Mechanic on Duty

I went to lots of different schools I when I was growing up – seven of them from first grade until I graduated.  Through most of my elementary school years, we lived close enough so that I could walk to school.  Walking to school was not a chore for me – I actually enjoyed it.  When I was in the second grade, I walked to school past a gas station that had a garage attached.  There was a sign out front that said, “Mechanic on duty.”  I had no idea who “Mechanic” was, but it made me feel better and safer somehow just knowing that whoever that happened to be was “on duty.”  I even had a picture in my mind of what “Mechanic” would look like.

One Saturday morning, I was going shopping with my grandmother and we drove past a different gas station.  Guess what I saw out front.  A sign that said, “Mechanic on duty.”  What?!  Mechanic has moved!! Mechanic is now on duty somewhere else!  Is anybody on duty at “my” gas station?  It was a terrible feeling.  Mechanic had let me down and jumped ship.  Why on earth would Mechanic do that?  I needed Mechanic to be “on duty” when I walked back and forth to school.  It was a mystery to me.  What in the world was going on with Mechanic?

So, I decided to ask Daddy about it. I figured my Daddy could help me understand it if anybody could.   I told him about Mechanic being on duty at my gas station and how they advertised it with a sign right out front.  I told him how Mechanic had left me in the cold and moved on to another gas station.  Only, I didn’t have a clue what “mechanic” was, and I pronounced it me-chan-ick.  And I was pretty upset with Mechanic for leaving me in the lurch and not being on duty for me.  Good grief!  Anything could happen if Mechanic wasn’t on duty!  I didn’t know what that might be, but I figured it could be something pretty awful.  Walking to school just wouldn’t be the same.

Daddy explained to me what “mechanic” actually meant.  Are you kidding me?  That’s a person who works on the cars, not someone protecting us?  Who knew?  And there’s more than one Mechanic?!  So, “my” Mechanic is still there!  On duty still, for all the good it would do me.  I was relieved and irritated all at the same time.  It was so nice to know that Mechanic had not deserted me after all.  But, it sure was disappointing to find out that he wasn’t there to offer any kind of protection and that whole “on duty” business hadn’t meant anything even close to what I had thought.  Oh, well.  Walking to school would just be a little riskier.  Good thing that Stubby, my dog, walked to school with me every day.  He might just have to be a stand-in for Mechanic if it came to it.

Aren’t you glad that you don’t have to worry that God might be “on duty” somewhere else when you need Him?  I know that I am.  And I need Him.  Frequently.  Knowing that Mechanic was on duty was a source of comfort for me.  Knowing that God is everywhere is an even greater source of comfort.  I know that wherever I go and whatever my circumstances may be, I am NEVER out of God’s reach.  Nobody will ever have to "stand in" for God.  I know it because He promised me.  He promised you, too!  And while I sit here in the Cancer Center getting my latest treatment, I know He is right here with me.  On duty.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you.  Isaiah 43:2

I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you.  Hebrews 13:5

Where can I go from your Spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend into heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, you are there; if I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.  Psalm 139:7-10

Santa Claus, Watercolors, and God

We were living in Mobile when I was five years old.  It was getting close to Christmas and I was excited.  My Christmas list was done.  I knew what I wanted Santa Claus to bring me and I just couldn’t wait.  And then Mama gave me the news.  She thought I would be thrilled.  I wasn’t.  She said that we were going to Montgomery to spend Christmas with my grandmother.  What?!  I need to be at home for Christmas!  This is terrible!! Santa Claus knows I live here, but he will never find me in Montgomery!!  But I didn’t say any of that.  I just cried.  And cried.  Mama was mystified.  I ordinarily loved going to my grandmother’s for any reason at all.  I would even invent reasons that I needed to go visit her.  But not now!  Not at Christmas.  

I finally told Mama why I didn’t want to go.  She told me that it wouldn’t matter and that Santa would find me no matter where I was at Christmas.  I was less than convinced.  I decided that the safest thing I could do was leave him a note.  That way, if he showed up in Mobile, he would find the note, know I was in Montgomery, and just swing by my grandmother’s house to leave my loot. Seemed like a good plan to me.  So I got my brother to help me with the note.  I figured he had as much to gain from that note as I did.  If Santa couldn’t find me, then he certainly wouldn’t find my brother either.  Our note was to the point – We are at Mam-ma’s house and you can leave our presents there.  Love, Susan and David How could he not find us with those explicit directions?

So, off we went to Montgomery.  The note was taped to the mantel so Santa could not miss it when he plopped into our fireplace.  Things were looking up.  On Christmas Eve, I got my grandmother to help me with a second note for Santa.  It was also pretty much to the point and went something like Susan and David are here. You are in the right house now. I got an early start on my note-writing obsession.

Santa found us!  On Christmas morning I was thrilled.  The one thing I wanted more than anything was a giant watercolor set.  It had seventy-two colors and lots of brushes and paper.  The box was about the size of a Monopoly game and it had a hinged lid.  I painted like crazy.  I even touched up a couple of places on the wall at my grandmother’s house.  I distinctly remember that nobody appreciated it.  

Sometimes I think we have a tendency to treat God like Santa Claus.  Tell him what you want and wait for him to bring it.  We know better.  But they do have something in common.  Just like Santa, God always knows where his children are.  We don’t have to leave him notes so he can find us, either.  He is always there – He sees you when you’re sleeping and He knows when you’re awake.  He knows if you’ve been good or bad.  He knows how we handle everything life throws at us – and He knows that we sometimes pout.  And He loves us.  Completely and unconditionally.  

I am at the Cancer Center again.  Waiting.  Waiting. Waiting.  Today I see the doctor and next week I have a Herceptin treatment.  While I wait, I am sure that God is watching over me.  He has been with me every step of this journey and has been fighting even when I can’t.  He will do that for you, too.  You don’t need a medical crisis or another type of emergency or a catastrophe.  He will be right with you in the “ordinary” as well as the stressful.  Ask Him.  That’s all it takes.  He WANTS to be there and do good things for you!

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us – Ephesians 3:20

The Beverly Hillbillies

Starting when I was in the first grade, my grandmother and I shared a room for a while.  After my grandfather died, she moved in with us.  I loved it.  My grandmother for a roommate!  I was in heaven.  They told me it was just temporary, and I knew she would move out, but I loved every minute of having her there.  I begged her to buy the house next door to us.  It wasn’t for sale, but I considered that a minor detail to overcome.  A lady named Mrs. Pace lived there with her daughter, Miriam.  I asked them if they would like to sell their house and move because I knew someone who needed it.  They were not particularly receptive to the idea.  And of all things, they told on me to my mother.  But, I needed to keep my grandmother close.  She ended up buying a house around the corner from us.  It was so close that I could walk over to see her.  

I loved spending the night with my grandmother.  On Fridays, she would come by and pick me up after work.  We would go to Winn Dixie and shop for my favorite foods before we went to her house.  I didn’t really care where we went – it was all an adventure for me.  Even Winn Dixie was exciting when I went there with my grandmother.  She had a chair in her house that would spin all the way around and she would let me play in as long as I wanted to.  

There were lots of times when I would almost spend the night with her.  This is how it happened.  My grandmother and I loved the Beverly Hillbillies.  We would have the best time laughing at Granny when she thought an ostrich was a big chicken or at Jethro when he would start “ciphering” and saying “Naught times naught…”  I would just about roll in the floor laughing.  

So on Beverly Hillbillies night, I went to my grandmother’s.  She would pick me up after work and I would be armed with my pajamas and Cheetos.  We would cook something to eat and then I would take a bath and put on my pajamas.  I would also rub Jergens lotion all over my hands, just like my grandmother.  We would have a good time just waiting for the Beverly Hillbillies to come on.  Sometimes we did things like shell peas.  If it was fruitcake season, we picked out pecans.  My grandmother made a fruitcake that people who hate fruitcake actually liked.  Sometimes we wrote notes to her sisters and I would get to add my greeting – How are you? I am fine. I went to school today.  I wasn’t much of a letter writer back then.

When the Beverly Hillbillies (brought to us by Kellogg’s of Battle Creek) finally came on, I broke out the Cheetos and my grandmother fixed me a Coke.  We ate, drank, and laughed out loud.  My grandmother thought Jed was handsome.  I thought Ellie Mae was beautiful and I wanted a chimpanzee just like hers.  I asked for one every Christmas.  Never got one.  Every time that doorbell rang in the mansion, I knew what was coming and I still laughed like it was the first time.  When the ending song came on, I sang along with it and then they were gone for another week.  My grandmother would take me home in my pajamas.  I just loved almost spending the night.  

Sometimes I wonder if God gave me that special grandmother because He knew how much I would need her after my mother died.  There are times when I think back and am so thankful for the wonderful memories I have.  It amazes me when I think that God has been there for me through every one of those memories – good and bad.  Sitting in the cancer center today getting a treatment, I can’t help thinking about this cancer journey of mine and how God might want me to use it.  I am still trying to figure it out and I pray about it often. 

Don’t ever forget that God is always faithful.  Your circumstances don't matter.  Good times or not so good - He is there.  He is with you no matter what your journey includes – cancer or not.  

But you remain the same and your years will never end.  Psalm 102:27

The Milk Amplifier

I am pretty sure that I was born with milk-hating genes. I have never, ever liked milk. My brother loved it, but not me. I don’t like the taste of it or how it clogs up my throat. Yuck. Daddy came from a long line of milk-loving folks and he believed that children needed milk, so he insisted that I drink it. There was lots of drama at supper time at our house. Sitting at that table until I drank my milk was torture. I would finally have to put it back in the refrigerator, get it cold again, hold my nose, and drink it all at once. I still hate milk.

Since milk drinking was considered an essential function of childhood at my house, Mama tried to find a way to make it tolerable. Have you ever heard of Bosco? It has been around since 1928 and originally it was called a “milk amplifier.” I’m not kidding. Bosco is nothing more than chocolate syrup loaded with iron. Anyway, by the time I came along, Bosco had dropped that milk amplifier gimmick and just went with the chocolate syrup sales pitch. They did still insist that it made milk palatable. So, Mama tried it. She bought Bosco and added it to my milk and even though I still didn’t like it, I could get it down. Loved the Bosco. Hated the milk. So you will know, Bosco is still made in New Jersey. It is mostly sold in New York, Florida, Texas, and southern California. But, it is also sold in Europe Asia, and the Middle East. You can even order it on Amazon. Really. Or from Bosco’s website for $2.00 a bottle. I am not kidding about any of this. You should try it if you like chocolate.

Anyway, Mama believed in hanging clothes outside on a clothesline to dry. And Mama did a lot of clothes washing, so there were always lots of clothes to hang out or bring in. We had a neighbor who once told Mama that she either had the cleanest or the dirtiest children in the world. He based that on all the clothes hanging out to dry. One afternoon Mama was making a quick trip to the clothesline to bring in a few towels. She decided to leave us inside because lugging children down a flight of stairs and then back up again would take twice as long as just running to the clothesline and back. Mistake. Bad mistake.

While Mama was gone, my brother and I got into the Bosco. He was going to have chocolate milk and I was going to have straight Bosco. It was a doomed plan from the beginning. We got chairs so we could climb up, stand on the counter top, reach the cabinets, and grab the Bosco. We were squatting on the counter top and squirting Bosco into a glass to make chocolate milk when disaster struck. We missed the glass. And part of the counter top. Bosco ended up all over the counter and on the floor. We used our chairs and climbed down . . . and managed to step in the Bosco every time we moved. We made another bad decision. We decided to clean it up. With towels from the bathroom. So we tracked chocolate footprints all over the kitchen, through the house and into the bathroom. And then we smeared Bosco all over the floor with the help of those towels. About the time we had made the biggest mess we could make in our effort to clean up, Mama came through the door. Oh, boy. The only good thing I can say about the Bosco incident is that no matter what kind of mess we made from that point on, Mama would always say, “Well, at least it isn’t as bad as the Bosco.”

Do you sometimes try to fix things in your life and end up making a mess? I do. And I don’t learn quickly, because I just keep on doing it. God must look at me sometimes and think, “Ok, now, we are approaching Bosco proportions so be careful.” All He really wants us to do is depend on Him. I struggle. I want to depend on Him, but I seem to see a way to hurry things along, so I just handle it myself. The results are usually about what you would expect. Sometimes, though, there is no way for me to do anything else except lean on Him. That’s where I am right now - depending on Him to handle everything. It’s a good feeling to know that He is on duty. One way or another, I’m going to learn this lesson.

I think that chemotherapy and radiation may be my new measuring stick for unpleasantness. Mama had Bosco and I have cancer treatment. I’m pretty sure cancer treatment trumps Bosco.

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Peppermint Candy

I don’t particularly like those hard, round peppermint candies, but I LOVE soft peppermint candy that just kind of melts in your mouth. I was introduced to that soft kind of peppermint when I was a child and we would go to Brantley to visit Mama’s aunts and uncles. There was a little store in Brantley that sold that candy out of a big jar. Mama would give us some money and we would walk down to the store and get a paper sack full of peppermint sticks. It was the only time I got that candy. I was in heaven.

One Saturday, we were in Brantley at Uncle Reese and Aunt Sissy’s house. I could always find plenty to do when we visited there. Aunt Sissy would let me do all kinds of things that just didn’t happen in the city. I got to gather the eggs and I was pretty good at it after I got to know the chickens. Some of them were temperamental and a little on the mean side. We won’t even talk about the rooster. The eggs were brown and I was amazed. I just assumed they were brown because they were “country” eggs instead of “city” eggs. Had no idea the color depended on the color of the chicken’s “ears” until Uncle Reese explained it to me. I got quite an education in Brantley. That’s where I learned how to make mayonnaise – I even have my own mayonnaise maker. Have you ever seen one? Here is mine:

The reason I got sent to the store for candy on one of our trips was because of my lizard catching skills. I do NOT like lizards. At all. But, as a kid, I was pretty impressed with them. And I was an expert at catching them without breaking their tails. Aunt Sissy was opposed to giving me any of her canning jars to use as a lizard house. I had to improvise. The only thing I could find was a brown paper sack. So, I put my lizard inside, twisted the top as tightly as I could, and put it on the table in the kitchen just about the time we were getting ready to eat. Mama asked me what I had in the sack and I told her. She very calmly said, “Well, please take your lizard back outside.” And I said, “Oh, Mama, it’s all right. He’s not scared!” That is how -  on that particular day - I ended up with a dollar in my hand and my brother to escort me to the store.

So . . . I would often sit in Uncle Reese’s lap, eating my peppermint sticks and listening to everything the grown-ups were saying. I loved hearing those conversations and had a great time trying to figure out what they didn’t want me to know. Every now and then, Uncle Reese would ask for a bite of my peppermint stick. He only did it to aggravate me. He loved to tease me, but I was pretty serious about my peppermint. I would share with him, but barely. I would hold the peppermint for him to take a bite, but I had a special way to position it so that he could take just the tiniest bite possible. I sure was greedy.

Aren’t you glad that God doesn’t dole out His blessings the way I shared that candy?! Selfish little me wanted it all. But, God wants what is best for us and He gives it to us in abundance. Even better, He knows what we need, whether we know it or not, and guides us every step of the way.

I do not like this radiation that I am having for the next couple of months. But I am very thankful that God uses doctors and medicine as His instruments while He provides the healing. He knows we need something tangible, something to do while we wait for His healing. How blessed I have been on this journey to have the comfort of a loving God.

The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy. Psalm 123:3

P.S. Since the week I started chemotherapy, eating has been a little bit of a challenge. My one and only criteria for whether or not I eat something is very simple. If it makes me gag, I don’t eat it. Otherwise, I eat it because everything pretty much tastes the same and I have to eat something. Once I can eat sweet stuff without puking, if I can find any of that peppermint candy, I am stocking up! I highly recommend it.

Love Lifted Me

Aunt Tura was married to my grandfather’s oldest brother who died years before I was ever born. They lived in Glenwood, Alabama. It is a small place. The 2010 census said that the population of Glenwood is 187. I don’t think it has changed much since I used to visit there. Aunt Tura lived in a big white house with a big porch. I loved that house and I loved visiting Aunt Tura.  One of my favorite things about that house was that the bedroom I stayed in had a feather bed. I loved sinking into that bed every night.  There was nothing more I could want.  She told me one time that her mother and I had the same name, so I decided that made me pretty special and most likely caused her to like me even more than she ordinarily would have.

My Aunt Tura was a lot of fun and she liked children. My brother and I spent Labor Day weekend with her one time and she made me a birthday cake that was beautiful. She knew how to make roses out of frosting that looked just like the ones from the bakery – only bigger and better and in the colors I wanted. She covered my cake with roses.  She let me try to make those roses, too. Mine were just different sized globs of frosting. She also took us behind her house to pick whatever scuppernongs were still there, let us eat them while we picked them, and then let us help make jelly with the rest. I was a terrible jelly maker – made more of a mess than jelly – but Aunt Tura didn’t seem to mind. She just helped us clean up and sent us home with all the jelly that we/she made.

And that same weekend, she made me some Barbie clothes. She took Barbie, measured her, and made a pattern so Barbie could have some new skirts and blouses. It was an absolute mystery to me.  I never knew how she did it, but those clothes fit Barbie perfectly. She took all the pieces she had cut out and we went to visit one of her friends. I couldn’t imagine all those little pieces ever being anything but a jumbled mess. She sat on the porch, talked to her friend while I listened to every word, and sewed those clothes. I remember her friend saying, “Tura, I don’t see how you do that. I’d rather make a great big dress than something that small!” I don’t know why I thought that was so funny when she said it, but I did.

The reason Aunt Tura was so good at all those things was because of her job. Or maybe that's why she was so good at her job.  She worked at a children’s home. We once visited her there and she took us on a tour. The children were all in school while we were there, but I will never forget going into the rooms where they stayed. The rooms were full of single beds lined up against both sides of the wall. I picked up a doll from the toy box and saw that it had a label on its back. The label had the name of the children’s home on it. I asked Aunt Tura about it and she told me that the children didn’t have their own toys. The toys belonged to the home and the children just played with them. I thought it was awful that the children didn’t have toys. I still do. Aunt Tura loved those children. She made them birthday cakes, made them jelly, and sewed for them. She did all kinds of things to make their lives better, hoping that they would either return home or be adopted. Aunt Tura knew every one of those children. She loved them so much that I was a little bit jealous, but all I had to do was think about that doll with the sticker on its back and I was just fine.

There are times when I don’t feel very special. Kind of like I have plenty of things, but they all have labels that say they belong to someone else. Usually, it doesn’t take long for me to remember that I’m not really in charge and everything I have is a gift from God. And I am the one who should have a label to remind me that I belong to God. He loves you and me even more than Aunt Tura loved those children. He knows we’re going to make a mess and He will help us clean it up if we ask Him. The times when I feel quite hopeless, He steps in and reminds me that He cares more than I can imagine.

One of my favorite songs as a child was Love Lifted Me. I would sit in the porch swing and sing it with gusto.  It still is one of my favorite songs, actually. Aunt Tura used to sing it with me. When nothing else could help, love lifted me. Still does.

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.  Romans 15:13

Hand-Me-Downs

I have always loved hand-me-downs. Some folks don’t feel that way, but I’ve gotten some great pre-loved stuff. When I was two years old, we moved from Lynn Haven, Florida to Mobile, Alabama. That’s when I got one of my first major hand-me-downs. Our new next door neighbors were replacing some bedroom furniture and offered Mama their old stuff for me. She readily took the dresser and chest of drawers. Mama was very talented and creative. She could turn nothing into something better than anyone I knew. She painted and decorated that furniture and turned it into a little girl’s dream. If you’re wondering about the bed, I cried and didn’t want it. I was sleeping on a lumpy old roll away bed (yep – hand-me-down) and I LOVED it. Nobody else could last half an hour on it – which is exactly how it became a hand-me-down. But I thought it was the most comfortable bed that I could imagine. So, I dug my heels in, stood my ground, and got to keep it.

Mama made a lot of my hand-me-downs special. If someone gave me some clothes, she would always find a way to change them a little to make them mine. Not that it was necessary, because I would often rather have those hand-me-downs than something brand new. The queen of hand-me-downs just wasn’t that picky.

When I was about five, I got really sick. I very rarely got sick enough to have to go to bed, but this particular time, I was in bed for over a week. An eternity for me. Mama’s cousins had been to visit someone in the hospital and take them flowers, but the patient had already been discharged. Guess what I got. Hand-me-down flowers!

Anyway, back to the furniture. I used it for many years. And one day, Mama and Daddy decided to get me some new furniture – from a store. I didn’t know about it because it was a surprise. I came home one day and my old furniture was gone. It had been replaced by some beautiful new stuff that took my breath away. I had a bed (even I had to admit the roll away had finally worn out), a dresser, a chest of drawers, and a chest with a hutch. It was great! I was thrilled. I asked them why they did it. Daddy just said, “Look.” And on the shelf of the hutch was a little statue. Maybe you’ve seen one or something similar. In case you can’t read it, it says, “I love you this much.” I still have it, and here it is:

That is exactly how it is with God. He gives us everything and if we ever ask why, He just says, “I love you this much.” He gave us His Son – who also loved us enough to die for us. There is no such thing as hand-me-down salvation or Christianity. You have to get your own. It is free, brand new for every person, and waiting just for you.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love for those who fear Him. 
Psalm 103:11