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Radical (by David Platt)
A friend shared this on Facebook, and I had to share it with all my bloggy friends, too… and as my friend, Christy, wrote, “Not the most comfortable way to start my morning, but perhaps the most compelling.”
Any guesses what’s on my next book to buy list?
Radical by David Platt from Taylor Robinson on Vimeo.
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AACK!
Our email server went down and I lost a few posts… never to return.
Hopefully we (meaning me and some new posts) will be up and running in no time. Okay, well, in more than no time, because I’m sick with a cold and had an iron infusion today which puts me in bed with a migraine for a day or two.
Maybe by Wednesday you can see my bright and shining face here again. Okay, well, not really see my face, but you can imagine it while you read. Just make sure it’s a smile and not a frown, I don’t need any more mad lines.
Now back to my sleep, because there I cannot embarrass myself or bore you with my percocet-induced ramblings.
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Staying Connected
For her birthday, Bella received a toy bracelet with a princess trinket dangling and sparkling. She is all about those bobbles and bangles. However, her new bangle has a hard time staying clipped on. This is partly due to poor craftsmanship and partly due to it belonging to a rambunctious (albeit adorable) four-year-old.
Asher had been watching throughout the day as she wailed every time it fell off. I would soothe her and show her how it wasn’t broken, only disconnected. I would warn her to be careful and not pull on it or it might get lost.
He finally spoke up at supper. “Mom. Bella’s bracelet’s kind of a picture.”
“What do you mean, Buddy?”
“It’s kind of like us and Christ. Like our obedience. If we aren’t connected to God, then we fall off and get lost. But if we stay connected and obey and have faith, then we’re like a beautiful piece of jewelry.”
I think I just sat for a while and stared at him.
When did he get such depth of spirit?
I smiled, “You are so right, Buddy. So right.” Then I added, “But when we do fall away, what does God show us?”
He grinned right back, always happy to know the answer, “Grace. And forgiveness.” He forked in another mouthful of food, “And we repent and reconnect.”
He amazes me with his wisdom. It’s so simple for him. And I make it so hard.
Abide.
Remain.
Stay connected.
Let the life that flows from the vine flow into the branches.
And when we abide, we become like Him which leads to the natural progression of doing, obeying, pursuing holiness, bearing fruit.
Abiding.
Becoming.
Obeying.
Bearing Fruit.
They are all connected and result from connection first and foremost to Him.
I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:5)
Have I ever mentioned how thankful I am for my children?
They teach me more than I teach them. Every. single. day.
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Just Love
He sat in his wheelchair outside for most of our recent Easter visit, chain smoking and singing to himself loud and off key.
My uncle. My dad’s older brother.
He’s paranoid schizophrenic and has been institutionalized for the better part of 50 years. 50 years, y’all! He was sixteen when his father died. Then he had a breakdown and has never been the same since.
I remember watching him when I was young. A handsome Italian man with a loud laugh. Whenever we visited my dad’s family, Uncle Larry would have a weekend out of the hospital to be with us, drinking cartons of chocolate milk in one sitting and watching old horror movies on his tiny black and white tv upstairs in his room. I remember watching his hands shake and hearing his heavy breathing. I remember watching his personality shift and being fearful of his moods.
I remember phone calls he would make to my father and delusions he would have, and I remember hearing the frustration in my dad’s voice, the heartbreak. I remember visits to the hospitals on holidays when Uncle Larry wasn’t allowed to leave, and I remember hearing words slice through the air. Words I had never heard before that found me asking those awkward questions of my parents on the drive home.
Now I watch my children watch Uncle Larry, and I marvel at their resiliance. I see Asher’s dark eyes search Uncle Larry’s face, and I can read the questions behind those eyes, but he doesn’t ask them. Bear just sits quietly and gently interacts with him, answering questions that often don’t make much sense.
But Bella. Oh, my Bella.
She spent the whole afternoon outside with him, telling us she was fine with Uncle Larry because he was a grown up and was watching her (which found us hiding our smiles and sending another adult outside anyway). She sang and danced and gathered pine cones in her pink bucket and showed Uncle Larry her treasures. There he sat, grayed and no longer handsome, pills having taken what little life he had away from him in order to give him a “normal life”. And every time she skipped up the ramp, he’d laugh and say, “There’s that beautiful girl.” And she’d dance away to a find a new treasure.
Once we got back to our hotel, as I was getting her fresh and clean and jammied, Bella clapped her hands and said to me, “The next time I see Uncle Larry, I’m gonna run right up to him and hug him and help him laugh again, even if he smells bad.”
Oh, how I bundled that girl in my arms and held her!She didn’t care if he was different. She noticed, but didn’t care that he reeked of cigarette smoke and greasy hair. She didn’t wrinkle up her nose or distance herself.
She. just. loved.
Oh, that we could all be like her!
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Danica Update
Monica has started a blog for updates for little Danica.
They head to Cincinnati on Sunday for a another barrage on Monday, and more questions loom. My heart is breaking for them.
Please, oh please will you pray for this sweet one? And for Monica and Dan as they have huge decisions to make for the care of their daughter?
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Ready to Go
I sat with him in his back room. He on his burgundy plush lift chair, feet propped up, water jug at his side. I on the floor next to him leaning my head against his knee. He settled his good hand on my hair and sighed.
“Remember when you were little and I held you?”
I remembered. I could still smell his aftershave and hear his heart beat. I could feel his strong arms and hear his laughter.
“Those were some of my favorite moments.” He added.
“Mine, too, Pappy.” Oh, how I loved being with my Pap!
He started reminiscing. Something he is wont to do whenever I am with him. Memories floated over us as we laughed and talked and danced over time.
Then he sat quiet. “I don’t want to leave here.” I thought he was talking about his home, a little independent living cottage. I know he’s afraid the next step in assisted living is near. His health is ailing… my Nanny’s health is ailing. Life continues to slam into them.
I looked at my Pappy. Partially paralyzed now for over 25 years. He has suffered more heart attacks and strokes than I can remember. And he has fought for life. Because he loves so deeply.
“You know,” he smiled, “The good Lord has never let me down. I sit out there,” he pointed to the living room, “every morning and we meet together. I read and pray and He’s always there. He hasn’t let me down yet.” I looked at his leg braces and his hearing aid and his wrinkled skin. I looked at his lifeless hand and his crooked smile. I looked at his cane and his wheel chair.
“I don’t want to leave here,” he said again, “But if the good Lord leads me elsewhere. I’ll go. I go where he takes me. And one day He’ll take me home. Until then, I’ll just follow.”
I cried, wetting his knee with my tears, but I don’t think he knew. I cried for all that he had endured in this life, for all he had lost–the wiffle ball games he could no longer play, the snowmen he could no longer build, the foods he could no longer enjoy, the beach trips he could no longer travel. And I cried for his love and his faith and his strength, and my grateful heart overflowed that I have a grandfather who is so beautiful and wise and strong.
He had lost so much in life.
But he had never lost his faith. Or his love.
I want to be like my Pappy when I grow old. I want a legacy of faith. I want to remember and smile. And I want to be real about life. And I want to be ready to go wherever God takes me.
I want to just follow.
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Cruisin’
So I recently gave a shout out to my in-laws who spent a week in the Mexican Riviera teaching dance on a cruise ship.
In response to a few requests for pictures, I give you:
The ship
The ballroom.
(This is where they taught classes in Waltz, Mambo/Cha Cha, and Tango.)
The romance.
The awesomeness.
Did I mention that I’m just a teensy bit jealous? Because I am.
In fact, I am a lot jealous. Well, except for the whole kissing dolphins and sea lions part. Ewwww, fish breath much?! I’d much rather kiss Brian.
And considering I’m two left feet on a dance floor, I wouldn’t be very good at teaching ballroom to anyone.
But I’d love to ride on dolphins and sit on the deck of a very big cruise ship and soak in warmth and quiet and happiness.
Did you see how blue that water is?!
But I reckon this isn’t about me, is it?
I just hope I’m as cool as they are when I retire.
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It’s From the Heart… or the Hair?
Me:
Bella, it’s kind of chilly outside. Why don’t you wear pants to church?
Bella:
But, Moooommmmy, I want to wear a beautiful dwess, so I will be all beautiful.
Me:
Remember, love, it’s not about what we wear that makes us beautiful. It’s about our heart.
Bella:
I know. But I looooove my pwetty dwesses. Please, Mommy? Please may I wear a dwess?
Me:
Ok. You can wear a dress. But what is it that makes you beautiful?
Bella:
My wed hair.
Have I ever mentioned that we’re doomed?
Oh yes, hundreds of times.
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Moonless Seas
“All along, let us remember,
we are not asked to understand,
but simply to obey…
‘And only Heaven is better
than to walk with Christ at midnight,
over moonless seas–‘
I couldn’t feel frightened then.
Praise Him for the moonless seas–
all the better the opportunity
for proving Him to be indeed the El Shaddai,
‘the God who is Enough.’”
(~Amy Carmichael)
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Another Round Begins
This will be a pretty raw post, because that’s where I am, so consider yourself forewarned.
Raw. Bloodied. Beaten. Wounded. Exhausted.
Another round begins… more scans, more blood work, more appointments, more follow up and more surgery.
It’s long and it’s complicated, and I am completely overwhelmed.
I saw a specialist this week who is sending me for several follow up scans. She’s the one that looked at me and said, “Because you’re at such a high risk for recurrence… blah, blah, blah….”
I didn’t hear much after that. I knew that was the case, but it is honestly the first time a doctor has voiced it to me. I felt an enormous wave of dizziness engulf me. High risk for recurrence. I find myself working through acceptance all over again just in a very different way.
She is having me do a centi-mammography scan. That’s where they inject a tracer dye into your foot vein (yes, I said foot vein) and it shows cancer on the cellular level. They are checking my healthy breast. That will be sometime in May.
It was at that point I found I couldn’t breathe. I’ve always had a hate-hate relationship with needles. Ever since my five hour torture session with the vampires at the hospital, it’s been escalated to panic attacks. I’ve been nauseated ever since she mentioned it. It is a terror on a level I can’t even begin to explain. (Please, don’t tell me, “I hate needles, too.” This goes far beyond hatred. This is counseling level struggle–and yes, I’ve seen the cancer center counselor numerous times about it.)
And the pain I’ve been having since surgery? She confirmed. It is chronic pain. Chronic. As in it will never go away.
She is also concerned about my risk for ovarian cancer. Thus another surgery. A preventative one. That will be sometime soon, too, although I have to call and make the necessary appointments to make it happen. And I have to figure out when I can fit that into my schedule.
My schedule. I need to pursue physical therapy for my lymphedema which isn’t clearing up. I need to make an eye appointment for the constant tearing that’s happening in my eyes (another chemo side effect). I don’t even know where or when to fit those in.
And on top of all this, we are taking sweet Ash to the pediatric rheumatologist in May because he is in so much pain and discomfort. He hasn’t slept a night through in months.
How do I do all this?
I know this is all “good”… it’s proactive… it’s to help keep that recurrence from coming.
When I heard that I was clear from cancer two months ago, I convinced myself that by May we’d be done. I’d be moving on.
I am watching the death of another dream, and I am done in.
Done in, y’all.
For the first time since this all began almost three years ago, I am questioning whether I really believe anything I’ve written. I am questioning God. His very being. Who He is.
And that makes me cry. All the time.
Because of all the things that I suffer through, this is the one thing I do not think I can handle. I cannot handle uncertainty in my faith in Him. I know the irony in this… that my even saying I can’t handle Him not being here is proof that He is.
So I spend my days alone, hiding tears from my children, taking ragged breaths and trying to give them normalcy in the midst of chaos.
My arsenal is bare, and I have had no time to replenish before the next wave of battle hit.
Raw. Bloodied. Beaten. Wounded. Exhausted. Uncertain. Alone.
That is me.
A sweet mom from our sons’ school emailed me today and wrote very simply, “I am praying for a peaceful heart.”
Will you pray for this, too? I just long for peace.
“PEACE. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.” ~Unknown
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A Spring of Joy 