Cucumbers and Bleeding Hearts

I first discovered the Curb Market when I was a child.  My grandmother and I would venture there on Saturday mornings to buy cucumbers.  We would take the cucumbers home and turn them into pickles.  The whole process took nine straight days of tending to those cucumbers, slowly transforming them into sweet pickles.  I don’t even like pickles – not any kind of pickles – but making them is fun.  Folks have booths at the Curb Market where they sell things like corn, tomatoes, peas, and butter beans.  And cucumbers, of course.  I especially loved to watch the machine that shelled peas.  I really didn’t mind shelling peas, but I hated shelling butter beans and thought it would be worth the price to let the machine do it.  My grandmother didn’t think so.  In our family, we shelled our own peas and beans.  

Some of the people at the Curb Market had plants for sale.  They weren’t fancy like you would get at a nursery.  They were mostly just things rooted at home and stuck in used clay pots.  There was one that I loved.  I looked for it every Saturday that we went.  The lady who sold them said it was an old-fashioned Bleeding Heart – the vine type.  It had white flowers with red centers.  If I had asked my grandmother, she most likely would have bought me one.  It never occurred to me to ask.  

So . . . fast forward thirty years or so and I am in Tuscaloosa, Alabama having lunch with my friend Ronny Johnston - a friend with a green thumb.  We passed by a nursery and it reminded me of that Bleeding Heart.  I told him about it and he said, “Somebody at work has one in their office.  I’ll just get you a piece and you can root it.”  I had my reservations.   I love plants, but I sometimes kill them.  And I never know how it happens.  But he was so enthusiastic that I thought it just might work.  That little cutting rode 100 miles in a styrofoam cup of water sitting in the cup holder of my car.  I had doubts about it.  For many, many days after it got to my house, I thought it was going to die.  It got all droopy and some a lot most almost all of the leaves fell off.  Things were looking grim, but I persisted.  I put it in a glass jar so I would be able to see any roots that had the courage to appear. Every day I inspected it and said encouraging things to it.  Nothing happened.  Finally, when there were two (2) leaves left, I conceded defeat.  I had made my peace with it and was ready to give up, throw the whole thing in the trash, and forget about it.  A Bleeding Heart was not in my future.  I picked up the jar to give it one last look and I saw what amounted to a miracle.  There was the tiniest thread of a root emerging from that cutting.  Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure that it was a root, but I somehow convinced myself that it certainly was and put that jar right back on the kitchen counter.  It deserved a chance.

After I was sure that there were plenty of roots growing, I planted the Bleeding Heart in its own pot.  I was ready for that thing to bloom.  I waited and waited.  It did not bloom.  It grew and grew and grew.  It did not bloom.  It had magnificent leaves and sprouted all sorts of new vines.  But it didn’t bloom.  I fed it, watered it, put it in a nice place where it would get sun but not get too hot, checked on it daily, and told it how much I believed it could do it.  It still didn’t bloom.  How is this possible?  I have done everything right.  It isn’t dead.  It is growing like crazy, but where are the flowers?! What more could that thing want?  Turns out, it just wanted time.  The first year, I got nothing.  The second year, I got beautiful blooms.  Lots and lots of them.

All I really needed was patience.  It wasn’t about me and what I could do for that Bleeding Heart.  It was about letting that Bleeding Heart do exactly what it was designed to do – bloom at the right time.  That is exactly how it is with us and God.  Sometimes, we push and fight to get our way when we really just need to let God do what He needs to do.  I am SO good at giving my problems to God.  I am EVEN BETTER at taking them right back.  That whole trust and obey business - it is a daily struggle for me.  Maybe it is for you, too.  There is a Chinese proverb that says, “Don’t push the river; it flows by itself.”  I have a real tendency to push the rivers in my life when all I need to do is let God plot the course for me.  He knows where He wants me to go.  You, too.  Get ready to bloom.

I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry.

--Psalm 40:1

And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?

--Matthew 6:30

P.S.  Keep praying!  Surgery on March 23^rd at 10:00 a.m.

P.P.S. Just before the first freeze of the winter, I cut back that Bleeding Heart and put the vines in a jar to try to root some more plants.  Here are some pictures  Those things are blooming in the jar!!  I think God is telling me something.

Big Plans

The summer when I was seven years old, I came up with a plan that I was absolutely certain would catapult me and my family straight into a lifetime of riches.  It all started with a vacation to the Smoky Mountains.  There were all kinds of things planned for that trip.  But the best part was something that wasn’t planned at all.

Along the way we kept seeing signs for some sort of a petting zoo with “exotic” animals.  The sign that really got my attention was one for a five-legged cow.  I couldn’t believe it.  What a great vacation!  Just as soon as I saw the five-legged cow sign, I started begging to stop in and see that wondrous animal.  And then I saw the next sign -  it seemed almost too good to be true.  The same place had a two-headed pig!  Unbelievable.  Who knew that such marvels even existed?!  Please, please, please, Daddy – can’t we stop?  Pleeeeease.  Pleeeeeease! I won’t ask for anything ever again.  Really.  Ever.  Daddy stopped.  We all piled out of the car.  Mama and Daddy already knew that this was a critter style freak show.  They tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen.  Are you kidding me?  There were signs!  There were pictures of the animals drawn on them!! They couldn’t put those signs up if it wasn’t true!   Well . . . yes, they could.  That five-legged cow – the one that was supposed to be walking around with four legs in the usual places and one coming squarely from its belly – oh, my.  Disappointed doesn’t begin to describe my feelings.  That fifth “leg” was barely a hoof sticking out of that poor cow’s hindquarters.  And then, of course, there was the matter of the two-headed pig.  It wasn’t even a live animal that they were trying to pass off as a two-headed pig.  It was two pig heads stuffed and mounted – just like you would do to a fish or a deer head.  Even my gullible seven-year-old brain figured out pretty quickly that those two heads had not started life on the same animal.  I could not have been more disenchanted.  I had been hoodwinked.  My attitude was in the tank.  And then . . . I saw the bear.  Everything changed.

There was a gift shop at the “zoo.”  Seriously, it wasn’t much of a gift shop.  It was on par with the five-legged cow and two-headed pig.  But, in front of that gift shop, standing in the dirt and gravel parking lot, was something that made up for all my disillusionment.  It was an Indian with a bear.  A live bear on a leash.  In the days before being politically correct was more important than anything else, there were Indians.  They are now Native Americans.  This was an Indian.  He was all dressed up in buckskin-like clothes and a magnificent headdress full of feathers.  He scared me half to death.  But, he had a bear cub on a leash.  And . . . it drank chocolate milk.  Yep.  You could buy bottles of YooHoo or something like it in the “gift shop” and the Indian would then give the bottle to the bear.  That bear would turn it up and drain the whole bottle in a few seconds.  It was awesome.  I loved that bear.  I wanted one just like him.  

I knew we would be millionaires in short order if I had my very own chocolate milk drinking bear.  There would be so many people who would want to give him chocolate milk! I might even be able to teach him to drink Dr. Pepper or at least something more exciting than chocolate milk.   I could charge each person just a tiny bit of money and we would get rich quick.  I knew that my grandmother would make me an Indian outfit if I asked.  I was certain that nobody in Alabama had any sort of a milk-drinking bear.  This was a great plan.  I just needed a bear.  So, I asked Mama if she would get me one for my birthday.  Mama said, “No.  Absolutely not.  Bears are wild animals.”  She said no?!?  I should have asked Daddy.  So, I did.  His answer:  “No.  I thought you wanted a Barbie.”  Pleading was to no avail.  Now what.  No five-legged cow.  No two-headed pig.  No bear.  This was headed straight toward being the worst vacation in history.

Nonetheless, I still had lots of questions for that Indian.  Where did you get him?  What’s his name?  Does he like anything besides chocolate milk?  Can he use a fork?  Does he sleep in your bed? How old is he?  Does he bite? Does he have any toys? Can I have him?  And that Indian didn’t answer any of them. He never said one word.  I concluded that he was an Indian who spoke only an Indian language and he just didn’t understand English.  I had seen Indians like that on television.  I think it is much more likely that he took one look at me, saw a bottomless pit of questions, and decided that playing deaf would get rid of me a lot quicker than anything else. I left that “zoo” empty-handed except for the consolation prize of a bottle of Nehi Grape.  

Some of the problems I bring to God might seem as foolish to Him as my request for a chocolate milk drinking bear.  I am thankful that God understands my needs and listens to my prayers – even when I must seem to Him just like I seemed to that Indian -  yet another bottomless pit of questions and petitions.  I am thankful that He doesn’t lure me in with promises that He won’t deliver.   I am thankful that when I am facing something scary, He has already given me His promise of love and protection. A sweet Internet friend sent me this verse:

 So do not fear, for I am with you;
   do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
   I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10

If you are keeping up with my ongoing journey, my cancer surgery will be on March 23^rd.  Psalm 91 is my prayer. Pray it for me, please.  And, I really like Isaiah 41:10, too. 

Surprises

I am living proof that we don’t always get what we expect.  There are all kinds of surprises – good and bad – all around us.  I did not expect to have cancer, but it happened.  No matter what kind of unexpected events come our way, our reaction is always our choice.  I refuse to be anything but positive in this journey.  God did not design me to be afraid and worried.  Psalm 91 says that He wants to protect me and save me.  I am asking Him to make good on that promise.  If you think about it, please pray for me.  I need it. 

Meanwhile, in the midst of all my doctor’s visits, I started thinking about some unexpected things that weren’t quite so serious.  I am going to need my sense of humor to get through this new bump in the road.  So, I would like to remind you that we don’t always get what we expect, even in a worship service.  Here is one of those unexpected things:

It was many years ago and Easter Sunday was approaching.  There was a lot of hoopla in our church surrounding a special guest who had been invited for our Easter morning worship service.  He was a singer.  Not just any singer.  He was a countertenor.  All the publicity said that he had a voice range of five octaves.  Everyone seemed to be rather impressed.  I had no idea what a countertenor was.  I had no idea what five octaves might be.  I just decided to be every bit as impressed as everyone else.  I could hardly wait for Easter.  It was going to be magnificent and I knew it.  I have always loved music – especially the older hymns – and I have always enjoyed the way music can just set the mood for the entire worship service.   Easter was going to be special!

So, Easter morning came.  It was the kind of Easter morning that you always hope for – pretty, bright, sunny, not too cold.  We hurried to the worship service as fast as we could after Sunday school.  The agreement was that the first one in the family to arrive would save all our seats.  Daddy was the first one there, so we had seats about five pews from the front on the left hand side of the sanctuary.  To my way of thinking, we had the best seats in the house to enjoy The Countertenor and his voice.  

There were people galore.  The folding chairs were set up in the aisles so that we could accommodate everyone.  I figured there would be a big turnout – it was Easter and we had the added attraction of The Countertenor.  I was right – there was a bumper crop of churchgoers.  For some reason, I got to sit at the end of the pew.  That was where Daddy normally sat, but it ended up being my spot that day.  All the better for seeing The Countertenor.  Mama was keeping the nursery.   I felt so sorry for her.  She was going to miss The Countertenor.  But the rest of us, we were ready to just sit back and enjoy.

My Daddy loved music, but he was a terrible singer.  He had two favorite hymns, “Victory in Jesus” and “Up from the Grave He Arose” (sometimes called “Low in the Grave He Lay,” but the same song nonetheless).  We usually only sang the latter at Easter - and Easter didn’t disappoint.  Daddy and I sang “Up from the Grave He Arose” with a lot of enthusiasm.  We wanted to impress The Countertenor with our effort if not our voices.  No way did we want him thinking he had an Easter morning engagement in a subpar congregation. 

We greeted, welcomed, sang, prayed, and collected the offering.  It was finally time.  The Countertenor was introduced and I gave him an encouraging smile - just in case he might be nervous singing for such a large crowd.  He stepped up, the music began and he sang. And I was completely shocked.  Not in a particularly good way.  What on earth?!  I am not believing what I am hearing.  This is a countertenor??  He. Sounds. Like. A. Woman.  There was an audible gasp from Daddy, so I turned to look up at him.  Mistake.  Big, big mistake.  Daddy was by all accounts just as surprised as I was.  Mama could conjure up a poker face at will, but she was in the nursery.  I’m pretty sure that I got my how-to-handle-a-surprise genes from Daddy.  We never could hide anything.  We were doing everything in our power to keep from laughing – not at The Countertenor, but at each other. 

I risked glancing around.  It was evident that we weren’t the only ones who were surprised.  I think, though, that we were the only ones shaking the pew because we were trying so hard not to laugh.    We managed to gain some control, but it lasted only until the kid sitting in front of us put his fingers in his ears and said, “Mama, it’s awful!”  Shaking pew once again.

When church was over, we hurried out as fast as we could.  No reason to linger over The Countertenor fiasco and make it worse.  While other families were being sociable, mine was hot-footing it to the nursery to tell Mama to meet us at the car.  It was the best we could do at the time.  When we got home, we told Mama all about it.  She was appropriately mortified over our behavior.  We tried hard to be contrite.  And when Mama turned around to put the milk in the refrigerator, I know I saw her smile.

 He will yet fill your mouth with laughter, and your lips with shouting.  Job 8:21

No Bullies Allowed

When I was in the second grade, I couldn’t stand two things – school lunches and bullies. Eventually, those two things met and created a perfect storm.

First the school lunches. I complained so long and so loud that my mother finally gave in and let me take my lunch to school. I suppose she figured that the apple and the ham sandwich I would eat was better than the spaghetti and the salad that I wouldn’t. I scrounged around in my grandmother’s trunks and assorted junk until I came up with a real treasure – a metal lunch box whose original owner was w-a-y before my time. Looking back, I can see why my mother was reluctant to let me use it. Most adults would think it was awfully ugly, and it was kind of large, but I thought it was wonderful – especially with those pink flower stickers I added to dress it up. Personalizing it by adding my name in Magic Marker might or might not have made it better.

Now, the bully. A group of us walked to school together and it was actually kind of fun. Except for the bully. We had to walk by his house on the way to school. He was big, his house was bigger, and he was mean. We were not allowed to pick fights and I sure didn’t have the guts to pick one with the bully anyway. I was always afraid he was going to come out and do something awful to us when we went by his house. Sometimes he chased us and threw things at us. Sometimes he didn’t see us. Those were pretty much the two options.

So . . . on our way to school one morning, the bully came running. He jumped off his porch and ran across the yard, headed straight toward us. We were toast. The bully ran up to my brother and threatened to beat him up. What?? You’re gonna beat up my brother? I don’t think so. I don’t want to fight. But don’t mess with me. Or my brother. So, I did what any little sister would do. I waited until he wasn’t looking my way and I walloped that bully over the head with my metal lunch box. (You know a paper sack would not have had nearly the effect!) It was the only thing I could think of to do. Sadly, it put a pretty big dent in my beautifully decorated and personalized lunch box. And it put one in the bully, too. A seven year old with a metal lunch box can bring about some serious behavior modification. The bully never, ever bothered us again.

Now, I’m all geared up for a brand new bully. First some background. In the fall, I did the Covenant Bible study by Kay Arthur. That study drove something straight home to me – God is fighting for me. When I can’t, He will. And does. My enemies are His enemies. Bullies don’t stand a chance. When I began the Jonah – Navigating a Life Interrupted Bible study in January, I had NO IDEA that God was using it to prepare me for my very own gigantic interruption. One of the things we learned from the Bible study has just kept popping in my head week after week – interruptions may just be divine interventions. So I need to pay attention to those interruptions.

Well . . . my interruption has come in the form of a diagnosis of breast cancer. Not what I was expecting this time last week. But, as I have learned from studying Jonah, God is always in control, hears our prayers, and answers them. So, cancer, if you think you are going to steal my joy or my faith – think again. My God is bigger and stronger than you will ever be. Cancer. Yuck. I don’t even like writing the word. What a bully. But cancer has a thing or two to learn. You don’t mess with a girl who has a metal lunch box and isn't afraid to use it, an aversion to bullies, prayer warriors storming the gates of heaven, and God on her side. This is just the beginning - actually, the beginning of the beginning - but I am already fighting. And God – He’s right there with me. You can join us, too!

O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me. Psalm 30:2