Broken in Ohio

I was sitting next to my friend, Bonnie, when I got the call. The effects of coffee had long worn off and two long days left me tired. But there was no going to bed until I spent Wednesday evening with Bonnie and Lu.

The nightly news played as we ate and chatted around Bonnie's decline.
Since ALS continues to take her life one breath at a time, the slow process leaves her aimless, teary, and longing to live. A group of us take turns wiping her tears and speaking hope, but as her breathing slows, the days grow long and hard.

It doesn't make sense.

It doesn't seem fair.



After I fed her a Chick-fil-a sandwich, my dad's name popped up on my cell phone. Expecting a simple check-in-post-vacation call, his tone surprised me. The news he then shared, rocked my world.

"Have you watched Fox news this week?" he started.

"Some," I stammered. "Why do you ask?"

"Have you read about the house that exploded in Ohio?"

"No," I replied, but then had a flash back. "Wait. Are you talking about the fire they think was started by arson? I just heard a short blip about it on the national news while sitting with Bonnie and Lu tonight."

"Yes. That's the one."

And then came the punch-line.

"Your cousin and family were some of their closet friends."

From there Dad explained what he knew about the tragedy while I tried to wrap my brain around what my relative was going through.

If you haven't seen the news, Jeff Mather, a father of two, blew up his home around 8:30 pm Monday night.

Only hours before, he drove my cousin's daughter home from school.

Friends knew he tried to commit suicide in December and continued to battle depression. So they'd been watching for signs of trouble. But they never expected that trouble to explode into a fiery ball that shook a neighborhood Monday night.

Huddled a few blocks from the fire, family and friends waited for news - my cousin and her spouse included. By one in the morning, three bodies had been found and with both cars in the driveway, most assumed the fourth was buried in the debris.

Truth: I spent all day yesterday trying to finish this post. And couldn't. After talking to my cousin for almost an hour, the saga weighed so heavy on my heart I turned to crime TV.

As Dinozzo, Kate, and Gibbs solved a murder, I cleaned my kitchen, did some laundry, and hoped to reset my brain.

It didn't work.

But I received a FB message at 6am this morning from a friend who listened to me weep Wednesday evening, only a few hours before I got the news.

A relational issue had unraveled me, making my pigeon-toed feet and double vision eyes a little more than I could handle. As I left the church after picking up dinner for Bonnie and Lu, Jessica looked me square on and said, "Do you need some help?"

There on the sidewalk, outside in the cold, I blabbered on - in tears - for twenty minutes or so.

When things got better a few days later, I sent her FB message, thanking her for listening and helping me process the pain. She responded in the wee hours this morning and I'm so glad she did.

She reminded me of a favorite verse that sums it all up. So bear with me cause the quote is long. But read every word. Out loud if you dare. It's worth it.


"I am the man who has seen affliction
    by the rod of the Lord’s wrath.
He has driven me away and made me walk
    in darkness rather than light;
indeed, he has turned his hand against me
    again and again, all day long.

He has made my skin and my flesh grow old
    and has broken my bones.
He has besieged me and surrounded me
    with bitterness and hardship.
He has made me dwell in darkness
    like those long dead.

He has walled me in so I cannot escape;
    he has weighed me down with chains.
Even when I call out or cry for help,
    he shuts out my prayer.
He has barred my way with blocks of stone;
    he has made my paths crooked.

Like a bear lying in wait,
    like a lion in hiding,
he dragged me from the path and mangled me
    and left me without help.
He drew his bow
    and made me the target for his arrows.

He pierced my heart
    with arrows from his quiver.
I became the laughingstock of all my people;
    they mock me in song all day long.
He has filled me with bitter herbs
    and given me gall to drink.

He has broken my teeth with gravel;
    he has trampled me in the dust.
I have been deprived of peace;
    I have forgotten what prosperity is
 So I say, 'My splendor is gone
    and all that I had hoped from the Lord.'

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
    the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
    and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
    and therefore I have hope:

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him'
(Lamentations 3: 1 - 24 NIV).

After I hung up with dad and shared the story with Bonnie and Lu, overwhelming emotion welled up inside. I reached for my friend's grossly swollen hand and said, "Thank you, Bonnie, for dying with grace and dignity."

As horrified as I was by the brokenness in Ohio, I was utterly thankful that my friend was fighting to live till her very last breath.

Do you get it?? Our life is like a journey to the top of the world. Every day. Every moment. Every hour of despair.

There's a view coming that will take our breath away if we just don't quit. If we just don't give up.

Even if others fall away. Even if they claim, "It's not worth it. There's nothing up there to see."

Don't stop the climb. No. Matter. What.

Whether you're dirty, sweaty, cold, freezing, hungry, tired, or inspired, keep going. You honor the King of Kings when you simply believe, trudging on, day in and day out.

My cousin's husband said, "Uncle Jeff ran the race well. But he finished very poorly."

While I don't judge the man because I have no idea what was going on his heart and mind, I'm overwhelmed by the desire to keep step. To make my small difference. To finish well.

What about you? Does tragedy make you cynical, or drive you to believe?

Oh friend, please don't give up.



One of my earliest memories in church is listening to my mom sing the descant to this favorite hymn. In time, singing the same became a favorite moment of worship for me. So we sang the hymn at my first wedding and my first husband's funeral. And then I walked down the aisle to the same when Don and I married.

So as our worship team began this song today, I gladly joined in.
While some get their fix in the gym, I get mine from blasting a good old-fashioned hymn, especially when it has a beautiful descant.

I searched YouTube to find a similar arrangement. It's a little different but satisfies my itch.

Enjoy.

He is holy. He is God. He is worth climbing for, rejoicing in, and crying out to when life overwhelms.

So focus on your climb and stay the course. And maybe even blabber on with a friend outside in the cold when you need a little boost.

It's gonna be worth it in the end.



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Grumpy Pants Eggs and the Happy Cavalier

My parents went on vacation this week and left me with their dog. While mom swam with dolphins, I juggled morning coffee with two needy, and diametrically opposed, animals.

The moment Lily entered our home, Eggs, our tabby cat, got terribly grumpy. She growled and hissed at the King Charles Cavalier and repeatedly sauntered close enough to bop the sweet puppy on the nose or backside.



For the first forty-eight hours, Lily took the abuse in stride and moped around in slight despair. No longer safe in her haven, the sweet puppy recognized that a feline claimed ownership to her home away from homes. When bossy Eggs took it a step further and went after Lily's food bowl, I took action.

As a punishment, I put her in timeout in our bathroom only to open the door later and find a roll of toilet paper ripped to shreds. I scolded the former stray, left her in timeout a little longer, and then watched her go straight for Lily's food bowl again once she was set free.




Hoping for a compromise, I pulled out Lily's toy treat ball and let her push it around my kitchen late in the afternoon of our third night together. Tasty morsels fell out little by little, giving her plenty of time to lap them up sans kitty. As she played, I settled on my bed nearby and focused on the work at hand.

The peace didn't last long.

A ferocious bark interrupted the calm and Eggs, the grumpy cat, bolted into my room and jumped on my bed. From her perch high on a pillow, she watched as Lily ran around the house sniffing and barking something fierce. When Lily completed her third lap around every corner, closet, and room, I grabbed her collar and pointed to where the cat sat high and mighty.

Without hesitation, the formerly passive cavalier lurched at the feline, sending Eggs under the bed, out of reach. I still don't know what Eggs did to provoke Lily's wrath, but there's no doubt she did something.

In the ensuing hours, every time the cat reappeared and caught Lily's eye, Lily chased Eggs with vigor till she flew back under the bed.




Having watched Lily tolerate the grumpy cat for over two days, I applauded her spunk. So when Eggs growled at her the following morning and Lily roared in response, I didn't mind that Eggs spent most of the day cowering under the bed. Between the toilet paper, food fights, and constant angst, I was thankful for the separation.

But our bed got a little crowded last night.



Since Lily is used to sleeping in my folks bed, I let her curl up beside me at night. Don acquiesced to the ritual long ago, as long as I make sure she doesn't sleep in the middle of the bed near him. After several prolonged visits and persistent repositioning, Lily accepts her place and sleeps at feet or on the outside of my side of the bed.

As to Eggs, she doesn't sleep with us most nights but rather tiptoes around on occasion and sniffs our cheeks to make sure we're alive. When the mood hits, she even curls up at my feet and stays for a few hours. But with Lily around she's been hunkering under the bed.




So I don't know if the cat was headed to our bathroom for a potty break or if the quiet convinced her the puppy was asleep last night. It doesn't matter. After scolding Lily once for barking in the wee hours and falling back asleep, we woke to utter mayhem.

Strident hissing proceeded fervent barking, making it clear they'd found each other in the night. Eggs bolted under the bed again while Lily went on a revved up manhunt till I shut the bedroom door and left her free to roam the rest of the house.

She didn't like it but I needed sleep.

Don tells me I'm expecting a lot to think the two creatures could ever get along. But deep down I have hope along with photographic evidence that it's possible:




Lily's typically a happy dog, ready to please. And despite her desperate need to bat paws and bite, Eggs has charmed us over time.  Oh if they could just understand and get along, our world would be a better place... especially for the next four days.

While drawing an analogy in closing seems somewhat trite, I still can't help but think that with all the differences in the world it's a wonder God calls us to love.

But maybe that's why.

Without love, our differences simply collide. The dogs bark, the cats hiss, and sleepless nights leave us grumpy. I know. As the parent of two warring children this week, I've found the intense bickering a little draining.

But the experience propels me to love someone different from me a little more, simply knowing our Father above and all heaven would truly rejoice.




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When the Frogs Sang in December

Drawn to the warmth outside, I sat on my screened in porch as I savored morning coffee last week. An unseasonal frog and cricket serenade punctuated what I already knew. This December just wasn't like the others.

The south was permeated by soggy, balmy air, as if we were teleported to the Caribbean for the holiday season. My mom and I actually convinced my dad to turn the AC on as the oven heated Christmas dinner. It was just too hot. And sleeveless clothes, I did not pack.




But beyond the rise in temperature, I missed my boys. With homes of their own and full busy lives, neither had reason to spend weeks in my home over the break. While we certainly shared sweet moments together, the silence in my home was louder than normal.

And I didn't like it.

On top of it all, only hours after I submitted my book for publishing on the morning of December 21st, I walked into Target with my walker and left soon after, wiping tears of pain. For the next two weeks, both ankles turned in, pigeon-toed, and left me fighting to adjust to what seems to have become a "new normal".



I swallowed a prescription anti-inflammatory a few days ago and my legs now move forward with smoother strides. The ankles still turn in some, but I'm more accustomed to it. Throw in the winter chill that has me bundled in corduroys and a turtle neck, and this second day of January shows promise.

Cause I've got plans. I have things to do. Forget double vision and ankles that turn, I want to listen to all nine Beethoven symphonies this year. I want to sing in coffee shops and old folks home more than I've dared to in the past. I want to sell some of my former spouses artwork and simply live a little more above the fray.




Don and I spent New Year's Eve with my friends, Bonnie and Lu. While all of our days are numbered, Bonnie is well aware of the countdown on her life as ALS slows her ability to breathe. As we ate Mexican food, she explained that hospice nurses have been frank about what to expect as the end draws near.

Yet even while detailing the hard truth, she bemoaned, "I still have so much to do."

Bonnie hasn't been able to feed herself in five years and hasn't been able to stand in over a year and half. But deep inside she burns with the notion that she still has a lot of living yet to do.




What about you?

It's easy to curl up and hide.

But there's always someone in need. Someone who needs prayer. Someone who longs for a touch to remind them they're not alone as they fight to live too.

Yes, the frogs sang in December this year and everything seemed to stand on its head. But maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it's time I press in and charge ahead.

So in honor of the man who slowly went deaf, yet continued to compose masterpieces, I'm going to stop for a few minutes. Listen. And let his music take me to a different time and place. From there, maybe I'll find a little more of what I need for today.

Creativity. Excitement. Determination. And a touch of the divine.

Join me!





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