"May I see your invitation, please?" an elderly woman standing at the front door to the grocery-store-converted-into-a-Christmas-charity-store asked. The year was 1997 and I was standing in line waiting to enter this store with our two youngest children. Megan, just seven, was in school. Jeremy was just five years old and still quite a handful with his predisposition to wandering, while Rebekah was just a baby. It was my intention to quietly slip in for Christmas shopping and this woman seemed to be calling unwanted attention to our little trio!
Handing my invitation to the woman I embarked on a 60- minute walk through aisles and aisles of items on display for the Christmas season. As I ambled along, pushing a shopping cart with Rebekah in her car seat and pulling Jeremy along beside, an escort explained the rules to me. "You may pick two gifts for each of your three children, one for your spouse and one for the family. We encourage families (poor families like you, she seemed to gently imply) to pick one clothing item and one toy for each child." Glancing around at the others in this special store, some families seemed genuinely poor as evidenced by their threadbare coats and sock-less attire (in the winter, no less) while others were dressed with comfortable and warm clothes like me. But we all had one thing in common: We were all shopping for free items in a charity-minded store.
So how did I get here? Well, I'm not really sure. Although humbling to receive, this invitation was most assuredly appreciated this Christmas year.
Two years earlier Rick and a business associate had started a consulting business after working for many years as a banker. They named this new business venture "Integrity Management". I.M. was beginning to show signs of success and we were hopeful to see profits at year-end. For two years we had lived on a fraction of what we'd been used to and we'd given most of our life's savings to the start-up of I.M. The new normal was very hard for me to live with mostly because I'd never learned how to spend money wisely. And there was an irrational fear that someday we could be living in the streets!
Still, someone had turned in our name for help with the cost of Christmas shopping. Were we poor? Not as much as many others, but we were living on a significantly lower salary than in previous years when both Rick and I worked. Now Rick was the only wage-earner and we had three children, one with special needs. I was scared and truthfully, a little angry with God for allowing us to be in this position. I chose to shop for free simply because the opportunity arose and I was just grateful to have someone help bear some of the financial burden for this year's Christmas.
I never did learn who submitted our name. Although humbled and slightly embarrassed, I was very grateful for their thoughtfulness.
As I picked gifts for each of the three children I was overcome with a sense of gratitude not only to our sponsor but also to God for offering this gift to help relieve the burden of Christmas spending. I still remember a couple of those gifts and have kept them as a remembrance, or sorts-- a yellow, knitted ski cap for Megan and warm wool blanket for the family. And as I moved along I resolved to push aside any smugness or pride within my heart. I realized that I wasn't any better than those who have less money than I did. I learned that life is what it is -- lemonade can be made with lemons, so to speak.
Since 1997 I have been able to purchase all our Christmas gifts. And we have enjoyed taking part in a number of Christmas charities like the Angel Tree program with Prison Fellowship Ministry and Operation Christmas Child through the Billy Graham Association. The one thing I enjoy the most about Christmas is the giving of gifts, thereby showing my love for another. God knew I was angry with our position in life and He helped me to understand that there is so much more to life than what we have or acquire. God showed His love for our family through the thoughtfulness of another so long ago.
"Every good gift, every perfect gift, comes from above, coming down from the Father who made the heavenly lights, in whose character there is no change at all." James 1:17
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
My friend, Miriam
"Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help ... " Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12 ...
Recently I had dinner with a long-time friend, Miriam. Our friendship has spanned almost 18 years and has withstood the test of time and distance. Catching-up while enjoying sushi and grilled tuna, Miriam and I marveled at how easily we slid into comfortable companionship. Truth be told, I consider Miriam to be my very best friend -- minus God, Rick and my sister. One might ask what is so special about this friendship? Let me tell you how our how friendship began and grew into a solid relationship built on nothing less than truth and love.
Dealing with breast cancer at the age of 36 was not an easy thing to do. For one, I had no one else my age going through chemotherapy, too. And because people often shy away from those dealing with cancer, I had lost a few very close friends as well. As I languished in bed, reeling from the effects of treatment, I asked God to please bring me a friend -- someone who would truly understand what I was going through.
I'm often told that God knows what we need and will provide for us in His timing. I desperately wanted a friend who would understand the pain and suffering I was feeling. But for the first six months of this new sort of life, no such friend surfaced and I wrestled with life as best I could.
Just one month after my first surgery, February 1996, on a cold and wintry Sunday, Rick and I decided to visit a new church. While settling our young children into Sunday school, one of the pastors told me of another young woman in their congregation going through breast cancer treatment like me. "Oh, could you please arrange for the two of to meet?" I implored. The young pastor promised to try to do just that. Soon thereafter I was given Miriam's phone number to call -- which I did. Weeks went by and I never heard from Miriam. In time I finished therapy and began trying to rebuild my strength and vitality.
In August 1996, the Kansas City Race for the Cure was held at Town Center Square. My surgeon opened her offices to host her special patients with a continental breakfast -- then everyone walked together to nearby Town Center Square for the race. While standing among mostly older women at my surgeon's office, I noticed one young woman standing alongside her husband. She looked to be close to my age. Being a super-extroverted personality, I quickly scooted to this couple. The four of us engaged in lively chatter and later walked most of the route together :)
As you might guess, the young woman was Miriam! The two of us learned that we shared more than just a diagnosis of breast cancer. We also shared the same breast cancer surgeon, plastic surgeon and same oncology doctor group. Miriam is just a few years younger than me, but we both had experienced this horrid disease in our 30's. She remembered my phone call, but was just too sick to return a call. Miriam, too, felt alone in her struggle against breast cancer.
In His perfect timing, God brought the two of us into a friendship that would help carry us through the next years with laughter and loving encouragement. Although we have very different lives -- Miriam is career-oriented and without children, while I mostly work at home and have three children -- God knew we would share more than just our outward lives together. We share common values and struggles, but also share our belief in Christ, as well. I am so grateful for this friend of mine.
Miriam and I were able to support and encourage one another through some very difficult years. We met often to share secrets with one another -- to talk about cancer, which is so important for some of us -- and to express our dismay with lingering side effects. When no one else really understood the pain I felt, Miriam did. To this day I meet with Miriam and enjoy the closeness that few others experience in life. We still talk about cancer but not as much as during those early years. Nowadays we talk about other things like our families and future career paths. Although my friend now lives in another state, we are able to travel to one another's cities at least yearly -- sometimes twice yearly.
This year we celebrate 18 years of living cancer free. It hasn't been an easy road, but in retrospect, it was easier just knowing someone else was walking through this war with me. Thank you, Miriam, for your unconditional love and support. I love you, dear friend.
"... A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer ..." Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12 (continued from above)
Recently I had dinner with a long-time friend, Miriam. Our friendship has spanned almost 18 years and has withstood the test of time and distance. Catching-up while enjoying sushi and grilled tuna, Miriam and I marveled at how easily we slid into comfortable companionship. Truth be told, I consider Miriam to be my very best friend -- minus God, Rick and my sister. One might ask what is so special about this friendship? Let me tell you how our how friendship began and grew into a solid relationship built on nothing less than truth and love.
Dealing with breast cancer at the age of 36 was not an easy thing to do. For one, I had no one else my age going through chemotherapy, too. And because people often shy away from those dealing with cancer, I had lost a few very close friends as well. As I languished in bed, reeling from the effects of treatment, I asked God to please bring me a friend -- someone who would truly understand what I was going through.
I'm often told that God knows what we need and will provide for us in His timing. I desperately wanted a friend who would understand the pain and suffering I was feeling. But for the first six months of this new sort of life, no such friend surfaced and I wrestled with life as best I could.
Just one month after my first surgery, February 1996, on a cold and wintry Sunday, Rick and I decided to visit a new church. While settling our young children into Sunday school, one of the pastors told me of another young woman in their congregation going through breast cancer treatment like me. "Oh, could you please arrange for the two of to meet?" I implored. The young pastor promised to try to do just that. Soon thereafter I was given Miriam's phone number to call -- which I did. Weeks went by and I never heard from Miriam. In time I finished therapy and began trying to rebuild my strength and vitality.
In August 1996, the Kansas City Race for the Cure was held at Town Center Square. My surgeon opened her offices to host her special patients with a continental breakfast -- then everyone walked together to nearby Town Center Square for the race. While standing among mostly older women at my surgeon's office, I noticed one young woman standing alongside her husband. She looked to be close to my age. Being a super-extroverted personality, I quickly scooted to this couple. The four of us engaged in lively chatter and later walked most of the route together :)
As you might guess, the young woman was Miriam! The two of us learned that we shared more than just a diagnosis of breast cancer. We also shared the same breast cancer surgeon, plastic surgeon and same oncology doctor group. Miriam is just a few years younger than me, but we both had experienced this horrid disease in our 30's. She remembered my phone call, but was just too sick to return a call. Miriam, too, felt alone in her struggle against breast cancer.
In His perfect timing, God brought the two of us into a friendship that would help carry us through the next years with laughter and loving encouragement. Although we have very different lives -- Miriam is career-oriented and without children, while I mostly work at home and have three children -- God knew we would share more than just our outward lives together. We share common values and struggles, but also share our belief in Christ, as well. I am so grateful for this friend of mine.
Miriam and I were able to support and encourage one another through some very difficult years. We met often to share secrets with one another -- to talk about cancer, which is so important for some of us -- and to express our dismay with lingering side effects. When no one else really understood the pain I felt, Miriam did. To this day I meet with Miriam and enjoy the closeness that few others experience in life. We still talk about cancer but not as much as during those early years. Nowadays we talk about other things like our families and future career paths. Although my friend now lives in another state, we are able to travel to one another's cities at least yearly -- sometimes twice yearly.
This year we celebrate 18 years of living cancer free. It hasn't been an easy road, but in retrospect, it was easier just knowing someone else was walking through this war with me. Thank you, Miriam, for your unconditional love and support. I love you, dear friend.
"... A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer ..." Ecclesiastes 4: 9-12 (continued from above)
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Jeremy's Journey
When people first learn that Jeremy has autism, I'm usually asked this question: "So, (hesitant pause) when did you first know that something was wrong?" When asked this question I'm immediately transported back in time to two specific events -- both of which are vivid and fresh in my mind. I can still remember the horror I felt as I watched these two scenes unfold and the ache in my heart for our darling little boy, who was not quite two years old.
My first memory occurred when Jeremy was twenty-two months old. He was such a happy little boy -- and usually responded to my playful teasing with a smile and a gleeful laugh. This time was different. We played one game whenever I changed his diaper or dressed him and played the "name the body part game". That morning, as I was dressing Jeremy for the day, I tickled his little belly and asked, "Where's your nose?" Nothing. Jeremy simply didn't respond. He seemed to be staring somewhere else - definitely not at me. "Where's your nose, little guy?" I asked once again. Again, no response. Hmmm, That's strange, I thought. Let's try another body part. "Where's your eyes?" then, "Where's your ears?" and so on. With mounting anxiety I continued to try to recapture my son's attention. Jeremy didn't seem to be paying much attention to me no matter what I said or did.
My second memory I have occurred on Jeremy's second birthday. We had invited several children over to help celebrate this special occasion. But when I put the birthday cake down in front of Jeremy, he didn't seem to understand. Without batting an eye Jeremy's little chubby hand flew into that birthday cake! In mere seconds he'd grabbed some cake and stuffed a piece into his tiny mouth! It dawned on me in an instant -- Jeremy didn't understand. In fact, he didn't seem to have a clue that this was his birthday! He'd ignored his guests and simply dived into the cake because it looked yummy.
My mind returned to Megan's second birthday just two years previously. She'd been so excited to have her friends over for games, cake and presents! "Oh, look at the beautiful presents!" she had exclaimed. "Here come my friends!" Jeremy hadn't given his guests much notice. And as I watched Jeremy eat his cake, it began to dawn on me that something really was wrong with our beautiful little boy.
By age four Jeremy still wasn't talking nor was he interacting much with others besides our immediate family. The professionals told us there was little hope for our beautiful son. No one expected Jeremy to talk or interact with others in a meaningful way. And he didn't really start to talk until much later in life. He was considered severely impacted by his autism.
This month Jeremy turns 21. As of now Jeremy understands that his birthday is a special day, indeed. He greets guests at the door, "How are you? ... (without missing a beat) I am fine!" Then we do something fun like bowling or roller skating before singing "Happy Birthday" and opening presents. Jeremy will tell you that his birthday means cake and presents. I'm not sure if he really understands the concept of age.
I wrestle with assorted emotions during this time. As the years pass by I sort of grieve because I know Jeremy will be in different places than peers his age. Don't misunderstand me -- I am very grateful that Jeremy has become who he is today. But I remember where we have come from -- "Where's your eyes, Jeremy?" and smile for now we've graduated to "Why do we need our eyes, Jeremy?"
And I'm reminded of just how much Jeremy has grown from those early lost years of one afflicted with autism. This year as we celebrate Jeremy's birthday, he will laugh with others, ice skate with others, eat cake with others and exuberantly open presents -- once more showing us his playful and interactive side! God has been faithful and good.
P.S. Jeremy has asked for this following birthday gifts: "I want a Peter Pan DVD, roller blades, a scooter and a ping pong table!" I find his birthday list just precious.
My first memory occurred when Jeremy was twenty-two months old. He was such a happy little boy -- and usually responded to my playful teasing with a smile and a gleeful laugh. This time was different. We played one game whenever I changed his diaper or dressed him and played the "name the body part game". That morning, as I was dressing Jeremy for the day, I tickled his little belly and asked, "Where's your nose?" Nothing. Jeremy simply didn't respond. He seemed to be staring somewhere else - definitely not at me. "Where's your nose, little guy?" I asked once again. Again, no response. Hmmm, That's strange, I thought. Let's try another body part. "Where's your eyes?" then, "Where's your ears?" and so on. With mounting anxiety I continued to try to recapture my son's attention. Jeremy didn't seem to be paying much attention to me no matter what I said or did.
My second memory I have occurred on Jeremy's second birthday. We had invited several children over to help celebrate this special occasion. But when I put the birthday cake down in front of Jeremy, he didn't seem to understand. Without batting an eye Jeremy's little chubby hand flew into that birthday cake! In mere seconds he'd grabbed some cake and stuffed a piece into his tiny mouth! It dawned on me in an instant -- Jeremy didn't understand. In fact, he didn't seem to have a clue that this was his birthday! He'd ignored his guests and simply dived into the cake because it looked yummy.
My mind returned to Megan's second birthday just two years previously. She'd been so excited to have her friends over for games, cake and presents! "Oh, look at the beautiful presents!" she had exclaimed. "Here come my friends!" Jeremy hadn't given his guests much notice. And as I watched Jeremy eat his cake, it began to dawn on me that something really was wrong with our beautiful little boy.
By age four Jeremy still wasn't talking nor was he interacting much with others besides our immediate family. The professionals told us there was little hope for our beautiful son. No one expected Jeremy to talk or interact with others in a meaningful way. And he didn't really start to talk until much later in life. He was considered severely impacted by his autism.
This month Jeremy turns 21. As of now Jeremy understands that his birthday is a special day, indeed. He greets guests at the door, "How are you? ... (without missing a beat) I am fine!" Then we do something fun like bowling or roller skating before singing "Happy Birthday" and opening presents. Jeremy will tell you that his birthday means cake and presents. I'm not sure if he really understands the concept of age.
I wrestle with assorted emotions during this time. As the years pass by I sort of grieve because I know Jeremy will be in different places than peers his age. Don't misunderstand me -- I am very grateful that Jeremy has become who he is today. But I remember where we have come from -- "Where's your eyes, Jeremy?" and smile for now we've graduated to "Why do we need our eyes, Jeremy?"
And I'm reminded of just how much Jeremy has grown from those early lost years of one afflicted with autism. This year as we celebrate Jeremy's birthday, he will laugh with others, ice skate with others, eat cake with others and exuberantly open presents -- once more showing us his playful and interactive side! God has been faithful and good.
P.S. Jeremy has asked for this following birthday gifts: "I want a Peter Pan DVD, roller blades, a scooter and a ping pong table!" I find his birthday list just precious.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
My Dad's Departure
Today would have been my dad's 86th birthday -- October 30th. Although we were expecting his death, we deeply grieved his passing a little more than 11 years ago. Mostly, though, we were just glad he wasn't physically challenged anymore. The previous year had been one of mounting health issues. Dad was ready to die and had been so for years.
Dad thought he was going to die fairly early in life. In his early 60's Dad once told me, "I don't think I'm going to live very long, Kathy," (yet, thirteen years later, he was still alive!) Dad was so convinced that he would die an early death that he'd planned his funeral well in advance. Underneath the glass tops of his bedroom dresser Dad had little notes listing various songs he wanted sung and bible verses he lived by. Dad retired at 62 so that he could enjoy life while still in good health. And as the years ticked by Dad did enjoy doing the things he loved to do like gardening and building things with his hands. As his health failed, his faith grew.
For his funeral my dad wanted to emphasize two verses he'd come to rely upon in life. They can be found in 2 Timothy: "For I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness which the Lord, the Righteous Judge, will award to me on that day" ... verses 7 and 8. Remember this verse :)
In July of 2002 Dad was dying. His heart was failing rapidly. Now Dad spent an amazing two months with his family. Knowing that Dad's time on earth was coming to an end, my mother, my sister and I each tried to spend as much quality time with him as possible. The morning Dad died was an unexpected surprise even though we had prepared ourselves for several months. Dad couldn't speak that morning, and his awareness was questionable. Sometimes Dad seemed to be trying to talk to us -- his lips would move and little sounds could be heard. So we gathered together to watch and wait. My sister was hurriedly driving from St. Louis to Kansas City in hopes of being with Dad before he died. The irony was that she'd just left Kansas City for her home in St. Louis the day before! Judy was sad to think she was four hours away from us at this time.
My mom and I spent time sitting beside Dad as the remaining few hours of his life ebbed by. Sensing the time was very near we called Judy so that she could say a few words to Dad before he died. He tried to speak. His lips moved ever so slightly. A few minutes after this phone call, Dad began to breathe more slowly until there was one final breath signaling the end of life. It was the most incredible feeling to be kneeling beside him -- sensing the spirit of life hover for a few seconds before disappearing in an instant. I looked at my mom and said, "He's not here anymore. He's gone."
Over the next several days we were very busy. Besides planning Dad's funeral, there were lots of phone calls to make and an obituary to write. Relatives flew in from distant cities. We laughed and cried. Time seemed to stand still at times.
On the day of Dad's funeral we stood in the church sanctuary greeting guests as they arrived to pay their respects. All of a sudden a friend of my parents, Miriam, Pastor Ton's wife, came to Mom with a look of astonishment. She was holding a little flip calendar that had been designed by a committee headed by my mom. On this day, August 3rd, was written this verse, "The time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." My dad's favorite verses to live by!
We couldn't believe it! My parents were responsible for finding most of the verses for this little flip calendar and here was my dad's favorite verse written on the very day of his funeral! It was as if God were smiling from heaven saying, "Yes. Your dad lives with me now. For I know the plans I have for you ..." Jeremiah 29:11
And, yet, there was one more time for God to give us just one more glimpse into His awesome power, majesty and love for us. On October 30th of that same year, one of Kansas City's Christian radio stations showcased my dad's favorite verse as its Scripture for the Day! Just one more happenstance to show that God is in control of our very lives & deaths.
Dad thought he was going to die fairly early in life. In his early 60's Dad once told me, "I don't think I'm going to live very long, Kathy," (yet, thirteen years later, he was still alive!) Dad was so convinced that he would die an early death that he'd planned his funeral well in advance. Underneath the glass tops of his bedroom dresser Dad had little notes listing various songs he wanted sung and bible verses he lived by. Dad retired at 62 so that he could enjoy life while still in good health. And as the years ticked by Dad did enjoy doing the things he loved to do like gardening and building things with his hands. As his health failed, his faith grew.
For his funeral my dad wanted to emphasize two verses he'd come to rely upon in life. They can be found in 2 Timothy: "For I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness which the Lord, the Righteous Judge, will award to me on that day" ... verses 7 and 8. Remember this verse :)
In July of 2002 Dad was dying. His heart was failing rapidly. Now Dad spent an amazing two months with his family. Knowing that Dad's time on earth was coming to an end, my mother, my sister and I each tried to spend as much quality time with him as possible. The morning Dad died was an unexpected surprise even though we had prepared ourselves for several months. Dad couldn't speak that morning, and his awareness was questionable. Sometimes Dad seemed to be trying to talk to us -- his lips would move and little sounds could be heard. So we gathered together to watch and wait. My sister was hurriedly driving from St. Louis to Kansas City in hopes of being with Dad before he died. The irony was that she'd just left Kansas City for her home in St. Louis the day before! Judy was sad to think she was four hours away from us at this time.
My mom and I spent time sitting beside Dad as the remaining few hours of his life ebbed by. Sensing the time was very near we called Judy so that she could say a few words to Dad before he died. He tried to speak. His lips moved ever so slightly. A few minutes after this phone call, Dad began to breathe more slowly until there was one final breath signaling the end of life. It was the most incredible feeling to be kneeling beside him -- sensing the spirit of life hover for a few seconds before disappearing in an instant. I looked at my mom and said, "He's not here anymore. He's gone."
Over the next several days we were very busy. Besides planning Dad's funeral, there were lots of phone calls to make and an obituary to write. Relatives flew in from distant cities. We laughed and cried. Time seemed to stand still at times.
On the day of Dad's funeral we stood in the church sanctuary greeting guests as they arrived to pay their respects. All of a sudden a friend of my parents, Miriam, Pastor Ton's wife, came to Mom with a look of astonishment. She was holding a little flip calendar that had been designed by a committee headed by my mom. On this day, August 3rd, was written this verse, "The time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." My dad's favorite verses to live by!
We couldn't believe it! My parents were responsible for finding most of the verses for this little flip calendar and here was my dad's favorite verse written on the very day of his funeral! It was as if God were smiling from heaven saying, "Yes. Your dad lives with me now. For I know the plans I have for you ..." Jeremiah 29:11
And, yet, there was one more time for God to give us just one more glimpse into His awesome power, majesty and love for us. On October 30th of that same year, one of Kansas City's Christian radio stations showcased my dad's favorite verse as its Scripture for the Day! Just one more happenstance to show that God is in control of our very lives & deaths.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Deceptions of the Devil
"When someone tells you to consult mediums and spiritists, who whisper and mutter should not a people inquire of their God? Why consult the dead on behalf of the living?" Isaiah 8:19
One beautiful fall day in 1990 I attended a Psychic Fair with a friend in the East Bottoms district of downtown Kansas City. The scene resembled a costume party with many of the attendees and vendors wearing outrageous outfits designed to invoke an air of solemn mystical exploring. Booths were set up so that attendees could pick and choose which sort of psychic activity to be a part of. One might purchase palm readings for $5 or tarot card readings for $10.
Rounding a corner I walked past a booth made to look like an old-fashioned lean-to with shelves and shelves of little vials. I remember seeing one little bottle with the label "bat's blood" on it! For some reason this exhibit gave me the creeps. Then one elderly woman sidled next to me and whispered, "Don't let anyone touch your little baby!" I thought she was asking if she could hold precious Megan who was nestled across my chest in a baby carrier. "Oh, no, thank you," I stammered. "She's just fine with me." "No," the lady urgently hissed. "I said DON'T let anyone touch your baby. They will try to steal the energy from her -- a baby's energy is very strong, indeed." Let me assure you -- no one touched even one hair on Megan's head! And my friend and I left soon thereafter.
And that's when I realized that delving into the psychic world of the occult was sinister, and perhaps, even dangerous. When I left the Fair that day I resolved never to venture into this world again. And when I became a Christian, God began to show me just how much He'd protected me during my times of experimenting with the occult.
Who doesn't want to have the perfect answers for life? Which of us doesn't want to know our future or at least the good parts of our future? As a child and even into my twenties I sought answers to questions and my future through various psychic means.
My first forays into the psychic realm began in elementary school through typical games of the 60's like "Magic 8 Ball". My friends and I would sit close together and ask important questions to the ball like, "Does Bryan love me?" and "Will I get a good teacher for sixth grade?" If we didn't like the answers it was easy to ask again and again, hoping for the eventual very best answer of all, "Decidedly so"!
Then there was a game called "Ka-bala with the Might Eye of Zolar". My friends and I sat around this board game, chanting the magical words, "Pax, Sax, ..." (as the instructions said to) and wait for the mysterious black marble to swirl around and around a groove until it landed on one of many symbols which would spell out your future. Another popular game we played was the "Ouija Board" which was supposed to answer questions about anything and everything.
Combing the horoscope columns in the newspaper I looked daily to see what kind of day I might have. I bought Linda Thompson's "Book of Sun Signs" so that I could read about my own sun sign and the signs of others. It was fun and (I thought) educational. By my junior year in high school I'd bought a deck of tarot cards and for some reason, I couldn't get myself to spend much time learning how to use them properly. There was something chilling and sinister about these cards and I was just a little scared of them. The "death card" was especially worrisome to me.
Fortunately for me, none of these games did much spelling of answers to my many questions. And most often, the answers I did shake-out were incorrect. And I don't remember what the gypsy fortune teller told me when I visited her while in college. It's a good thing, too, because I don't want to know my future anymore!
As a mature middle-aged woman, I am filled with regret and rue over those days of seeking answers to my future. I am very certain that God saved me from uncertain evil and unrest during those searching times. As one who became a Christian later in life, I seem to return to my past periodically and watch God peel yet another layer of deceit from myself. Compelled to break free from my past I have asked God to sever any link from my exploration into the occult. The deceit was that answers for my future could be found in other places besides God. And even now I am coming to the realization that it is best that I not know the future.
Because of my history into the dark world of psychic exploration I am especially careful about the movies and TV shows I watch, the books I read and the music I listen to. I believe that God has called me to eliminate any part of the occult world from my present life. Because of this I sometimes find myself a little alone and, yes, even a little ostracized for my beliefs. All because I feel called to forsake completely the things of the "dark".
I believe there are several reasons for staying away from the world of psychic phenomenon and the occult, but here are my top five reasons:
We turn away from a True faith in Jesus.
We look to others for guidance rather than God.
We open ourselves up to spirits other than the True Spirit of God.
We are disobeying the Word of God -- the bible which clearly warns us not
And that's when I realized that delving into the psychic world of the occult was sinister, and perhaps, even dangerous. When I left the Fair that day I resolved never to venture into this world again. And when I became a Christian, God began to show me just how much He'd protected me during my times of experimenting with the occult.
Combing the horoscope columns in the newspaper I looked daily to see what kind of day I might have. I bought Linda Thompson's "Book of Sun Signs" so that I could read about my own sun sign and the signs of others. It was fun and (I thought) educational. By my junior year in high school I'd bought a deck of tarot cards and for some reason, I couldn't get myself to spend much time learning how to use them properly. There was something chilling and sinister about these cards and I was just a little scared of them. The "death card" was especially worrisome to me.
I believe there are several reasons for staying away from the world of psychic phenomenon and the occult, but here are my top five reasons:
We turn away from a True faith in Jesus.
We look to others for guidance rather than God.
We open ourselves up to spirits other than the True Spirit of God.
We are disobeying the Word of God -- the bible which clearly warns us not
to engage with the occult.
"When you enter the land the Lord God is giving you, do not learn to imitate the detestable ways of the nations there. Let no one be found among you who ... practices divination and sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft, or casts spells, or who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is detestable to the Lord ... You must be blameless before the Lord your God." Deuteronomy 18: 9-13
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Dad's Precious Gift
(In memory of my father, Nick L. Taral, born October 30, 1926, died July 31, 2002)
In the family room of my parent's home, upon a hospital-style bed, my dad lay quietly. With oxygen piped into the nares of his nose my dad was awaiting death. Quiet, yet peaceful, my dad had welcomed visitors and friends to his bedside for almost six weeks. The condition: heart failure due to weakened heart valves. For many years Dad had fought many brave battles including two major heart surgeries, a severe myoclonic (seizure) disorder and a host of other ailments. He'd been hospitalized multiple times -- most recently a month and a half earlier for ventricular fibrillation. Through it all Dad had maintained a stoic optimism which was unusual given his up-bringing. I think his strength was an acquired skill. As Dad grew older, he grew stronger spiritually and developed a deep faith in God by walking through some very scary times in his life.
By the age of three Dad was living in a children's orphanage along with his younger sister. My paternal grandfather had placed his children there after beating his then-wife nearly to death. Within the year my dad was removed from the orphanage and living with his grandparents. (My aunt followed two years later.) Because of his early years of neglect and probable abuse Dad was a sickly youngster. He told me stories of multiple ear infections and respiratory ailments -- in an age without antibiotics -- which kept him from actively participating in sports and other activities. Dad said that his grandmother kept a vigilant eye on him, health wise, and was very protective (too much so?). As a result my dad learned how to fear injury and sickness -- and become a fierce hypochondriac as an young adult.
But as Dad grew older he began to mellow in his pursuit of perfect health. When physical problems arose he began to take them in stride. I watched Dad become a more brave soul than I'd ever imagined he could be. By the end of his life he was more at peace than ever before. Dad didn't seem to be afraid of dying and had come to realize that our time on earth was for a short season only. To watch my hypochondriac father become a man of faith was enormously helpful for me to see. As I've struggled with my own health issues and the health issues of my children, I gain strength from memories of my dad.
Dad's last gift to me was special, indeed. Visiting with him one day, we sat together just talking about nothing and everything. Instinctively I knew my time with him was drawing to a close and I wanted to savor our moments together. Tears began spilling from my eyes as I whispered, "I am going to miss you so-o-o-o much! I love you so much, Dad." (I'm sniffing even as I write now.) My frail father turned to me and held out his arms for a hug. Falling into his chest I began to softly cry. "It's okay, Kathy," my dad said. "I'll see you, again. For though we live on this earth for just awhile, our time in heaven will be for an eternity." Taking a deep breath Dad continued, "Whenever you are hugged by another, think of how this hug feels and how much I love you. And if I love you this much, think about how much your Heavenly Father loves you!" In that moment I learned that God had sustained my dad throughout his 75 years of life -- both in sickness and in health. Dad was stronger spiritually even through his physical body was failing. Love had, indeed, conquered all. Dad's precious gift to me was this one very special hug.
It's been ten years since my dad died. He slipped peacefully away one morning in July. I've often thought of that special time with Dad. His words were a soothing balm to my soul and I cherish my gift from Dad ever more. In the meantime I try to be brave and strong in the face of adversity and, remember the love of my dad and My Father in heaven.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak ... but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like an eagle; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31
In the family room of my parent's home, upon a hospital-style bed, my dad lay quietly. With oxygen piped into the nares of his nose my dad was awaiting death. Quiet, yet peaceful, my dad had welcomed visitors and friends to his bedside for almost six weeks. The condition: heart failure due to weakened heart valves. For many years Dad had fought many brave battles including two major heart surgeries, a severe myoclonic (seizure) disorder and a host of other ailments. He'd been hospitalized multiple times -- most recently a month and a half earlier for ventricular fibrillation. Through it all Dad had maintained a stoic optimism which was unusual given his up-bringing. I think his strength was an acquired skill. As Dad grew older, he grew stronger spiritually and developed a deep faith in God by walking through some very scary times in his life.
By the age of three Dad was living in a children's orphanage along with his younger sister. My paternal grandfather had placed his children there after beating his then-wife nearly to death. Within the year my dad was removed from the orphanage and living with his grandparents. (My aunt followed two years later.) Because of his early years of neglect and probable abuse Dad was a sickly youngster. He told me stories of multiple ear infections and respiratory ailments -- in an age without antibiotics -- which kept him from actively participating in sports and other activities. Dad said that his grandmother kept a vigilant eye on him, health wise, and was very protective (too much so?). As a result my dad learned how to fear injury and sickness -- and become a fierce hypochondriac as an young adult.
But as Dad grew older he began to mellow in his pursuit of perfect health. When physical problems arose he began to take them in stride. I watched Dad become a more brave soul than I'd ever imagined he could be. By the end of his life he was more at peace than ever before. Dad didn't seem to be afraid of dying and had come to realize that our time on earth was for a short season only. To watch my hypochondriac father become a man of faith was enormously helpful for me to see. As I've struggled with my own health issues and the health issues of my children, I gain strength from memories of my dad.
Dad's last gift to me was special, indeed. Visiting with him one day, we sat together just talking about nothing and everything. Instinctively I knew my time with him was drawing to a close and I wanted to savor our moments together. Tears began spilling from my eyes as I whispered, "I am going to miss you so-o-o-o much! I love you so much, Dad." (I'm sniffing even as I write now.) My frail father turned to me and held out his arms for a hug. Falling into his chest I began to softly cry. "It's okay, Kathy," my dad said. "I'll see you, again. For though we live on this earth for just awhile, our time in heaven will be for an eternity." Taking a deep breath Dad continued, "Whenever you are hugged by another, think of how this hug feels and how much I love you. And if I love you this much, think about how much your Heavenly Father loves you!" In that moment I learned that God had sustained my dad throughout his 75 years of life -- both in sickness and in health. Dad was stronger spiritually even through his physical body was failing. Love had, indeed, conquered all. Dad's precious gift to me was this one very special hug.
It's been ten years since my dad died. He slipped peacefully away one morning in July. I've often thought of that special time with Dad. His words were a soothing balm to my soul and I cherish my gift from Dad ever more. In the meantime I try to be brave and strong in the face of adversity and, remember the love of my dad and My Father in heaven.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak ... but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like an eagle; they will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Kevin: Optimism in the Face of Adversity
(Permission given by Kevin's mother to share this story . )
There were lots of kids to play with in our neighborhood. Our street had less than twenty homes built on it and dead-ended with a picturesque horse pasture complete with an authentic horse shed! Feeding the horses apples was always a treat. This beautiful pasture and the Big Woods behind our houses provided hours of entertainment for all of us. Dad and Mom built our home in 1964 for just $19,000. Our neighbors bought their homes around the same time and all the kids grew into adulthood together. The newly planted trees were itty-bitty and most of the homes were three bedroom ranches. Except for occasional escape of Rusty, the neighborhood (scary) dog, we felt safe and protected on our little block in southern Kansas City.
During the summer we had great fun, playing all sorts of games until dusk when our parents began calling us home for dinner. Everyone looked after everyone else's kids. It was easy for us to go to someone else's home to play for awhile because the mothers kept each other informed. We played games like freeze tag, rode our bikes up and down the street, and built many forts in the Big Woods. In the winter we built snow homes, went sledding and explored the wintry wonderland of the world blanketed in snow.
I don't remember the first time I met seven-year-old Kevin who lived next door, but it must've been soon after we moved into our new home. Kevin was a couple years older than me and I remember once watching him awkwardly raise himself to a standing position from a sitting position on his driveway. Kevin sort of spread himself face down to the pavement then slowly walked his hands backward while pulling his rear end upward. Was Kevin having trouble standing? I wondered. Later I asked my mother about Kevin and she told me, "Kevin has muscular dystrophy." I was saddened by this admission.
Two or three years later Kevin was in a wheelchair. Although he still played with us, we had to modify our play so that he could still be a part of our pretend world. When we played spaceship on someone's swing set, Kevin was the commander from his space throne. While we rode our bikes playing "traffic", one of the older kids on the block, Bob, pushed Kevin in his wheelchair up and down our little block. When we played "pioneers", Kevin was the wagon train leader. In time Kevin's world grew a little smaller because he couldn't come with us into the woods. And as Kevin grew older, he played less and less. I wondered if Kevin was tired, or just growing up and no longer interested in pretend games.
Forty-three years ago on October 6th, thirteen-year-old Kevin died. He'd entered the hospital with a bout of pneumonia and expectantly died on the day he was being released to come home. We were all very sad. Kevin's younger brother, Dennis, didn't talk much about his brother to us after that. We, his friends, were sad not only for the loss of our friend, but for the loss his family was experiencing as well. We grieved for Dennis who was an exceptional brother to Kevin -- it was clear that Dennis loved his brother very much.
Because of my time with Kevin, I learned two things: First, Kevin was one of the most intelligent, optimistic persons I've ever met. Kevin had a great sense of humor and always quick to smile. Kevin didn't call attention to his disability. Instead he called attention to life and how precious life was. And people genuinely liked being around Kevin because of his innate optimism. I learned how to show courage in the face of adversity.
Second, I remember staring out our kitchen window watching Bob stroll Kevin up and down our street even during the cool seasons. These two friends were always talking and laughing together. I didn't know the word at the time, but I now know that compassion and a deep abiding friendship existed between Bob and Kevin. God took care of Kevin's needs through others like Bob, and I know Kevin offered others something special in return -- unconditional love and acceptance. I learned that by giving unselfishly to others one can be touched in a deep and very profound way.
Now I am watching this same principle play out with our son, Jeremy. God continues to show His love for Jeremy through others as He did for Kevin. And I hope Jeremy's friends recognize the unconditional love and acceptance that Jeremy offers in return.
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others." Philippians 2:3-4
There were lots of kids to play with in our neighborhood. Our street had less than twenty homes built on it and dead-ended with a picturesque horse pasture complete with an authentic horse shed! Feeding the horses apples was always a treat. This beautiful pasture and the Big Woods behind our houses provided hours of entertainment for all of us. Dad and Mom built our home in 1964 for just $19,000. Our neighbors bought their homes around the same time and all the kids grew into adulthood together. The newly planted trees were itty-bitty and most of the homes were three bedroom ranches. Except for occasional escape of Rusty, the neighborhood (scary) dog, we felt safe and protected on our little block in southern Kansas City.
During the summer we had great fun, playing all sorts of games until dusk when our parents began calling us home for dinner. Everyone looked after everyone else's kids. It was easy for us to go to someone else's home to play for awhile because the mothers kept each other informed. We played games like freeze tag, rode our bikes up and down the street, and built many forts in the Big Woods. In the winter we built snow homes, went sledding and explored the wintry wonderland of the world blanketed in snow.
I don't remember the first time I met seven-year-old Kevin who lived next door, but it must've been soon after we moved into our new home. Kevin was a couple years older than me and I remember once watching him awkwardly raise himself to a standing position from a sitting position on his driveway. Kevin sort of spread himself face down to the pavement then slowly walked his hands backward while pulling his rear end upward. Was Kevin having trouble standing? I wondered. Later I asked my mother about Kevin and she told me, "Kevin has muscular dystrophy." I was saddened by this admission.
Two or three years later Kevin was in a wheelchair. Although he still played with us, we had to modify our play so that he could still be a part of our pretend world. When we played spaceship on someone's swing set, Kevin was the commander from his space throne. While we rode our bikes playing "traffic", one of the older kids on the block, Bob, pushed Kevin in his wheelchair up and down our little block. When we played "pioneers", Kevin was the wagon train leader. In time Kevin's world grew a little smaller because he couldn't come with us into the woods. And as Kevin grew older, he played less and less. I wondered if Kevin was tired, or just growing up and no longer interested in pretend games.
Forty-three years ago on October 6th, thirteen-year-old Kevin died. He'd entered the hospital with a bout of pneumonia and expectantly died on the day he was being released to come home. We were all very sad. Kevin's younger brother, Dennis, didn't talk much about his brother to us after that. We, his friends, were sad not only for the loss of our friend, but for the loss his family was experiencing as well. We grieved for Dennis who was an exceptional brother to Kevin -- it was clear that Dennis loved his brother very much.
Because of my time with Kevin, I learned two things: First, Kevin was one of the most intelligent, optimistic persons I've ever met. Kevin had a great sense of humor and always quick to smile. Kevin didn't call attention to his disability. Instead he called attention to life and how precious life was. And people genuinely liked being around Kevin because of his innate optimism. I learned how to show courage in the face of adversity.
Second, I remember staring out our kitchen window watching Bob stroll Kevin up and down our street even during the cool seasons. These two friends were always talking and laughing together. I didn't know the word at the time, but I now know that compassion and a deep abiding friendship existed between Bob and Kevin. God took care of Kevin's needs through others like Bob, and I know Kevin offered others something special in return -- unconditional love and acceptance. I learned that by giving unselfishly to others one can be touched in a deep and very profound way.
Now I am watching this same principle play out with our son, Jeremy. God continues to show His love for Jeremy through others as He did for Kevin. And I hope Jeremy's friends recognize the unconditional love and acceptance that Jeremy offers in return.
"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others." Philippians 2:3-4
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Irrational Fears
It's 1966. In my dream I'm frantically running along a busy city street. A man wearing a brown fedora is darting in and out of the crowd in an effort to catch me. I'm frantically looking everywhere for a place to hide. Glancing around I see a daycare of sorts. It looks just like a store front, but there are lots of toys and children playing inside. Desperately I fling open the door and cry out, "Where can I hide?! A man is chasing me!" The few adults are silent. Their faces betray a mix of bewilderment, fear and confusion, but they say nothing. .
To my utter amazement I see a stack of twenty mattresses (yes, just like the fairy tale, "Princess and the Pea") piled upon one another in a corner. Just as I reach the top mattress and slide comfortable down into the middle the pursuing man bursts into the classroom! He shouts for all to hear, "Where is she!? Where is the little girl?!" I abruptly awaken, shaking and fearing for my life. It's dark and I realize that I had only been dreaming.
On July 8, 1965 a kidnapping was reported of a 9-year-old girl, Denise Sue Clinton, from an Independence Motel. Denise was staying overnight with her grandparents, the managers of this motel. Her family had just returned from a trip to California. She was known as a friendly and out-going girl. She was a Brownie Girl Scout just like me. The KC news coverage was extensive and I remember my grandparents and parents warning me over and over to "never go with strangers". Just eight years old myself, I was stunned that someone would kidnap a little girl -- right in front of her grandparents! Kidnappings were random in those days and the coverage of Denise's kidnapping was extensive. I began to worry that someone would try to kidnap me, too, and I started having dreams like the one above. Always someone was chasing me.
Throughout the years I have wrestled with the fear of kidnapping, first for myself as a young child, then for our children. I fretted and watched over all three children like a mother hen. Once, as Megan prepared to go shopping with her dad, I scared her so much that she begged to stay home! Another time I gave her a little Christmas bell that hung around her neck so that I could hear her if she wandered off! She thought it was great fun, but my intent was to protect her against a possible kidnapping!
When Jeremy wandered off in search of the restrooms at Silver Dollar City, I panicked. For ten minutes we frantically searched the Gift Shop for Jeremy. In my mind I easily imagined the worst --Jeremy wandering into the parking lot only to be kidnapped by deranged people. Thankfully we found Jeremy before he wandered too far away! But as we drove home, I began to think about my fears -- and, prayed for peace. This incident had left me feeling emotionally drained and unsettled within my soul.
I began to remember how God had shown His love for our family throughout the years. I realized that my fears of kidnapping went beyond the rational thinking of safety issues. "Do you trust me?" I could hear God whisper into my heart. "Are you willing to give me the fate of your children or do you still desire to control life?" I realized that my attempts at control were fruitless. Ultimately God was in control of my life, which sometimes meant difficult and painful times. It was only by facing my fear that I was able to begin to heal and move beyond it. In due time, I shared my fear with the children and explained where it had originated from so very long ago. In doing so I helped teach them the lesson of how to navigate beyond one's fears. We all have fears -- but they do not need to rule over our lives.
There are still times when I remind Megan and Rebekah to walk with awareness when shopping and I always remind Jeremy to stay close to one of us when in public. The girls smile sweetly while acknowledging that 'yes' they would be careful. But now we all smile and recognize Who really watches over us-- and trust that God will walk beside us through the hills and the valleys in life.
"So do not fear for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God; I will strengthen you and help you, and will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
To my utter amazement I see a stack of twenty mattresses (yes, just like the fairy tale, "Princess and the Pea") piled upon one another in a corner. Just as I reach the top mattress and slide comfortable down into the middle the pursuing man bursts into the classroom! He shouts for all to hear, "Where is she!? Where is the little girl?!" I abruptly awaken, shaking and fearing for my life. It's dark and I realize that I had only been dreaming.
On July 8, 1965 a kidnapping was reported of a 9-year-old girl, Denise Sue Clinton, from an Independence Motel. Denise was staying overnight with her grandparents, the managers of this motel. Her family had just returned from a trip to California. She was known as a friendly and out-going girl. She was a Brownie Girl Scout just like me. The KC news coverage was extensive and I remember my grandparents and parents warning me over and over to "never go with strangers". Just eight years old myself, I was stunned that someone would kidnap a little girl -- right in front of her grandparents! Kidnappings were random in those days and the coverage of Denise's kidnapping was extensive. I began to worry that someone would try to kidnap me, too, and I started having dreams like the one above. Always someone was chasing me.
Throughout the years I have wrestled with the fear of kidnapping, first for myself as a young child, then for our children. I fretted and watched over all three children like a mother hen. Once, as Megan prepared to go shopping with her dad, I scared her so much that she begged to stay home! Another time I gave her a little Christmas bell that hung around her neck so that I could hear her if she wandered off! She thought it was great fun, but my intent was to protect her against a possible kidnapping!
When Jeremy wandered off in search of the restrooms at Silver Dollar City, I panicked. For ten minutes we frantically searched the Gift Shop for Jeremy. In my mind I easily imagined the worst --Jeremy wandering into the parking lot only to be kidnapped by deranged people. Thankfully we found Jeremy before he wandered too far away! But as we drove home, I began to think about my fears -- and, prayed for peace. This incident had left me feeling emotionally drained and unsettled within my soul.
I began to remember how God had shown His love for our family throughout the years. I realized that my fears of kidnapping went beyond the rational thinking of safety issues. "Do you trust me?" I could hear God whisper into my heart. "Are you willing to give me the fate of your children or do you still desire to control life?" I realized that my attempts at control were fruitless. Ultimately God was in control of my life, which sometimes meant difficult and painful times. It was only by facing my fear that I was able to begin to heal and move beyond it. In due time, I shared my fear with the children and explained where it had originated from so very long ago. In doing so I helped teach them the lesson of how to navigate beyond one's fears. We all have fears -- but they do not need to rule over our lives.
There are still times when I remind Megan and Rebekah to walk with awareness when shopping and I always remind Jeremy to stay close to one of us when in public. The girls smile sweetly while acknowledging that 'yes' they would be careful. But now we all smile and recognize Who really watches over us-- and trust that God will walk beside us through the hills and the valleys in life.
"So do not fear for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God; I will strengthen you and help you, and will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Precious Bundle of Joy -- Rebekah (conclusion)
"Every generous act of giving and every perfect gift is from above and comes from the Father who made the heavenly lights, in whom there is no inconsistency or shifting shadow." James 1:17
As we awaited news of our impending adoption from the Lighthouse, Rick and I busily steered our family through the daily grind of living. Jeremy was still actively receiving therapy for his developmental disabilities while Megan had successfully integrated into second grade.
Summer was soon upon us. As our family made plans to vacation in Colorado, Rick and I waited expectantly for an assigned social worker to complete the second half of our home study. It had been almost two months since we'd sent our $500 check to retain a lawyer. As the summer progressed and our vacation loomed closer I grew concerned that we would be traveling when our baby-to-be was born and we'd not completed our home study, yet. So I left a voice mail to let the Lighthouse know that we would be gone for ten days in July. Two days later our social worker came over to finish our home study and began telling us about a newborn baby girl who had been born just two days earlier. According to Phyllis, the birth mother had chosen us to be her baby's adoptive family. Because of my earlier phone message to the Lighthouse, Phyllis was told to share the exciting news of Rebekah's birth with us before we left town! We were, then, informed that we would be allowed to see the baby before leaving for vacation. We were elated.
With great excitement our family drove to see Rebekah for the very first time! Megan was beside herself with great anticipation! As we drove through the streets of southern Kansas City I thought of how our lives would change in just a few weeks. We continued to pray for God's affirmation that this little baby was to be the little one chosen by God for us.
As we climbed out of our mini-van I remember gazing down the street only to see a tall man leisurely walking his dog along the sidewalk. Reaching in to remove Jeremy from his car seat, I looked once more and could scarcely believe my eyes! The tall man was the very same friend who'd originally told us of God's plan to bless us with another child! God was clearly affirming to us that this child was God’s chosen baby for us! As we exchanged pleasantries and shared surprise to be standing together outside the foster family's home, I snapped a picture of our friend and his dog. It rests in Rebekah's baby book to this day.
Our family left for Colorado soon thereafter. Besides riding horses, walking through the mountain meadows and eating BBQ, Rick and I spent a lot of time discussing the planned arrival of our third child. My family stood in amazement to think that God would bless us with little Rebekah! Thanking Him for His goodness and mercy, we excitedly began planning for our new baby’s arrival. Eager to return home, we drove straight home to Kansas with very few stops.
Rebekah was required by law to stay with a Lighthouse foster family for the interim before our first court date. During this time we learned that our birth mother had become a committed Christian while staying at the Lighthouse and had decided upon our family with firm resolve that we were perfect for her darling baby. (Our family had prayed specifically for this to happen.)
As Rebekah's foster family, the Norbergs were a lovely family. We would stay in touch with them throughout the years. This family has continued to pray for Rebekah and their daughter, Kathleen, introduced her to the world of classical dancing. The two of them enjoy a casual, easy-going relationship – both are very creative and bright -- and still share a passion for dance.
At fifteen Rebekah is a stunningly beautiful teenager. She has brought much joy and laughter into our family! Rebekah is a beautiful dancer with boundless energy and an infectious optimism. She has been a joyful additional to our family – and we are so grateful to God for His bountiful gift to us.
As we awaited news of our impending adoption from the Lighthouse, Rick and I busily steered our family through the daily grind of living. Jeremy was still actively receiving therapy for his developmental disabilities while Megan had successfully integrated into second grade.
Summer was soon upon us. As our family made plans to vacation in Colorado, Rick and I waited expectantly for an assigned social worker to complete the second half of our home study. It had been almost two months since we'd sent our $500 check to retain a lawyer. As the summer progressed and our vacation loomed closer I grew concerned that we would be traveling when our baby-to-be was born and we'd not completed our home study, yet. So I left a voice mail to let the Lighthouse know that we would be gone for ten days in July. Two days later our social worker came over to finish our home study and began telling us about a newborn baby girl who had been born just two days earlier. According to Phyllis, the birth mother had chosen us to be her baby's adoptive family. Because of my earlier phone message to the Lighthouse, Phyllis was told to share the exciting news of Rebekah's birth with us before we left town! We were, then, informed that we would be allowed to see the baby before leaving for vacation. We were elated.
With great excitement our family drove to see Rebekah for the very first time! Megan was beside herself with great anticipation! As we drove through the streets of southern Kansas City I thought of how our lives would change in just a few weeks. We continued to pray for God's affirmation that this little baby was to be the little one chosen by God for us.
As we climbed out of our mini-van I remember gazing down the street only to see a tall man leisurely walking his dog along the sidewalk. Reaching in to remove Jeremy from his car seat, I looked once more and could scarcely believe my eyes! The tall man was the very same friend who'd originally told us of God's plan to bless us with another child! God was clearly affirming to us that this child was God’s chosen baby for us! As we exchanged pleasantries and shared surprise to be standing together outside the foster family's home, I snapped a picture of our friend and his dog. It rests in Rebekah's baby book to this day.
Our family left for Colorado soon thereafter. Besides riding horses, walking through the mountain meadows and eating BBQ, Rick and I spent a lot of time discussing the planned arrival of our third child. My family stood in amazement to think that God would bless us with little Rebekah! Thanking Him for His goodness and mercy, we excitedly began planning for our new baby’s arrival. Eager to return home, we drove straight home to Kansas with very few stops.
Rebekah was required by law to stay with a Lighthouse foster family for the interim before our first court date. During this time we learned that our birth mother had become a committed Christian while staying at the Lighthouse and had decided upon our family with firm resolve that we were perfect for her darling baby. (Our family had prayed specifically for this to happen.)
As Rebekah's foster family, the Norbergs were a lovely family. We would stay in touch with them throughout the years. This family has continued to pray for Rebekah and their daughter, Kathleen, introduced her to the world of classical dancing. The two of them enjoy a casual, easy-going relationship – both are very creative and bright -- and still share a passion for dance.
At fifteen Rebekah is a stunningly beautiful teenager. She has brought much joy and laughter into our family! Rebekah is a beautiful dancer with boundless energy and an infectious optimism. She has been a joyful additional to our family – and we are so grateful to God for His bountiful gift to us.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Precious Bundle of Joy - Rebekah's Adoption Story (Part 2)
"For You created my innermost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb." Psalm 139:13
As a family we began praying earnestly for our expected wee one. No one knew when, how or what fashion God would deliver this precious bundle of joy, but we believed with all our hearts that a plan for adoption was in our future.
Several months passed. I was busy driving Jeremy to and from his developmental preschool while still recovering from breast cancer. Megan was now in school full-time which made my life a little simpler. Still I tired easily and worked to ease the mental pain from having had cancer. The thought of adding another child to our family was both exhilarating and scary. We wrestled with the usual worries of any soon-to-be parents.
As the fall season gave way to winter I began to experience the blues typical for those in need of sunshine. Christmas was a reminder of past difficult times for me, including my abortion and then, diagnosis of cancer. I looked for outside activities to keep me engaged and less focused on myself and planned outings with friends as often as possible.
Then on one chilly morning in November Rick attended a businessmen and women's breakfast. The guest speaker was someone from the Lighthouse, a Catholic home for unwed mothers. As the speaker told about the Lighthouse's mission for the Kansas City community, Rick later said that his skin on the back of his neck started to prickle and that he was overcome with the urge to speak personally to this woman. From talking with the speaker Rick learned that the Lighthouse was looking for women in the KC community to volunteer time towards helping the many young women living in their facility. Rick excitedly told me about his encounter while encouraging me to volunteer at the Lighthouse. I wasn't too sure; I was already busy enough.
Soon thereafter a dear friend of mine, with whom I'd shared our secret, excitedly called to tell Rick and me about her sister who was adopting a child through the Lighthouse. Imagine how excited we were when Laura shared, "You know, Kathy, my sister tells me that there are several children to be born this summer, and the Lighthouse is looking for adoptive families to help place these babies when they're born." Maybe it was time to contact the Lighthouse after all.
After speaking with the Lighthouse's volunteer coordinator I agreed to share my heart during one of their chapel times. I wanted to encourage these women as they walked forward in life -- unwed and pregnant. The best time for me to volunteer, I was told, would be in mid-January of the coming year. So I waited and did my best to move through the holiday season.
January finally arrived and I led chapel time one Sunday afternoon. Afterward I noticed one young woman walking by who didn't look pregnant and I remember wondering about that. She turned to me, saying, "Thanks for speaking to us today. I enjoyed hearing your story." That was it. Rick and I believe this young woman to be Rebekah's birth mother. Arriving at the KC Lighthouse just weeks earlier --Krista* was about three months pregnant making Rebekah's probable conception date around the middle of October. (Remember, Rick had begun journaling about the need for our family to begin praying for our new baby and for the birth mother in mid-October.)
After much prayer, Rick and I officially moved forward with a plan for adoption through the Lighthouse.
I wish I could say the process was easy, but it was not always so. We had many forms to fill out, pictures of our family to be taken, home studies to be completed by a social worker and money to be paid for lawyers. After the initial rounds of application for adoption papers were filed in early March, we waited for a letter of acceptance from the Lighthouse. My mind wrestled with doubts. Amazingly we received our acceptance letter just a week or two later.
We were then required to complete more legal forms which included the hiring of a lawyer to help move the process of adoption along. At that time retaining a lawyer for adoptions cost $500 which seemed like a HUGE sum of money for us at the time. And frankly, we didn't have it. Rick had only recently started his own business and I wanted to stay at home with our children. I brazenly threw the paper-clipped papers onto our dining room table and saying aloud, "Okay, God. If you want us to move forward, You will need to give us $500 --- and make sure we know it's for this adoption." I just couldn't see how we would be able to move forward any other way.
A few days later a friend of ours visited Rick at his office. Rick and he talked for awhile, then handed Rick a sealed envelope before leaving. To Rick's utter amazement he found a check for $500 in that envelope! Again, we were overwhelmed with the perfect timing of God's provisions!
Clearly God was providing us with everything we would need to move forward with this adoption. We filed our last set of papers, along with a $500 check, and waited for our next communication with the Lighthouse. It was now mid-April 1997. We wouldn't hear from anyone until the middle of summer. And then the process would begin to move along more quickly. Our precious newborn baby was being nurtured and prayed over by the many volunteers at the Lighthouse as well as by our family. And we waited.
As a family we began praying earnestly for our expected wee one. No one knew when, how or what fashion God would deliver this precious bundle of joy, but we believed with all our hearts that a plan for adoption was in our future.
Several months passed. I was busy driving Jeremy to and from his developmental preschool while still recovering from breast cancer. Megan was now in school full-time which made my life a little simpler. Still I tired easily and worked to ease the mental pain from having had cancer. The thought of adding another child to our family was both exhilarating and scary. We wrestled with the usual worries of any soon-to-be parents.
As the fall season gave way to winter I began to experience the blues typical for those in need of sunshine. Christmas was a reminder of past difficult times for me, including my abortion and then, diagnosis of cancer. I looked for outside activities to keep me engaged and less focused on myself and planned outings with friends as often as possible.
Then on one chilly morning in November Rick attended a businessmen and women's breakfast. The guest speaker was someone from the Lighthouse, a Catholic home for unwed mothers. As the speaker told about the Lighthouse's mission for the Kansas City community, Rick later said that his skin on the back of his neck started to prickle and that he was overcome with the urge to speak personally to this woman. From talking with the speaker Rick learned that the Lighthouse was looking for women in the KC community to volunteer time towards helping the many young women living in their facility. Rick excitedly told me about his encounter while encouraging me to volunteer at the Lighthouse. I wasn't too sure; I was already busy enough.
Soon thereafter a dear friend of mine, with whom I'd shared our secret, excitedly called to tell Rick and me about her sister who was adopting a child through the Lighthouse. Imagine how excited we were when Laura shared, "You know, Kathy, my sister tells me that there are several children to be born this summer, and the Lighthouse is looking for adoptive families to help place these babies when they're born." Maybe it was time to contact the Lighthouse after all.
After speaking with the Lighthouse's volunteer coordinator I agreed to share my heart during one of their chapel times. I wanted to encourage these women as they walked forward in life -- unwed and pregnant. The best time for me to volunteer, I was told, would be in mid-January of the coming year. So I waited and did my best to move through the holiday season.
January finally arrived and I led chapel time one Sunday afternoon. Afterward I noticed one young woman walking by who didn't look pregnant and I remember wondering about that. She turned to me, saying, "Thanks for speaking to us today. I enjoyed hearing your story." That was it. Rick and I believe this young woman to be Rebekah's birth mother. Arriving at the KC Lighthouse just weeks earlier --Krista* was about three months pregnant making Rebekah's probable conception date around the middle of October. (Remember, Rick had begun journaling about the need for our family to begin praying for our new baby and for the birth mother in mid-October.)
After much prayer, Rick and I officially moved forward with a plan for adoption through the Lighthouse.
I wish I could say the process was easy, but it was not always so. We had many forms to fill out, pictures of our family to be taken, home studies to be completed by a social worker and money to be paid for lawyers. After the initial rounds of application for adoption papers were filed in early March, we waited for a letter of acceptance from the Lighthouse. My mind wrestled with doubts. Amazingly we received our acceptance letter just a week or two later.
We were then required to complete more legal forms which included the hiring of a lawyer to help move the process of adoption along. At that time retaining a lawyer for adoptions cost $500 which seemed like a HUGE sum of money for us at the time. And frankly, we didn't have it. Rick had only recently started his own business and I wanted to stay at home with our children. I brazenly threw the paper-clipped papers onto our dining room table and saying aloud, "Okay, God. If you want us to move forward, You will need to give us $500 --- and make sure we know it's for this adoption." I just couldn't see how we would be able to move forward any other way.
A few days later a friend of ours visited Rick at his office. Rick and he talked for awhile, then handed Rick a sealed envelope before leaving. To Rick's utter amazement he found a check for $500 in that envelope! Again, we were overwhelmed with the perfect timing of God's provisions!
Clearly God was providing us with everything we would need to move forward with this adoption. We filed our last set of papers, along with a $500 check, and waited for our next communication with the Lighthouse. It was now mid-April 1997. We wouldn't hear from anyone until the middle of summer. And then the process would begin to move along more quickly. Our precious newborn baby was being nurtured and prayed over by the many volunteers at the Lighthouse as well as by our family. And we waited.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Precious Bundle of Joy - Rebekah (Part 1)
(Permission given by Rebekah to share this story with you .)
When we first laid eyes on precious Rebekah she was just a few days old. Nestled in the crook of my arms, this adorable tiny baby snuggled into my chest. What a pretty little baby she was! Beautiful brown skin and a little tuft of hair held together with a tiny pink bow. Rebekah was just lovely to gaze upon.
Rebekah's adoption story is special -- as are all children who are adopted. This youngest daughter of ours is now 15 years old and has given me permission to share her story. I hope you are as amazed as we were as we watched this story unfold! In June 1996, just two months since I'd finished my last round of chemotherapy for breast cancer --
One evening Rick and I reflected upon our lives together. We both remembered regretting the inability to have a third child. After Jeremy's birth I had surgery to prevent another pregnancy. In retrospect we wished we'd not carried through with this plan, but also acknowledged the fact that another pregnancy would have caused my cancer cells to grow even more quickly.
On this particular night Rick and I stayed awake talking together for awhile. Eventually I fell to sleep but Rick stayed up long enough to send a short prayer to God, "If you ever see fit to bless us with a third child, we were be very grateful." Rick didn't share this prayer with me for a long time.
A few weeks later Rick was having lunch with a friend from our church. During this time Paul* asked an unusual question, "Are you and Kathy thinking about adopting a child?" A little taken back Rick said that we weren't and asked "why" he asked this odd question. Our friend cautiously replied, "Because God has given me a vision," and then, proceeded to share the details with Rick. "I saw the whole family gathered around Kathy as she held a newborn baby. Everyone was sitting or standing around the sofa in your living room. I couldn't see if the baby was a boy or a girl, but it was a newborn and everyone was very excited to welcome this little one into your family."
Later when Rick shared this conversation with me I was stunned. I'd recently finished chemotherapy and our son was struggling with autism. It seemed impossible for any judge to grant us custody of another child!? After all, how long would I live given the possibility of cancer recurrence? And how much attention could I offer a newborn baby with an autistic child to deal with.
After some discussion we decided not to do anything -- in fact, I thought the whole idea sort of silly. Life went on as usual. Then a couple months later Paul called Rick once more to say, "This morning I was praying and believe God wants you to hear, again, that you and Kathy ARE going to be blessed with another child within a year. I believe that God wants you and Kathy to prepare for this gift by praying for and expect the arrival of this special baby." As you can imagine, we were astounded by this man's words.
With nothing to lose we began praying earnestly for this special little baby who might someday enter our home. Neither of us were totally confident that these visions were Truth, but thought prayers could only help move the process along if God was truly planning to bless us with another little one.
Then one chilly, but awesome morning in October Rick shared with me a journal entry he'd written just days before. On that particular morning he had written, "I believe God is nudging us to begin praying for our new baby to come and her birth mother. I believe we are to pray that this birth mother come to know God and that her newborn child would be protected throughout this pregnancy." Rick journaled this in October -- something important to remember.
With renewed strength and courage we began praying together for God's will to be done. We were careful to pray only for God's will and for guidance. Rick and I agreed to only a few others which didn't seem to include members of our own families. It was an exciting time -- a journey that would have many peaks & valleys. It was to be an awesome story for Rebekah to learn about as she grew up. She would learn just how much God loves His children -- even children who are special because of their adoption.
"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass." Psalm 34: 4, 7
* Name Changed To Protect The Identity of Our Friend
When we first laid eyes on precious Rebekah she was just a few days old. Nestled in the crook of my arms, this adorable tiny baby snuggled into my chest. What a pretty little baby she was! Beautiful brown skin and a little tuft of hair held together with a tiny pink bow. Rebekah was just lovely to gaze upon.
Rebekah's adoption story is special -- as are all children who are adopted. This youngest daughter of ours is now 15 years old and has given me permission to share her story. I hope you are as amazed as we were as we watched this story unfold! In June 1996, just two months since I'd finished my last round of chemotherapy for breast cancer --
One evening Rick and I reflected upon our lives together. We both remembered regretting the inability to have a third child. After Jeremy's birth I had surgery to prevent another pregnancy. In retrospect we wished we'd not carried through with this plan, but also acknowledged the fact that another pregnancy would have caused my cancer cells to grow even more quickly.
On this particular night Rick and I stayed awake talking together for awhile. Eventually I fell to sleep but Rick stayed up long enough to send a short prayer to God, "If you ever see fit to bless us with a third child, we were be very grateful." Rick didn't share this prayer with me for a long time.
A few weeks later Rick was having lunch with a friend from our church. During this time Paul* asked an unusual question, "Are you and Kathy thinking about adopting a child?" A little taken back Rick said that we weren't and asked "why" he asked this odd question. Our friend cautiously replied, "Because God has given me a vision," and then, proceeded to share the details with Rick. "I saw the whole family gathered around Kathy as she held a newborn baby. Everyone was sitting or standing around the sofa in your living room. I couldn't see if the baby was a boy or a girl, but it was a newborn and everyone was very excited to welcome this little one into your family."
Later when Rick shared this conversation with me I was stunned. I'd recently finished chemotherapy and our son was struggling with autism. It seemed impossible for any judge to grant us custody of another child!? After all, how long would I live given the possibility of cancer recurrence? And how much attention could I offer a newborn baby with an autistic child to deal with.
After some discussion we decided not to do anything -- in fact, I thought the whole idea sort of silly. Life went on as usual. Then a couple months later Paul called Rick once more to say, "This morning I was praying and believe God wants you to hear, again, that you and Kathy ARE going to be blessed with another child within a year. I believe that God wants you and Kathy to prepare for this gift by praying for and expect the arrival of this special baby." As you can imagine, we were astounded by this man's words.
With nothing to lose we began praying earnestly for this special little baby who might someday enter our home. Neither of us were totally confident that these visions were Truth, but thought prayers could only help move the process along if God was truly planning to bless us with another little one.
Then one chilly, but awesome morning in October Rick shared with me a journal entry he'd written just days before. On that particular morning he had written, "I believe God is nudging us to begin praying for our new baby to come and her birth mother. I believe we are to pray that this birth mother come to know God and that her newborn child would be protected throughout this pregnancy." Rick journaled this in October -- something important to remember.
With renewed strength and courage we began praying together for God's will to be done. We were careful to pray only for God's will and for guidance. Rick and I agreed to only a few others which didn't seem to include members of our own families. It was an exciting time -- a journey that would have many peaks & valleys. It was to be an awesome story for Rebekah to learn about as she grew up. She would learn just how much God loves His children -- even children who are special because of their adoption.
"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass." Psalm 34: 4, 7
* Name Changed To Protect The Identity of Our Friend
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Godly Preparation: A Full Quiver
When Rick and I were dating we often took long walks together -- at least in the spring, summer and fall seasons. We used this time to get to know one another and to talk about our busy, hectic lives. Rick was a banker while I was learning how to be a most excellent pediatric nurse. We were young and in love so planning for a future together seemed only natural =)
One evening we walked from my little apartment to a tiny street-side park. Located on one of the corners of a very busy intersection, cars were zipping by, but Rick and I didn't hear them. We only had ears from one another. (Aww, love is bliss =) There were comfortable benches arranged around a beautiful water fountain. Our wedding was just months away and our conversation had turned to long-range plans for our future as husband and wife, then later, as a daddy and mommy.
"Rick, I would like three children," I said, "I'd like to have two biological children and adopt one child with special needs." Having seen other nurses at Children's Mercy adopt children who needed families to love and care for them, I thought it would be something I'd like to do, too. I pictured bringing home a small child who was either blind or deaf -- simpler challenges, I thought. I recall thinking to myself that almost any special need would be fine, but that I did NOT want to bring home a child with mental retardation or similar mental deficit. "No way!" I thought to myself. "I'd never be able to hand that!"
I was wary of people with mental retardation. As a child I'd been scared by the actions of one of our neighbor's daughter who happened to have Down's Syndrome. During my childhood years, the 1960's, children with special needs were just seldom seen. In school they were tucked away in special education classrooms -- an almost forgotten group of people. Words like inclusion, acceptance and diversity weren't talked about. My limited experience with those having special needs had created confusion and fear.
Fast forward ten years at which time our family was complete -- our quiver was full, so to speak. Rick and I had birthed two children into this world, and later had adopted a little baby girl. One day I thought about my original declaration about children which I'd expressed to Rick so long ago that one fine summer night before we were married. I marveled at how closely our lives had paralleled that first dream of family. We did have two children and one child with special needs -- only our biological child was the one with a special gift of autism. God had prepared our hearts as only He could do. And He helped me overcome my own fears and prejudices for those with special gifts as well =)
Jeremy does have some mental challenges which was something I didn't want to have to deal with. Along the way I have learned patience, trust and have steadily gained strength from our Creator to move forward year after year. God has enabled both Rick and I to walk with confidence and purpose as we seek the best treatments and therapies for our special son. And He provided us with both Megan and Rebekah -- the very best sisters for Jeremy in this whole wide world. For the gift of these three children I am eternally grateful. Who would have known that the seeds for our family would have been placed in my heart even before we were married?
"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
One evening we walked from my little apartment to a tiny street-side park. Located on one of the corners of a very busy intersection, cars were zipping by, but Rick and I didn't hear them. We only had ears from one another. (Aww, love is bliss =) There were comfortable benches arranged around a beautiful water fountain. Our wedding was just months away and our conversation had turned to long-range plans for our future as husband and wife, then later, as a daddy and mommy.
"Rick, I would like three children," I said, "I'd like to have two biological children and adopt one child with special needs." Having seen other nurses at Children's Mercy adopt children who needed families to love and care for them, I thought it would be something I'd like to do, too. I pictured bringing home a small child who was either blind or deaf -- simpler challenges, I thought. I recall thinking to myself that almost any special need would be fine, but that I did NOT want to bring home a child with mental retardation or similar mental deficit. "No way!" I thought to myself. "I'd never be able to hand that!"
I was wary of people with mental retardation. As a child I'd been scared by the actions of one of our neighbor's daughter who happened to have Down's Syndrome. During my childhood years, the 1960's, children with special needs were just seldom seen. In school they were tucked away in special education classrooms -- an almost forgotten group of people. Words like inclusion, acceptance and diversity weren't talked about. My limited experience with those having special needs had created confusion and fear.
Fast forward ten years at which time our family was complete -- our quiver was full, so to speak. Rick and I had birthed two children into this world, and later had adopted a little baby girl. One day I thought about my original declaration about children which I'd expressed to Rick so long ago that one fine summer night before we were married. I marveled at how closely our lives had paralleled that first dream of family. We did have two children and one child with special needs -- only our biological child was the one with a special gift of autism. God had prepared our hearts as only He could do. And He helped me overcome my own fears and prejudices for those with special gifts as well =)
Jeremy does have some mental challenges which was something I didn't want to have to deal with. Along the way I have learned patience, trust and have steadily gained strength from our Creator to move forward year after year. God has enabled both Rick and I to walk with confidence and purpose as we seek the best treatments and therapies for our special son. And He provided us with both Megan and Rebekah -- the very best sisters for Jeremy in this whole wide world. For the gift of these three children I am eternally grateful. Who would have known that the seeds for our family would have been placed in my heart even before we were married?
"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Sleep Paralysis
"Be alert and of sober mind for the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour ..." 1 Peter 5:8
"Therefore God exalted him (Jesus) to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name." Philippians 2:9
My father died the very last day of July, 2002. He was a loving, good-hearted man with multiple health issues. For many years he'd suffered from a variety of ailments -- heart valve leakage, myoclonic jerk disorder, diverticulitis, depression, and so on. When he died our family was sad, yet relieved. I had no doubt that my dad had ascended to heaven -- but that's for another blog.
I remember standing by Dad's casket looking down at his deceased body. Dad had become a true believer in Christ after he'd suffered a sort of mid-life crisis twenty-five years earlier. As the years went by I watched my dad pray more, read the bible more and find a sense of contentment for his position in life. More than once I witnessed Dad praying beside his bed -- on his knees.
As I stood looking at my dad as he lay in the casket there was a subtle shift in my spirit that's hard to describe. I remember sensing this mantle-like cloak settling down upon my shoulders. "As your father prayed, so shall you," whispered a gentle, quiet voice into my ears. I shuddered. "NO, I don't want it!" I thought. "He suffered so much ... and I don't want to suffer like my dad!" Shrugging it off, I turned to sit with my family as the service began.
Following the funeral our family was invited to spend some time with friends at their house on Lake of the Ozarks, mom included. So off the six of us went for a weekend of sunshine and relaxation. It was a very strange time for all of us. We enjoyed jet skiing, tubing behind their speed boat and floating on rafts around their dock. Our family spent this time reflecting on Dad's death and our future. It was a bittersweet time for all of us. I missed my dad. We were very close. I could talk to my dad about almost anything.
Rick and I went to bed after tucking both Megan and Jeremy in for the night. It was a splendid house and our bedroom overlooked the beautiful lake. Swiftly I drifted to sleep amid a sense of peace and gratefulness for this time away.
Sometime later I woke up but found myself unable to move. It was the strangest sensation -- like a huge pillow-body was lying across me. I frantically searched the room but didn't see anyone or anything. It was like I was awake, but a little asleep, too. Trying to speak proved difficult as all I could manage was a small croak, "Help." No success in waking Rick, I tried again. "Help, me!" I managed to squeak one more time. The oppressive weight was slowly sinking into my chest and I found myself struggling for breath. "Am I dying!?" I wondered.
Suddenly I heard that still, small, gentle voice that I'd heard at my dad's funeral say, "Call out for Jesus. His name is more powerful than all."
"Okay, I'll do it," I thought to myself. So with a firm resolve I took in as much air as I could muster and hoarsely belted out, "Jesus!!!" Immediately the heaviness of pillow-man lifted and I sensed this spirit of oppression leave the room. I had managed to scream the name of Jesus so loudly that Rick woke up only to find me sitting straight-up! Imagine Rick's surprise to have been awakened so abruptly in the middle of the night!
I don't know how I fell to sleep after such an exhausting fight, but I seemed to drift off to sleep with relative ease. In the morning I woke with vivid memories of this night time incident and grew trouble. Visible shaken, I shared what had happened to me with our friends. I was stunned by my friend's response, "I've experienced that before, too."
Ten years later I can still recall that night with vivid detail. It was a valuable lesson for me and I've only shared this story with a few people until now. I learned that the name of Jesus is more powerful than any name in all the heavens and the earth. And I learned God sometimes allows us to experience oppressing times while on earth -- for a variety of reasons. I believe that God was allowing me to see that evil would try to thwart my plans and possibly even try to do harm to me at times. But God clearly is in control.
Now, when I am afraid or going through difficult times (especially emotional times) I will sometimes just say the name "Jesus" aloud. It's amazing how quickly the mood of the room will change.
And, I have become a woman of prayer ... no longer afraid, but strong in the name of Christ Jesus. Amen.
"Therefore God exalted him (Jesus) to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name." Philippians 2:9
My father died the very last day of July, 2002. He was a loving, good-hearted man with multiple health issues. For many years he'd suffered from a variety of ailments -- heart valve leakage, myoclonic jerk disorder, diverticulitis, depression, and so on. When he died our family was sad, yet relieved. I had no doubt that my dad had ascended to heaven -- but that's for another blog.
I remember standing by Dad's casket looking down at his deceased body. Dad had become a true believer in Christ after he'd suffered a sort of mid-life crisis twenty-five years earlier. As the years went by I watched my dad pray more, read the bible more and find a sense of contentment for his position in life. More than once I witnessed Dad praying beside his bed -- on his knees.
As I stood looking at my dad as he lay in the casket there was a subtle shift in my spirit that's hard to describe. I remember sensing this mantle-like cloak settling down upon my shoulders. "As your father prayed, so shall you," whispered a gentle, quiet voice into my ears. I shuddered. "NO, I don't want it!" I thought. "He suffered so much ... and I don't want to suffer like my dad!" Shrugging it off, I turned to sit with my family as the service began.
Following the funeral our family was invited to spend some time with friends at their house on Lake of the Ozarks, mom included. So off the six of us went for a weekend of sunshine and relaxation. It was a very strange time for all of us. We enjoyed jet skiing, tubing behind their speed boat and floating on rafts around their dock. Our family spent this time reflecting on Dad's death and our future. It was a bittersweet time for all of us. I missed my dad. We were very close. I could talk to my dad about almost anything.
Rick and I went to bed after tucking both Megan and Jeremy in for the night. It was a splendid house and our bedroom overlooked the beautiful lake. Swiftly I drifted to sleep amid a sense of peace and gratefulness for this time away.
Sometime later I woke up but found myself unable to move. It was the strangest sensation -- like a huge pillow-body was lying across me. I frantically searched the room but didn't see anyone or anything. It was like I was awake, but a little asleep, too. Trying to speak proved difficult as all I could manage was a small croak, "Help." No success in waking Rick, I tried again. "Help, me!" I managed to squeak one more time. The oppressive weight was slowly sinking into my chest and I found myself struggling for breath. "Am I dying!?" I wondered.
Suddenly I heard that still, small, gentle voice that I'd heard at my dad's funeral say, "Call out for Jesus. His name is more powerful than all."
"Okay, I'll do it," I thought to myself. So with a firm resolve I took in as much air as I could muster and hoarsely belted out, "Jesus!!!" Immediately the heaviness of pillow-man lifted and I sensed this spirit of oppression leave the room. I had managed to scream the name of Jesus so loudly that Rick woke up only to find me sitting straight-up! Imagine Rick's surprise to have been awakened so abruptly in the middle of the night!
I don't know how I fell to sleep after such an exhausting fight, but I seemed to drift off to sleep with relative ease. In the morning I woke with vivid memories of this night time incident and grew trouble. Visible shaken, I shared what had happened to me with our friends. I was stunned by my friend's response, "I've experienced that before, too."
Ten years later I can still recall that night with vivid detail. It was a valuable lesson for me and I've only shared this story with a few people until now. I learned that the name of Jesus is more powerful than any name in all the heavens and the earth. And I learned God sometimes allows us to experience oppressing times while on earth -- for a variety of reasons. I believe that God was allowing me to see that evil would try to thwart my plans and possibly even try to do harm to me at times. But God clearly is in control.
Now, when I am afraid or going through difficult times (especially emotional times) I will sometimes just say the name "Jesus" aloud. It's amazing how quickly the mood of the room will change.
And, I have become a woman of prayer ... no longer afraid, but strong in the name of Christ Jesus. Amen.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Taco Bell Story -- Jeremy
I've told my "Taco Bell" story multiple times over the years -- to school teachers, to young adults who have worked with Jeremy, to my friends and so on. My story begins in the year 1996 when our family was driving to St. Louis to see a specialist who would help us recover Jeremy from his disability of autism.
Jeremy was almost four years old when he was finally diagnosed. He was profoundly affected and considered severe by the doctor's standards. For the first couple of years we had Jeremy placed in a developmental preschool which meant that I drove 45 minutes to and from our house on a daily basis. It was wearying and time-consuming.
Although the occupational and speech therapists at this preschool did their best, I knew there was something non-traditional that needed to be done to better help our little boy. While visiting with another parent one afternoon I learned of a company called "National Academy for Child Development" that specialized in improving children's potential for learning. After much prayer, we decided to enlist the support of NACD to help recover our son.
On this particular day our family was traveling to St. Louis for our first visit with Bob Doman, Founder and Neurodevelopmentalist for NACD. Working with NACD would be costly and require extensive daily therapy at home, but we knew that NACD would be able to tap into Jeremy's dormant potential. I prayed that God would make it clear by giving me a 'vision' of where Jeremy could aspire to be. I knew that it would be important for us to believe that Jeremy could make significant progress given the right structure and plan.
Midway between St. Louis and Kansas City is the small town of Boonville, Missouri. A Taco Bell sits along the highway. Rick suggested tacos for lunch; although surprised with his suggestion, we soon found ourselves walking into this restaurant. Rick took Megan to the front counter to order while I whisked Jeremy to the bathrooms.
Many children with autism suffer strange fears and unusual behaviors -- our little Jeremy was no different =( The past several weeks had been difficult because Jeremy was showing great fear of the toilet seats. In an effort to alleviate fears our little boy would stand two to three feet away -- which wasn't optimal for many reasons. My voice became firm as I coached and gently pushed Jeremy forward. Jeremy howled and wailed like someone being torn away from his beloved blanket. "NO!" he yelled, "No!" Even more firmly I coached Jeremy until finally the deed was done. Jeremy and I wearily bolted from the restroom only to find the few restaurant gatherers staring with horrified expressions as we exited the restrooms.
With a questioning look, Rick took both children to the car while I finished placing the order. While waiting I took notice of the young employee who'd taken our order. He was fidgeting with his little black tie with a look of slight anxiety in his eyes. There were just three of us waiting for our orders. "Do you want to know why our son was screaming in the bathroom?" I blurted out to the employee standing in front of me. "Now where did that come from?!" I wondered. Again, "Do you want to know why our son was screaming in the bathroom?" I insistently pursued. "Well, sure," was his reply with a shrug of his shoulders. The other two gentlemen leaned in to hear as well.
"Well, our son has autism and he's going through a fear of the toilet seats right now," I began. "I have to be firm so that he'll get over this fear. One can't be afraid of toilet seats all their lives," I stammered on. Everyone took on a look of "Oh, yeah. I get it," then settled back into their usual places. But the young employee sort of smiled sadly and said to me, "I have autism, too."
I'd never met an adult with autism before. What a revelation to see a young man standing before me who was clearly able to work, to converse and understand relationships! After a few exchanges I learned that he'd attended regular public schools, still lived at home and was now working at Taco Bell. He hoped to move into an apartment of his own very soon. It was a balm to my soul to see someone who'd so obviously recovered from the debilitating disability of autism. There were little signs of his disability, as I reflected later, but none so obvious for the casual eye to observe.
As I walked to our parked car with our sack of tacos, it suddenly dawned on me that this not-so-chance of a meeting was a divine answer from God to me. He was giving me a glimpse of who Jeremy could become -- a functioning member of society with the capacity to know others, including his Creator. My heart swelled with gratitude and I resolved to always expect great things from Jeremy. I would share this story many times over the years to ensure that others would expect the same.
Once again, God had proven Himself to be faithful. I am reminded of the bible verse that says, "I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel and watch over you." Psalm 32:8. Throughout the years God has consistently laid before us various therapies and opportunities for Jeremy. It has not been an easy road, but it has been rewarding to see Jeremy's progress since those early years of severe autism.
Jeremy is now twenty years old. He is able to communicate functionally, not so well, socially. Jeremy now works for a company that puts medical kits together for a local laboratory. It is repetitive work, but one that Jeremy seems to enjoy. Jeremy is considered moderately high-functioning at this point. Living alone is not an option, but we are still hopeful. Recently I found a website that helps build and restore brain cells. It was recommended to me by two people within a short window of time. Jeremy loves working these computer games -- and, I plan to register myself next month =)
For more information on NACD and Lumosity, please see these websites:
National Academy for Child Development (www.nacd.org)
Lumosity (www.lumosity.com)
Jeremy was almost four years old when he was finally diagnosed. He was profoundly affected and considered severe by the doctor's standards. For the first couple of years we had Jeremy placed in a developmental preschool which meant that I drove 45 minutes to and from our house on a daily basis. It was wearying and time-consuming.
Although the occupational and speech therapists at this preschool did their best, I knew there was something non-traditional that needed to be done to better help our little boy. While visiting with another parent one afternoon I learned of a company called "National Academy for Child Development" that specialized in improving children's potential for learning. After much prayer, we decided to enlist the support of NACD to help recover our son.
On this particular day our family was traveling to St. Louis for our first visit with Bob Doman, Founder and Neurodevelopmentalist for NACD. Working with NACD would be costly and require extensive daily therapy at home, but we knew that NACD would be able to tap into Jeremy's dormant potential. I prayed that God would make it clear by giving me a 'vision' of where Jeremy could aspire to be. I knew that it would be important for us to believe that Jeremy could make significant progress given the right structure and plan.
Midway between St. Louis and Kansas City is the small town of Boonville, Missouri. A Taco Bell sits along the highway. Rick suggested tacos for lunch; although surprised with his suggestion, we soon found ourselves walking into this restaurant. Rick took Megan to the front counter to order while I whisked Jeremy to the bathrooms.
Many children with autism suffer strange fears and unusual behaviors -- our little Jeremy was no different =( The past several weeks had been difficult because Jeremy was showing great fear of the toilet seats. In an effort to alleviate fears our little boy would stand two to three feet away -- which wasn't optimal for many reasons. My voice became firm as I coached and gently pushed Jeremy forward. Jeremy howled and wailed like someone being torn away from his beloved blanket. "NO!" he yelled, "No!" Even more firmly I coached Jeremy until finally the deed was done. Jeremy and I wearily bolted from the restroom only to find the few restaurant gatherers staring with horrified expressions as we exited the restrooms.
With a questioning look, Rick took both children to the car while I finished placing the order. While waiting I took notice of the young employee who'd taken our order. He was fidgeting with his little black tie with a look of slight anxiety in his eyes. There were just three of us waiting for our orders. "Do you want to know why our son was screaming in the bathroom?" I blurted out to the employee standing in front of me. "Now where did that come from?!" I wondered. Again, "Do you want to know why our son was screaming in the bathroom?" I insistently pursued. "Well, sure," was his reply with a shrug of his shoulders. The other two gentlemen leaned in to hear as well.
"Well, our son has autism and he's going through a fear of the toilet seats right now," I began. "I have to be firm so that he'll get over this fear. One can't be afraid of toilet seats all their lives," I stammered on. Everyone took on a look of "Oh, yeah. I get it," then settled back into their usual places. But the young employee sort of smiled sadly and said to me, "I have autism, too."
I'd never met an adult with autism before. What a revelation to see a young man standing before me who was clearly able to work, to converse and understand relationships! After a few exchanges I learned that he'd attended regular public schools, still lived at home and was now working at Taco Bell. He hoped to move into an apartment of his own very soon. It was a balm to my soul to see someone who'd so obviously recovered from the debilitating disability of autism. There were little signs of his disability, as I reflected later, but none so obvious for the casual eye to observe.
As I walked to our parked car with our sack of tacos, it suddenly dawned on me that this not-so-chance of a meeting was a divine answer from God to me. He was giving me a glimpse of who Jeremy could become -- a functioning member of society with the capacity to know others, including his Creator. My heart swelled with gratitude and I resolved to always expect great things from Jeremy. I would share this story many times over the years to ensure that others would expect the same.
Once again, God had proven Himself to be faithful. I am reminded of the bible verse that says, "I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel and watch over you." Psalm 32:8. Throughout the years God has consistently laid before us various therapies and opportunities for Jeremy. It has not been an easy road, but it has been rewarding to see Jeremy's progress since those early years of severe autism.
Jeremy is now twenty years old. He is able to communicate functionally, not so well, socially. Jeremy now works for a company that puts medical kits together for a local laboratory. It is repetitive work, but one that Jeremy seems to enjoy. Jeremy is considered moderately high-functioning at this point. Living alone is not an option, but we are still hopeful. Recently I found a website that helps build and restore brain cells. It was recommended to me by two people within a short window of time. Jeremy loves working these computer games -- and, I plan to register myself next month =)
For more information on NACD and Lumosity, please see these websites:
National Academy for Child Development (www.nacd.org)
Lumosity (www.lumosity.com)
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Megan's Eye Troubles
I come from a long line of worriers. As a teenager I vowed not to carry on the family tradition and was fairly successful at this -- until the birth of our first child, precious and adorable, Megan.
As Megan grew through her toddler years and into early childhood, I began to understand the part of life that included worry. Although I was a pediatric nurse at Children's Mercy Hospital, I didn't know much about common childhood ailments. Most of my nursing skills resolved around really sick children with cancer.
Watching Megan struggle through common illnesses, I became an innate worrier. To keep myself grounded, I would call my closest friends and asked them questions.
Then one morning three year old Megan asked, "Mommy, why do I see two of you?"
I was helping Megan buckle her pretty white patent leather shoes so we could soon leave for church. "What?!" I asked with stunned clarity and an escalating heartbeat. "Mommy, I see two of you. One right there, and one right there," she said while pointing her little finger to two unseen spaces in front of her. I leaned back to get a good look at her eyes. Sure enough, her right eye was veering inward. Survival mode kicked in as I fought to control the panic cycle within my heart. I'd taken care of lots of children who had vision issues related to their brain tumors.
It didn't take long to place a telephone call to our pediatrician. He didn't express much concern because Megan wasn't showing any other symptoms besides one crossed eye. She wasn't walking lop-sided, falling down or showing signs of nausea. In fact, Megan was happy as usual =) But I still worried. "What if ..., " kept pulsing through my mind. With a heavy heart I waited for Monday morning to arrive when Megan could be seen by a physician. Throughout the night I prayed and prayed and prayed, still worrying about the possibility of Megan battling a brain tumor.
The next day Megan was examined by a renowned children's eye specialist and later that day underwent a MRI of the head. We were sent us home with the promise of news within a couple of days and Megan was put on an antibiotic for a stuffy nose and cough that she'd had for more than a week. That night I tried hard to pretend that nothing was amiss, but inside I felt confused, scared and ... still worried.
It was almost midnight when we received the good news that Megan's MRI was normal. The doctor wasn't sure why Megan's eyes were turning inward, but thought it might be related to sinusitis that hadn't been diagnosed (pressure from the sinuses on the nerve that moves the eye). She wondered if the antibiotic had reduced the swelling of Megan's sinuses so that the optic nerves were no longer being pressured. No one knew for sure. But it certainly was good news was that Megan's wayward eye was no longer veering to the right! I was relieved and grateful for God's provision.
Almost exactly one year later it happened, again. Only this time I wasn't as scared. I'd been down this path before and realized that my worry did nothing to ease the pain of uncertainty. Once more Megan's eye returned to normal after being given an antibiotic. From then on we would be more wise and cautious about watching for signs of sinusitis. To date, Megan hasn't wrestled with this condition for a third time, although she still tilts her head slightly to the right when she watches television.
As the years have passed, our family has battled various health issues and injuries. It hasn't been easy and I will admit, sometimes I regress and worry. But I work hard to maintain an inner peace during times of stress or concern. It's easy for me to slip back into the worry-mentality. I still talk to my friends when feeling the need to be 'grounded'. I try to remember that my worry doesn't help, and, in fact, often makes the situation even more difficult to bear.
The one thing that helps me is to pray unceasingly through those stressful or painful situations that present themselves. As I pray, I lay claim one very special Bible verse:
"So do not fear, for I am with you; Do not be dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you and help you; and I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10.
... and in time, I usually feel better.
As Megan grew through her toddler years and into early childhood, I began to understand the part of life that included worry. Although I was a pediatric nurse at Children's Mercy Hospital, I didn't know much about common childhood ailments. Most of my nursing skills resolved around really sick children with cancer.
Watching Megan struggle through common illnesses, I became an innate worrier. To keep myself grounded, I would call my closest friends and asked them questions.
Then one morning three year old Megan asked, "Mommy, why do I see two of you?"
I was helping Megan buckle her pretty white patent leather shoes so we could soon leave for church. "What?!" I asked with stunned clarity and an escalating heartbeat. "Mommy, I see two of you. One right there, and one right there," she said while pointing her little finger to two unseen spaces in front of her. I leaned back to get a good look at her eyes. Sure enough, her right eye was veering inward. Survival mode kicked in as I fought to control the panic cycle within my heart. I'd taken care of lots of children who had vision issues related to their brain tumors.
It didn't take long to place a telephone call to our pediatrician. He didn't express much concern because Megan wasn't showing any other symptoms besides one crossed eye. She wasn't walking lop-sided, falling down or showing signs of nausea. In fact, Megan was happy as usual =) But I still worried. "What if ..., " kept pulsing through my mind. With a heavy heart I waited for Monday morning to arrive when Megan could be seen by a physician. Throughout the night I prayed and prayed and prayed, still worrying about the possibility of Megan battling a brain tumor.
The next day Megan was examined by a renowned children's eye specialist and later that day underwent a MRI of the head. We were sent us home with the promise of news within a couple of days and Megan was put on an antibiotic for a stuffy nose and cough that she'd had for more than a week. That night I tried hard to pretend that nothing was amiss, but inside I felt confused, scared and ... still worried.
It was almost midnight when we received the good news that Megan's MRI was normal. The doctor wasn't sure why Megan's eyes were turning inward, but thought it might be related to sinusitis that hadn't been diagnosed (pressure from the sinuses on the nerve that moves the eye). She wondered if the antibiotic had reduced the swelling of Megan's sinuses so that the optic nerves were no longer being pressured. No one knew for sure. But it certainly was good news was that Megan's wayward eye was no longer veering to the right! I was relieved and grateful for God's provision.
Almost exactly one year later it happened, again. Only this time I wasn't as scared. I'd been down this path before and realized that my worry did nothing to ease the pain of uncertainty. Once more Megan's eye returned to normal after being given an antibiotic. From then on we would be more wise and cautious about watching for signs of sinusitis. To date, Megan hasn't wrestled with this condition for a third time, although she still tilts her head slightly to the right when she watches television.
As the years have passed, our family has battled various health issues and injuries. It hasn't been easy and I will admit, sometimes I regress and worry. But I work hard to maintain an inner peace during times of stress or concern. It's easy for me to slip back into the worry-mentality. I still talk to my friends when feeling the need to be 'grounded'. I try to remember that my worry doesn't help, and, in fact, often makes the situation even more difficult to bear.
The one thing that helps me is to pray unceasingly through those stressful or painful situations that present themselves. As I pray, I lay claim one very special Bible verse:
"So do not fear, for I am with you; Do not be dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you and help you; and I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10.
... and in time, I usually feel better.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Scary Dog Story
"Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you." Proverbs 4:25
Many years ago, when I used to run for exercise, I found myself running along the country road leading away from Camp Barnabas early one morning. I watched a few counselors running ahead of me. About a quarter of a mile out of camp I spied a large, ferocious-looking dog run from it's perch on a dilapidated farmhouse porch and growl menacingly while nipping at one counselor's heels. This young man kicked the dog away, but steadfastly kept running at his regular pace. The dog continued his pursuit until the two young men were beyond the fence boundaries of the farm.
My heart began racing as I envisioned this menacing farm dog literally tearing my legs off my body! By nature I am afraid of dogs bigger than, say, a small Bichon. So this aggressive canine was just too much for me to handle! Without skipping a beat I abruptly turned around and began running a little more quickly back to camp. "No way am I gonna face that dog," I thought to myself.
As I neared the entrance to camp I noticed other small groups of counselors leaving for their early morning run. I wondered how they would fare as they ran past the dog. Curious, I turned around to watch how others reacted to the growling dog. Amazingly these separate two-somes and three-somes just kept jogging -- mostly without missing a step and with little attention to their aggressor. "How can that be?!" I wondered aloud.
Then suddenly it dawned on me. They had kept their eyes on their target destination. Perhaps they glanced at the dog, but most of these runners paid little attention to their aggressor -- and just kept running. "Aha! That's the answer," I thought to myself. "I'll keep my eyes focused on my target destination and I won't even glance at the growling dog." Then a still small voice seem to whisper, "If these people can make it beyond the farmhouse, then so can you! Keep your eyes on your final destination. And ignore the distractions along the way -- including the scary ones."
I resolved to do the same and turned around once more. This time I focused on a distant silo -- my turn-around point -- and began jogging in a slow and steady pace. As you can imagine my heart began beating faster and my palms became sweaty as I approached the farmhouse. I continued to jog toward the silo, then, ever so slowly ran beyond the farmhouse. Steadfastly I jogged forward without looking to the right or the left. My eyes were zeroed in on that silo in the distance. I heard the dog barking as he ran onto this country road. He seemed to jump from my left side to my right side with reckless abandon. "Will I ever get beyond this house?!" my mind screamed. I kept going for what seemed like an eternity.
As quickly as the dog appeared, he disappeared. I kept jogging I reached that silo, then, resolutely began my return home -- instinctively knowing that it would be a little easier this time. My heart still sped up a little and my palms still turned sweaty, but not to the degree that I'd experienced earlier. When I returned to camp I put away my sneakers and didn't run for the rest of the week! Only later did I process and think about this experience. I learned that ...
Many years ago, when I used to run for exercise, I found myself running along the country road leading away from Camp Barnabas early one morning. I watched a few counselors running ahead of me. About a quarter of a mile out of camp I spied a large, ferocious-looking dog run from it's perch on a dilapidated farmhouse porch and growl menacingly while nipping at one counselor's heels. This young man kicked the dog away, but steadfastly kept running at his regular pace. The dog continued his pursuit until the two young men were beyond the fence boundaries of the farm.
My heart began racing as I envisioned this menacing farm dog literally tearing my legs off my body! By nature I am afraid of dogs bigger than, say, a small Bichon. So this aggressive canine was just too much for me to handle! Without skipping a beat I abruptly turned around and began running a little more quickly back to camp. "No way am I gonna face that dog," I thought to myself.
As I neared the entrance to camp I noticed other small groups of counselors leaving for their early morning run. I wondered how they would fare as they ran past the dog. Curious, I turned around to watch how others reacted to the growling dog. Amazingly these separate two-somes and three-somes just kept jogging -- mostly without missing a step and with little attention to their aggressor. "How can that be?!" I wondered aloud.
Then suddenly it dawned on me. They had kept their eyes on their target destination. Perhaps they glanced at the dog, but most of these runners paid little attention to their aggressor -- and just kept running. "Aha! That's the answer," I thought to myself. "I'll keep my eyes focused on my target destination and I won't even glance at the growling dog." Then a still small voice seem to whisper, "If these people can make it beyond the farmhouse, then so can you! Keep your eyes on your final destination. And ignore the distractions along the way -- including the scary ones."
I resolved to do the same and turned around once more. This time I focused on a distant silo -- my turn-around point -- and began jogging in a slow and steady pace. As you can imagine my heart began beating faster and my palms became sweaty as I approached the farmhouse. I continued to jog toward the silo, then, ever so slowly ran beyond the farmhouse. Steadfastly I jogged forward without looking to the right or the left. My eyes were zeroed in on that silo in the distance. I heard the dog barking as he ran onto this country road. He seemed to jump from my left side to my right side with reckless abandon. "Will I ever get beyond this house?!" my mind screamed. I kept going for what seemed like an eternity.
As quickly as the dog appeared, he disappeared. I kept jogging I reached that silo, then, resolutely began my return home -- instinctively knowing that it would be a little easier this time. My heart still sped up a little and my palms still turned sweaty, but not to the degree that I'd experienced earlier. When I returned to camp I put away my sneakers and didn't run for the rest of the week! Only later did I process and think about this experience. I learned that ...
- It's best to focus on our destination rather than on the scary distractions that can pop-up along the way;
- We learn by watching others walk through difficult situations and scary times;
- Others learn from watching us walk through difficult situations and scary times;
- Courage is a force of will that can be learned;
- And, sometimes a step of faith if necessary to complete one's journey.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
New Friendships
One balmy, August morning, I wearily climbed down from the school bus and traipsed into our junior high school gymnasium. Along with others from my bus, I ambled into the gymnasium while scanning for friends. Because it was so early in the morning, there was usually very little chatter until we ultimately reached our destination -- school. It was a time to socialize, flirt and preen before others ~~ as 7th graders, the bottom of the barrel in junior high school.
For almost a week now I had endured this change from elementary to junior high school. Exciting at first, it became more socially challenging as I worked to establish myself into the hierarchy of seventh grade student life. After all, there were so many more people to meet and get to know. I wondered where would I fit. I really didn't feel a part of any specific crowd.
Throughout most of grade school I had been a part of a trio of friends in our little elementary school. We three had many things in common like Girl Scouts, dance lessons, sleepovers and camp- outs. But now I was watching my three best friends stand in a huddle with a group of other girls ~~ a new group was evolving. For some reason I no longer felt comfortable around my old friends, nor did I feel capable of cracking into what I viewed as their inner sanctum. Truth be told, I was tired of trying to fit in these last couple of weeks in junior high. Brushing past the satellite groups of people standing on the gymnasium floor I resolutely climbed the steps of the bleachers to sit alone. It was in that time of solitude that I made the conscious decision to make new friends -- friends with whom I would feel comfortable and accepted.
The next week I climbed onto my school bus and scanned the crowd for a seat. I spotted a girl from my old elementary school sitting with an open seat beside her, so I asked if we could sit together. "Sure," she quipped, and a friendship took root that day that has lasted more than 40 years. Looking back I see that moment as being pivotal in my life. I learned quickly how to make friends and to have confidence in myself as a friend. To this day it is always a treasure for me to learn about others, and that's exactly how I went about making friends with Robin. I took it upon myself to learn about my new friend, and she began to learn about me. We shared, giggled and laughed our way through six years of being the very best of friends.
Robin helped me gain confidence in myself. She taught me how to be comfortable with all sorts of people. Together we made all sorts of new friends. I understood loyalty in a precious new light as Robin stood by me again and again despite my many flaws. The end of our high school years brought some separation when life took us in different directions.
As Megan and Rebekah have each entered their formative years I have used this story to help them understand the importance of being able to make new friends while maintaining your older friendships. I have tried to teach them to be comfortable with the friends they choose. It seems to be very important for seventh and eight grade girls to want to be thought as as pretty, fashionable and popular with someone or some group of friends. There certainly was nothing wrong with the girls with whom I parted company. Some remained friends as we continued to share extracurricular activities together. It was simply time for me to make new friends ~~ for a new season in life.
God brings friends into our lives for different seasons and reasons. Since that time in seventh grade I've had many friends -- some have stayed with me for a very long time, others have moved on depending upon the stages of our lives. It has been a pleasure getting to know so many other people in my lifetime. I feel blessed to have made some very precious friends who have supported and loved me throughout the years.
For almost a week now I had endured this change from elementary to junior high school. Exciting at first, it became more socially challenging as I worked to establish myself into the hierarchy of seventh grade student life. After all, there were so many more people to meet and get to know. I wondered where would I fit. I really didn't feel a part of any specific crowd.
Throughout most of grade school I had been a part of a trio of friends in our little elementary school. We three had many things in common like Girl Scouts, dance lessons, sleepovers and camp- outs. But now I was watching my three best friends stand in a huddle with a group of other girls ~~ a new group was evolving. For some reason I no longer felt comfortable around my old friends, nor did I feel capable of cracking into what I viewed as their inner sanctum. Truth be told, I was tired of trying to fit in these last couple of weeks in junior high. Brushing past the satellite groups of people standing on the gymnasium floor I resolutely climbed the steps of the bleachers to sit alone. It was in that time of solitude that I made the conscious decision to make new friends -- friends with whom I would feel comfortable and accepted.
The next week I climbed onto my school bus and scanned the crowd for a seat. I spotted a girl from my old elementary school sitting with an open seat beside her, so I asked if we could sit together. "Sure," she quipped, and a friendship took root that day that has lasted more than 40 years. Looking back I see that moment as being pivotal in my life. I learned quickly how to make friends and to have confidence in myself as a friend. To this day it is always a treasure for me to learn about others, and that's exactly how I went about making friends with Robin. I took it upon myself to learn about my new friend, and she began to learn about me. We shared, giggled and laughed our way through six years of being the very best of friends.
Robin helped me gain confidence in myself. She taught me how to be comfortable with all sorts of people. Together we made all sorts of new friends. I understood loyalty in a precious new light as Robin stood by me again and again despite my many flaws. The end of our high school years brought some separation when life took us in different directions.
As Megan and Rebekah have each entered their formative years I have used this story to help them understand the importance of being able to make new friends while maintaining your older friendships. I have tried to teach them to be comfortable with the friends they choose. It seems to be very important for seventh and eight grade girls to want to be thought as as pretty, fashionable and popular with someone or some group of friends. There certainly was nothing wrong with the girls with whom I parted company. Some remained friends as we continued to share extracurricular activities together. It was simply time for me to make new friends ~~ for a new season in life.
God brings friends into our lives for different seasons and reasons. Since that time in seventh grade I've had many friends -- some have stayed with me for a very long time, others have moved on depending upon the stages of our lives. It has been a pleasure getting to know so many other people in my lifetime. I feel blessed to have made some very precious friends who have supported and loved me throughout the years.
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