It's Almost Time

I love the ocean. It's where I feel closest to God. So when I arrive on heaven's shores, I think it will look something like this... but the sand won't stick, the sun won't burn, and the breeze will always blow soft and cool.

I think about heaven most after I trudge through the sand with ankle braces on and open my chair at the waters edge. I used to sit there all day long. Two hours is about it now. But while there last week, I gazed at bubbling waves till pain forced me inside. Light reflected through moving water, offering endless beauty.

We made some family memories, especially the night Dad called an evening photo shoot on the beach. The cousins built the infamous pyramid, mimicking a photo taken when they were all shorter than me.

Then they fell.

We got a foursome photo - a rare commodity these days - especially now that my oldest is gone for the rest of the summer. 

But before he left, we sang. And they sang. And the older generation watched the younger group perform the four part harmony song only we had known for years. Serendipitous and Surreal. The music lives on.

But it's almost time now. Almost time for Dr. Morrison to open my back and fuse a joint, forcing me to maneuver pain and rest. Sharp pain today assured me it's time. Time to face the surgery. Time to let God be God and use a doctor's hands as His own. The creator of the endless seas is able, so I'll remember the ocean and God's big love and rest on the operating table tomorrow morning as I did at the ocean's edge.

"The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns; where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy." (Ps. 65: 8)

And the Fusion Is On

When I get up in the morning, I stand on two partially numb feet. Heavy steps carry me to the kitchen counter where I pour water and four scoops into my coffee maker. Then I wait. The ankles waken as the morning fog lifts after a dose of caffeine.

But yesterday, when I left the neurosurgeon's office, I wondered if some of that might change. Two weeks from today I'll be lying on a hospital bed in more pain than I want to imagine. In fact Dr. Morrison said I won't like him two weeks from now. But I can't help but wonder if some of the oddness in my feet will subside after they stabilize the wretched joint.

I fell three and half years ago after telling an orthopedic surgeon (for over six months) that my right ankle was loose. It was never unstable enough for him in the office. But an encounter with a pine cone at the bottom of my front brick stoop proved him wrong. By the time he opened me up, he had to search for the detached ligament.

When I couldn't stand due to sciatic pain about five weeks later, I was admitted to the hospital after my second trip to the ER. Don drove me home after my first attempt to get help but the pain stopped me cold on our icy walk way as I tried to get to the house. I crawled up our front steps but then couldn't stand up. As I wailed in pain on our front porch in 22 degree weather, I finally told my husband he had to call an ambulance.

The ER took me seriously when I arrived the second time and I was admitted.

The doc who did the ankle surgery read the MRI the next day and told me I had one of the ten herniated disks he'd ever seen—which is probably why my right leg hasn't been normal since. Days after surgery I couldn't roll over in bed without lifting my knee with my hands. And even months later, if I lay on my left side, I couldn't lift my right leg. Steroids shots helped some. But the leg has been weak ever since.

So I can't help but wonder if the right surgeon, fusing the unstable joint, will offer some relief. He made it clear there's no guarantee. So if you think of me, will you pray that the great physician will guide Dr. Morrison's hands in two weeks and that if there is a nerve to be let loose, that God will divinely guide Him to the right place.

I'll close with a song I wrote years ago. Mac Powell composed the radio, popular version of these words. But ironically, I wrote this about the same time he wrote his. And a group of kids performed my take on an Easter Sunday, not long before he shared his song in the same service.

His song still plays over the airwaves, and I'm not sure who listens to mine. But no matter who sings or speaks the words, or what form God's healing touch takes, the eternal truth remains, by His stripes, we are healed. (Is. 53)

What Living Could Be Like

I wasn't planning this, but I became the admin of a faith based mitochondrial disease FB group about two weeks ago. So I compose thoughts while drinking coffee, hoping to encourage myself and maybe others. The challenge stirs thoughts I might otherwise ignore. The words come from a different place so for now, I'll divert from my typical blog posts and share some of them here.

And if you're interested in joining the group, you can find it here: Walking by Faith with Mitochondrial Disease.

May 24th:

Today I'm enjoying day old coffee because it was easy to fix. I'm sitting on our wrap around porch (with leftover pollen) while a cool breeze blows. After a frenzied three weeks, there is calm. And I'm soaking in the moment when all feels right with the world.

In contrast, I cried real tears twice this week. Once due to fear when severe instability and pain altered my gait and the other when an old relational wound resurfaced. Waves of anxiety washed over me and I wept. And knew I needed rest.

The day my ankle popped last week, I spent the morning thinking about what it would be like if I could live with more faith than fear. Peaceful mornings remind me everything's OK. He's got it under control. But then the ankle pops and anxiety builds and I struggle to keep overwhelm from gripping my soul.

Which is why we need community, why I value a place to write, and why I’m thankful for a pastor who called and prayed for me the day I couldn't quite get my spiritual breath.

Still I wonder, as I dwell in His presence today, what living would be like if I could train my heart to bank on the fact the trees are just bushes to God; my mountains mere molehills from His vantage point; and my limitations simply an opportunity for Him to show His power.

For, "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." (Is. 40: 28-31)

Rising Above Disease Sharing the Music in Me

Years ago a famed author told me, "Those who can do and those who can't teach." I've wrestled with my profession ever since, feeling that teaching voice and piano is less respectable than finishing a book or singing through out the globe. I still hope to publish my words and sing more than I do now, but for the past ten years, teaching private lessons has done more than just pay the bills, it's kept me going. 

I saw it more clearly this spring - after the ankle reconstruction. Time with students distracted me from pain and made me feel useful even on the slowest of days. And then, in late April, I got an invitation to an event at Pebblebrook High School, a well respected school of performing arts close to home. One of my students, a senior at the school, graduated in the top 5% of her class. The top students were asked to write a speech, thanking two teachers who have impacted their lives over the years. And Meredith chose me. 

Not only did I get to listen as she read kind words about our time together...

But I even came home with a certificate! 

Thanks, Meredith, for a sweet time, indeed.

I was out late that evening and again two days later when Don and I met with a friend in need. So by the time I drove to Athens with Sam on Mother's Day weekend to pick up Nathan from school, my legs were wearing down. Heavy, wobbly steps carried me through his dorm as we packed his stuff and loaded it in the car. We crashed in a hotel room a few hours later so Nathan could finish church commitments before leaving for the summer. 

Sam claims Nathan and I snore in harmony.

Sam, Me, and Nathan (who is working towards a degree in choral music education at UGA)

Nathan not only had to play hand bells Sunday morning, he agreed to sing at an evening event as well. But as a Mother's Day gift to me, the three of us ended up singing an arrangement we rehearsed that afternoon of It Is Well with My Soul at the concert that night. I don't know when we'll sing together again. So I relished this moment with my young men who wouldn't even sing in front of me years ago.

Proof from far away...

And up close.

I held onto walls and worked hard for balance as we left the church, but my heart was bursting with all kinds of cool mom feelings.

Monday proved a day of survival. But by mid week I thought I was getting back to my odd normal. When I took a step after teaching three hours on Wednesday, however, something popped in my right ankle. I'm still waiting for the results of a stat MRI. But last night some of my students who can't attend our end of the year recital gathered at our store to sing. The ankle was tired. Every step took effort. But my students did such a good job I had a hard time going to sleep.

I may need another surgery; may be hobbling for months. But these recent music memories lift me above the disease and make me thankful for the days I've spent in a small practice room, helping others connect to the music in their own souls.

For now, that's more than enough.

A View from Lookout Mountain

This is me on a mountain - far from my normal routine. A mito mom friend, Amy, invited me to leave town and this was the view outside our room on Lookout Mountain two weekends ago. The sky was ocean blue; the temperature crisp, but not cold; and the conversation nonstop. So we paid the entrance fee to Rock City - which was radical living for me.

My knee scooter and I couldn't navigate fat mans squeeze or the rope swing. In fact, it didn't take long for me to make sure I was on the handicap path, avoiding slopes and stairs. The walk wasn't too long so one scoot at a time I made it to a vantage point well worth the effort.

Amy and I sat in rockers till closing time, chatting while gazing over the mountains edge. When I barely had enough time to scoot back to the entrance, I got crazy and climbed three stairs so she could photograph me on this bridge.  

Then we traded places.

As we prepared to leave, an tourist photographed us together. And this is my favorite photo because time with Amy changed me. Iron sharpened iron so when I came down the mountain, life was better than before.

I'm still amazed how sharing one another's burdens lightens your own; how time with a kindred spirit eases the journey and offers perspective lost in day to day drudgery. Time on the mountain reminded me that He is big and our problems very small, for, "He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heaven's like a canopy and spreads them out like a tent to live in." (Is. 40: 22) For "He has established His throne in heaven and His kingdom rules over all!!" (Ps. 103: 19)

We live under God's big tent sky and are such a blip in the realm of eternity that when I grasp that for more than twenty-three minutes, my worries dissolve into "light and momentary troubles (that) are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." (2 Cor. 4:17)

It's not that my problems aren't real. It's just that Creator of the Universe is so much bigger.

It took two weeks for my mitochondria to catch up after our weekend away. I napped more than normal and lived the bare necessities. But my heart has been full to overflowing, for "I am confident of this; I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." (Ps. 27: 13)

Our Lifetime in Song

Dad (Bob), Nathan, and Mom (Paula)

I was driving home and chatting with my sister, Laura, when dad texted both of us from a doctor’s office at Emory. “Read it!” I commanded, since I was behind the wheel. Emotion overflowed as she read, “It’s benign! Susan, it’s benign!”

Three weeks of waiting had come to an end.

While relief flooded in, we knew a battle still lay ahead. And in less than a week, my mom will have surgery to remove a nasty growth in her mouth. I’ve seen it. It’s ugly. And depending on how far it’s grown, there’s a chance the surgeon will have to leave a hole in her soft palate, affecting her speech as well as her ability to sing.

This may sound odd, but the singing part troubles me most—and that from a forty plus year old who struggles to walk.

My family has been singing together for as long as I can remember. We attended First Presbyterian Church in Douglasville back in the seventies when the chapel and a small house were the only structures on the property. The small choir allowed youngsters like me to join. And one night as we drove home from a Wednesday night practice, my dad, mom, sister and I started singing what we’d gone over that night, the four part Hallelujah, Amen from Judas Maccabaeus by Handel.

Dad sang bass, and mom, soprano. Laura filled in with tenor, and me, alto. And there, in the confines of our rusty old Suburban, Dad’s love of barbershop found a new outlet—us—his family.

Soon, we huddled around the piano, learning barbershop tunes. We were never famous. But we sang everywhere we went: in the car, on the San Francisco Pier, on an island off the coast of Finland, in numerous Presbyterian churches across the US and as far away as Honolulu, and in the galley of airplanes when pilot dad knew the flight attendants on board.

As lead, I was often amused, while sister, the baritone, fought embarrassment. Much younger brother, Mark, well, he just sang whatever he felt like, creating more amusement than we knew till we videotaped ourselves years later—a few months before Laura left for college.

Tears fell as we tried to sing one last tune in our garage before driving her north to William and Mary. We feared the music was gone forever.

But a few years later, my mom, a vocal performance major, stood by the same piano and taught me Italian classics for my own college audition. Vanderbilt University offered me a scholarship and soon I was off singing opera as my voice teacher warned against the perils of barbershop—which reminds me that dad once had us sing for him in the Blair Recital Hall.

No place on earth intimidates barbershop dad.

After Mark grew and gave mom space and time, she auditioned for the Atlanta Symphony Chorus and has now sung and traveled with them for over twenty years, including performances in Carnegie Hall and Germany. And in recent years, she’s driven me to Athens several times to hear my oldest son perform as a voice student at the Hugh Hodgson School of Music. Just over a month ago, he sang the song mom taught me for my college audition during his junior recital. And I was there, reminiscing.

A few weeks later, our family gathered for a birthday celebration. My niece insisted we sing the one barbershop song everyone knows: A Spiritual Medley.  Mom, dad, sister, brother, brother-in-law, my two sons, a niece, and three nephews sang their part with feeling.

The music had multiplied and filled every heart in the room.

So it’s hard to imagine my mom not being able to sing—hard to picture a birthday gathering without her high soprano voice adding its unique harmony to our amazing renditions of Happy Birthday. But I’m comforted knowing that no matter what happens in the operating room four days from now, her song will go on and the voice that once comforted me with lullaby’s will not soon be forgotten.

“Speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord…” (Eph. 5: 19)

An Evening at Shoplifter's Bible Study

Check out: www.shopgofish.com

They walked in the door covered with shame. Apologies tumbled out as they shook Don's hand and gave back the items they had stolen from our store. Heavy footsteps carried them to where I stood in the back, waiting for everyone to gather in the circle of chairs. I smiled and reached out my hand and said, "Please don't ever steal from our store again!"


More apologies from lost souls.

Several years ago, Don learned to organize our store in such a way that he can quickly tell when an item is missing. Between his diligence and our video camera system, he's caught quite a number of shoplifters. Amazingly enough, most of them purchase items at the same time they're stealing. So credit card information leads to their identity and the video to police response.

He nabbed three about a month ago and after an initial greeting, we sat in a circle as Don passed out Go Fish Bibles and began his intro to Shoplifter's Bible Study.

"When I first caught folks who stole from us," he offered, "I wanted to pinch their little heads off. It felt like they'd rooted through my underwear drawer, violating me. But a short time later, I was convicted by a verse, Matthew 5: 43 - 45."

He had everyone find the verse in their Bible and read, "You have heard it said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven."

Tears fell. Their remorse overwhelmed me. But I actually fought a giggle.

I knew from years past that after Don spent about thirty minutes making them face their sin head on, he would offer them a deal of a lifetime. Instead of conviction, probation, or possible jail time, they could attend Shoplifter's Bible Study for four weeks and if they showed up and participated, he would drop the charges. It was that simple. And I wanted to bust with the good news as they squirmed, apologized, and wiped away many tears.

I stayed quiet instead. And while Don talked about the severity of their crime, I relished the deal the God of heaven made with us. It's good news: Accept Jesus, live for him and in return have access to freedom from sin, joy in sorrow, and more than enough hope for every day.

I know all that, yet I squirm in shame, guilt, and remorse, unable to grasp the fierce reality of the cross many days.

But when Don finally told them the deal and deep relief altered their countenance, for a moment, their joy was mine. Their get out of jail card the same as the one heaven offers me.

Tears dried. And they willingly agreed to return and complete their first assignment: to read the book of John. As we held hands and prayed I asked that the God of heaven would give all of us "power together with all the saints to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that we would be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God." (Eph. 3 : 18 - 19)

In the end, only two of three came back. The other, who always claimed health issues, had energy for shopping but not Bible Study. She didn't take the deal. Some just don't.

But while others were at the beach this week for spring break (leaving me drooling over their photos on FB), we hosted the last of the four gatherings Monday night. The couple even brought a friend who wanted to meet the Christian man who had offered his friends such grace. When we huddled in prayer for the last time, they're restitution was complete. Redemption theirs for the taking.

They are grateful to Don. But we hope they realize they really should thank The One who touched Don's heart and compelled him to offer the undeserved grace that has changed his life.

While long retail hours some times leave me struggling to appreciate our sunshine store, I have never been more proud of my husband than when I watched him speak life to those who stole from him. He planted seeds, discipled lost souls, and hopefully made an impact they will never forget.

It would be nice to "get away from it all" some day, but perhaps staying put was indeed the better choice. For now. For today. For the change that was made.

Read more about our store at: Go Fish Clothing and Jewelry and stop in for a visit some day:

 

 

Go Fish Marietta130 S. Park Square
Marietta, GA 30060
(770) 421-2495
Don and Susan Davis
marietta@shopgofish.com
facebook.com/gofishmarietta

What It's Really All About



Mosaic Cross


In less than four hours fifteen family members will arrive to celebrate my oldest son's twenty-first birthday. I love parties; love hosting gatherings in my home. But as a struggling mitochondrial disease afflicted mom, it's not easy.

I about went over an edge two days ago. My brother fainted in a restaurant and spent a night in the hospital. My family was (and still is) waiting for the results of a second biopsy on a growth in my mother's mouth. And my surgery foot hurt in a new way that had me close to that edge by each days end.

It all seemed a little much.

After a doctor visit and MRI of my foot yesterday, I sat in a pharmacy waiting to pick up pain meds. My podiatrist thinks I've suffered a stress fracture and encouraged me to take the pills. My knee scooter and I were settled in when an older gentleman with dark sunglasses sat next to me and said, "Do you mind if I ask why you're not just using crutches?"

"Not at all. Give it a spin," I replied,"it's a lot more fun than crutches." He didn't accept my offer so I continued, "I battle a neuro muscular condition and had to have ankle surgery recently that required six weeks of no weight bearing. I couldn't have maneuvered on just crutches. This was much easier."

"Oh," he replied, "That makes sense. Will you get better?"

Surprised by his candor I replied, "Probably not. But it's OK. God keeps taking care of me."

"I've been sick a lot lately," he offered. "But I'm a lot older than you."

 "What's up with you?" I asked.

He went on to describe a litany of physical ailments that have plagued him the last six months -a recent heart attack being the scariest. As I listened to him and thought about the fact I don't even know what I've done that could have caused a stress fracture, I blurted, "You know what? The good thing is today really counts. Good Friday really matters!"

He told me he goes to church but lives alone and worries about how much longer he can handle life on his own. I didn't have an answer for his concerns. But the closest I got to a Good Friday service yesterday was the few moments I shared with that man, knowing we could both handle what lies ahead because of what happened on the cross.

My doctor just called. The MRI showed a stress fracture so I get to heal all over again. But that time with my pharmacy friend reminded me again of what it's really all about.

There's a battle down here; a battle for our hearts. Which is why the Apostle Peter commanded us to, "Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings." (1 Pet. 5: 8 - 9)

That enemy of our souls wants nothing more than to convince us, through all the crazy stuff that happens every day, that the God of heaven does not love us. And yet the God of heaven sent His son to die a brutal death as payment for every life that walks this earth - yours and mine included.

Believing that divine truth every day, no matter the pain and suffering in our lives (or the lives around us) requires courage and rising above what we feel in the moment.

He loves us. The God of heaven cares deeply about our lives. Good Friday counts. And Easter Sunday even more.

A friend of mine from high school lost her husband to ALS last Sunday morning. The mother of five posted this on her Facebook page only a few hours later,

"'For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.' (John 3:16) My sweet husband went to be with Jesus this morning. Thank you Lord for granting him eternal life and for giving me peace knowing that he is with you. I love you honey and will be with you again before you know it."

That's faith in the moment; a hurting one choosing the eternal perspective that allows the peace that passes understanding to transform the darkest of nights.

 It's time for a shower and pain medicine. And for a party to celebrate life. Because "God so loved the world..."

Savoring the Little Things

A neurologist suggested a pain medicine change about a month ago. Over the next few weeks, I stopped the two pain meds I'd been taking, and allowed Effexor to do its thing. I'm different now. Calmer and pain free. But almost so calm, it's easier to rest than to push to do the extras - like writing.

As soon as the migraine medicine Topamax was eliminated, I slept through the night without the jarring anxious thoughts that used to wake me around 3 am. What a relief. Knowing scripture commands that we do not worry, I longed for my middle of the night thoughts to calm. Effexor has helped.

Amitriptyline was the next to go. It was first prescribed for me over ten years ago by a doctor at the Mayo clinic in Minnesota. I traveled north after local doctors couldn't offer an explanation for severe wrist pain. The cause remained unclear, but the prescription eased the pain. It made me quite sleepy, though, especially when Baclofen was added to combat my spastic legs five years later.

So in time, I asked for a change. Two years ago, that change involved Topamax, which I could only handle at a very small dosage because it increased anxiety. I didn't realize how much it had affected me till I stopped it a month ago.

It's much easier to savor the little things now.

I don't write about them much, but I teach close to twenty students a week. On Tuesdays my teaching day ends with nine-year-old Sophia. I wait till the end of her lesson to sing The Candy Man. Harmonizing with her young voice as she bounces to the music melts my worries every time.




On Thursdays I meet with Landon who has nailed his new piece every week for the last month. His enthusiasm has fueled my own and helped me value what I do. Because in my self scripted life, I was Amy Grant by now, traveling the world and performing my songs to sold out crowds.

My left ankle is quite swollen instead, and both legs unstable. So I didn't even try to fly to Philly this weekend with my sister and mom to see my aging grandparents. My boys made an unexpected trip home, though, so I'm savoring time with them... along with the fresh flowers on my table from Judy and Sue (pictured above); an unexpected email from a friend; new paint on my bedroom walls; Kalso Earth Shoes that disguise my awkward gait; a closet full of colorful batik dresses from our Go Fish store; and a husband who stays by side and loves me when I can't maneuver far.

Sophia's favorite line from our song states, "Who can take tomorrow, dip it in a dream, separate the sorrow and collect up all the cream? ... The candy man can 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good."

The words may seem simplistic. But then again, when "you separate the sorrow and collect up all the cream", there's much to savor in life and even love to pass along.

I can't claim to have conjured up a good attitude all on my own. Yes, the right drug helped. It's not an easy journey down here. Which is why Paul encouraged us by writing, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus..." (Phil. 4: 6-7)

Helping us savor the little things that keep life very much worth living.

Team Trey and Aunt Susan Attempt to Save the World

Transitioning from knee scooter to two legged mobility proved more of a challenge than I expected. A new therapy tool loosened the tight joint this weekend, lifting the fog from my brain. I would never have guessed a rolling pin, suggested by my physical therapist to message my leg, would have been the tool of choice. I'll never roll a pie crust the same again.

As I struggled to walk and keep my heart from overwhelm, I remembered a story I promised to write months ago... because Team Trey and Aunt Susan never want to forget the 2 AM rally cry that rocked our vacation world last summer.

We've lost count of how many years our family has traveled to Sandestin for a week thanks to my Dad's time share generosity. He reserves three units on the bay side and 13 of us head that way. Since Jessica, my sister's daughter, asked to bring a female friend last year, the girls bunked in my sister's unit while the four male cousins stayed in mine. Thus my six-foot-four, fifteen-year-old nephew, Trey, was asleep on the pull out sofa outside my bedroom door when strange noises woke me.

Trey is pictured far left... then Kimber, Jess, Nathan, Sam, and Josh.

At first I thought a fight had broken out on the floor above me. But when I crawled out of bed and opened my bedroom door, I realized the sound was coming from outside our main entrance. Trey woke up and followed me to the door.

I peered out the peep hole and saw two females, a blond and brunette. We were still considering our options when they attacked each other in a bonafide cat fight. I didn't think. I just got mad and swung the door open and chewed the girls out for making so much noise in the middle of the night.

Trey later said, "Man, Aunt Susan you sounded bossy and mad."

 "I didn't just sound mad," I replied,  "I was mad."

My resolve surprised me. I'd spent the week maneuvering for the first time with my new red walker, purchased for the trip. Still, after strolling on the sand, my ankles were much weaker than normal. Earlier that evening, I'd gazed at the ocean from a far, unwilling to risk the short walk to the water's edge.

I felt weak and disabled. Not bossy and strong.

But the girls froze after my scolding. Apologies tumbled out as they begged us not to call security. Bloodshot eyes and bloody wounds explained the reason for the fight. The youngest claimed her older step-sister caused the bike wreck. Having lost the key to the unit next to ours, they pounded on the door and rang the bell, in a vain attempt to wake their parents.

Team Trey and Aunt Susan went into action. I kept the girls from going at it again while Trey searched for first aid items. When bandages and antiseptic arrived, I knelt over the accident victim and cleaned her wounds as she wept.

We stayed with them for at least twenty if not thirty minutes until their mom finally opened the door. In that time, my anger gave way to grave concern. I shared as much Jesus as I could to under-age, intoxicated, college girls while cleaning cuts and scrapes in my pajamas.

Definitely not our norm.

When they disappeared behind the door, the yelling grew loud again. Trey and I listened in stunned silence as the voices carried through the walls. Sandestin is a classy resort. Tending to mayhem in the middle of night had never seemed a potential.

We saw the girls one last time before leaving the next morning. They apologized again. And my heart broke; their deep wounds clear.

Trey and his brothers spent a night at my home during Christmas break. With only four controllers for five kids, Trey left the video game action and found me in the kitchen.  As we talked, we resurrected the memory. I hadn't thought about it in months. But I've thought about it several times since.

Bottom line, it doesn't matter how weak my ankles get or how slow my pace may be. As Paul stated, "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) Towering Trey played body guard while I took action that night, making us a perfect team to shine. So as I continue to heal and live with more limits than before, I'm grateful that in spite of my disabilities, God can use me.

I often forget. So I write to remember.

"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." (Is. 40: 29 - 31)

Bonnie and Lu

Luanne and Bonnie looking beautiful for the Atlanta MDA Night of Hope Gala

Meet Bonnie and Lu, two ladies from my Monday night Bible study. They share a friendship so rare, I wrote their story for The Hometown Advantage Newspaper last November. I'll post it here in honor of Valentine's Weekend and our Father's love that flows into our lives in so ways:

They met in the halls of Vanderbilt Hospital, both concerned about one they loved. Luanne, the sister, and Bonnie, the girlfriend, hurried to Eddie’s side when pancreatic cancer forced him to travel by ambulance to Nashville, several hours from his home. Bonnie drove from Atlanta, Luanne, from Memphis.

Bonnie knew about Luanne. But Luanne had not heard about Bonnie—until Eddie confessed from the back of the ambulance via cellphone as they all converged on music city. The future sister-in-laws cared for Eddie and parted ways having no idea how their lives would eventually intertwine.

None of us do. But for them, it started on an internet dating site nine months earlier.

Divorced after a short marriage early in life, Bonnie remained single for years before she became the sole caregiver for her mom. Due to ongoing demands, she didn’t have much of a social life until after her mother died. Over fifty years old, she had dinner with a few frogs before finding her prince.

Eddie made it clear soon after they met online in January of 2007 that he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. But their shared interests and love of life drew them together despite the prognosis.

“Eddie took each day as it came,” Bonnie remembers, “His favorite saying was, ‘Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about getting out there and dancing in the rain.’”

So when he begged her to meet him a month later in Birmingham—complete with driver’s license photo verification—she ignored her friend’s fears and packed a bag.  Soon they met monthly, whether for fun or chemo treatments. And six months later he took her home to meet his parents.

Not long after, she met Lu at the hospital and Eddie took disability and moved home, closer to Bonnie and his family.  An engagement ring soon appeared on her finger. And a year to the day they met on line, Bonnie and Eddie eloped. A simple, sweet wedding.

For eight months, Eddie was chemo free and they traveled. They camped, visited national parks, combined getaways with Bonnie’s work, and enjoyed the sweetness of new love.

By September of 2008, however, blood work indicated the cancer returned. Life calmed and Eddie started chemo again. Three weeks on, one off. The treatments were grueling, but at the end of the day, they had each other.

In mid-December, Bonnie fell at work, slid across the floor, and hit her elbows into the wall. Her fingers went numb and hurt for months. A neuro-surgeon diagnosed degenerative disk disease and performed surgery on her neck the following summer, expecting her hands to return to normal.

They got worse instead.

The determined duo made a few travel memories post-surgery. But then Eddie’s health slowly failed while Bonnie lost the ability to move her left arm.

By November, Eddie was worse but still able to help Bonnie dress. The day after Christmas, he fell and was admitted to a local hospital. Three days later, Bonnie saw a neurologist who said, “The only diagnosis for you I can’t rule out is ALS.” As she processed the disheartening news, she watched her husband slip from this life to the next. Seven days after he breathed his last.

 Enter Luanne.

She shared, “I’d been out of a job for almost a year. So after the funeral, I asked Bonnie, ‘Do you need me to drive you home?’ And I’ve been here ever since.”

 “There was so much to do,” she recalled. “We bonded and forged a team. Her left arm was useless and the right one was starting to go. Not only was Bonnie grieving the loss of her husband, she was facing a serious illness. There were a few times I thought, ‘I can’t do this, God. It’s too hard.’ And a song at church or a scripture I would read always brought peace.”

Bonnie offered, “Lu is a lot like Eddie. When I look at her, I see part of him. She laughs at the same things he laughed at and I love that about her. It reminds me of Romans 8:28, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

Lu has now lived with Bonnie longer than Bonnie was married to Eddie. They’re lives part of a patch work quilt knit together by God’s redemptive love.

Bonnie didn’t just find a husband on that internet dating site. She found a friend truer than many ever find—a sister by love—someone to care for her after she spent a lifetime pouring out.

Bonnie still has a journey ahead. But Lu is walking by her side.

Week Five, Day Seven: Top Ten List

It's hard to believe I haven't taken a normal step in almost six weeks. I've scooted to and from everywhere, living the bare minimum. But that changes tomorrow. Soon I'll know if I'll push through pain straight into mobility, or if discomfort will impede progress, requiring continued support from my star wars boot.

I won't know till I take my first steps - tomorrow.

While I'd like to claim I've survived the last six weeks with seamless faith and peace, it's been hard. Increased activity led to Friday fatigue. Friday fatigue left me stuck in bed. And long days of rest made me long for normal life.

But the deep quiet in my house today, enhanced by a peaceful rain, reminds me to dig deep, to relax in the process, and to trust through the pain. The only other choice is worry, and worry helps nothing.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?" (Matt. 6: 25 -27)

I saw my doctor Thursday morning. During my last check up (I thought) he implied I would walk when I saw him this week. He instructed me to wait through the weekend, instead. And the slowest three days began. I've hunkered down at home, waiting for six-weeks-post-surgery to dawn.

Now as minutes turn to hours and hours lead to Downton Abbey (which will end at bedtime, indicating morning is on its way), I've decided to consider the top ten best things about living with no weight bearing for six weeks starting Dec. 31, 2012. God has his reasons and searching for them leads to gold. So...

#1 - My (fake) Christmas tree is still decorated and lit. Happy Valentine's Day, indeed.
#2 - I haven't stepped into a grocery store since 2012.
#3 - I've been forced to communicate my needs to my husband - something that's easy to avoid when you can just do it yourself but makes for a better marriage.
#4 - Several Bible study friends have driven me to far away follow up surgery appointments, transforming the tedious, long trips into fun outings.
#5 - Folks from church have delivered meals every other day for two weeks. While I never knew who was coming or what they were bringing, their service kept us fed.
#6 - Don scrubbed a bathtub for me - seriously!
#7 - OK - even though I'm weary of 24/7 scooter time, the scooter should be on the list. Rolling down long halls with smooth floors is cheap therapy.
#8 - Most of January passed with me indoors, snuggled in flannels, avoiding cold weather.
#9 - I've saved on make up and gas money.
#10 - I opened the book One Thousand Gifts and remembered Eucharisteo.

Here's to God's goodness which I too easily forget... and to my sister who hosted a Trey birthday/super bowl party last weekend that got both boys back home. Love the cousin camaraderie.

 

"Now, our God, we give you thanks, and praise your glorious name." (1 Chronicles 29: 13)

Monday Night Musings with the Mosaics

(This story first ran in The Hometown Advantage newspaper in Douglasville, Ga in early December.)

 

When you can't leave for home for weeks at a time, reentry to life is a process. Senses dull after too much time on the sofa. But I spent last Monday night with the Mosaics and was reawakened me to how much I value their friendship, their comradery, and their devotion to Jesus. I love these women and post this story in honor of their lives and how much they've changed my own - even if it's holiday themed.

My dear friends: The Mosaics

They came into my life at just the right time – like the baby born in Bethlehem sent to change the world. I met The Mosaics four days after my youngest left for college. My tears had barely dried when an acquaintance at church asked if I wanted to join the motley Bible Study crew. We met the following night.

 

Attendees include a woman with ALS who can’t use her arms; a young mom with severe vision issues after a botched Lasik eye surgery; a vibrant brunette with digestive problems that require gastric tubing she carries in a backpack; not to mention the mom whose son had a stroke at five years of age and another whose daughter suffers from spina bifida.

 

While their stories made mine feel small, I wasn’t sure what to think. Several years before I’d married a newly widowed man whose friends had not finished grieving his first wife. No one's really to blame but as I took on the role of his new wife, I battled rejection on several fronts. Real or imagined, most of it came from females which left me leery of women’s Bible studies, women's ministry events, and really just about women's anything.

 

A neuromuscular illness didn't make things easier. After numerous medical procedures over the course of two years, my youngest son and I were diagnosed with mitochondrial disease. Weak muscles. Bungled nerves.  It all took a mental toll. And while I had no doubt the God of the universe had carried me through the loss of my first husband and 10 years as a single mom, I struggled to find my footing in this new season—on unsteady legs with a wounded heart.

 

The Bible tells us that Jesus was born after 400 years of prophetic silence. Generations of Israelites lived without a fresh word from God; without a prophet promising one more time that the Messiah was coming and still looking out for them.

 

400 years they waited.

 

And then he came, to a stable no less.  And the first to see Immanuel, God with Us was a motley crew of simple, dirty shepherds.  Well-dressed Magi later came from the East—both divinely led to the manger—representing the broad spectrum of humanity. Even as the divine entered the world, heralded by angels from on high, God demonstrated that He came for everyone

 

After navigating a few of my own silent-type years, I drove to Bonnie’s home, where the study meets, and opened the book of James.

 

Over time I learned more about The Mosaics and the broken roads that led them to Jesus. Some grew up in the church. Other’s had strayed. Some live in big houses. Some live in houses that could fit in another's living room. Some are divorced and single, wondering when God will bring their Prince Charming. Others are sorting through hard marriages, longing to honor God and their husbands. Throw in the physical maladies—and the motorcycle driving chic—and there's no shortness of prayer requests as we wrap up each week.

 

But they welcomed me. This ragamuffin group welcomed me. And in time, they even made me feel normal—something very few have been able to do for quite some time. As I spend time with them I'm able to face my own brokenness with greater confidence. Not because of anything in me but because we all know we need the redemption that came in the form of the baby on that first Christmas Day; the redemption that arrived in a manger and was met by a group as motley and varied as we are.

 

The rich and the poor, the Kings and the paupers, the severely broken and those who might have just felt whole—all brought together by a divine act, by angels who sang, by Wise Men who followed a star, and by a loving God who laid down his life for all of humanity and said, “I’m coming.  I’m coming now. In this moment I’m here for you always.”

 

This Christmas I celebrate Jesus and The Mosaics—a colorful group of broken women who earnestly seek God and together make something beautiful. Their faith has strengthened mine. Their friendship is making me new. And because of that baby, we’re leaving more of our pasts behind and pressing on towards what’s ahead.

 

“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” (Is. 60: 1)

Sunshine Alley and the Princess Chair

A view from the top

When I learned I was facing six weeks no weight bearing (post ankle reconstruction), I wondered how I'd get in and out of my home. Once inside, everything I need is on one floor. But getting there requires a nine stair climb to the front or back door - or a sixteen stair haul from the basement.

A friend of a friend was selling a stair chair. Legal issues postponed the sale. But when I thought it was on its way a few weeks before Christmas, I forgot about presents and decorations and bought paint. Riding up and down a tired, dirty basement stairwell had little appeal.

I planned to go conservative: brown steps; beige walls. But when I perused color choices at Home Depot one evening in mid-December, I spotted Bay Side and Moon Dance. Within an hour, I squatted on the steps, brush in hand, and transformed the tired stairs.

The teal color didn't panic me until I noticed Killer the Cat (named by my spouse) half way down the stairs.

"No, Killer, no!" Wide eyed, she froze.

"Stay, Killer. Don't move." As if she would respond to dog type commands.

The gray feline bolted up the stairs while I envisioned Bay Side cat prints all over my kitchen and living room floor. When panic gave way to action, I hopped every other step to the kitchen - on dry paint. No prints. No mess. Deep sigh.

Two sweet girls, Makayla and Olivia, painted the walls with me a few days later and Sunshine Alley was ready for the Princess Chair. The chair didn't arrive until last week. But my husband worked every night until it was installed, so I can now exit with ease.



Don and Killer resting after installing the device last week.

Truth: Every time another handicap device enters my world, I battle mixed emotions. Gratefulness overrides the sadness but I go through odd mental gyrations as the reality of the need continues. I want to be strong; to be able to climb stairs without assistance. But for now, I'll embrace my new ride, thankful for my husband who agreed to the purchase and installed the heavy device without gouging our kitchen floor.

A friend, Rosemary, brought me the book One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp. On page 53 she wrote, "I name gifts and go back to the Garden and God in the beginning who first speaks a name and lets what is come into existence. This naming is how the first emptiness of space fills the naming of light and land and sky. The first man's first task is to name. Adam completes creation with his Maker through the act of naming creatures, releasing the land from chaos, from the teeming, indefinable mass. I am seeing it too, in the journal, in the face of the Farmer: naming offers the gift of recognition. When I name moments - string out laundry and name-pray, thank you, Lord, for bedsheets in billowing winds, for fluff of sparrow landing on line, sun winter warm, and one last leaf still hanging in the orchard - I am Adam and I discover my meaning and God's, and to name is to learn the language of Paradise."

So ride I will, up - and down - Sunshine Alley on my Princess Chair. Their names, a declaration of good and gratitude, hopefully, even a leaning towards the language of Paradise.