tired as he relived family memories. But due to flight costs, we had to catch a plane out of Philly the next morning. So we saddled up and headed south.

We could have been predictable. We could have avoided NYC. But the closer we got, the closer I wanted to be, especially on the tenth anniversary.

So we paid tolls. Lots of tolls. We crossed bridges. We went the wrong way on a highway that cost us about thirty minutes. And then finally traveled through a tunnel with plans to turn left on the other side and just travel around the edge of Manhattan. But when we rose out of the depths and buildings loomed tall over us, we had no lane choice but to go straight into the city.

I was delighted. Don was dodging taxis. Sam just wanted to get to Philly.

Manhattan isn't that wide so when we turned left onto a major thoroughfare, I knew we were paralleling the highway we were supposed to be on. So while Don avoided collisions, I soaked in the tall skyscrapers, the rush of cars, and the very big feel of the island city that never ever sleeps.

We drove for a while, not totally sure where we were, but found signs to our highway, and turned. As we sat at a light, we suddenly realized we were looking straight at the new World Trade Center building. We didn't get out. Or stop and walk. My feet wouldn't have carried me far. But we got really close to ground zero, somewhat lost in Manhattan, on the tenth anniversary.

And for this mito deprived, slow walking, low energy bodied self, it was even close enough.

We paid more tolls, crossed another bridge, watched the moon rise over the Statue of Liberty, and called my grandparents to admit we'd arrive much later than planned.



Ice cream and strawberries were still waiting when we walked in.

 

 

 I gave way to tears on the airport shuttle the next morning due to sharp nerve pain in my feet. The trip took a toll.  But Don and I had shared more of our lives with each other. I learned about Yale. He experienced the town of Media and my grandparents. And all three of us got close to the heart of a national tragedy that's posted on magazine covers still today.

More importantly, I didn't cave to mito travel fears that weekend. No, we made rich, timeless memories instead.

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Debi and the Place of Deep Healing

Debbie and her sweet family

I met Debi this summer. Her radiant smile and blond curls defied the stage 4 cancer growing deep in her body. Drawn to her effervescence (and sweet girls), I purposed to stay in touch with her in the coming months.

So I've called her about once a week to get the latest update. And there's always an update. Debi has a clotting disorder and when a doctor placed a port in her chest about a month ago now, two clots formed, delaying chemo and forcing her back on coumadin shots.

It's complicated.

Two blood clots alone would frighten the normal person. But Debi's taken it all in stride. Crying at times. Laughing more. And just trying to live in the midst of head shaking trial.

She surprised me Thursday morning with an early call. I didn't recognize the number or check the message for hours cause I slept late that day. But when I heard the request from her perky voice, I plopped back on my bed, looked straight through ceiling, and said, "Really?"

Debi had called to ask me to attend a healing service with her that night. Sounds simple enough. But it was a service held at a church that once left my soul in great confusion. I've never doubted the impact of the congregation's monthly healing services but just couldn't bring myself to go. Even now it's hard to explain. Was it pride? Unforgiveness? Fear? Or just wounds that would not heal?

I don't know.

But even though different folks have mentioned the service here and there over the last few years, I've avoided going. Debi didn't know I had any ties to the church so her call seemed an innocent nudge from above. It was time. Time to face the past so I could walk more fully into my future.

What humors me most is that I thought I was called to minister to Debbie: ms. stage 4 cancer. But no. God used Debi to take me to a place a great pain to experience more of His healing.

And it was good. It really was. Good to see old friends. Good to soak in His presence. Good to face what was... to live more complete in what is.

I love it when God surprises me like that.

And I really love my new friend, Debi. Will you pray for her this week?

I've lost a husband to cancer. Am married to a man who lost his wife to cancer. And I've been sick now for years. But that doesn't change that James wrote,

"And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective." (James 5: 15, 16)

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Overcoming Funk (with a Mountain Top View)

I handed Grant my signed teacher contract this afternoon and told him I've spent the last few days overcoming funk. He smiled and said, "That should be the name of a rock band." Since I don't have plans for a rock band, I decided it worked for a blog entry.

Cause I'm overcoming funk.

I've had a story to tell but Sam's launch to Tech blurred with grandma's intensified battle against c-diff which ran right into a neuro-surgeon explaining the reasons why another back  surgery might work to my advantage. He meant well, but memories of post surgical pain sent me down under to the depths of funk.

Grandma's suffering. My leg needs help. And my home is quiet without my boys.

I won't overcome all the funk in one fell swoop. But today I'll remember how God touched me the weekend before the launch. Cause this moment meant a lot on the cusp of change...

We should have been in church. In fact, I'd entertained visions of all four of us lined in a pew, seated in God's house the day Nathan would leave after only two nights at home. But another option tugged at my heart. A memory yearned for a repeat.

And when a cool autumn breeze surprised me as I walked out the door dressed for an August Sunday service, I knew I couldn't sit still in church. So we turned around. Changed clothes. Packed a few things. And drove to Stone Mountain.

I had this crazy notion that I needed to sit high on top of that mountain before my boys headed off in different directions. We climbed the largest piece of exposed granite when they were young; even scaled the heights before dawn on an Easter morning one time. As we huddled in our matching train sweat shirts as the sun rose, I felt we could conquer anything - way back when - when my legs carried me step by step up the steep mountain side.

I couldn't climb the mountain two weeks ago. Couldn't even last outside very long in unusually cool summer heat.

So we rode the skyride and then made our way to my favorite edge and took in the clearest view I've ever seen from the top. Not only did we see a post card view of the Atlanta skyline, we saw a clear outline of the North Georgia Mountains. It was amazing.

Just to the right of this view, Kennesaw Mountain rose from the trees. The two cities seemed close from up high. In fact, everything seemed small and Lego like. I imagined God reaching his hand down and holding our car as we drove from one place to another, just like a child guides a toy car across the kitchen floor. No highways. Just trees, buildings, a few mountains, and a big blue sky that connected them all.

And I felt peace. Deep, abiding, peace.

Nathan drove on to Athens from the mountain and we headed home with only days before Sam left. As I drifted to sleep, it occurred to  me that had we walked to the back side of the mountain, we would have seen the city of Athens that day as well. From one vantage point, all three of our homes were visible and thus seemed closer together.

It probably won't always be this way. At some point there's a good chance all of our homes won't be visible from one mountain top. But they were a few weeks ago and it helped this mom let go.

I'll close with a favorite passage we used to recite in quiet and loud voices at bed time. It brought comfort then and is still a heart changer now. Cause He holds it all together. His view that is so different from ours. When we grasp just a glimpse of it; just a tiny sense of His perspective, the peace that only He can give becomes ours.

"Do you not know? Have you not heard?  Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood since the earth was founded?  He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heavens like a canopy, and spreads them out like a tent to live in. He brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing. No sooner are they planted, no sooner are they sown, no sooner do they take root in the ground, than he blows on them and they wither, and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff. 

 

'To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?' says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one and calls forth each of them by name. Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing.

Why do you complain, Jacob? Why do you say, Israel,' My way is hidden from the Lord;
my cause is disregarded by my God'? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." (Isaiah 40: 21 - 31) 

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Two Weeks of Living

Two weeks have passed since I last wrote, mostly because my 91 yr. old grandmother ended up in the hospital with a very contagious disease: c-diff. For those who have served as a caregiver, you know it takes time to resurface after long hours away from the norm. As I considered what to write today, I found photos from the last two weeks and decided to enjoy the memories made in the midst of the saga.

A doctor sent grandma to the hospital late in the afternoon. But earlier that day, Don and I took our granddaughter, Catherine, on a field trip. We picked her up from school, got Chick-fil-A, and went to a jumpy place. She's holding her Brave card which she almost left at school... but remembered to find where she changed clothes after morning play-in-the-sprinkler time.



Catherine was born with a diaphragmatic hernia, spent four months in a NICU, and endured countless surgeries before growing into the thriving child she is today. After playing for hours at the jumpy place, we went to McDonald's. The child that once required a feeding tube ate every drop of ice cream on her own... and danced with grandipa.



Back at our home, she made sure grandipa had all he needed for a cozy nap. Only a granddaughter could pull this off...

As we drove Catherine to her home, my sister called. Grandma had been admitted to the hospital due to A-fib and low blood pressure. But within 48 hours it became clear she had c-diff, an intestinal disorder resulting from too many antibiotics. C-diff is very contagious, thus we had to follow strict protocol while in her room. No eating. No drinking. Yellow marshmallow gowns. And latex gloves.

Five days in and still the yellow gowns. And three men in fluffy, golden attire:

Don, Sam, and my dad.



I got away long enough to spend a night at my mom and dads where their dog Lili smooths the rough places in my soul. Every time I visit, this silky creature jumps on my lap, places a paw on each shoulder, and lays her fuzzy neck across my face, offering her one of a kind canine hug. By the time I drove back home, Grandma had finished seven days in the hospital and was in a private nursing home room in her retirement village.

Lili even went to visit grandma this week and gave her a special hug.

My family has ministered in new ways, helping grandma through the last few weeks. While we've known her mind isn't as sharp as it once was, dealing with dementia 24/7 up close and personal has allowed for a different challenge. I repeated the same conversation at times almost every eight minutes as she repeatedly asked, "Why am I here? What's wrong with me? When can I go home?"

I've answered those questions so many creative, heartfelt ways only to be asked again. Which is why I'm glad I had a chance to share lunch with these girls and tell a story dear to my heart; my red rose God really loves us story that changed my life years ago. I try to tell it every year so I'll remember. Cause I forget. Like grandma. And God has to reassure me over and over.

After hours and days trying to calm grandma's repetitive worries, I wondered how God keeps up with us all. A chorus of concern must rise when our worries exceed our ability to believe and we ask why? and are you sure? yet again. Can you imagine what heaven hears on any given day?

Trying to keep grandma from a wrinkled brow for just two weeks wore me out.

So thanks Shanette, Blake, Anna, and Audrey, for coming over and letting me tell my story again.

It was good to remember after a week fighting to help another not forget.

"God also said to Moses, 'Say to the Israelites, ‘The Lord, the God of your fathers —the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob —has sent me to you.’ This is my name forever, the
name by which I am to be remembered from generation to generation." (Ex. 3: 15)

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