Daily Bread/Daily Abundance

Many, many years ago in a galaxy far, far away, my first husband simply walked away from our home. I found myself with two small children in a situation that would soon leave me homeless and in need of  food. I reminded my kids of the faithfulness of God, and was later told about a food pantry at the Texas Baptist Children's Home Family Cottage Ministry. (We would eventually end up living for a year and a half at that wonderful place while God mapped out the Plan B of our lives.) I first visited their food pantry expecting boxes of macaroni and cheese and canned tuna, and I would have been extremely grateful for them. What I walked away with were many bags full of unexpected blessings. As God would have it, there was a freak hard freeze in our areas of Texas that February, and the local candy store could not deliver its Valentine goodies. The TBCH food pantry was the recipient of  dozens of specialty chocolate covered strawberries. When I went home, I spread the food out on the counter to show my children the abundance and lavish love of God. "God is to us a God of deliverance," I remember saying to them. "And He is a God of chocolate covered strawberries!" piped up Young Son who was a tiny tot at that time. What a perfect example of the love of God, and the care He would have for us in the days ahead.

I was reminded of this story yesterday when a flash mob of friends showed up at my home  bearing food gifts of such abundance for our visiting family that we were momentarily speechless. I think if we are not able to finish all this food, we'll be able to invite a small third world country over to gorge on the leftovers.  Food of such abundance delivered with such love. My husband, D, has not been eating much lately, but he couldn't resist the lure of all these goodies. As I filled his plate he told me to not be so "stingy" with the servings, and then asked for seconds.  He was a happy, and full, man last night: full of good food and the love and care of good friends.

We are expecting many family members to come home in the next several days to have a good, maybe last, visit with D. One thing that we have learned on this journey with cancer is that the abundant life that God promises us is not for "some day when...", it is for now, regardless of the circumstances. Thank you, friends, for being what our pastor calls "Jesus with skin". You've blessed our home with untold riches both practical and eternal.

God is to us a God of deliverance. And this time around? He is also a God of Hershey's with Almonds.

Happy Birthday, Traveler Chris

Today, Young Son turns 22 in Costa Rica during his Study Abroad trip. He's finishing up that pesky foreign language requirement that will allow him to graduate from college into the Real World as a writer and a teacher. Two interests that are very dear to my heart as well! Fruit not falling far from the tree and all.

Birthday always launch me on a journey of "I remember":

• You were always such a happy baby; kind of a one-boy Welcome Wagon. You always had a smile, a wave or a hug for anyone who passed. One of the sweet things we've always said to each other is, "You are a wonderful companion on this road of life."
• You have always been a master of details. When you were about to turn three, you wanted an "army party" and a cake that said, "Happy Birthday, G.I. Chris." At four, you wanted a "golf party" and a cake that said, "Happy Birthday, Golfer Chris." Sensing a trend there.
• You loved a good challenge. I don't know what possessed you to want to "dig a hole big enough to put your bike into" in our backyard when you were 8, but by golly you accomplished it in the Texas bedrock.
• You didn't sleep through the night until you were three. There was too much going on that you thought you might miss, apparently! Through our many late night rocking chair visits we've created a special bond that lasts until this day. You were utterly delightful... even at 3 a.m. Back in the day when I could stay awake until 3 a.m.

Of course I could list my memories forever. What I'd rather focus on is the right now: I am so very proud of the way you have handled the struggles we have faced as a family. I've always known that I could count on you for support of any kind.

I'm in awe of your ability to fearlessly head toward adventure and navigate it so well. Summer at Bonaroo? No problem. Monkeys in the rainforest? Piece of cake. Working your way through college? Consider it done.

So, Young Son, I wish you the happiest of Birthdays far from home. God has a BIG future and a BIG hope for you, and I cannot wait to see where He will place you on this road of life.

Love, YBM

Renewing of the Mind

I think the hardest thing about getting used to Hospice is that you have to change a lifetime of thinking habits. We've all become so used to running to the doctor over every little thing. The usual course is for the doctor to order a multitude of tests for anything that seems remotely suspicious. But suddenly, that all comes to a screeching halt. Even as we have visible tumors that grow before our eyes on a daily basis, all that will be done is an increase of pain meds if it is warranted. 

There is even a name for this type of practice: palliative care. This means reducing the pain of the symptoms but not halting the progression of the disease. The first grade teacher in me sees the word "palliative"  and remembers a passage in a Beezus and Ramona book by Beverly Cleary: Beezus reminds her younger sister, Ramona, that we spell "principal" with a "pal" because the school principal is our pal. Ramona is not buying this man being her pal. I'm with Ramona about the word palliative care. It's definitely not my pal in many ways.

Health issues during this time with Hospice resemble stacked dominoes, ready to tumble off of each other at a moment's notice. Yes, we know the foot is extremely swollen, but a diuretic would lower the already too-low blood pressure and could case falls. Yes, we know that the morphine slows the breathing in a lung that is already under-serving the body with oxygen, but it provides painfree breathing. Yes, we know the meds cause the system to back up and result in occasional confusion. The meds may relieve the pain, but in many other ways they are not our pal. 

It is a continual balancing act to remain optimistic knowing there will be no healing on this side of Heaven. And so we are learning to think in new ways in that area, too. The main thing is appreciating the blessing of thankfulness. We are thankful that we will have family from all over the country coming in over the next week. We are thankful for friends who stay one step away in the shadows, but are always ready to jump in and help us with the smallest thing at a moment's notice. We are thankful for the creativity within the body of Christ as each individual comes up with yet another way to lift our spirits and bless us.

One example I'd like to share is our friend J. He took hundreds of pictures of our family and made a DVD of them set to the music of Tim McGraw's "Live Like You Were Dieing" and Nicole Nordeman's "I Want to Leave a Legacy". I would ask D if he wanted to watch it, but each day he was too tired and would say, "Tomorrow". Yesterday, we did watch it together. I kept watching his face to see what he thought. Just the words of those songs can get to you. Dave smiled and laughed the entire way through as image after image of our family flashed across the screen. When it was over, he turned to me and said with a huge grin, "We have had such a happy life."

Yes, we have. This life? It has been our pal.

A Long and Winding Road

I am trying not to hover over D during this illness. If he thinks there is something he wants to eat or do, then by golly,  I will move heaven and earth to be sure he gets to eat or do it. Today was his bi-monthly appointment to the endocrinologist for a shot. (Have I mentioned that in the midst of this journey with cancer that his pituitary stopped functioning? Have I also mentioned that I think he is the bravest man on earth for the way he just keeps moving forward through six and a half years of procedures that are not for the faint of heart?)

 I had hoped that our Hospice nurse could administer the shot in the comfort of our home.  Through a red tape story that would raise my blood pressure to repeat, home shots will not be happening. D wanted to go to the doctor's office, so by golly, we went to the doctor's office. It took over two hours for him to get ready and in the car. The office is about a two minute ride from our house. Thankfully, we had an overcast morning that probably shaved 20 degrees off the normal 105 degree heat and blazing sun. The distance from the van to the front door of the office should have been about 25 feet. Except for the landscaping genius who decided to make a curving path around a fountain and some rosemary bushes. That little journey with D's walker seemed like a marathon. Or at least a 5K. The shot? Took about 5 seconds. 

(An aside here, because I'm all about asides these days, and if you're reading blogs you probably have the time: I don't go in for the shots. I don't do needles if I can help it. Many years ago when Young Son was about 11, he had to begin taking daily injections. The nurse was going to teach him how to give himself a shot. I lurked in the corner and studied the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with the needle. "The way we show you how easy and painless these shots are, " the nurse began,"is we let YOUR MOTHER GIVE HERSELF A SHOT to prove it." Perhaps she did not shout these words as my memory recorded them,  but I know the immediate lightheadedness I experienced was very real. And then Young Son turned to me with a huge smile and said something along the lines of "WOW. MOM!" My plot to have the nurse's medical credentials stripped from her forever was temporarily aborted while I pasted a big ol' smile on my face. I faced the radiating pride my son was fairly oozing in my direction and injected myself. I immediately realized a few things: I was glad that I knew the shot my son would be taking daily for the next six years would not be painful for him. I still did not like needles. This nurse would not be getting a Christmas card from our address.)

So, D's shot was taken. The nurse has told us that I can give the shot to Dave at home if Hospice cannot. (See story in above paragraph for my official statement on injections.) Dave is ready to go home. All energy is gone for the day.

We get him home and into the Archie chair and begin making plans for lunch. I think I am in in total denial that we need food in this house. I've become like this Hunter/Gatherer who picks up a little here and a little there only as we need it. I think I want to leave the options open in case there is some food that D really wants to eat.  And today he did: he wanted to eat a "fasphjzxtmd". Or at least that is how it sounded to me. 

We are dealing with a little confusion around here some days. In fact, no two days are alike concerning alertness, sleep, confusion and clarity. Each day is its own soup mix. But "fashjzxtmd"? That took a little deciphering. The winner is: fajitas. Chicken fajitas. Or, as they say in Vegas, "Winner, winner, chicken dinner." Not that I've ever been to Vegas or anything. Even though Barry Manilow is there. So I hit the drive through at the local Taco Cabana and carried home the prize dinner. And he ate it and he loved it. Score.

This is not always the case. Last Friday evening I was telling him I'd get him anything that sounded good. "Orange Chicken at Panda Express" was his quick and easy to understand reply. That would not have made my Top 100 List, but I ventured out into five o'clock traffic and the reoccurring  Texas heat, and found myself in car #5 in the drive-through on the sunny side of the building.  I  carried the Orange Chicken home to a sleeping husband who did not awaken until the next day. Made me think of that story in the Old Testament when King David was in hiding and his mighty men brought him a drink from a special place as a special treat. He poured it on the ground in front of them. I just put the Orange Chicken in the refrigerator, where it reached its expiration date today. May it rest in peace.

Looking for a theme in the eighth paragraph in this post...OK: we'll go with food. Two daughters and a boyfriend are coming home to see Dave this week.  I put out an email to local friends for HELP with food. These are the kinds of friends you can say, "I just need trays of stuff we can pull in and out of the refrigerator that does not have to be heated up. It does not have to be healthy or organic for the kids," and they immediately have the situation under control. My email inbox lit up, and the food  is on the way. Thank you precious friends, because I know you will do a better job of the weekend's food needs then I can. (And if there is a Hershey's with almonds hidden among the trays, it will not go to waste.)

And on to bed to sleep and see what adventures await us tomorrow. We are at peace.

A View From the Front Porch...Of Cracker Barrel

I met my co-mother-in-law for breakfast at Cracker Barrel yesterday morning. She is one of my dearest friends from high school and OUR KIDS MARRIED EACH OTHER. I still cannot even think that without seeing capital letters.

A was in town for a wedding reception and we decided for an early morning breakfast run. My friends are so good to put up with my early morning tendencies. We decided on a 7 a.m. rendezvous, by which time I'd had my coffee, paper, quiet time, watered the plants and arrived with enough time to buy my sister a gift from the general store at the Barrel (Renee: you may or may not be getting Peanut Brittle in your birthday bag.)

I found that grandchildren accompanying their grandparents to breakfast on this holiday Saturday are not very chipper at such an early hour. I also discovered something very disturbing: some of the clothes they were offering in the gift store are starting to look good to me. And I do not drive an RV or any form of John Deere. 

A arrived just in time to make me stop considering the little yellow ensemble with matching jacket, and we headed to our table. I usually pick Cracker Barrel because it is the only place that I order pork products since we don't eat them at home. (Cholesterol, not religious issues.) But, this day, we were good and had oatmeal. And might have shared one piece of sausage. And drank copious amounts of tea. And talked and laughed and cried and planned some fun for the future. (And talked about our KIDS THAT MARRIED EACH OTHER.)

Two hours later, our four-starred server had removed our plates and cut us off from tea refills. We know when it is time to go. (Though we have been known to relocate to another restaurant for lunch and more talking.)

I paused on the front porch and remembered for a moment. The first time I went out with my now-husband was for lunch after church at Cracker Barrel. We had to wait in the rocking chairs on the porch for about an hour. (Because, HELLO, it was Sunday after church.) And he talked and talked. And we went inside and ordered that chicken they only serve on Sundays after church. (But no pork products.)  And he talked and talked. All these years later I realize how unusual that was for him. D can be very quiet and very private. But that day? He was an open book. I realize he was trying to seal the deal with me. And he did: I was smitten. And we were married about a year later.

I am thankful that the memories that keep running through my head are happy memories. And my hope is that they will stay forever in my heart.

Living Large on the Fourth

As I've mentioned before, we are Very Careful Eaters in my house. I would love to take credit for this, but it is my husband who has patiently led the way toward real food in our refrigerator and not processed foods with endless shelf lives and ingredients we cannot pronounce.

When my Married Daughter was home recently, she gave me a hard time about a half brick of imitation Velveeta in my refrigerator. "What is THIS doing here?" she asked. Oh, that. Well, we decided to eat "junk" during the Super Bowl. In February. That was what was left from our queso. I'd love to say I thoroughly enjoyed that little rare "treat", but all I could think about was Young Son telling me that Velveeta was one amino acid away from being a plastic. Kind of takes the fun away.

Moving along, D and I decided for July 4th we would have our once-every-six-months "junk" fix, and we decided on (wait for it) hot dogs. You know: baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet. (Unless you are under 30 and have no idea what I'm rattling on about.)

We made grand plans for those hot dogs. There is a Chicago hot dog place near here that makes the Real Deal. I headed off in the 101 degree heat for our Independence Celebration Meal. Living Large. To find the store closed for the Holiday. Drat.

Quick call home: D says how about salads from Chipotle? It is now 105 degrees and my shoe's soles are adhering to the parking lot asphalt. It will have to be the default meal. Except I arrive there to discover: the store closed for the Holiday. Drat. Drat.

Decide to take matters into my own hands in the seeming 110 degree heat at high noon: surely the local wing place has hot dogs. Don't big men like to eat hot dogs and wings? Apparently not: the menu only shows wings, wings, wings and wings. Drat. Drat.  And Drat.

Quick call home: Fuddruckers? Do you think they are open? D says to just give it a try and get something because it is almost one o'clock.  I think my tires are about to become melted into the parking lot if I don't get moving soon.

I pull up, get out, walk in and....hot dogs on the children's menu. They will HAVE to do. 

Do you know the definition of "serendipity"? It is "making unexpected and fortunate discoveries in the heat". (I added the last three words. Sorry, Mr. Webster.) The food came out and for $3.50 each we got a huge hot dog on a homemade bun, an order of seasoned fries, a root beer, a homemade cookie and a bowl of hot dog fixings to go. God Bless America!  

We happily ate every bite and fell into a carb induced nap where we may or may not have been drooling from the sides of our mouths.

Next junk food chapter? See you at the Super Bowl halftime in February when we use the other half of that brick of Velveeta. The expiration date says we have plenty of time.

Following Aslan

Until I began teaching my too young first graders, I read the book "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" by C.S. Lewis to my classes every year. The children were absolutely spellbound by the story. (One year, I "looped" with a class from third to fourth grade and we read the entire Chronicles of Narnia during those two wonderful years.)

Over the years, I developed a very special unit of study on this book and actually moved a small, antique wardrobe into my classroom. I cannot tell you how many times I would catch a student feeling the back of the cabinet to see if Narnia just might be back there.

If you are familiar with the story, you know that much of it is allegorical, and even the youngest students can pick out the symbolism. One of my favorite lessons was when the four  Penvensie children were told to stay out of the way when tours were being led through the Professor's house. One day, they heard a tour coming through the winding halls. It seemed every direction the children turned headed them the wrong way. Finally in desperation, they ducked into an empty room to get away from the approaching group of tourists. The room contained the wardrobe. The wardrobe contained Narnia. Let the magic begin.

I think about that in my own life so often. Times when I turn here and there, and have no idea which way to go with a decision...and find I have somehow ended up exactly where I should be. We try to plan our own ways, but so often God has a different direction in mind for us. A better direction if we will just let ourselves see His footprints on the path before us.

I close with two verses I'm meditating on today:

"Rejoice, for the steps of a righteous man are ordered by God." 

"He leads us in the paths of righteous for His name's sake."

I'm believing that every step on this rocky path is leading us exactly where we need to go.