If you know me, you know that I love to laugh! Seriously...love. But lately I find that my heart is heavy and I'm not laughing as much. I am a person who cares about everything, but sometimes I care too much and things that wouldn't cause other people to so much as pause will keep me from sleep for weeks.
I am at such a place right now. I won't go into specifics because a) you never know who is reading a blog and b) I believe I can ask you to pray for me without mentioning specifics. God knows, trust me He knows.
So that you don't worry, there is no new health issue, no family issue, no child issue, nothing that need cause you worry. Just a "body of Christ" issue that I'm praying through and I'm asking you to pray with me.
Don't worry, I'll be back to funny before long. I hope. Thank you.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Flowering the cross
I'm going to start with a confession. I'm not an artist. Beauty often escapes me. I often don't get symbolism. If I see a black canvas, I don't think about the deep and meaningful things it might symbolize. I think somebody should slap some color on that baby! When I see a Jackson Pollock painting, I honestly think, "I could do that." When I was in High School, I had the wonderful opportunity to visit the Smithsonian Museums twice. When we came across the "Venus de Milo" ( a copy, I'm sure) I actually said, out loud, "I didn't do that!" I then proceeded around the National Museum of Art saying, "I don't get it." (However, I totally got the beauty of Fonzie's leather jacket and Dorothy's ruby red slippers.) True story, with witnesses. Did I mention, I often don't get art? In many churches, there are a lot of beautiful rituals and symbols. In the Baptist church, we don't utilize a lot of symbolism. I do understand much of the symbolism used in the Bible. I "get" the Bible. I don't "get" some of the things churches are teaching these days.
There is a custom among Catholic and many liturgical churches called "flowering the cross."
Children put flowers, usually fresh flowers, on a cross on Easter morning as way to symbolize the new life that emerges from the death on Good Friday. I have never heard of this until tonight. I'm willing to concede that this may be beautiful and packed with meaning and lessons. I'm putting this at the top, so you'll know that I understand that it is a real thing. I'd love to hear about how wonderful it is, feel free to leave your thoughts on it as comments. However, I don't get it. I'm probably about to offend a few folks.
Today I saw a sight that quite frankly offended me. It was a big cross covered in chicken wire and white silk flowers. I assume that even though it isn't Easter, it was supposed to symbolize something like what I mentioned above. I saw it as a symbol of what is wrong with Christianity. I'll explain.
I've been concerned about the state of the church and youth ministry lately. I spent a large portion of the last couple of years as a teacher of High School girls and general youth worker. I loved it. I tried to be a Titus 2 woman and as an older woman teach the younger women. I loved it. "My girls" will always be precious to me. Many of them are about to graduate, including my own sweet Ashley. They have almost without exception grown into mighty warrior women for Jesus. However, statistics say that most of them will graduate from high school and never darken the doorstep of a church again. Many will walk away from their childhood faith. According to Barna, “despite strong levels of spiritual activity during the teen years, most twentysomethings disengage from active participation in the Christian faith during their young adult years - and often beyond that. In total, six out of ten twentysomethings were involved in a church during their teen years, but have failed to translate that into active spirituality during their early adulthood.” This terrifies me! Somewhere, somehow, church, we are failing. When I say church, I don't mean the building, I'm talking about the people. You and me.
Parents have decided to let the schools and the church raise their kids with disastrous results. Not me, mind you. I am the Queen and I will not abdicate the throne! During my time with the youth, I could not believe how unplugged parents are. I shouldn't know more about your kids' life than you do. We are failing to teach our kids respect for life, respect for other people, respect for their elders, manners, modesty, and how to have some common courtesy. The most tragic thing we are failing to teach our kids is Jesus. We are not passing to them our faith.
Some churches have so watered down the gospel, I wonder if God recognizes it. We tell everyone what they want to hear. If you tithe to your church, you will be rich. If you love your fellow man, isn't that all God asks of us? The only sexual sin we talk about is homosexuality. If you tithe, love everybody and manage to avoid being attracted to the same sex, you're in! What a bunch of poppycock! We don't teach them God's Word. We don't help them understand the Word. We don't challenge them to learn the scripture...or even learn to find passages in the Bible. We don't teach them to live out and breathe in the very Word of The Holy God. We assume they aren't going to read scripture anyway. We teach people to be good parents, employees or dog owners. We teach them that a big church is a good church. We pretty up the Word so it doesn't offend anyone. How are we going to grow in number and be culturally relevant if we are offending people? In many youth ministries they play lots of cool games, have some relevant music and go on some fun trips. They teach the kids those things above and if they are very progressive they add, "don't have sex." Hmm. I wonder why they aren't buying it? Everybody knows you can't fool kids and old people.
When I saw that flowered up cross, I saw an image of today's church. Covered in chicken wire to hold and hide the scars, struggles and splinters. Decoupaged with flowers to show how beautiful your Christian life will be. Silk flowers to show that your faith will never fade or grow weak. Claim Jesus and it will be beautiful and easy and you will never hit an ugly spot in life. This is the lie we are selling and our kids are walking away from this product because they realize it is foolishness when they hit the first bump in the road. The ones that are buying it are no better off.
A more realistic showing of the cross would have big old railroad tie holes, blood, bits of flesh stuck in the wood, splinters and some sweat. Those big old holes symbolize where your Savior and mine was nailed to the cross. They represent the very real price paid for our sin. My sin required more that a staple. They remind me not to go there again. The blood was spilled to redeem me from hell. I don't belong to Satan, I'm a child of the King. The splinters are for the little struggles and setbacks in life that distract us from being fully sold out to Jesus. I can't possibly read my Bible daily and get my kids to soccer practice too. Splinter. The flesh torn from the back of our Savior I think represents our faith. Sometimes it might get torn apart until we feel there's nothing left. Stripping the flesh off our faith and leaving us laid raw is something we don't see coming until it is almost too late. The sweat represents us growing in Christ as we struggle to live out our faith. It is for sharing our faith with someone who doesn't want to hear. It is for pulling out that Bible and studying the Word. It is calling a godly friend or even pastor and laying your doubts on the table.
We need to stop teaching that "flowery cross" gospel. I understand the fact that Jesus is no longer on the cross and that He suffered all of that for me. I don't believe for a minute that He did it so we could be rich or happy or good. He did it to redeem his Bride from the very pit of hell. We need to be concerned that we are losing our young people. We need to be concerned about all of the big fat baby adult Christians. I am not slamming the church. I have a special love for the church, however, I'm not blind. I love youth Ministry and have had the privilege to grow up in a great one and to work with some godly youth ministers who grieve over these statistics. I know many who are doing what they can to help avoid the mass exodus of our kids from the church and subsequently their faith. Don't think I'm blaming only the church. I think parents need to do their Deuteronomy job. But I don't have any room in my life for a "flowery cross," I need to be reminded of the ugly, violent, struggle and the holy price paid for me.
For an intelligent discussion on the merits of children's and youth ministries, see http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/the-liturgical-gangstas-4-what-about-childrens-and-youth-ministries. Something to think about.
There is a custom among Catholic and many liturgical churches called "flowering the cross."
Children put flowers, usually fresh flowers, on a cross on Easter morning as way to symbolize the new life that emerges from the death on Good Friday. I have never heard of this until tonight. I'm willing to concede that this may be beautiful and packed with meaning and lessons. I'm putting this at the top, so you'll know that I understand that it is a real thing. I'd love to hear about how wonderful it is, feel free to leave your thoughts on it as comments. However, I don't get it. I'm probably about to offend a few folks.
Today I saw a sight that quite frankly offended me. It was a big cross covered in chicken wire and white silk flowers. I assume that even though it isn't Easter, it was supposed to symbolize something like what I mentioned above. I saw it as a symbol of what is wrong with Christianity. I'll explain.
I've been concerned about the state of the church and youth ministry lately. I spent a large portion of the last couple of years as a teacher of High School girls and general youth worker. I loved it. I tried to be a Titus 2 woman and as an older woman teach the younger women. I loved it. "My girls" will always be precious to me. Many of them are about to graduate, including my own sweet Ashley. They have almost without exception grown into mighty warrior women for Jesus. However, statistics say that most of them will graduate from high school and never darken the doorstep of a church again. Many will walk away from their childhood faith. According to Barna, “despite strong levels of spiritual activity during the teen years, most twentysomethings disengage from active participation in the Christian faith during their young adult years - and often beyond that. In total, six out of ten twentysomethings were involved in a church during their teen years, but have failed to translate that into active spirituality during their early adulthood.” This terrifies me! Somewhere, somehow, church, we are failing. When I say church, I don't mean the building, I'm talking about the people. You and me.
Parents have decided to let the schools and the church raise their kids with disastrous results. Not me, mind you. I am the Queen and I will not abdicate the throne! During my time with the youth, I could not believe how unplugged parents are. I shouldn't know more about your kids' life than you do. We are failing to teach our kids respect for life, respect for other people, respect for their elders, manners, modesty, and how to have some common courtesy. The most tragic thing we are failing to teach our kids is Jesus. We are not passing to them our faith.
Some churches have so watered down the gospel, I wonder if God recognizes it. We tell everyone what they want to hear. If you tithe to your church, you will be rich. If you love your fellow man, isn't that all God asks of us? The only sexual sin we talk about is homosexuality. If you tithe, love everybody and manage to avoid being attracted to the same sex, you're in! What a bunch of poppycock! We don't teach them God's Word. We don't help them understand the Word. We don't challenge them to learn the scripture...or even learn to find passages in the Bible. We don't teach them to live out and breathe in the very Word of The Holy God. We assume they aren't going to read scripture anyway. We teach people to be good parents, employees or dog owners. We teach them that a big church is a good church. We pretty up the Word so it doesn't offend anyone. How are we going to grow in number and be culturally relevant if we are offending people? In many youth ministries they play lots of cool games, have some relevant music and go on some fun trips. They teach the kids those things above and if they are very progressive they add, "don't have sex." Hmm. I wonder why they aren't buying it? Everybody knows you can't fool kids and old people.
When I saw that flowered up cross, I saw an image of today's church. Covered in chicken wire to hold and hide the scars, struggles and splinters. Decoupaged with flowers to show how beautiful your Christian life will be. Silk flowers to show that your faith will never fade or grow weak. Claim Jesus and it will be beautiful and easy and you will never hit an ugly spot in life. This is the lie we are selling and our kids are walking away from this product because they realize it is foolishness when they hit the first bump in the road. The ones that are buying it are no better off.
A more realistic showing of the cross would have big old railroad tie holes, blood, bits of flesh stuck in the wood, splinters and some sweat. Those big old holes symbolize where your Savior and mine was nailed to the cross. They represent the very real price paid for our sin. My sin required more that a staple. They remind me not to go there again. The blood was spilled to redeem me from hell. I don't belong to Satan, I'm a child of the King. The splinters are for the little struggles and setbacks in life that distract us from being fully sold out to Jesus. I can't possibly read my Bible daily and get my kids to soccer practice too. Splinter. The flesh torn from the back of our Savior I think represents our faith. Sometimes it might get torn apart until we feel there's nothing left. Stripping the flesh off our faith and leaving us laid raw is something we don't see coming until it is almost too late. The sweat represents us growing in Christ as we struggle to live out our faith. It is for sharing our faith with someone who doesn't want to hear. It is for pulling out that Bible and studying the Word. It is calling a godly friend or even pastor and laying your doubts on the table.
We need to stop teaching that "flowery cross" gospel. I understand the fact that Jesus is no longer on the cross and that He suffered all of that for me. I don't believe for a minute that He did it so we could be rich or happy or good. He did it to redeem his Bride from the very pit of hell. We need to be concerned that we are losing our young people. We need to be concerned about all of the big fat baby adult Christians. I am not slamming the church. I have a special love for the church, however, I'm not blind. I love youth Ministry and have had the privilege to grow up in a great one and to work with some godly youth ministers who grieve over these statistics. I know many who are doing what they can to help avoid the mass exodus of our kids from the church and subsequently their faith. Don't think I'm blaming only the church. I think parents need to do their Deuteronomy job. But I don't have any room in my life for a "flowery cross," I need to be reminded of the ugly, violent, struggle and the holy price paid for me.
For an intelligent discussion on the merits of children's and youth ministries, see http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/the-liturgical-gangstas-4-what-about-childrens-and-youth-ministries. Something to think about.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Prayer request
It's late. I'm up. That is not unusual, I'm a night person. I can't sleep. Again, not unusual. However, tonight my heart is heavy. I am asking you to pray for my friend, WC Phillips, his wife Sybil, my friend Audrey and the rest of their family. I know this blog doesn't reach a lot of people, but the ones who read are Prayer Warriors and so I'm asking you to pray. I'll explain in a minute. This feeds onto my Facebook page. If I've tagged you, it's because you are a friend of Aud.
I've been accused of being "too heavenly minded to be any earthly good." There is a reason, a good one. I can't wait to get to heaven. If you hear tomorrow that I was run over by a bus. Don't cry for me. By the time you hear about it, I truly believe I will be with The Father, possibly nagging Him with all of the questions I've stored up...but probably not. I'll probably just be worshipping.
My girlfriends will have come over immediately to clean my house and make it look like we never lived here. My friend Laura will be stationed at the bottom of my stairs to throw her body in front of anyone who even looks like they are headed upstairs into the "kid's zone." Several people will bring over the mandatory "funeral casserole." Several of them have a few frozen in case it is needed for such an occasion.(Feel free to feed my people. They like their food. They aren't trying to starve, no matter if I'm in heaven or not.) Someone will be at the funeral home overseeing my hair and make-up. (Just because I'm not breathing doesn't mean I can't be cute.) Some one will call the preacher and tell him that my funeral is already written and notes for it are on the very front page of my Bible. (True. That's how much of a control freak I am.) Someone will have the responsibility of telling everyone not to dare show up in black to my funeral or you will be turned away at the door...unless you are wearing black for health reasons like it is the only thing that fits or you need to wear black for its slimming properties. We know how to support each other, we have unwritten rules in place. We are Southern Bells who are properly trained. We are like the military. We get the call and we are on "active duty." We know how to care for a family in times of mourning. We know how to comfort anyone who shows up at the funeral home, and we know how to do it without messing up our "do" or make-up. We do it with a cute little accent and a "bless your heart." We have walked this road together many times with each other and we are a well oiled machine. They will mourn later.
Mr. Phillips is one of those wonderful godly people who invested in me, loved me, and influenced me. His wife, Sybil is one of the godliest women I have know and that's saying something. She did all of the above thing plus a few more. She fed me more times than I can remember, she's loved my kids like they were her own grand kids...even babysitting Ashley when she was little. They introduced her to Carmen (CCM singer.) I lived my Jr. High and High school years as much in their house as mine. I am still welcome in their home any time. I don't have to call, I get to be on "drop by" status. In fairness, everyone is on "drop by" status. They love visitors. He was a bi-vocational minister. He was a shepherd as well as a preacher. They consider me family and I consider them surrogate parents.
They are the parents of one of my oldest and dearest friends Audrey. She is beyond description. She is all the things I want to be wrapped up in a beautiful package. She isn't perfect and that is my favorite thing about her. She is the polar opposite of me, but she loves Jesus with all her heart. We share that passion. When I need a "sanity break," I head to her house in Austin. She is a great listener, which is a gift for a talker like me. She was, I believe, a "whoops" baby. She has brothers and a sister close to my parents age. She is also a good daughter. He heart is in missions, but she's in Texas to help care for her ailing parents. Most of you know her, so I don't need to say much more about her. She is my sister who is not related.
Mr. Phillips' health has been on the decline lately. Recently it has accelerated and he has had to be in the nursing home. This has been difficult, but especially heartbreaking for his wife. She has been his caretaker for years and was fully prepared to do it forever. Last night, they received news that his doctors wanted to gather the families to talk about hospice care. This is a tough pill to swallow. So, Audrey has headed to Livingston to be with her family, comfort her Mom and help make difficult decisions. Mr. Phillips has been taken off of his medicine except meds to control pain. He won't be here with us on Earth much longer.
So I ask you to pray for him and his family. He is a man who will see Jesus soon, maybe by the time you read this. Please pray for wisdom for his family. They have hard days ahead. Please pray for Mrs. Phillips as she contemplates life without her love. Pray for their children, including Audrey as they mourn and also support their mother. They don't mourn as one without hope. They know where he will be.
There will soon be a "welcome home" party in heaven and it will be a grand one befitting the status of the saint who will be joining them. He will hear, "well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter your rest." He has loved his Jesus for a very long time. His Jesus has always taken care of him. I have to admit I am not sad for him. I'm excited for him, but I will miss him. In the meantime, please pray for his loved ones.
I end with my favorite quote. It is from Spurgeon's "Morning and Evening."
"The Lord’s people shall also enjoy light in the hour of death. Unbelief laments; the shadows fall, the night is coming, existence is ending. Ah no, crieth faith, the night is far spent, the true day is at hand. Light is come, the light of immortality, the light of a Father’s countenance. Gather up thy feet in the bed, see the waiting bands of spirits! Angels waft thee away. Farewell, beloved one, thou art gone, thou wavest thine hand. Ah, now it is light. The pearly gates are open, the golden streets shine in the jasper light. We cover our eyes, but thou beholdest the unseen; adieu, brother, thou hast light at even-tide, such as we have not yet."
I've been accused of being "too heavenly minded to be any earthly good." There is a reason, a good one. I can't wait to get to heaven. If you hear tomorrow that I was run over by a bus. Don't cry for me. By the time you hear about it, I truly believe I will be with The Father, possibly nagging Him with all of the questions I've stored up...but probably not. I'll probably just be worshipping.
My girlfriends will have come over immediately to clean my house and make it look like we never lived here. My friend Laura will be stationed at the bottom of my stairs to throw her body in front of anyone who even looks like they are headed upstairs into the "kid's zone." Several people will bring over the mandatory "funeral casserole." Several of them have a few frozen in case it is needed for such an occasion.(Feel free to feed my people. They like their food. They aren't trying to starve, no matter if I'm in heaven or not.) Someone will be at the funeral home overseeing my hair and make-up. (Just because I'm not breathing doesn't mean I can't be cute.) Some one will call the preacher and tell him that my funeral is already written and notes for it are on the very front page of my Bible. (True. That's how much of a control freak I am.) Someone will have the responsibility of telling everyone not to dare show up in black to my funeral or you will be turned away at the door...unless you are wearing black for health reasons like it is the only thing that fits or you need to wear black for its slimming properties. We know how to support each other, we have unwritten rules in place. We are Southern Bells who are properly trained. We are like the military. We get the call and we are on "active duty." We know how to care for a family in times of mourning. We know how to comfort anyone who shows up at the funeral home, and we know how to do it without messing up our "do" or make-up. We do it with a cute little accent and a "bless your heart." We have walked this road together many times with each other and we are a well oiled machine. They will mourn later.
Mr. Phillips is one of those wonderful godly people who invested in me, loved me, and influenced me. His wife, Sybil is one of the godliest women I have know and that's saying something. She did all of the above thing plus a few more. She fed me more times than I can remember, she's loved my kids like they were her own grand kids...even babysitting Ashley when she was little. They introduced her to Carmen (CCM singer.) I lived my Jr. High and High school years as much in their house as mine. I am still welcome in their home any time. I don't have to call, I get to be on "drop by" status. In fairness, everyone is on "drop by" status. They love visitors. He was a bi-vocational minister. He was a shepherd as well as a preacher. They consider me family and I consider them surrogate parents.
They are the parents of one of my oldest and dearest friends Audrey. She is beyond description. She is all the things I want to be wrapped up in a beautiful package. She isn't perfect and that is my favorite thing about her. She is the polar opposite of me, but she loves Jesus with all her heart. We share that passion. When I need a "sanity break," I head to her house in Austin. She is a great listener, which is a gift for a talker like me. She was, I believe, a "whoops" baby. She has brothers and a sister close to my parents age. She is also a good daughter. He heart is in missions, but she's in Texas to help care for her ailing parents. Most of you know her, so I don't need to say much more about her. She is my sister who is not related.
Mr. Phillips' health has been on the decline lately. Recently it has accelerated and he has had to be in the nursing home. This has been difficult, but especially heartbreaking for his wife. She has been his caretaker for years and was fully prepared to do it forever. Last night, they received news that his doctors wanted to gather the families to talk about hospice care. This is a tough pill to swallow. So, Audrey has headed to Livingston to be with her family, comfort her Mom and help make difficult decisions. Mr. Phillips has been taken off of his medicine except meds to control pain. He won't be here with us on Earth much longer.
So I ask you to pray for him and his family. He is a man who will see Jesus soon, maybe by the time you read this. Please pray for wisdom for his family. They have hard days ahead. Please pray for Mrs. Phillips as she contemplates life without her love. Pray for their children, including Audrey as they mourn and also support their mother. They don't mourn as one without hope. They know where he will be.
There will soon be a "welcome home" party in heaven and it will be a grand one befitting the status of the saint who will be joining them. He will hear, "well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter your rest." He has loved his Jesus for a very long time. His Jesus has always taken care of him. I have to admit I am not sad for him. I'm excited for him, but I will miss him. In the meantime, please pray for his loved ones.
I end with my favorite quote. It is from Spurgeon's "Morning and Evening."
"The Lord’s people shall also enjoy light in the hour of death. Unbelief laments; the shadows fall, the night is coming, existence is ending. Ah no, crieth faith, the night is far spent, the true day is at hand. Light is come, the light of immortality, the light of a Father’s countenance. Gather up thy feet in the bed, see the waiting bands of spirits! Angels waft thee away. Farewell, beloved one, thou art gone, thou wavest thine hand. Ah, now it is light. The pearly gates are open, the golden streets shine in the jasper light. We cover our eyes, but thou beholdest the unseen; adieu, brother, thou hast light at even-tide, such as we have not yet."
Monday, January 5, 2009
I fell down and saved the lives of a couple of "crackheads"
If you know me, you know I have a hard time staying upright. If I could get paid for falling down, I could pay for Ashley's college. (More about that in another blog.) Sadly, I'm not very good at it so I am often injured. The last time I met the ground caused a convergence of events I could never have imagined. I'm sure there's a moral to the story besides, "sleep late," but so far that's what I'm going with. This is a wide sweeping saga. Please to enjoy and don't feel guilty for laughing at my misfortune. I'm doing it myself.
Background information:
1)For the last several months, my Mom has been going through some scary medical problems. Her doctor retired or moved or something and she had to break in a new doctor. Apparently her old doctor had been overlooking "enlarged spleen and lymph nodes" and "elevated liver enzymes" for a year or so now. Her new doctor sent her to a specialist immediately. My mother is not a good patient. She has "white coat syndrome." This means that if you are a doctor, she will not be able to speak to you... at all. So I have been going back and forth to appointments and biopsies, etc. for several months. I was with her when he diagnosed her with NON-ALCOHOLIC cirrhosis. (She requires that I make sure you understand it is non-alcoholic. She's never had a drop of alcohol in her life. This would be irony. Her brother died from alcoholic cirrhosis) So, the Wednesday night after election day, I was scheduled to go down and take her to a new specialist for treatment options.
2)Last year Celia and Mom gave me a totally cute Coach purse and wallet for my birthday. I then acquired *ebay* a new Coach umbrella. I was styling! I must confess I loved that purse.
3) My Papa spends his leisure (all) time at the Nutrition Center in his town playing 42. Somewhere along the way some genius had the idea to have criminals (that's the judicial system calling them criminals. I'm just repeating it) work off their probation and parole there. Of course criminals prey on old people and my Papa is old, 91 to be exact. Yup, he's still a spark plug. There have been rumors of a mother/daughter , ummm...crack addicted, from now on to be called "crackhead" team that have been "staying" with my Papa to "keep him company." I'm not sure what this means and I don't want to know. They have been spreading stories about him around town, but I wasn't too concerned. I hope to be scandalous if I live to be 91, maybe not this scandalous, but scandalous in a godly sort of way, none the less.
So on the morning of Obama's historic election as POTUS, I went out early to exercise my constitutional privilege and vote. "I fell down" doesn't quite capture the violence of what occurred next. In my slow motion memory, I hit a (thankfully) manicured toe on an uneven crack in the driveway, flew 50 feet into the air and landed with the force of 20 Sumo wrestlers on my left knee, caught myself with both wrists (mistake...should have only used one wrist) and bounced to my left elbow.
***Did I mention I was IN MY VERY DRIVEWAY where God and everyone could see. I asked God to just take me home right then and there. I mean, I was looking semi-cute, I was dressed (I'm not trying to die nekked...or naked,one of my rules) and I was sure to be found. Of course, He said, "NOPE." I guess it wasn't my time, and the ensuing events would provide too much "sweeps week comedy" for Heaven Cam. Yes, I am convinced I am a prime time sitcom on television or the equivalent in Heaven. I'm sure I am appointment TV like "The Cosby Show" was in the 80s, but I digress.***
Somehow I manged to drag myself to the car, drive myself with my arms, don't recommend it, and vote. I'm not sure how I did that, but I am one stubborn broad. I had Ash drive me to the doctor after school. I told them I had a 4 hour drive to make in 2 days and I needed them to fix me. "Pshh yeah," was the response. So I was diagnosed with sprains, strains and contusions. It sounds much cuter than it actually is. The doctor prescribed steroids to help with healing. Did I mention that I am allergic to almost all pain medicine? Bonus! I was a mess. I couldn't hold anything because I had nasty sprains in both wrists and my knee was flat, and causing my whole leg and foot to swell so I couldn't wear a shoe. Pain is too minor a word. A side effect of steroid treatment is that it shoots out your immune system, and I don't have a good one to start with.
So after calling Mom and letting her know I couldn't make her appointment, I had Ashley drive me to church on Wednesday evening. Why? I can't answer that. Stupid is all I can come up with. I was the most pitiful thing! I had one grossly swollen leg, two swollen wrists and couldn't even hold my phone. I sat in church with my leg propped up on a chair. Of course, I was also coming down with a nasty atomic "bug" and had most of my voice. When we got home I couldn't pick up my purse to get it out of the car and forgot to ask one of the kids to get it out. I also forgot to say "lock the door." Mistake.
That night a large, well organized purse theft ring hit North Texas and they hit the mother lode when they got to my car. My purse as well as Ashley's. They immediately went to Wal-Mart and laundered my money into almost $600 worth of Am Ex gift cards and phone cards. They took my life! You never know what all is in your purse until it is stolen. It is a major pain in the derriere. You have to call and cancel everything. This is a pain on a good day, but I couldn't hold a phone, was super-sick and had no voice. Several credit card companies thought I was a dirty caller. (Props here to Chase who refunded our money immediately and then investigated.) The last few months have been a pain dealing with the fallout from the purse theft and I can't even bear the thought of dating a new purse, much less falling in love. Fortunately, I have a totally cute second and third string purse "bench" so I'll be OK. Getting a new driver's license was also a trick because I couldn't stand in line. My knee kept getting worse and worse.
So, after Mom's appointment that I missed, I called her to see what her treatment would be. She said they were just going to watch her. WHAT? Are you kidding me? You don't watch cirrhosis. This is what happens when I'm not there to "advocate" on her behalf. Then she tells me that she is glad I'm not there because she is worried I might over-react to her next news and do something "stupid." It seems these "ladies, um, crackheads" that had befriended my Papa had moved into his house, stolen (pawned) almost all of his things and he had signed a bunch of blank checks allowing them to steal all of his money. When he ran out of money, they threatened him with harm. He was now at my uncle's house, terrified and the "crackheads" were IN MY PAPA"S HOUSE! She was right. I would have gone to jail that day had I been there. I would have called the jail and told them I would be checking in. I would even tell them what time to expect me. I just needed to give the 'crackheads" a few minutes to meet Jesus and get right with him before I sent them to Him and then I would check in. Does this seem an over-reaction? I don't think so. So instead, in a classic moment, I put the whole thing on the prayer list at church. Maybe those "crackheads" will get Jesus and try to make restitution. It cracks me up to think about my Pastor praying for "Donna's Papa's Crackheads."
Needless to say, it has been stressful around here. It has now been 2 months. My knee is healing on track, but I still can't wear a shoe. It still swells up every day. My wrists are still painful, but getting better every day and I am still dealing with respiratory issues from the nasty "bug" I caught. (I had an asthma attack during the church Christmas Program and I was on stage singing. Classic Donna.) It will still be a while before I am all the way healed, but there is good news. My Uncle Don was able to get financial power-of-attorney for my Papa and he was also able to convince my Papa that the "crackheads" were not his friends. They are now both in jail, for the time being at least. They won't have to stay long. I bet they have no idea how close they came to meeting Jesus. See, the moral of the story really is "sleep late." If I would have slept in, none of this would have happened...or maybe it would have happened later. Who knows?
Background information:
1)For the last several months, my Mom has been going through some scary medical problems. Her doctor retired or moved or something and she had to break in a new doctor. Apparently her old doctor had been overlooking "enlarged spleen and lymph nodes" and "elevated liver enzymes" for a year or so now. Her new doctor sent her to a specialist immediately. My mother is not a good patient. She has "white coat syndrome." This means that if you are a doctor, she will not be able to speak to you... at all. So I have been going back and forth to appointments and biopsies, etc. for several months. I was with her when he diagnosed her with NON-ALCOHOLIC cirrhosis. (She requires that I make sure you understand it is non-alcoholic. She's never had a drop of alcohol in her life. This would be irony. Her brother died from alcoholic cirrhosis) So, the Wednesday night after election day, I was scheduled to go down and take her to a new specialist for treatment options.
2)Last year Celia and Mom gave me a totally cute Coach purse and wallet for my birthday. I then acquired *ebay* a new Coach umbrella. I was styling! I must confess I loved that purse.
3) My Papa spends his leisure (all) time at the Nutrition Center in his town playing 42. Somewhere along the way some genius had the idea to have criminals (that's the judicial system calling them criminals. I'm just repeating it) work off their probation and parole there. Of course criminals prey on old people and my Papa is old, 91 to be exact. Yup, he's still a spark plug. There have been rumors of a mother/daughter , ummm...crack addicted, from now on to be called "crackhead" team that have been "staying" with my Papa to "keep him company." I'm not sure what this means and I don't want to know. They have been spreading stories about him around town, but I wasn't too concerned. I hope to be scandalous if I live to be 91, maybe not this scandalous, but scandalous in a godly sort of way, none the less.
So on the morning of Obama's historic election as POTUS, I went out early to exercise my constitutional privilege and vote. "I fell down" doesn't quite capture the violence of what occurred next. In my slow motion memory, I hit a (thankfully) manicured toe on an uneven crack in the driveway, flew 50 feet into the air and landed with the force of 20 Sumo wrestlers on my left knee, caught myself with both wrists (mistake...should have only used one wrist) and bounced to my left elbow.
***Did I mention I was IN MY VERY DRIVEWAY where God and everyone could see. I asked God to just take me home right then and there. I mean, I was looking semi-cute, I was dressed (I'm not trying to die nekked...or naked,one of my rules) and I was sure to be found. Of course, He said, "NOPE." I guess it wasn't my time, and the ensuing events would provide too much "sweeps week comedy" for Heaven Cam. Yes, I am convinced I am a prime time sitcom on television or the equivalent in Heaven. I'm sure I am appointment TV like "The Cosby Show" was in the 80s, but I digress.***
Somehow I manged to drag myself to the car, drive myself with my arms, don't recommend it, and vote. I'm not sure how I did that, but I am one stubborn broad. I had Ash drive me to the doctor after school. I told them I had a 4 hour drive to make in 2 days and I needed them to fix me. "Pshh yeah," was the response. So I was diagnosed with sprains, strains and contusions. It sounds much cuter than it actually is. The doctor prescribed steroids to help with healing. Did I mention that I am allergic to almost all pain medicine? Bonus! I was a mess. I couldn't hold anything because I had nasty sprains in both wrists and my knee was flat, and causing my whole leg and foot to swell so I couldn't wear a shoe. Pain is too minor a word. A side effect of steroid treatment is that it shoots out your immune system, and I don't have a good one to start with.
So after calling Mom and letting her know I couldn't make her appointment, I had Ashley drive me to church on Wednesday evening. Why? I can't answer that. Stupid is all I can come up with. I was the most pitiful thing! I had one grossly swollen leg, two swollen wrists and couldn't even hold my phone. I sat in church with my leg propped up on a chair. Of course, I was also coming down with a nasty atomic "bug" and had most of my voice. When we got home I couldn't pick up my purse to get it out of the car and forgot to ask one of the kids to get it out. I also forgot to say "lock the door." Mistake.
That night a large, well organized purse theft ring hit North Texas and they hit the mother lode when they got to my car. My purse as well as Ashley's. They immediately went to Wal-Mart and laundered my money into almost $600 worth of Am Ex gift cards and phone cards. They took my life! You never know what all is in your purse until it is stolen. It is a major pain in the derriere. You have to call and cancel everything. This is a pain on a good day, but I couldn't hold a phone, was super-sick and had no voice. Several credit card companies thought I was a dirty caller. (Props here to Chase who refunded our money immediately and then investigated.) The last few months have been a pain dealing with the fallout from the purse theft and I can't even bear the thought of dating a new purse, much less falling in love. Fortunately, I have a totally cute second and third string purse "bench" so I'll be OK. Getting a new driver's license was also a trick because I couldn't stand in line. My knee kept getting worse and worse.
So, after Mom's appointment that I missed, I called her to see what her treatment would be. She said they were just going to watch her. WHAT? Are you kidding me? You don't watch cirrhosis. This is what happens when I'm not there to "advocate" on her behalf. Then she tells me that she is glad I'm not there because she is worried I might over-react to her next news and do something "stupid." It seems these "ladies, um, crackheads" that had befriended my Papa had moved into his house, stolen (pawned) almost all of his things and he had signed a bunch of blank checks allowing them to steal all of his money. When he ran out of money, they threatened him with harm. He was now at my uncle's house, terrified and the "crackheads" were IN MY PAPA"S HOUSE! She was right. I would have gone to jail that day had I been there. I would have called the jail and told them I would be checking in. I would even tell them what time to expect me. I just needed to give the 'crackheads" a few minutes to meet Jesus and get right with him before I sent them to Him and then I would check in. Does this seem an over-reaction? I don't think so. So instead, in a classic moment, I put the whole thing on the prayer list at church. Maybe those "crackheads" will get Jesus and try to make restitution. It cracks me up to think about my Pastor praying for "Donna's Papa's Crackheads."
Needless to say, it has been stressful around here. It has now been 2 months. My knee is healing on track, but I still can't wear a shoe. It still swells up every day. My wrists are still painful, but getting better every day and I am still dealing with respiratory issues from the nasty "bug" I caught. (I had an asthma attack during the church Christmas Program and I was on stage singing. Classic Donna.) It will still be a while before I am all the way healed, but there is good news. My Uncle Don was able to get financial power-of-attorney for my Papa and he was also able to convince my Papa that the "crackheads" were not his friends. They are now both in jail, for the time being at least. They won't have to stay long. I bet they have no idea how close they came to meeting Jesus. See, the moral of the story really is "sleep late." If I would have slept in, none of this would have happened...or maybe it would have happened later. Who knows?
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