Snoring

Have you ever tried to fall asleep with a bunch of snoring going on in the same room?   Actually, in the same bed.  I have.  And it is not easy.

 I love my husband.  And, he snores.  Thank goodness the two are not mutually exclusive or we would long ago have been a statistic. I don’t take it personally that he snores.  It is not something he does to irritate me and I know it.  And, he doesn’t deny that he snores, so we don’t even argue about it.

Once the snoring begins in earnest, it is all but impossible for me to fall asleep.  At one time, the problem was compounded by Jefferson – a cocker spaniel and the very first dog we ever owned together.  Jefferson was a great dog and we loved him beyond reason.  I bought him a wicker dog bed when we got him as a puppy.   While he was growing up, he ate it.  So, he slept at the foot of our bed.  He was a puppy for about two years – it is not easy having a grown up dog powered by a puppy brain.  But, after he grew up, he was close to being a perfect dog.  He had one major flaw.  He snored.  You know how people in the old cartoons snore?   Pretend those people are dogs and you will have a good idea of Jefferson’s snoring.

So . . . here’s what happened late one night.  I am trying to fall asleep. My husband is snoring.  Loudly.  My dog is snoring.  Loudly.  I cannot fall asleep.  I keep looking at the clock and calculating how much sleep I would get if I fell asleep that very second.  It is not good.  I am destined for sleep deprivation.  There is a desperation that overwhelms me – it causes me to try something – anything – to get the snoring to cease.  But, what can I do?  I have tried poking Husband in the arm and back.  Nothing changes.  I have tried pushing Jefferson with my foot.  Nothing changes.  I have resorted to shoving Husband and Jefferson – none too gently, either.  Nothing changes. They snore on.

And then, I hit on something. I was mad, so I started shaking the bed with my foot.  And Husband stopped snoring!!  A miracle. Sort of.   Jefferson is still snoring.  What can I do?  I just need one thing that works for Jefferson and I can fall asleep! I have no idea where the thought came from, but I decided to see what would happen if I meowed like a cat.  I’ve already said I was desperate.  So, I meowed.  I had nothing to lose.  And Jefferson stopped snoring!!  Success!  I am now shaking the bed with my foot and meowing like a cat at the same time.  There is one small problem.  Exactly how am I going to fall asleep and keep up my newfound snoring stoppers?  While I am contemplating this, a voice comes from the other side of the bed.  It says, “What in the world is wrong with you?!  Why are you meowing and shaking the bed?”  What could I say?  I told the truth.  And we still laugh about it all these years later.

The solutions that I come up with for my problems are far from elegant.  Or effective, many times.  It doesn’t stop me from trying; it just keeps me busy.  But, depending on God for help – well, that brings different results.  No matter how it may appear, God always has our ultimate good in mind.  He loves us completely and with an everlasting love.  And, for that reason if no other, we need to get to know Him better!  We need to know what His Word has to say to us.  To do that, we need to study the Bible.  Check out the upcoming events to the right of this post – you will see some opportunities coming up this month and next for you to participate in Bible study with other ladies who want to get to know Him better.  Take advantage of these opportunities.  Do not worry about homework!  Just come, participate, and see what God has to say to YOU!  He is the ultimate problem solver – and His solutions will probably not involve meowing.

All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work.   2 Timothy 3:16-17

Spaghetti Westerns

Nobody ever loved western movies like Daddy and me.  Mama wasn’t the least bit interested in them, but Daddy and I could (and did) watch them for hours on end.  There is not a spaghetti western that we haven’t seen except for the ones that aren’t in English.  We tried watching some of those, but neither one of us could handle it – or understand it.  Cowboys speaking another language just didn’t sit too well with us.

We always liked to help out the good guys and save them from the villains.  We did that by shouting at the characters on the television.  We warned them all about the box canyons, told them where the bad guys were hiding, and alerted them about the upcoming ambush.  All at the top of our lungs.   And to no avail.  Mama would bring us popcorn and say, “You do know they can’t hear you, right?”  It didn’t stop us from trying to help. 

It was rarely the heroes who needed our assistance.  Clint Eastwood could handle most things on his own.  He didn’t need our help.  But there was always someone else getting into trouble, and we knew they needed us.  It was not the real hero of the movie – just a good guy who needed help getting out of a fix.  So we kept right on shouting and hollering instructions.  

And then it would happen.  The very person we were trying to help would do the dumbest thing and no matter how loud we yelled, we couldn’t stop it.  Usually, they would start by getting all excited and shooting all their bullets at the bad guys.  They never hit anyone, but they would just keep firing away.  We would bellow and tell them to stop.  It never worked.  We counted the bullets, just like the bad guys were doing.  Six loud bangs and then a bunch of clicking while they kept firing an empty gun.  Enter the bad guys who don’t have anything to worry about now that the gun is empty.  Well, almost nothing to worry about.  We always knew what would happen next.  We hated it, but we knew.  As soon as the bad guy poked his head up, the poor inept good guy would throw his empty gun.   It happened almost every time.  And then it became Clint Eastwood’s job to rescue that unfortunate fellow – with direction from Daddy and me, of course, because we always had a good grasp of the big picture and we were perfectly willing to tell everyone what they needed to do.

Back when we first started watching those movies, I was just a kid.  And I had no reservations when it came to praying - I would pray about anything and everything.  It didn’t matter – I would pray for my goldfish and guppies as easily as I prayed for my family. I once asked God to send a hurricane our way so that my dog could come inside and stay in the bathroom.  Mama wasn’t a fan of inside dogs, but she never made them tough out hurricanes.   I talked to God as easily as I talked to my earthly daddy.   It didn’t matter where I was – on the porch rocking the dog and sharing potato chips with him or swinging in the backyard – I just talked and talked to Him about everything that was important to me.  

Somewhere along the way, I got worried that I was being a pest and that God might not answer my prayers if I didn’t scale back a little.  I began saving my prayers for the really important things.  But God isn’t like that and prayers are unlimited.  It isn’t anything like that gun with six bullets so you better save them until you need them.  God actually likes hearing from us.  And how can we ever get to know someone we never talk to?!

Well, I’m back at the Cancer Center all plugged up for treatment number five!   And while I am here, I do a lot of talking to God.  He knows all about my health concerns, but that isn’t all I talk to Him about.  I include the big stuff as well as things that might seem trivial but are important to me.  If it is important to me (or you!) it is important to God.  He might laugh out loud at some of my prayers – I once asked Him to lead me to an Italian Cream Cake that I needed right away – but He always listens.  And He always answers.  Try it and you will see.

Everything is possible for him who believes.  Mark 9:23

P.S.  I got the cake, but not the hurricane.

Perspective - All That Glitters Is Not Gold

From the time I was two years old until I was six, my dentist was Dr. Yelverton. I don’t know how Mama found him, but I loved him to pieces. I was never afraid of him – probably because he never hurt me – and I always liked going to his office. The very best part was when each visit was finished. Dr. Yelverton had a giant box of rings in his office and he would let me pick through them until I found exactly what I wanted. He always let me get two. He was feeding my ring-aholic habit and didn’t even know it. So, on one of my trips, Dr. Yelverton let me sit in the floor of his office with that big box of rings and I found the PERFECT ring almost immediately.

Except for me, nobody liked it. My brother said it was ugly. Mama tried to persuade me to get something “prettier.” But I wouldn’t budge. It was easily the most beautiful ring I had ever seen and I was not about to part with it. You wouldn’t either, I bet. It was a shiny silver plastic skull with red rhinestone eyes. It was gorgeous. I thought those “rubies” were stunning and I was absolutely certain that I would never find anything to rival it. I was right, too. Dr. Yelverton took up for me and said he thought it was a great choice and he wouldn’t mind having one himself. I’m sure he was just trying to get rid of the thing, but it certainly impressed me that we had the same taste in fine jewelry.

It looked kind of like this:

Sometimes it is just all about perspective. It’s how we choose to look at things. That ugly old skull ring was everything I ever wanted in a ring – shiny and sparkly – who cares that it was a skull?! We can see the one pothole or the rest of the road that’s smooth. Every journey – yours and mine – has its ups and downs. Some ups are better than others and some downs are worse, but all in all, it’s how we react that matters. We can go it alone and struggle and be scared. Or we can just give it to God and let Him guide us through.

For some reason, this journey of mine includes cancer. It’s what I ended up with, so God is helping me deal with it. I’m okay with that. More than okay. I’m learning every day that trusting God is the only way to go. And this could be worse – much, much worse! I am incredibly thankful for a loving God who never lets me go and sends what I need just when I need it. He will do it for you, too. As special as I would like to think I am – YOU are just as special to Him.

And, for the record, Daddy understood my obsession with that ring, even if he didn’t think it was a great choice on my part. He used to say that when it came to buying presents, I was the easiest person in the world to shop for. He said that if something was colorful, shiny, or made noise that I would be happy with it. Still an accurate assessment after all these years. By the way, I never really noticed the skull – I only saw the rubies and the silver! Perspective.

Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord, is the Rock eternal. Isaiah 26:4

Tycoon

It was early May and I was in the second grade. We went to visit Aunt Sissy and Uncle Reese. If you happened to read the Fried Apple Pies post, they are the same ones you met there. So, on this particular visit, I refused to get out of the car when we got there. As much as I loved that place, there was one thing I really, really disliked. Uncle Reese did not shave on Saturdays and he would greet me by picking me up and rubbing my face with his whiskers. Odd custom, now that I think about it. It didn’t feel good. I was in a bad mood and decided to avoid the whole unpleasant affair by just staying in the car. Not much of a plan, really, but it was all I could think of. At the time, it never occurred to me to tell anyone why I wanted to stay in the car.

So, I sat in the car and before I knew it, I looked out the window and Uncle Reese was headed across the yard and straight for me. I was doomed. I very briefly considered locking the car doors, but I dreaded the punishment that would come from that more than I dreaded Uncle Reese and his whiskers. So, I opted for Uncle Reese. He had a surprise for me. He was so excited about the surprise that he didn’t even pick me up and rub my face. Great relief on my part.

The surprise was a baby raccoon. The mama raccoon was dead, but Uncle Reese rescued the baby and kept him for me. It was love at first sight. I had never seen anything so cute and cuddly in my life. I knew it was going to take some powerful begging to get Mama to agree to let me keep him. Uncle Reese helped me. He had built a cage for him to travel home in and told me how to take care of him and what to feed him and told me all about raccoons so I would be knowledgeable about them. He did all of that before I ever even asked Mama and Daddy if I could keep him. Uncle Reese and me – we had a plan working. He was going to help me even if Mama and Daddy said, “NO!” They did. But Uncle Reese wanted me to have that raccoon, so he persuaded them to let me take it. He told them that it would never survive without me to take care of it. He told them he had kept it just so I could have it and he would be very hurt if they refused. I got the raccoon.

We named him Tycoon. Daddy built a very large cage for him. Mama bought him a collar. Daddy found a very long chain and clipped one end to Tycoon’s collar and the other to Mama’s clothesline. Tycoon could roam around as much as he wanted without running away. It was great. My brother and I walked him on a leash and we even took him to school one day. One night Mama stepped onto the back porch and there was Tycoon, waiting at the door. He had unsnapped his chain from his collar and was waiting to come inside. I had taught him how to drink water from the faucet outside, but he really liked drinking from the bathtub faucet and that is what he wanted. I would sneak him in the house and hole up with him in the bathroom for our lessons. It never occurred to me that if Tycoon could unfasten his chain, he could also leave at will.

So, time passed and Tycoon grew up. He was about a year and a half old. That is when raccoon children normally break away from the family and become independent. Adult male raccoons are territorial and they don’t make good pets. Who knew? Not me.  One morning Tycoon hissed at Daddy and was acting unfriendly in general. I went to school, and when I got home that afternoon, Tycoon was no longer living with us. I strongly suspected that Tycoon was no longer living with anyone, but I never did ask because I too afraid of the answer. Daddy said that raccoons just don’t make good pets because they are wild animals and even though I loved Tycoon, it didn’t make him any less wild. He needed to be with other raccoons. I was mad at Daddy for getting rid of Tycoon. I stayed mad a while, which was not like me. As a rule, I didn’t hold grudges, but this was different. This was Tycoon. And even though I eventually moved on from being mad, I still missed Tycoon.

And . . . here I am again for another treatment at the Cancer Center. Treatment number four is under way! I show up for these treatments with a mixture of joy and uncertainty. I never really know how I might respond to the treatment – it has been a little different each time. But, I am oh-so-happy that after this one, I only have two to go!

One thing doesn’t change. I am very, very certain that God has my back. He has intervened for me right from the beginning of this journey. Really. Like the day I went to get my mammogram and they told me I didn’t have an appointment and wanted to reschedule me for more than a month down the road. I asked if they would just please work me in somehow and they did.

Things don’t turn out like we want them to sometimes. Like my little adventure with Tycoon – my sweet baby raccoon turned into a feisty grown up. To protect me, Daddy would not let him stay with us. I didn’t understand it at the time, but later on, I realized what a hard thing that was for him to do. This cancer journey has been a lot like that. Sometimes I just don’t “get it,” but I always know that my heavenly Father is doing what is best for me – it is a part of His plan. When I hurt, He hurts, too. But He holds me, helps me, and carries me when necessary – even when I am so incredibly human and act no better than Tycoon with all his hissing, bad attitude, and carrying on. The difference? I don’t get sent away – I get loved instead. You, too.  Really.

How priceless is your unfailing love! Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings. Psalm 36:7

Looking Up

Aunt Myrtle was my Granddaddy’s baby sister and she was from Brantley (population 920). She married Uncle Ennis and they lived in a little place called Red Level. On a map, it is the smallest dot they make. The only people I ever knew who lived there were Aunt Myrtle, Uncle Ennis, and my cousins Rosalyn and Gaylen. The current population is around 550. Red Level’s claim to fame is being the birthplace and home of Dr. Luther Terry, the surgeon general who put the cancer warnings on cigarette packages. He also helped in the effort to ban cigarette ads on television and radio. He isn’t related to us, as far as we know, but being a native son of Red Level is close enough to claim kinship in some instances, and we are proud of what he accomplished. So, he belongs to us.

When we would visit Aunt Myrtle, I was in heaven. There were lots of things I loved about those visits. The house had a big kitchen with a huge table, so everyone could eat at the same time and the children could eat at the same table as the adults. We didn’t get banished to the children’s table or to another room entirely. We got to hear everything that they talked about and I loved it. There was also a piano that Aunt Myrtle would let me play, even though I didn’t know how. She would sit with me and play all kinds of hymns and we would sing and sing. Every now and then I would reach out and plunk in a random note of my own and she didn’t even mind – we just kept on singing. Uncle Ennis was actually the most enthusiastic musician of the bunch, and he would also play for as long as I wanted to sing. And then there was a barn – with hay and cats with lots of kittens. I never got bored as long as I had that barn to play in and some kittens to cuddle.

The best thing of all, though, was the junk room. There was a room in Aunt Myrtle’s house where they just put stuff. It was full of all kinds of wonderful things and I loved to explore in the junk room. Whenever Aunt Myrtle said to put something up, it went into the junk room. So, one day we were getting ready to eat at that great big table, but there was some stuff sitting on it. Aunt Myrtle turned to Uncle Ennis and said, “Ennis, take this and put it up.” He picked up the armload of whatever it was and headed down the hall. I knew exactly where he was going. In just a minute, he was back. And he was carrying the same armload of stuff. Aunt Myrtle said, “Ennis, I asked you to put that up.” And Uncle Ennis said, “Well, I can’t, Myrtle. Up is full!”

That’s about how I am feeling sitting here at the Cancer Center. I think to myself, “I can put up with this cancer treatment stuff as long as I have to.” And then it hits me – Up is just about full. Maybe the problem is that I am far enough along into the treatment process that I can’t remember how it felt to feel good and I don’t want it to always be like this. And then, right out of the blue, just when I need it most, God steps in. This time in the form of my sweet nurse Tara who says, “You are doing great! You haven’t hit the wall yet!” Oh, yes I have. I am banging my head there right now. And then Tara says, “You are stronger than you think. Look what you have already been through – cancer, surgery, starting chemotherapy, your hair falling out, your son surviving the Tuscaloosa tornado and then moving to Ohio – you can do this!” No, I can’t. But God can.

Up is not full. God just cleared out some more space. He will do it for you, too. Whatever your journey, He will make the room for you to get through it. He will move some junk, open some space and hold you close so that you are loved and protected and safe. Just ask Him. He wants to do it. Whenever you think you can’t, He can. I know.

Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the wrath of my enemies, and your right hand delivers me.   Psalm 138:7

Horses and Other Blessings

My Daddy had a lifelong love of horses.  When he was about fourteen, he was able to acquire one of his own.  Her name was Sally. I grew up hearing all about Sally and what a wonderful horse she was.  I always felt a little bit cheated that she died before I was born and I never got to meet her.  I thought we would have been good friends.  She sounded like a horse I could really like.  

I don’t know what exactly constitutes a smart horse, but I think Sally was smart.  For all I know she was just an average horse, but I always considered her to be right up there in horse brain power.  Sally had to be a little bit smart, because she was able to learn some tricks.  One of my favorite stories about Sally is her “Giddy up” trick.  Here’s what happened.  Daddy secretly worked with Sally and taught her to stand up on her hind legs when he said, “Giddy up.”  I always thought that was a great trick, but it caused some trouble.  My grandmother loved Sally, too.  And she liked to ride her because Sally was so gentle.  So, when Grandma decided one day to take Sally for a ride, she didn’t know about Sally’s new trick.  Grandma said, “Giddy up, Sally.”  Sally did.  And dumped Grandma right on the ground.  It was a while before anyone was impressed with Sally’s new trick.  

I grew up knowing all about Sally.  I spent a lot of time wishing for a horse just like her.  If Daddy loved her, then I knew I would love her.  Never did get a horse.  

Knowing how much Daddy loved horses, my brother and I conspired to get him a very special birthday present one year.  My plan to get him a horse like Little Joe Cartwright’s had failed miserably.  But I still wanted him to have a horse.  I talked my brother into helping me buy him one.  My brother and I pooled all of our money – and it wasn’t much.  It wouldn’t even buy a thought of a horse.  But I had a plan.  I knew how much Daddy liked Appaloosa horses and I had seen one at the toy store.  It was a plastic (but nice plastic, keep in mind) horse, but it was an Appaloosa.  We begged Mama to drive us to the store and bought it immediately with all the change we owned.  Neither one of us had a paper dollar bill.  

We wrapped up that horse in birthday paper and presented it to Daddy.  He acted like it was the best present he ever received.  I told him how sorry I was that it wasn’t real, but it was the only Appaloosa we could afford.  Years and years went by and I forgot all about that horse.  And one day, I saw it in his house on a shelf – like it was something special.  Later, I found out that he would never let any of the grandchildren play with it or even touch it.  After Daddy died, I got the horse.  The Appaloosa is now in my house on a shelf – and nobody plays with it – ever.  Want to meet him?  Here he is.

And that is how it is with God and me.  It isn’t necessarily the costly, gigantic blessings that are cherished the most.  It is often the little things – things that wouldn’t mean anything to someone else, but mean a lot to me.  This cancer journey has taught me a lot about blessings.  They come in so many forms.  Cards and notes and e-mails and phone calls and prayers.  My sweet friend who visits me during chemotherapy and brings me lunch.  The people who pray for me when I feel almost too sick to pray for myself.  The care packages that come in the mail.  A cousin who has encouraged me to name my wig.  A special parking space at work near the elevator.  The  list goes on.  And they are all priceless gifts.

I get it now about my Daddy and the horse.  It would appear to most folks to be an insignificant gift, but it meant so much to him.  It was a gift from the heart and purchased with all we had to give.  That’s what God did for you and me.  Gave us His most precious gift from the heart, paid for with all He could give. 

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.   James 1:17

Buck vs. Stubby

My daddy was a first generation American.  His father immigrated from Sweden, passed through Ellis Island, and ended up in Chicago.  That is where Daddy was born.  Daddy lived in Chicago until he was about thirteen or fourteen and then the family moved to Delavan, Wisconsin.  My grandfather owned a business.  If you could make something out of bricks and/or stones, Grandpa could do it.  Daddy worked along with him and learned all about quality workmanship, under-promising, and over-delivering. 

Grandpa owned a chunk of land in Wisconsin and had lots of room for animals.  One of the animals was Buck, a dog.  Buck was long-gone to dog heaven before I ever heard of him.  It didn’t stop me from admiring him.  Buck was a pet, but he was also a self-taught guard dog.  He was friendly and loved visitors – everyone was welcome.  You could come on the property, visit, stay as long as you wanted – no problem.  When you left, it was absolutely against Buck’s rules for you to take anything with you.  Even if you had brought it along and it was yours to begin with.  Buck apparently viewed everyone as a potential thief and saw it as his job to provide adequate security service.  I always thought it was very commendable of Buck to be so concerned about his family and their belongings.  And I thought it would be great to have a dog of my own just like Buck. 

One day, our neighbor’s dog had puppies and we somehow ganged up on Mama enough that she said we could have one.  I was beyond thrilled.  I was about to have a Buck to take care of us.  Our puppy was named Stubby and I loved him immediately and unconditionally.  Stubby was no Buck.   There is no kind way to say this.  Stubby was not only a terrible guard dog, he was a thief.  This was in the days when everybody in the neighborhood knew everybody’s dog.  Dogs roamed around and visited wherever they wanted.  Stubby had the unfortunate habit of stealing mops and hauling them home.  It then became my job to find the rightful owner of the mop and return it with apologies from Stubby.  Stubby never reformed; he never turned from his life of crime.  It kept me busy. 

After my brother started school, I ended up being just about the only child on the block still at home.  So, Stubby was my companion and playmate and friend.  He didn’t mind if I dressed him up and pretended he was a girl. He didn’t mind wearing a cap gun tied around his “waist.”  Stubby and I spent a lot of time on the front porch.  He would sit in my lap and I would rock him in a big white wooden rocking chair. Sometimes I turned the rocker upside down and pretended it was a helicopter (with Stubby as my co-pilot), but mostly, I let it be a rocker.   I would sing to Stubby and tell him stories while we rocked.  We shared popsicles and Tootsie Pops and potato chips and Kool Aid.   Late one night, Mama woke Daddy to tell him about a noise she was hearing.  She thought someone was breaking in and she was worried.  There hadn’t been even the tiniest woof out of Stubby the Magnificent Guard Dog.  Daddy went to investigate.  The burglar turned out to be Stubby rocking himself on the front porch and bumping into the house with each backward motion of the rocker.  To this day, I remember Daddy saying, “What in the world has she done to that dog?”  Taught him to entertain himself – that’s what.

I loved Stubby so much that I quit wishing for Buck.  Everywhere I went on foot, Stubby went, too.  Guard dogs might just be over-rated anyway.  Mop stealing dogs don’t come along every day.  And he looked pretty cute in a dress.

By now, you probably know where I am – at the Cancer Center – I spend a lot of time here.  I learned a long time ago to stop wishing for what I don’t have and be thankful for what I do have.  Never wanted cancer.  Always wanted a closer relationship with God.  My journey has given me both.  Maybe, like me, you were wishing for a guard dog and got a bandit.  One thing is certain – if you spend too much time feeling sorry for yourself for missing out on what you wanted, you won’t have time to enjoy what you really got.  And you will forget to praise God in all things.  Don’t get me wrong – I never wanted to have to deal with cancer – but what else can I do?  Instead of talking about trusting God, I am trusting God.  There’s a big difference.  If it hasn’t already, some day your own journey may lead you from talking to acting.  And God will be right there. 

Guard my life, for I am faithful to you; save your servant who trusts in you. You are my God.    -  -  Psalm 86:2