Broken Ankle

Summer of 2015 was supposed to be many things. What it wasn't supposed to be was a wheelchair summer.

The first camping trip of the summer ended abruptly when I was walking down a slope that had loose gravel on top of hard packed earth. I was wearing Fit Flops, a kind of flip flop summer footwear that is supposed to help tone leg muscles. Mine were old and loose fitting.  As I walked down the hill, I stepped on the loose gravel, which acted like marbles under my feet. Suddenly I found my feet rolling two different directions and then went out from under me, but not before my right foot caught in a rivulet in the hard earth and stuck there, causing fractures and dislocation of my right ankle. I landed on the ground and saw my right foot poionting 90 degrees right of center, definitely not good. I felt no pain initially. I tried to move my right leg and watched (and felt) my foot pop, pop, pop three times back more toward center, but it was still awkwardly pointing away to the west of where it belonged.  A bone appeared to be protruding from my skin on the inside of the ankle; my media malleolus was not where it belonged and nothing about my ankle looked or felt right. 

I knew I should not attempt to get up, so I started calling for help. I remember a guy with tattoos on his arms trotting over toward me from an adjacent campsite. He looked down at me, sitting askew in the dirt and sun, then he headed to my campsite to inform my daughter that I needed help. If he said anything to me I do not remember. His face said it all. Someone else from the same campsite approached me, a woman saying she was a nurse, I think, and she asked permission to assess my injuries. By then my son Mark arrived, daughter Rachel and her husband Jose and son Joey, who all rallied around to comfort and hold me while I think I cried and sweated and sat on the ground in the hot morning sun. My son Mark got down and sat behind me to give me something to lean on as I sat in the dirt. I remember a running monologue from my mouth to my son about what I would now not be able to do over the summer, and how I had wrecked the trip for my grands and my adult kids. My son said later that he thought I was going into shock at that point. I had no idea. Grandson Joey kindly knelt beside me and held my hand and someone else stood nearby to offer me shade. Kindness all around.

A nearby Cal Fire team arrived shortly to assess my injuries and stabilize my ankle. I was indeed grateful for these young men who stepped in, wearing a lot of bright yellow gear that I remember thinking must be very hot and uncomfortable. They hoisted me onto something not gravel (some kind of cardboard stabilizing device?), then a gurney, and eventually helped get me loaded into an ambulance while I rambled on, apologizing that they had to pick me up when it arrived. I remember thinking how awful that they had to lift all of my weight and felt guilty for making them do that. Shock indeed. 

The ambulance was some kind of volunteer group stationed in California Hot Springs a few miles up the road. They would drive me a few miles until they met a second ambulance service that could provide me with life support assistance. I was transferred to the second ambulance where I was given an anti-emetic medication for motion sickness. What a miracle drug that was! I had never before experienced a ride anywhere but in a front seat where I did not get nauseous from motion. Way cool! I also got at least three doses of pain killer, maybe more during that ride. I felt pretty lucid at that point, carrying on a conversation with the EMT who was most kind. Or at least I think I was chatting politely. Who knows?

A 65 mile drive to Kaweah Delta Medical Center ER and I was delivered to my next step in treatment. A series of X-rays was necessary to determine my injuries and a plan of treatment. I believe I sat in ER for a good while, seems like I did anyway. In the process i had more pain control meds, then I was given something that I think was the closest I will ever get to an LSD trip. The drug that was used to sedate me while my ankle was set and splinted caused hallucinations that are difficult to describe; like many pastel colors that slowly moved, intersecting with each other. The intersects were where I believed truth and reality could be regained but I was unable to reach them, and it felt as though I would never reconnect with real life. A very frightening kind of twilight zone!

I did finally come around and I don't suppose it was as long as it seemed. I looked down at my foot and discovered it was now in its correct position and swaddled in a very thick, cotton lined splint. It was now close to 4 pm and I remembered thinking I had not peed all day and didn't need to now either. Huh. Strange what I think about. I was discharged after 4 pm, and Rachel helped me fumble my way into the back seat of her car. She and I were trying to find our way out of the hospital complex when a discharge nurse called us back to pick up the crutches she was supposed to have give me. Then we headed to Walmart where Rachel got my RX for pain control filled as well as purchasing a couple of pillows for my comfort as we set out on the hour plus drive home. My discharge instructions were to see a surgeon in my town within 48 hours. I would not heal well without surgery. In addition to the dislocation I had three broken bones in my ankle: the fibula, the medial malleolus, and the posterior malleolus. Prior to this I had never given my malleouses much thought. I was thinking about them now! 

Goodbye Church Lady, Hello Breeze

December 16, 2015, I was "let go" from my job as church lady. I had been working in that capacity for over 11 years, and with the organization for over 16 years. I had been a pretty confident, accomplished, can-do church lady at one time but that was when inspiration ran high. But I was out of steam, no gas in my tank, no wind in my sails. I have known it for a while.

It's complicated to be a church lady. You wouldn't think so, but it's true. I didn't just sit around answering the phone and saying snarky quips like, "isn't that special?", I promise. I did a lot of hard work. I dealt with a lot of people: church family, homeless folks in genuine need, folks that were hurting and in need of counsel when there was no pastor available to help them, people looking for a church from which they could score some dollars for their next fix, people who ran the show unabashedly, and people who asked permission before sticking a small thank you note on a bulletin board. I dealt effectively with people having serious medical emergencies right in front of me and a teenager heartbroken because he found a dog hit by a car on the road side.

I had steep learning curves at the outset, and am self taught now in so many ways. I thought I knew Microsoft Office when I took the job. (I did not, but I do now.) I had never created a website before, never published a booklet, never set up a functional filing system, never purchased an entire system of office computers and server. Steep curves! I learned a great deal, and found people who could teach me and mentor me.  But I also flexed and grew my creative muscles there. My fingerprints are all over that church from the logo on their stationary to the format of their website and their newsletters to the color of the walls in the sanctuary. I designed and installed bulletin boards, encouraged the shift from those old boards to electronic ones, ordered supplies and scheduled the events calendar, researched and found and executed an entire ChMS (thats fancy talk for a church database system) not once, but twice, and then struggled to figure out how to transfer all the data and make them work!  I led small groups, oversaw women's ministry, served on committees, planned and executed group activities and events, wrote a regular article in the monthly newsletter in addition to gathering and reporting, formatting, editing and publishing the document. I created floral pieces for holidays and encouraged others to flex their creativity too, taught classes in cake decorating and floral design, shared testimonials of Gods work in my own life, cried many tears of joy and tears of grief, I even made the three little wise men who grace the back of the church organ each year at Christmas. I poured my heart into a church that I loved and called my own for over 20 years.

Life ebbs and flows, and the truth is my time as a church lady should have ended over a year ago. Things had changed. Close friends had moved on for various reasons. The winds have shifted. The pastor who hired me had moved on, my team wasn't there anymore. Don't get me wrong, there are still some good, talented, caring, God-loving people at the church. But I felt like a fish out of water. The leadership that allowed my sails to be unfurled and filled with joyful service was missing.  I couldn't seem to catch a breeze anywhere. My heart wasn't in it, and I knew it. But I had poured myself into that ministry for so long that I couldn't let it go. And I did not trust God to care for my physical needs. That's the truth.

I did let go of Sunday mornings. I was heart heavy. I couldn't even describe it. I started to let go when my daughter's wedding was imminent, and I had flowers and cakes and dresses and details to fill my weekends. Then after the wedding, I just couldn't bring myself to return. Sunday mornings had once been a joy but now-- there was burden and pain, and that still, still air.

Truth moment: I refused to let go. I was afraid to.  So I kept hoping.  Hoping that Things Could Change, that new inspiration would come to my heart, that a little breeze would stir. It wasn't that God wasn't present there. And yet, there was the stillness. 

Then last June on a weekend getaway with family, a freak accident happened. One minute I was walking down a hill toward our campsite, and the next I was sliding and flailing to the ground, my right foot twisted 90 degrees west of normal. Broken. Dislocated. My ankle was trashed. This. Was. Not. Good.  Or was it?

My summer was spent at home in recovery from my accident. I learned a lot about what brings about healing. Body and soul. I was so relaxed, so calm, at peace as I sat at home for those days of bones mending. I learned to crochet, I spent time sitting in the sun, contemplating the flowers growing, and listening to music. Nearly three months in a wheelchair and then one on crutches, and finally, back to work. But the air remained dead calm. My personal prayer time was filled with a lot of begging God for direction. At work others had moved in to do the things I couldn't do, or had simply taken over my responsibilities. I felt inadequate and ineffective. I took a 2 week vacation and spent time with my family in the mid-west, and then returned to the job I knew so well. But the air was still, so still, for me.

I guess it was pretty obvious to my colleagues, or perhaps they were tired of the stale air that seemed to surround me, as someone up the ladder decided it was time to let me go. It wasn't that I did anything wrong, they said. No, they couldn't tell me why. I was just, "let go." There was no incident, no event that precipitated the separation. (This did not help my trust issues.) That was 9 days before Christmas.  With an ankle still in the healing process, I had to pace my days to get my Christmas plans executed. Well, at least as much as I could. I pushed through.

Fast forward to January of 2016.  The Christmas tree is down, the ornaments are stored and the season of busyness is behind me, I am left with time to think about all that has happened. I confess at first I had a major pity party including tears and lots of "sorry for myself".  But you can only do so much of that before you sink into an abyss. Not my favorite place to hang out.  I decided I needed to lick a finger, hold it up high and find a breeze again. My sails needed filling in the worst way, and there are many ways to capture a current.

I started perusing the web, looking for something that inspired me. Pinterest is good for that. First, I found something called Whole 30 that I could use to kick start my year with some better eating habits and I latched on to it. I kept looking and I found a lot of artists out there sharing what brings them joy.  I found some pretty inspiring women like Anna Mason at annamasonart.com, Dawn Nicole of http://bydawnnicole.com;  Lindsey at https://thepostmansknock.com, and of course Patsy Clairmont and Ann Voskamp and a host of others. I  needed to tap into my creativity again too, and perhaps recapture a little of that lost joy. I'm hard wired that way, I know that about myself. I needed to capitalize on the gifts God gave me, and exercise them again.

Dawn recommended a couple of books that intrigued me so I ordered one (Amazon, you make it too easy.) So this funny little black square book came to me, 'Steal Like an Artist" by Austin Kleon. Honestly I was disappointed when I opened the Amazon box, because the book was so small. Softbound. Insignificant. But, my mom used to say that the best things come in small packages. (I always thought she meant jewelry.)

I began to read.  Austin packs a punch in those little pages. He shares his heart and his work in this book, and while he doesn't know me, his writing caused a little stirring within. Something I've felt before. Something softly brushing past. Was it a breeze?  Yes, yes, a breeze! Possibly even a God breeze. And that is what can inspire me and fill my sails again.

I am on a new path, with no more church lady responsibilities or burdens to carry. I am on my way, doing what Austin suggested: create, emulate, fake it till I make it, and then make it my own as I explore art in as many forms as I can possibly discover. To steal like an artist. Read the book, and join me?  I'm anticipating a year full of sailing ahead.

A little water color painting fun. I guess since Grandma Moses didn't start painting until she was 80 years old, I have at least 20 years on her to get some practice in. This is a monotone posterized photo of one of my grandchildren which I painted from a tutorial I found on line. Easy, fun, and I was surprisingly satisfied with the result for a first attempt! 

This was another tutorial I found online that helped me remember and learn some techniques for water color painting. All that is left to do is paint... and paint... and paint. Practice is what i need now. 

Dr. Craig Childres on Parental Alienation and what you can and can not do.

http://drcraigchildressblog.com/2014/07/29/stark-reality/

A Birthday Wish

In my home town in Bakersfield, California we host one of largest Relay for Life events in the United States. This annual event happens the first weekend in May. Because of the proximity of the event location to my home, I can leave my windows open and hear the entire event taking place. Traffic is crazy around here that weekend, but its a very exciting time full of celebration, fun, friendship and remembrance as teams raise dollars for the American Cancer Society, Relay's parent organization. If you look at the American Cancer Society's website, you will see their tagline, “the official sponsor of birthdays”.This year's Relay event raised $1,294,331.62 in Kern County alone. That must be some birthday they are sponsoring! Today, May 18, marks a birthday that is special to me. My late daughter in law, Morgan Welch, would have been 32 years old today. Her family in Florida will gather at her grave site, place flowers there, and add another little angel or other figurine to the collection of treasures they bring to her each year. There is a magnolia tree near the grave that opens its huge, creamy white, fragrant blooms around the time of her birthday each year. I spent some time this past week reflecting on birthdays in my life. At 23, I was a new bride, and would soon discover I was expecting my first child. Morgan became a bride in that year of her life too. That year she noticed a persistent little sore that resembled an insect bite on her breast. It was treated with antibiotics and told to go have a wonderful wedding and not to worry about it. In July she was married to a handsome young groom dressed in Air Force Dress Blues at her home church in Fort Walton Beach, Florida. She was diagnosed with IBC five weeks after her wedding day. When I celebrated my 24th birthday back in 1981, I was in the thick of life as a new mom with my firstborn son, Mark. He would grow up to be that handsome groom that stole Morgan's heart and hand in marriage. When Morgan turned 24 in 2005, she was deep in the fight for her life against stage 4 IBC. Morgan would not live to see another birthday. Morgan died in January of 2006 from Inflammatory Breast Cancer. Back then there were few sources of information about IBC, and there was little research happening for this disease. There was no money to fund research for a “rare” form of cancer. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, and those with IBC apparently didn't squeak loud enough to be heard or perhaps they didn't know how to squeak or to whom they should squeak. But that doesn't mean that women of all ages were not being diagnosed with the disease. The average life expectancy from the point of diagnosis of IBC in 2006 was 2 years. Two years! There was much reason for despair. But not everyone was willing to take it on the chin, and one of those people was Morgan Welch. She had an incredible team of compassionate, intelligent, savvy medical professionals on her side. She had a husband who was faithful and true, her helpmate, her caretaker, her support and her cheerleader. She had family on both coasts and people all over the world praying for her. And she had a desire to live! What she didn't have was the financial support needed to undergird the research to conquer her disease. She asked why nobody was doing research. Why wasn’t anybody greasing the wheel of IBC research? The answer was simple: money. And she and her husband, with their youth and faith and grace and courage, kept asking why, and kept insisting that surely somebody could do something to help them! They charged the doctors to seek out the support dollars they needed to get to the bottom of IBC. Morgan and Mark said, to their medical team, “Help us! And if you can't save Morgan, don't give up! Keep searching until you find a cure for the rest of the women who suffer from this horrible disease, and don't give up until you find a cure.” And that medical team, they were inspired, and they set their sights on conquering IBC. Now Morgan and Mark were only two people and they didn’t make the whole thing happen. I cant even begin to count all the wonderful people who worked to make it happen. I will never know them all. But I am thankful for every blessed soul who worked to make the dream of research for a cure for IBC come alive. And I was thrilled to be there on the day of the dedication of the Morgan Welch Inflammatory Breast Cancer Clinic at M D Anderson Medical Center in Houston, Texas. The story doesnt end there. The research continues. The need for funding continues. And the women I am privileged to know today who are living--LIVING-- with IBC, their lives continue. Thank God their lives continue! And we want them to be able to celebrate the day with them when they hear their doctors say, "NED: no evidence of disease." And we can't have that celebration without the research, and research costs dollars. Its that simple. We mark the years of our lives by remembering our birthdays. We also use the anniversary of a birth to reflect on those who have lived and died and left an imprint on our hearts. Today I am remembering Morgan, and how this young woman imprinted on my heart. I invite you to join me in remembering Morgan today on her birthday. Would you join me? Would you make a donation to the IBC Network Foundation Advocacy group in honor of Morgan’s birthday? Think of it as your personal sponsorship of future birthdays for every woman living today with IBC today. Morgan would have liked that.

Out from Behind My Fear

So its one thing to think about doing outreach events. I think about them a lot. And that’s about all. But my women’s Wednesday night Life Group at my church havs been studying the book of Acts this year. Its impossible to read and consider Acts and not be inspired by Paul’s story. It was a natural progression of our study that in February we were challenged to put our feet to the pavement and actually DO an outreach event. For me, the fear was never far from my thoughts as we planned the caper. The idea of walking up to strangers and saying anything besides, “Excuse me, do you have the time?” was pretty much out of the question. But I was roped in. That happens when you are involved in a small group: nowhere to hide. The plan was simple enough. We would bake cookies and bag ‘em up, then deliver them to the residents of the apartment complex next door to the church the week of Valentine’s Day. Our objective was to simply greet the people and tell them that God loves them and our church is nearby. So we bought cases of frozen cookie dough because it simplified the task of preparation. Thank God for Otis Spunkmeyer and those cute little cookie dough pucks he makes! Several woman gathered to bake the cookie dough on a recent Saturday. And then on Tuesday Feb. 11 a few women met to package up our baked and frozen cookies. Then Wednesday, Feb 12, instead of sitting at tables discussing Acts, at 6:30 PM we divided ourselves into teams, passed our maps of the property, and headed to Park Sorrento Apartments just east of us on Bernard St.to give away cookies. Someone was singing "onward Christian Soldiers" as we drove to the parking lot and I felt silly, like a kid being encouraged to march. But she was right to pump us up in song, and that song carried us through the first steps, armed with cookie bags, to the apartment complex doors. I hesitated, then knocked. Many people were taken aback at someone showing up at their door with a gift. Some tried to pay for the gift. Two or three refused the gift. Most smiled and thanked us and graciously received the gift. A few wanted more information and we gave that to them. All recipients got contact information on the package pointing them to Heritage Bible Church. By the time we left Park Sorrento at 7:50 PM, we had delivered cookies to almost all of 264 apartment units. We had accomplished a step into relationship with our neighbors and we all agreed enthusiastically that we must plan another event soon to connect again with our new friends. As for my fear? Well when I knocked on that first door, God answered, a grateful person accepted our humble gift, and there was nothing more to fear.

Home for Halloween

Recently a neighbor came knocking on my door. She needed a jump start for her car but I could not help her. One of the drawbacks of owning a Prius hybrid vehicle is that you can’t do the old jumper cable trick. The Toyota people do not recommend messin’ with their battery pack: the owner’s manual says DANGER and I tend to listen to advice like that. I told her I was sorry but I couldn’t help her. She walked away from my door with an expression on her face that was a mixture of disbelief and disgust. There is another day when you can pretty much count on the neighbors coming to your door: October 31. Many Christians choose not to “celebrate” Halloween, and I don’t disagree with that position. But instead of saying no to participating in a pagan activity, why not consider saying “yes” to your neighbors coming to your door? If you think about it, this is the best opportunity you have all year to welcome friends, neighbors, and strangers! If your porch light is on, chances are there will be children at your door, with mom and dad not far behind. What if we chose to welcome them, share something special, and show them a friendly face in Jesus name? If all the doors that open to children and parents chanting, “Trick or Treat!” are non-believers, I think we are missing out on the best opportunity we have to love these people. Just last week I was at Target and I stopped by the “dollar” item section of the store. You know, the shelves near the store entrance that is full of seasonal merchandised priced cheap. I picked up 8 packages of glow in the dark bracelets, 15 to a pack for $1. Neat! That is 120 treats I have for my little guests that only cost me $8. That’s a bargain! I can add a little message to the bracelets about Jesus and light and invite them to our church. A recent quick flip through Pinterest or Googling “fall décor” will inspire you with lots of great fall outdoor ideas, some that could even be modified to reduce the “scare” factor. What a great opportunity to share God’s love. Case in point: Last year I was baking cookies on Halloween night, later in the evening. A little girl, maybe 13 years old, walking around alone and dressed in a very low cut, inappropriate dress, came to my door. I opened it and she inhaled deeply and exclaimed, “Oh, it smells like Christmas in your house!” Now I have never equated peanut butter cookies with Christmas, but this girl did. It gave me opportunity to talk to her about Christmas, Halloween, young girls walking around alone at night, and lots of other stuff. We chatted at my door for several minutes and I sent her on her way with warm cookies. I haven’t seen her since that night. I pray for her when I think of her. Maybe she remembers something I told her about a God who loves her and died for her. I call that a win-win, and an opportunity for evangelism that I do not want to miss.

My husband, Mark, came home with a new business card which he helped design. It was clever, really, and fitting for his line of work. Mark sells motorcycles at a local Harley Davidson dealership and he is very happy to be spending his days loving the bikes and sharing his passion to ride with his customers. He handed me the new card which read, “Mark T. Welch, Peddler Of fine Motorcycles.” Well of course I noticed the typographical error right away and the critical words were out of my mouth faster than a rabbit with a fox hot on it’s trail. “Oh cool, but there’s a typo,” I stated glibly. I only wanted to be helpful. Really. But the squelching of enthusiasm was done. You might think, judging by the number of typos I miss in the publications I print at my own job that I am not so good at spotting them. But I seem to relish finding someone else’s mistake, as if it vindicates me to catch another’s error. The truth is it makes me feel less weak when I discover and point out someone else’s weakness. That is a painful confession. Recently I worked hard on a photo project at my day job, and a church member was kind enough to compliment my effort. It was so nice to hear the kind words! The next day I got a note from someone inquiring about the weird lighting that he disliked during a part of the worship service and I felt discouraged. It’s so easy to open our mouths and slop unkindness or discouragement with the thoughtless surface intent of “helping” someone. How can we get a grip on the habit of speaking kinder words? In 1 Peter 4:7-10, the Word instructs, “ ...stay wide awake in prayer. Most of all, love each other as if your life depended on it. Love makes up for practically anything... Be generous with the different things God gave you: if words,let it be God’s words; if help, let it be God’s hearty help. That way, God’s bright presence will be evident in everything through Jesus, and he’ll get all the credit...” The Message. its as simple— and as challenging— as that. Oh how my pride gets in the way of God’s work! I want to practice being generous with the words God gave me, and I want God’s bright presence to be evident in my life, but I have much to learn. The next time I do something to annoy you, (I’m pretty sure there will be a next time) would you take it as a cue to pray for me? As you can see, I have lots to learn.

15 months later...

this 15 months later, I bake a cake and reflect on life without these grandchildren. The children stolen, living a different life, with a "new daddy" who is a lie. The mommy lives a lie. She holds and loves her children and you wonder how she can speak words of love and words of evil to her babies. How does she sleep at night with the evil secrets in her heart? How does she live knowing that the son in Heaven sees and knows and understands that his momma has done this terrible thing to his daddy? The family is a fragile thing in today's world, much more so than I could have imagined. I had no idea that an angry spouse could cry abuse and a family court system would tear father from child with no thought to hearts broken. Nights not slept. Arms aching for the child unforgettable. Not much care about truth. The man must be the monster, they think. But why? Can't a woman tell a lie? Is a mother who is angry and mourning a dead child not capable of dreaming up a means to punish the parent she deems responsible? So she commits murder of the family, smash a father's heart, crush his spirit, make him pay for her sick, sick heart! Its a perfect crime, and the "justice system" in America plays along. The days pass and you pray and you hope, and you wonder when the pain will end. You think surely someone, someone will see the lies for what they are. The revenge. The hatred and the need for justice, for truth. Pain ebbs, lessens, then a jellybean discovered left behind in a kettle brings all pain back and you remember. You remember. And so 15 months later, we still mourn. We still cry and we still have lost. Tragically, the children lost too. They will grow up and wonder, "Why did my daddy leave me?" "Wasn't I good enough for him?" "Will I be like him when I grow up?" Children do that. They look inward, take on blame, assume the worst. And the crime goes on. The family is torn. The children mourn. All their lives.

The Healing Hand

When I was a kid, I had multiple opportunities to see the miracle of God’s design for the human body in the way it heals itself.  I was one of those kids with constant scabs on my knees. If I wasn’t running over a rock and crashing my bike on a woodsy trail in summer, I was slipping and sliding on a sled down a snow covered hill in winter until I chipped a tooth on the sled rail. Can’t explain it, but it happened. Twice.  I was not a particularly observant child, oblivious to the why or how. I kept falling down and feeling the pain of my injuries, slapping on a Band-Aid and getting back on the bike or sled. 

Recently I sliced a finger on a very sharp blade, and the wound required stitches to help it heal. I watched the doc do her thing at Urgent Care at Kaiser on Stockdale Hwy (observation: don’t go there unless you really, really need it. Its crowded! And they hide all the best docs there, I think.)  Afterward, I went home, bandaged and instructed in the care of my wound. 

Watching the wound heal has been a great reminder of something I take for granted: God’s design of my body to knit itself back together. At the risk of being a bit too graphic, I need to tell you that when I sustained the injury, I was really worried I might lose the sense of touch in this important right hand finger. The tip of my finger was white from the cut over the top of my finger and down the nail and I feared that blood supply was too damaged, which I assumed might also mean nerves were cut. I worried about function. Writing is a doable challenge with a damaged digit, but hand stitching and painting were going to be a major challenge without a sense of touch.  At first the entire end of my finger felt numb.  Then as the days passed, small pain sensations reassured me that the nerves were mending, maybe even sending out test signals?  And 15 days out I am seeing new skin being revealed as the wound has closed and repaired itself.  Who did that?  I mean, the wound was certainly my doing, but the healing? Who decides when blood will clot and when it won’t?  And what’s happening in there under that bandage anyway? 

I had to: I Googled it. (you can learn so much on the internet!)  And here is what I found:
When an injury occurs, the first thing that happens is vasoconstriction — blood vessels leading to the wound tighten to reduce the flow of blood to the injured area. Neat, huh? Then platelets

rush to the scene. These sticky blood cells clump to each other and then adhere to the sides of the torn blood vessel, making a plug. Then clotting proteins in the blood join forces to form a fibrin net that holds the platelet plug in place over the cut, and in just a few seconds or minutes (depending on how bad the scrape is), bleeding stops, thanks to coagulation! The fibrin plug becomes a scab that will eventually fall off or be reabsorbed into the body once healing is complete.

What an amazing design! A great plan, and certainly not something I would have come up with. But there’s more! Once bleeding has been controlled, the next step is stopping infection. The blood vessels that were constricted now dilate to bring white blood cells rushing to the scene. White blood cells engulf and destroy any germs that may have gotten into the body through the open wound.

When the enemies of blood loss and infection have been defeated, the body turns its attention to healing and rebuilding: Fibroblasts (cells that are capable of forming skin and other tissue) gather at the site of injury and begin to produce collagen, which will eventually fill in the wound under the scab and create new capillaries to bring oxygen-rich blood to the recovering wound. Wow! New paths for blood. There’s my answer to the worry about my finger tip healing. God had it covered all along. Skin along the edges of the wound becomes thicker and then gradually migrates (or stretches) under the scab to the center of the wound, where it meets skin from the other side and forms a scar about three weeks after the initial injury.

Puhleeze don’t tell me that a bazillion cells collided somewhere in space and just started doing all this.  This is incredibly intelligent design, and God’s method of providing care for His creation. The icing on the cake is that He gave us the smarts to figure this out so medical science can step in and assist when we mess things up too much, like I did.

So the next time you get a scrape or cut, sustain an injury, or help your child with his latest boo boo, remember the God who made us, his wonderful creations, and the plans he has made for our care.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  Psalm 139:13-14

Today my Bible reading brought me to Genesis 13: 8-9 ⁸ So Abram said to Lot, “Let’s not have any quarreling between you and me, or between your herdsmen and mine, for we are brothers.⁹ Is not the whole land before you? Let’s part company. If you go to the left, I’ll go to the right; if you go to the right, I’ll go to the left.”

Abram, wanting to avoid strife with his relative, has put aside his right to choose and instead offered Lot his choice of lands to live in.  I think that is terribly gracious of him, and Lot took advantage of that grace to take the better portion. Obviously, Abraham was more interested in preserving his relationship with Lot than he was in exercising his rights.

In that same way I need to find the strength in myself to offer up my right to the first and best, and give up that right to others. It’s so hard to do- I am selfish and sometimes foolish. And I am weary of stepping aside for others. When my ‘rights’ are trampled, I want to offer wrath, not grace.

Lord help me to find the courage to do the right thing instead of having the right thing, so I can honor you instead of myself. 

Awake

She is awake again. It is 3:22 AM. Her grandmother's oak wall clock swings it's brass pendulum  rhythmically, consistent. She hears the faint tick, tick, tick counting the minutes, hours. A row of tiny green LED lights illuminate the kick space under her desk nearby, evidence the wireless service functions even at this hour. There are many electronic lights: the TV logo glows, tiny blue computer power indicator, the coffee pot clock in the kitchen down the hall, a bright blue light even glows on the blender. They disrupt the dark, an abnormality that disturbs her.
Outside the Rottweiler across the street barks, and she knows someone is in the neighborhood. A car slides slowly by, and a plop--skid sound can be heard as the newspaper is tossed onto her driveway.  She relaxes into the pale green denim couch, and the springs creak, feather pillows condensing under her weight. Her favorite spot is worn and comforting. Reaching over, she pulls her minky afghan onto her lap, disturbing the sleepy little black house-dog beneath. The Doxie-mutt scootches over and noses under her robe, insistent on owning the warmest part of her lap. She strokes the canine fur, feels the soft, smooth coat and firm little body that burrows closer in response. Tick, tick, tick.
The scent of jasmine wafts in through the open window on a breeze, surprising her: a heady perfume reward for hours spent in the garden. In the bedroom behind her, a snoring man she promised her life to some 30 years ago disturbs her thoughts. He has changed: evolved, become a stranger. She has changed, too. She has splochy peach colored crepe paper with freckles where smooth, tanned arm skin once resided, and the flesh of her pasty thighs is jiggly and soft. the skin below her chin sags, and sticks to her chest below. She wears streaks of gray in her hair, and has given up the weave or Clairol to disguise it. Tick, tick, tick.
This house, once full of wonderful noisy children, now holds relics.  There was a time when she couldn't go to the bathroom without numerous toddlers in tow. She now has the respite she once craved, but no longer wants. The daughter off looking for her future, the sons with wives and heartaches of their own. In the silence she remembers them and breathes a prayer for each. Tick, tick, tick.
There is too much dark time at 3:22 AM to remember the losses: the daughter in law she loved for 18 months before wicked cancer stole her, the grandson at 27 months floating in the pool with no life in him. She aches for the things God has allowed, and for the healing he did not. Sleepiness sets in, and she leans back.  Closing eyes to electronic cacophony and memories, she drifts off to sleep to the swinging pendulum clock's tick, tick, tick.

Growing up... finally!

Recently I heard a talk show host responding to a caller’s statement that, “I can’t stop thinking about how much my ex-husband has hurt me.”  The talk show host responded by asking the caller to close her eyes and think about a big, yellow, speckled, ripe banana. Then the caller was instructed to think of a child’s shiny new red toy wagon.  Lastly, she was told to imagine a beautiful pink, fragrant rose in full bloom.  The caller agreed that she “saw” these images in her mind.  And then the talk show host told her that, indeed, she had just chosen to think on something besides the pain from her ex-husband. Well, my goodness how many times have I said to myself, “I can’t forget (the emotional wound of the day)” or I hurt because of what so and so said to me. Me, me, me! I just can’t stop thinking about me! 

This morning I had a “show stopper” moment, a revelation from the Lord that, no doubt, He has tried to teach me before.  But I am a stubborn and self-centered gal, and sometimes God must roll his eyes and simply sigh with exasperation at my attitudes. Fortunately he sticks with me, despite myself.

The moment came as I read a morning devotional by Jan Silvius entitled “My Favorite Bad Feeling”. Jan wrote about our human penchant to immediately dive into our childhood comfort zones when life challenges us. She wrote,  “If we can’t control anything else in our lives, we can control what we think about. But when we have been buffeted by a situation that throws us, it is easy to abdicate our control  and go to our “favorite bad feeling.” That’s the feeling we went to as a child because we learned that it helped us get what we wanted. Once you are an adult, you will find that it is the first place your mind rushes when there is something troubling on your mental radar screen.

Some of us cry, some pout, some sleep, some eat chocolate, some go shopping, some withdraw, and some slam doors, some clean house, some sit and stare. You could probably fill in your own favorite bad feeling. But you don’t have to respond that way, you can choose not to go there. Circumstances rarely change, but how you feel about the circumstances can change dramatically.

How you feel is up to you, not to anyone else in your life. Peace is the result of choosing to focus your mind on what is true and honorable and right. When you choose to do that, it is amazing how much peace will overtake your mind and heart.”*

So after ruminating on Jan’s lesson for 24 hours, I ask myself this morning, “What will I do differently because of what I have learned?”

Well, of course God gave me an opportunity to implement this lesson right away when a co-worker said something that inadvertently hurt my feelings and, instead of kicking into that childhood comfort zone, I CHOSE TO say, "Hey, that comment kinda threw me under the bus." My co-worker responded, "Did I leave tire tracks? I’m sorry!" We both chuckled at the light hearted reply, and then worked out the issue and all was well. Holy diffused emotions, Batman! What freedom! What blessing!  That was so easy!

Now  I must give credit to a mature colleague who responded well to my expressed concern. That helped a lot (note to self: hang out with people who are mature and transparent and faith-filled). But the most important thing for me was to step out in faith and maturity, state what I thought in a polite manner and be willing to discuss the situation openly and fairly instead of diving into my childhood comfort zone of self-protection.  

That was a wonderful experience for me, and a small step in a more mature direction. The emotions that I usually let myself  wallow in (yes, that’s my choice—ouch!) were immediately diffused and I will not spend the rest of my day in “wound licker” mode.  I like this!

So what about the banana and the wagon and the rose?  Well, in my spaghetti thinking mind, I was tying those lessons together with two passages of the Word that suddenly gained clarity for me: Philippians 4:8, “Finally . . . whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.“  This passage tells me that I CHOOSE WHAT I DWELL ON! Now that may be obvious to a lot of you, but not to me before now, apparently.   And 1 Corinthians 13:9, “When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a (wo)man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.”  God was telling me, sweetie, it’s time to grow up—put your big girl panties on and don't behave like a brat. Yes, he was!

You see, for months I have been praying for peace:  peace in my days, peace in my heart and mind, no matter what my circumstances.  I was waiting for God to drop it magically somehow on my doorstep.  All the while, God's Word was saying that peace of mind is within my grasp, if I will simply choose what thoughts I focus on.  My mind is mine alone, and no one can place an emotion there for me. I do it all myself.  God is calling me to step up my maturity level, thinking about the right things and choosing not to linger in the mud pit of unforgiveness and unkind attitudes because I am not a child.  With growing up comes responsibility, for sure, but also the immeasurable freedom of walking in contentment and peace, knowing that the God who made me and loves me is with me every step of the way.

I invite you to take that step of faith today, out of your childhood comfort zone and into the freedom and wonder of God’s blessed peace. Its only one decision away, and only you can make it.

*Excerpted from A Grand New Day © 2008 by Thomas Nelson. Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Used with permission. All rights reserved.

Who Wears the Crown?

“Who wears the crown, Mom?” My daughter asked me. It was a rhetorical question, sort of.  We were pulling out of the drive-through at Burger King last August and discussing the fact that the dollars were not there to pay for her fall semester at Tabor College. Financial aid had not come through in a sufficient amount and yet she was determined to depart for school. I was worried sick, fearful of her getting back to Kansas and having to turn around and come home. But Rachel was operating in faith, trusting that God would bring about the financing she needed. It was her conviction that this was what God wanted her to do.  I was lagging far behind in conviction. In fact I was sort of doing a belly crawl, knowing that God “could” but with plenty of fear and doubt thrown in.

“Who wears the crown?” She said again more gently, pointing to the little gold-colored paper crown from Burger King that lay beside me on the seat.  She knew. She trusted God. Why was I struggling so much? I stared at the cheap paper crown, my eyes tearing up.  There it was, that stalwart faith of hers defying all my argument and fear.  Why couldn’t I live it like she does?

Now, three months later, she is in the home stretch of the first semester of her senior year, and about to embark on yet another adventure of faith.  Barely scraping together the dollars she needed to pay for fall semester, Rachel had immediately signed up for a school-sponsored trip to Thailand in January. She was certain, again, that it was God’s plan for her and so she was not deterred by the $3,000 estimated cost.  She had asked God for direction to fulfill what she knew was His plan for her.  It was no surprise to her, but certainly to her delight when she was hired last September to work at a new little restaurant in Hillsboro as a waitress. She has so enjoyed the job, and has made many dear friends of her “regular” customers. She has also squirreled away every tip she could manage to save, and with a couple of generous benefactors, has succeeded in saving the dollars needed to pay for her Thailand trip! Now she is looking forward to January 5^th, and the adventures that await her on the other side of the globe.

As for me, I am amazed at the faith of my daughter. Why? I know it sounds silly to have raised her to love the Lord and then be surprised at her trust in Her heavenly Father.  I did not understand the Lord when I was her age.  So for me, to see her living out her trust in God is to understand things I never knew as a young woman. It blesses me and surprises me over and over. When I pray for her, I thank God for such a precious young woman in my life.  And I keep that little cardboard crown. It means nothing in itself, of course, there is no magic in it. But I smile when I see it in my car and I am reminded that the King of Kings is there with me, guiding me and providing for me as I learn how to walk in faith: the faith like a child.    

Flash Mob

From My Corner…

It’s called a flash mob. A flash mob is a group of people who organize an unexpected event, say a song or dance or something random to happen in an unexpected location in order to make a statement, bring unity, or simply to offer a moment of surprise or fun.  On October 30, 2010, a “flash mob” somehow gathered inconspicuously in Macy’s department store in Philadelphia, PA.  This store happens to house the Wannamaker Pipe Organ, the worlds largest pipe organ. This was no accidental gathering. We live in a culture with so many problems to address. This moment of cheerfulness could not come too soon. The event was staged by the Opera Company of Philadelphia who staged a public singing performance of The Halleluiah Chorus accompanied by the Wanamaker Organ (www.wanamakerorgan.com). The catch?

The store was crowded with shoppers and the opera singers were scattered throughout Macy’s department store. The chorus began at noon sharp with no warning, they simply began to sing. The entire store full of customers and employees were awed by the beauty of the songsters, and the message was declared, “King of Kings!  And Lord of Lords! And He shall reign forever and ever!”   As the song ended, applause broke out from the delighted crowd. What a lovely conspiracy! 

At Heritage this year we have also found a rather lovely conspiracy in which to participate, its called the Advent Conspiracy.  If you missed the two Sundays that the video promotion for Advent Conspiracy was shown, you can see it at www.adventconspiracy.org.  The Advent Conspiracy is an effort to focus more on the real reasons for Christmas, Christ’s birth and coming to earth, and less on the stress, debt and unhappiness of being slave to the commercialism of today. The idea is to spend more time with your family and loved ones, fewer dollars on gifts, and then share the dollars you do not spend with someone in need. The original need identified was for clean water in third world countries.  Heritage Bible Church has chosen to adopt this concept, with some options for our church members. You can choose to donate to the Advent Conspiracy through Heritage and direct your donation to one of three identified needs: our local Bakersfield Rescue Mission; a church plant we support in Utah; or a missionary effort in Thailand. Any of these three identified needs will be grateful to receive the gifts of those who participate. It’s as simple as attending worship services on Sunday December 18, or Friday, December 24, and place your donation, marked “Advent Conspiracy”  in the offering basket. Or choose your own Advent Conspiracy project. 

Can you imagine the joy of these ministries when they receive the Advent Conspiracy gifts from our church family?  I think there may be a little “Halleluiah Chorus” singing going on, don't you think?  And the rest of your holiday season will be joyful too as you adjust from a season of harried frenzy, shopping and wrapping, to a time of sharing, cookie baking, letter writing, prayer, Bible reading, sharing lunch or coffee or a meal with someone. There are so many ways to say “I love you” to another human being.  Take a look at the Advent Conspiracy website www.adventconspiracy.org for some links and ideas to give you inspiration. Its never too late to take time to conspire to love one another.  And maybe we could organize a “Hug Somebody” flash mob at the mall, what do you think?

Its (still!) not about me...

In a recent devotional I read from Pastor Rick Warren, I was once again reminded that in this life, its not about me.  Sigh. But… but— I want “it” to be about me, sometimes!  Don’t we all wish for that? C’mon, in your heart of hearts, sometimes you wanna be the center of your world. The reason someone else exists. A person someone else simply couldn't live without!  We all do.  And for me, that means that people I care about appreciate what I do, make an effort to spend time with me, look to me for friendship, write me nice notes, mop the kitchen floor and battle my dust bunnies for me, gratis,  and, ok, maybe give me a nice gift now and then. Is that so much to ask?   Oh how much I enjoy when life revolves around me!  Unfortunately, for most of us, its not going to happen because God has a better plan.

Pastor Rick Warren put it this way, “God calls you to a service far beyond anything you could ever imagine. You were put on earth to make a contribution.  You weren't created just to consume resources - to eat, breath, and take up space. God designed you to make a difference with your life.  You were created to add to life on earth, not just take from it. God wants you to give something back.

The Bible says, ‘God has created us for a life of good deeds, which he has already prepared for us to do.’   (Ephesians 2:10b, TEV) These ‘good deeds’ are your service to the world. Whenever you serve others in any way, you are actually serving God and fulfilling one of your purposes (Colossians 3:23-24; Matthew 25:34-45; Ephesians 6:7).

What God told Jeremiah is also true for you: ‘Before I made you in your mother's womb, I chose you. Before you were born, I set you apart for a special work.’(Jeremiah 1:5, NCV)

When most people think of this 'special work,' they think of pastors, priests, and professional clergy, but God says every member of his family is to minister. In the Bible, the words servant and minister are synonyms, as are service and ministry. If you are a Christian, you are a minister, and when you're serving, you're ministering.”

Whew!  What do you think of that?  Because I grew up in a Catholic church, it took me a few years to grasp that whole concept of me as a minister of the gospel. After all, I didn't go to school to get my degree in Bible, and I’m not ordained. I didn't wear a funny little tab collar, or have a plate on my door with a title under my name.  Some would even suggest that since I am not a man, I can’t possibly be a minister! 

Well It took me time to “unhitch” my brain from the concept of priesthood being a step above me as I had been trained to believe. But the fact is, nobody is greater than God, and nobody is less than I am in His eyes.  What a marvelous thing! God says I am his servant and minister. And he says you are too.

Pastor Warren continued, “Have you ever wondered why God doesn't just immediately take us to heaven the moment we accept his grace? Why does he leave us in a fallen world? He leaves us here to fulfill his purposes. Once you are saved, God intends to use you for his goals. God has a ministry for you in his church and a mission for you in the world.”

Wow, Rick makes a great point!  I have wondered why God didn't just take us to heaven, why mess around with all this nasty stuff on earth, Lord?  But he has a plan for me. And that plan includes some pain, and, hey, even some presents!  And as we learn to minister, we understand a little better what our pastoral staff does on a larger scale every day.

Since October is Pastor Appreciation Month, take some time to consider how you can show appreciation to the pastoral staff. But also, consider how you can bless their socks off by digging in and finding your place in ministry— your very own pastorate! Its here, in our community through things like DMC small groups, Children’s ministry,  FLOOD Bakersfield, Wednesday night diner and hospitality team, church office volunteering and youth group support team members, to name a few. I believe that in God’s family, not one of us should simply sit in church on Sunday and fail to serve the community. If all do a little, nobody has to do a lot!  And that equates to being a blessing, and being blessed as God showers you with (here’s that part I like again!) his PRESENCE and his PRESENTS! 

What about you?  Is God nudging you to a new level of ministry, to be his hands and feet in the church or in the community? Step out and discover your calling!