Broken Angel Wings

 

I have always given great credence to the meanings of dreams and signs.  Ever since I was young, some of my dreams have seemingly been glimpses of insight into past and present situations, or “sneak-peeks” into what the future might hold.   I am NOT saying that I can predict the future.  I cannot.  It feels more like a deeply ingrained intuition or a God-given discernment.  Whatever you would like to call it, it mainly helps me to make sense of my life and what goes on in my sphere of existence. 

As far back as I can remember, I would have dreams about different people and within days, I would see/hear from them or would hear that something major was going on in their lives.  Some dreams were simply how my mind tried to make sense out of craziness going on around me.  For example, right after Ken was diagnosed with cancer, I started having a lot of “out-of-control” dreams.  I dreamed we were in a car with no brakes.  Then I dreamed we were in a helicopter being piloted by a family member whose driving in a car scares me senseless.  Those dreams could be completely attributed to the frightening situation of Ken’s terminal illness and how helpless and out of control I felt at the time. 

Other dreams, however, seemed to be more prophetic in nature.  When I was in college, I always knew if my little brother was sick or hurt, because I would dream about him and wake with a feeling of great concern.  Upon calling home to check, he would be running a fever, or have some sort of kid injury.  I can’t explain how I knew… I just felt it.  Once, I dreamed about my college “Big Sis”, whom I hadn’t seen in years.  In the dream, she showed me a sweet baby boy in a stroller and said, “Melinda, I would like to introduce you to my son.”  Less than two weeks later, she called me out of the blue and told me that she had had a baby… a BOY!  Two or three weeks before my niece announced that she was expecting her first child, I dreamed that I saw her pregnant.  Another time I had a crazy dream about a dear childhood friend.  When I called to check on her, she revealed that she was having some serious health problems.

Some of my dreams though, like the one the other night in which I acquired a new house pet… an OSTRICH named Gertrude, are just plain crazy and clearly not prophetic (at least I hope not!).  I think those are purely for our entertainment and to make us laugh.  God does have an awesome sense of humor.    

As far as signs go, I believe that God gives us signs all the time.  I laughingly say that having an iron shoot sparks and blow up in my hand was a sign from God that I was not supposed to iron, ever again.  I don’t, by the way.  J    I firmly believe that God gives us signs through nature, through the people we have contact with, through our seeking His face through the Bible and prayer.  Most of the time, though, I think we are too busy to notice, let alone take heed, of the signs He gives us to direct us during our lives.

Ken and I had discussed at great length what I should do if he didn’t survive his cancer.  We both agreed that if he died, I should take the boys and move to Alabama to be closer to my family.  There was no great sign that brought us to that conclusion.  Just a heart-felt consensus that it would be the best thing for us to do.  After moving down here, though, I was faced with disposing of his properties in GA.  When I sold his largest property, I wrestled with whether or not I should pay off our house, or invest the money or put it into savings.  Had been trying to decide for about a month, when my daily Bible reading just happened to be 2 Kings 4:1-7 where a widow with 2 sons (sound familiar?) came to Elisha and said that her sons were going to be taken as slaves to pay her husband’s debt.  She needed help to protect her sons.  Elisha asked her what she had.  The widow replied “All I have left is a jar of oil”.  He told her to go and borrow all the bottles and jugs she could find.  I am sure that the widow had no idea how collecting bottles and jugs would help her protect her sons.  She probably questioned Elisha’s sanity.  But she knew that Elisha was a man of God, so she did what he said.  Then Elisha told her to pour her oil (the only thing she had left, remember?) into one of the bottles.  She started pouring and kept on pouring until every single bottle and jug was full to the brim.  Elisha said to the widow, “Sell the oil and pay your husband’s debt.  You and your sons can live on what is left.”  THAT DAY, I made arrangements to pay off our house.  To the depths of my soul, I knew this Scripture passage, at this time in my life, was God’s sign telling me to protect my sons by making sure we had a home to live in.  Months later, when the housing market bottomed out and people everywhere were going “upside-down” in their mortgages, my sign was confirmed.  I praise God every day that we don’t have to worry about mortgage payments.

This all brings me to another sign… one I think I missed, until the Lord revealed it to me last week.  I’m still processing it, and it may be hard to get down into words, so bear with me.  From very early on in our relationship, Ken called me his “angel”.  I had never considered myself particularly angelic before we met, and I certainly don’t always act that way, but the love in his eyes whenever he said it made me believe it could be true.  When we were planning our wedding, I found the cutest set of kissing angels.  I thought they would be perfect on our wedding cake.  We already had a cake topper, so I decided they would look precious between the top two tiers, so I told our caterer that’s what I wanted.  As I was getting dressed the day of the wedding, someone came and handed me the box that held my kissing angels.  The caterer had sent them up with the message that one of the angels was broken, so we would just leave them off the cake.  In a panic, I opened the box and to my dismay, found that the wings of the boy angel, the one that represented Ken, were broken.  The feeling of dread I had as I held those tiny broken wings in my hand that day is difficult to explain.  Despair washed over me, but I knew that those angels HAD to be on our cake.  Folks probably thought I was having an attack of pre-wedding crazies, but Mama told Daddy to go and buy some Crazy Glue and fix that angel.  I think Daddy was probably already dressed in his tuxedo, but he took off in search of glue.  By the time of our reception, the boy angel was repaired and the set was perched on our cake, just as I had wanted them to be.  Mama and Daddy to the rescue, as usual.

Now… last week, out of the blue clear sky, a thought quietly came to me.  Were the broken angel wings a sign that I had been too busy to notice?  Had Ken’s broken angel been a sign that he would have to leave us too soon?  And if it was a sign, why did God wait until now, almost ten years after Ken died, to reveal it to me?  As I pondered, a line of the song I had played at Ken’s funeral started twirling around in my head… “but his body grew weary, for his wings were broken”.  A day or so after that, a FB friend posted a quote from Ernest Hemingway that said, “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places”.  I am not completely sure what all the references to brokenness mean, but oddly, they have been a comfort to me.  Maybe it is God’s way of reminding me that He has always known every second of my life and that He will take whatever is broken and make it strong again.  I’m still waiting and listening for whatever else He wants to reveal about it.  In the meantime…

Pay attention to signs from above, and SWEET DREAMS!!

A Fat Girl's Take on "Healthcare Reform"

When I first heard the words “Affordable Care Act” and a brief explanation of its intent, my initial reaction was “sounds like a good thing – everyone should have health care they can afford”.  It sounded good, in theory, but I wondered how it would end up affecting my family’s health care.

Health insurance has always been a sticky issue in my family.  Since my husband, Ken, was self-employed, at the beginning of our marriage, our insurance was purchased through my job.  Due to some unexpected circumstances, I left that job just before our first son was born.  We were able to continue that insurance through a COBRA policy, at a much higher rate.  After Jesse was born and we knew he and I were both healthy, we dropped the COBRA policy because of the high cost. 

Somewhere between the births of our first and second sons, we were able to get a hospital policy, but it covered virtually NOTHING, it just got us in the door if we needed treatment.  It was only after Benjamin arrived and we saw how little the policy paid on the maternity costs that Ken even considered that we even needed health insurance.  He had always been a healthy man, so he had never needed insurance.  He was also a “cash-only” kind of fellow.  His motto was, “If you don’t have the money in your pocket for it today, you don’t NEED it today.”  That included going to the doctor.  When he realized how many bills we incurred during the birth of Benjamin, Ken began to see that health insurance could be a good thing.  Luckily for us, at about this time, BCBS was offering policies for self-employed families at group rates.  We applied and were approved.

We kept that policy for the rest of our married life together.  Ken would complain from time to time about the cost, but he never tried to get me to cancel it.  Later on, when Ken was diagnosed with cancer, the policy was an absolute God-send.  But even with BCBS paying like they should, during the first year of Ken’s illness, we paid roughly $12,000 out-of-pocket.  It really would have been devastating if we hadn’t had the coverage.

After Ken died, the boys and I moved to Alabama to be closer to my family.  I contacted BCBS of AL and asked them if we could transfer our coverage from TN to AL.  They said we would have to apply for a new policy.  Well, since I am a fat girl, they refused to cover me, except for one of the hospital policies that doesn’t cover anything except getting you through the door.  Said the only reason they even offered me that is because I was coming from another state with a BCBS policy.  The good news was that they agreed to write regular policies on Jesse and Benjamin. 

A few years later, BCBS began running an open-enrollment for a policy that required no medical underwriting.  It was a much better policy than the one I had, and of course the cost was much higher, but I didn’t feel as I really had a choice but to apply for it.  So I did.  BCBS had to accept me… it was open-enrollment.  During the 4 to 5 years I had that policy, I think the premiums increased at least 4 times, and the policies for Jesse and Benjamin increased at least twice.  I was paying $500 per month for our health insurance, which was a LARGE percentage of this single mom’s take-home pay.

That is when I started hearing about the “Affordable Care Act”.  I worried about my premiums going up again.  After all, I knew that SOMEBODY would have to pay for all the people who would now have to have insurance, but didn’t have the money to pay for it, but there was really nothing I could do about that.  Our president was assuring us that if we were happy with our current policies, we could “keep them … no matter what” (remember when he told THAT lie?).  So, I figured I would just keep what we had and hope the premiums would not go up too dramatically. (Eyeball roll … head slap … HEAVY SIGH.  How could I have been so naïve?)

Around the end of September, the dreaded information packets from BCBS arrived.  I was astounded by what I read!  My policy alone was going to almost double in cost each month!  The policies Jesse and Benjamin had were no longer going to exist (remember, these are the policies that the president said we could keep) and the premiums of the most comparable policy would be a full third more than their old premiums had been.  And of course, coverage in all three policies was not as good and deductibles were much larger.  I immediately called BCBS because the info packet also said that I might be eligible for some sort of subsidy or tax credit to help pay my premiums.  Well, they said the only way I could find out if I was eligible would be to go on the healthcare.gov website and fill out an application.  (We all remember the amazingly infamous rollout of that particular website, don’t we?!)  Anyway, at this point, I felt that I was in effect, being held hostage.  I couldn’t afford to keep the insurance I already had, and the only way to find out if I could get help paying for the premiums was to sign up through the Marketplace.  And there would be no other insurance companies offering better prices, because in my county of AL, BCBS was the only game in town.  No other companies opted into the program.  SHEESH!!    

I went on the website, or at least I tried to… I think it took about 2 weeks before I was finally able to create an account and get to the application process.  Some of the steps in the application were confusing, so I tried to “live chat” with a representative.  FORGET THAT!!  I finally called the telephone number and spoke with several very friendly representatives who obviously knew less about the Affordable Care Act and the healthcare.gov website than I did.  I felt very sorry for them, truthfully.  They were very pleasant, but they just didn’t know the answers to my questions.  They didn’t know the answers because they had not been properly trained.  They weren’t properly trained because NOBODY KNOWS WHAT THE HECK THE ACA MEANS AND/OR HOW TO PROPERLY APPLY FOR COVERAGE THROUGH THE WEBSITE!!!!! (Whew!  Please excuse that little explosion… let me continue…) 

So, I finally filled out the application as best I could.  I hit the “review and apply” button and immediately got an ERROR MESSAGE!!  I called the number again and spoke with a couple of different representatives who apologized about the “few glitches” in the system and told me to sign out, wait a while and try again.  Well, that went on for the better part of another two weeks.  In the meantime, Jesse, my older son, signed up for health insurance through his employer, but didn’t tell me.  So when I finally got the button to work, the information was now incorrect.  It also said that Benjamin, my younger son, was eligible for Medicaid.  But by this time, he was two weeks away from his 18^th birthday, which would make him too old for that program. I clicked the “edit” button so I could go in and correct my information.  You guessed it… another error message!!  SIGH… so I called the number again.  I told them all of my troubles and said I needed to either delete the application I had filled out and start over again, or edit the info that was there.  They couldn’t figure out how to do that either.  Said they would send a request to their “Advanced Resolutions Center” and someone would call back and help me within 5 business days.  That was the first of three times I called and was referred to ARC.  NO ONE EVER CALLED ME BACK!!  In the meantime, a “delete application” button appeared on the website.  I tried it and POOF!  My application disappeared. 

So, I began again.  Put in all the correct info and with baited breath, hit the “review and apply” button.  I think I only had to log out and sign back in three times this time before it actually worked.  It said that I actually did qualify for a subsidy that would enable me to get a better policy than the one I had for a little less than I was already paying.  It also said that Benjamin qualified for AL All Kids insurance, which covers dependent children through age 19.  Great, right?  Well, I immediately contacted All Kids and they said, “if the marketplace said he is eligible for coverage, then he will be covered as of January 1^st”.  Said that the marketplace would be sending along Benjamin’s information and they would send out an insurance card.  I asked if there was anything else I needed to do.  “No”, they said.  “All is well.”  Just so you know… if a government agency tells you that all is well, you should probably NOT believe them.

My new insurance began on January 1^st, I got my new insurance card and the subsidy worked the way they said it should, so I was all set.  I was still waiting on Benjamin’s new card and the information from All Kids.  I waited, and waited, and WAITED SOME MORE.  The website showed that they had B’s application, but it never showed that he was covered.  The only way to check on the status of the application was to call All Kids in Montgomery.  I lost track of how many times I was “lost in the land of hold” for so long that I finally gave in and hung up the phone.  If I ever did get to speak to a person, they always blamed healthcare.gov for the delay.  If I called healthcare.gov, they always blamed All Kids.  It quickly became obvious that neither agency knew the status of Benjamin’s application and neither of them particularly cared whether or not he was covered.

Now, it is the end of February.  I stopped paying the BCBS premiums at the end of December, and no one can tell me if Benjamin is covered, so I have been holding my breath that he would not get sick or injured until All Kids can get their act together.  Yesterday, I FINALLY get a letter from All Kids and I’m almost rejoicing.  I open it up and see the following sentence, “We are sorry to inform you that it doesn’t appear that your child is eligible for this program.  Our records indicate that he is covered under private health insurance.” WHAT THE HECK???!!!!  And then it hits me… when I began this whole process, waaaaay back in September, he was covered still under BCBS.  Because they told me that he would be eligible for All Kids and I couldn’t afford to continue the insurance through BCBS, I let that policy lapse.  So, as of January 1^st, Benjamin HAD NO INSURANCE!!!!  But between two government agencies, no one can figure that out!!! 

I’ve been hitting my head against this wall for so long now, that I just don’t know what to do anymore.  The last three times I spoke to a real person at All Kids, they said, “it could take another 4 weeks”, so I really don’t even want to try getting them to understand that yes, when we started this whole crazy debacle, Benjamin did have insurance, but no, he does not have insurance NOW, because they said he was eligible for All Kids.  So I called BCBS to see if I had any options with them.  They said I have two:  1) go to healthcare.gov (AGAIN) and make a new application for Benjamin, which could take another month or two to go through, or 2) reinstate the old policy at the new expensive price by paying for the two months that have already passed and the one that is due tomorrow.  REALLY??!! 

So here I am, being held hostage once more.  It would take two months to get a new policy for Benjamin in place.  He will be graduating from high school in two and a half months and will be going into the Army.  By the time I got him covered with a new policy, he would be graduated and gone.  So my only real choice is to pay three months’ premiums (that I really don’t have) to reinstate the old policy. 

Mr. Obama, I don’t know, for some folks your “signature legislation” may be a good thing.  But for this fat widowed single-mom, working as hard as she can to make a living and pay her bills, there is NOTHING affordable about it!! L        

                 

     

Humbug...

It is that time of year again… time to deck the halls and trim the tree.  As yet, my halls remain decidedly undecked, my tree is still in its box, and I am battling a great big ball of HUMBUG!!  I have been listening to Christmas music all day, trying to get myself into the spirit, but so far… not.  Our church is having an all-day Christmas activity Saturday and I am supposed to be a part of it.  I will be there, as I promised I would, but I wonder how effective I can be in my present frame of mind.  I’m talking to God about it and really trying to listen for His voice.

I guess much of the humbug comes from the changes that have happened in my life this year.  My daddy died in May and I miss him so very much.  I hate that he’s not here anymore.  I feel like a little kid, wondering how I’m supposed to survive without my Daddy.  I guess now I know how Jesse and Benjamin have felt since Ken died.  It makes me incredibly sad for them.  The missing Daddy feelings have stirred up the missing Ken feelings again too.  This year has been much worse than the past several.  What I wouldn’t give to feel his arms around me again or my hand in his and to hear him call me his darlin’ or his angel.  Those are all little things in the world’s grand scheme, but they are the things I miss the most.  Then there are my sons.  Jesse has moved into his own place.  I am very happy for him and proud to see him doing as well as he is, but I miss him.  Benjamin turned 18 last week and is chomping at the bit to graduate and leave my house.  He will be entering the Army, so I am sure they will be sending him somewhere far away.  I don’t like to think about my nest being empty.  I know that they are only doing what Ken and I tried to teach them to do, but it makes me so lonely.  And what am I supposed to do with my great big house when they leave?  It is a lot of empty space for just me and the dog. 

Now before the chorus of “you are only feeling sorry for yourself” starts… I KNOW IT!!!  Not trying to garner sympathy, just trying to work through some difficult feelings.  I also know how incredibly blessed I am and I truly thank God for my blessings each and every day.  But sometimes, the feelings of loss just overwhelm me.  I am comforted in the arms of the Holy Spirit, but the craving for the comfort of human arms remains. 

So, I must focus on the baby.  The one whose birth this season is supposed to celebrate.  The one who is the most important Christmas gift anyone ever gave or received.  The image of His tiny, precious face is enough to dispel the humbug.  Thank you, God for loving me enough to send Jesus, even when I am a whiney, lonely mess.  Thank you that I am covered under His precious blood.  Help me to be worthy of Your tremendous sacrifice.  Replace the humbug in my heart with the comfort of Your Holy Spirit and let that Spirit shine out of my heart so other people will see Your face through me.  Amen.    

    

A Daddy's Girl Remembers

I had just arrived at work following a long holiday week-end.   In my mind, I was going through a checklist of all the things that needed to be done that day.  I made the coffee, turned on the copier, and prepared my breakfast of yogurt and fresh fruit.  At the instant I sat down in front of my computer, the telephone rang.  As cheerfully as I could muster after coming back from a 3-day week-end, I answered the phone.  It was my Mama.  She said just three words, “Your Daddy’s gone.”   Those words went deep into the pit of my soul and left me gasping for breath with a broken heart.  The rest of the conversation escapes my memory… all I remember saying is “I’m on my way… I’m coming”.  As I ran out the door, I called Bro. Barry and told him, “My Daddy died!  I have to go!  I’m locking the door!”  God must have driven my car for me because I was too busy screaming at HIM, asking Him how I was supposed to live without my Daddy.  I called Jesse and Benjamin and told them to meet me at Mama’s and Daddy’s house.  I think I called a friend and asked her to pray

When I got to Mama’s house, she was out in the yard with our pastor, Bro. James.  I hugged my Mama hard and asked if Daddy was still in the house.  He was.  I went inside and knelt beside the body that had housed my Daddy’s sweet spirit for almost 81 years.  I held his hand, kissed his forehead, and told him “good-bye”.

These are the memories that have been running around in my head since Daddy went to heaven.  They will never go away.  But, there are other memories too.  Ones from 54 years of being a Daddy’s girl who knew beyond any doubt that my Daddy loved me with his whole precious heart.  I would like to share some of these memories so the world can know how very blessed by God I was to be able to call William Lawton Kendrick my Daddy.

·        I remember thinking my Mama’s name was “Sweetheart” because it is all I ever heard my Daddy call her when I was little.

·        I remember my Daddy getting me and Melanie ready for church on Sunday mornings, so Mama could get ready without feeling rushed.

·        I remember snuggling up next to Daddy during “big church” on Sundays.

·        I remember Daddy taking us to the zoo when he worked there.  We got to “help” him get food ready for the monkeys.  One time we got to hold a newborn leopard cub.  He would bring us porcupine quills and peacock feathers to “make-believe” with.

 

·        I remember the tremendous feeling of relief I felt when I saw my Daddy arrive to get us after we had been involved in a car accident.  His presence dispelled all of my fear.

·        I remember my Daddy and Mama going by to pick up widow ladies and bringing them to church.  Daddy also did any kind of work around these ladies’ houses that they needed help with.

·        I remember the look of absolute awe-struck pride on my Daddy’s face when David was born.  David became Daddy’s little shadow.  They called each other “Buddy” for the longest time.  

·        I remember the day I graduated from Judson, Daddy made his way to the back door as we were marching out so he would be there to give me a kiss on my way out.

·        I remember how proud Daddy was to become a grandparent.  I can still see the love in his eyes as he first held Michaelann, his first grandchild. 

·        I remember the sly smile on Daddy’s face when I asked him if he would give me away at my wedding.  He said, “I’ve been waiting a looong time to do that!”

·        I remember Daddy praying for Ken and me before he walked me down the aisle on my wedding day.  He asked God to bless our home and our marriage.

·        I remember, after Jesse was born, how Daddy’s whole face lit up when I asked him to come in and meet his new grandson.

·        I remember how lovingly and tenderly Daddy helped Mama care for my Granny in the last years of her life.  He and Granny loved each other as if they were mother and son instead of in-laws.

·        I remember that Daddy called Jesse and Benjamin “Buddy” too, and how he enjoyed watching them play when we would visit.

·        I remember Daddy asking me to get a special surprise for him to present to Mama on their 50^th wedding anniversary when they renewed their vows.  He arranged for a love song to be sung as he gave it to her.

·        I remember Daddy rearranging his plans and spending the night with me at the hospital following one of Ken’s surgeries because he didn’t want me to stay up there by myself and Mama was at home with Jesse and Benjamin.

·        I remember Daddy holding my hand as we walked into the church for Ken’s funeral and keeping me safe in the shelter of his arm during the service.

 

·        I remember Daddy doing my yard work and fixing things around my house after we moved to Ashville, not because I asked him to, but just because he loved me and it needed doing.

·        I remember Daddy’s growling game that he played with Kaileigh (youngest grandchild).  Even over the phone, Kaileigh would say, “tell Granddad I said, GGGRRRRRR!” and he would always growl back.

·        I remember after Daddy’s stroke, when he was so agitated and upset from not being able to form the words he wanted to say, I would rub my thumb between his eyes down the bridge of his nose.  It was a gesture I had used to comfort Jesse and Benjamin when they were babies.  Just as it had comforted my sons, it also comforted and calmed my precious Daddy.

·        I remember that Daddy’s dry wit returned and was as keen as ever after his stroke, but his memory was never the same.  He was so good at covering his memory loss with his wit, that most people never realized how profoundly affected he was by the stroke.

·        I remember how Daddy loved to watch Emily and Rain, his great-granddaughters play.  Emily tended to be a little shy with him, but Rain always had to go into Daddy’s room and visit with her “Dad-Dad”.   

·        I remember that Daddy would sometimes pester Mama and then smile when she fussed at him.  But he said he knew how much she loved him and that she took such good care of him. He would pat her three times and say, “You know what that means?  It means I love you”.

·        I remember when Jesse or Benjamin would be giving me grief, as knucklehead sons are prone to do, Daddy would quietly, but sternly tell them, “You ought to do what your Mama says”.

·        I remember the Sunday before Daddy died, he waited at the end of the pew until I came out.  He gave me a kiss and said, “I love you, honey”.  I said, “I love you too, Daddy”.  Those are the last words I can remember us saying to each other.

There are so many more memories… too many, really, to count.  I guess what I will remember most is that my Daddy was an awesome, godly man, a loving and tender husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather.  He was what God intended all fathers to be.  How blessed I was to be his child. 

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

Refusing To Be the Lion's Lunch

Do you remember the I Love Lucy episode when Ricky sang, “I’m in love with the dragon’s dinner…”?  These days, I can certainly relate with his dilemma.  Though I am not the “dragon’s dinner”, I must say that lately, I feel like I am the lion’s lunch.  What lion, you say?  The one mentioned in 1 Peter 5:8, that’s what lion!

Be alert and of sober mind.  Your enemy the devil prowls around

like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. (NIV)

Sometimes I wonder why it always seems that I am either going through or coming out of situations that are really difficult to deal with.  Just when the sun begins to shine, I find myself knocked flat and crouching in fear from that same old roaring lion.  Looks like he would get tired of me after a while and move onto someone else.  But for some reason, he won’t leave me alone.  Satan has really been trying to kick my butt lately.  And he is using the ones I love the most to try and convince me that I am a failure.

Since blogging about the situations that are troubling me would cause embarrassment and stir anger in people that I love, even if I omit names, I do not think I will reveal just what is bothering me so.  Though, truthfully, one of them has been written for months… I just haven’t had the courage to publish it.  Maybe one day, but not now.

So… instead of pouring it all out, I have decided to kick the lion in the teeth by reminding myself (and the devil) what the Word promises:

 Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.  James 4:7 (NIV)

If calamity comes upon us, whether the sword of judgment, or plague or famine, we will stand in your presence before this temple that bears your Name and will cry out to you in our distress, and you will hear us and save us.  2 Chronicles 20:9 (NIV)

You do not have to fight this battle.  Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the Lord will give you, Judah and Jerusalem.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.  Go out and face them tomorrow, and the Lord will be with you.”  2 Chronicles 20:17 (NIV)

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.  Psalm 40:2 (NIV)

You will be hated by everyone because of me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved.  Mark 13:13 (NIV)

There… now I feel better.  I won’t be the lion’s lunch today.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

I Love Someone With Autism

Today is World Autism Awareness Day. As many of you are aware, my older son, Jesse, has Asperger’s Syndrome, which falls within the autism spectrum of disorders. According to the Autism Speaks website,

• Autism now affects 1 in 88 children and 1 in 54 boys

• Autism prevalence figures are growing

• Autism is the fastest-growing serious developmental disability in the U.S.

• Autism costs a family $60,000 a year on average

• Autism receives less than 5% of the research funding of many less prevalent childhood diseases

• Boys are nearly five times more likely than girls to have autism

• There is no medical detection or cure for autism

In honor of all those unique individuals and their families who deal with autism on a daily basis, today I am going to write about how autism/Asperger’s has affected my family.

Intellectually, Jesse was always a precocious child. I know people always say that about their kids, especially their first-born, but in our case, it was a fact. Jesse spoke early and developed a vocabulary that would regularly astonish people, myself included. Ken and I were amazed at the grasp he had on the English language at such an early age. Jesse has been able to follow and hold complex conversations since he was about 2 years old. He did, though, have a habit of making what I call “hard left-turns” conversationally. He would be talking about one thing and all of a sudden, sometimes, in mid-sentence, he would switch to something entirely different, and keep on talking, like he had never switched gears. And to Jesse, the two completely differing subjects were absolutely connected.

Physically, Ken and I noticed some oddities in Jesse’s development. He was rather clumsy. His feet turned in, but we didn’t think anything about it, because I had been pigeon-toed as a child and Ken had worn leg braces when he was little. While Jesse loved pushing himself along on riding toys, we were never able to teach him how to pedal a tricycle. While Jesse never missed any of his developmental milestones, the physical ones always took longer than the intellectual ones.

Jesse also had some strange reactions to sensory stimuli. When he was between 2 and 3, he went through a phase where anytime he wore shoes with socks, he would scream, “Mommy, there’s a bump in my sock!” And he would not hush until I jerked his shoe off his foot and smooth out any “bumps” he perceived were there. I bought every different kind of socks I could find to try and eliminate the problem, but Jesse still complained of “bumpy” socks. After that phase, for a long time, he refused to wear his pants up around his waist. He was “busting a sag” and displaying “plumber’s crack” long before either became the punch lines of jokes. No amount of cajoling, threatening or talking about it would cause Jesse to hitch up his pants. He said, “but Mama, it bothers my belly”.

Food was an issue as well. For several years, Jesse would only eat a very limited number of things: cheeseburgers with only ketchup, macaroni and cheese, french fries with ketchup, and cheese pizza. And though he has been able to expand on his list of preferred foods through the years, those remain his favorites. People would tell me “Let him go without. When he gets hungry enough, he will eat what you put on his plate.” Well, they didn’t know Jesse. He would rather go hungry than eat something that was not on his list. And it wasn’t just the food itself, it was how it looked, smelled and felt in his mouth. He always smelled everything before he would put it in his mouth. If it didn’t smell right, even though it was something he had loved yesterday, he would NOT eat it. And if he did put something in his mouth and it didn’t taste right or didn’t feel right in his mouth, he would spit it out and refuse to take another bite. It was frustrating, to say the least.

And then there were loud noises and bright lights. These stimuli not only bothered Jesse, but could absolutely send him into a full-on meltdown. We learned early on that there were just some places that we shouldn’t take Jesse. I remember once, we went to the aquarium in Chattanooga. To me, the atmosphere there was very calming… like watching a smaller fish tank, but it was all around us. To Jesse, it was like being trapped underwater and not being able to breathe. Ken had to take him out and wait in the lobby with him. He was still breathing hard when we went to lunch. Jesse couldn’t go to concerts because he said he could “feel the vibrations of the music in his chest”. When he was six, he told me he didn’t want to go to Disney World. I ignored him, thinking that all kids LOVE Disney World, right? WRONG! I should have listened to Jesse and left him with Mama and Daddy. Because Jesse was hit with sensory overload, that trip was one loooooooong whine. We couldn’t enjoy anything without Jesse going into meltdown mode.

Then, once Jesse started school, difficulties with peers became a huge problem. Because Jesse had so many peculiarities, teachers and students alike viewed him as “odd” and “weird”. It made the other kids avoid Jesse, and later, it led to them making fun of him, which eventually led to them bullying him. He just didn’t seem to “get” the whole group dynamic. Jesse would regularly come home from school upset and crying. Conferences with teachers usually all ended with the teacher telling us that he was “spoiled” and he “needed more boundaries”… basically telling us that the root of Jesse’s difficulty was certainly our fault. It was so frustrating to see my child shunned by his peers and misunderstood by the adults around him. Ken and I knew there was something different about Jesse, but we didn’t know it had a name.

Then, after many years of frustration and sadness at Jesse’s inability to “fit in”, his fifth-grade teacher said to me one day, “You know, I have been watching Jesse and I think he might have Asperger’s Syndrome”. At that time, I had never even heard of it, so I asked her to explain. She told me that it was on the autism spectrum. I sat there speechless, trying to wrap my head around the word “autism”. I knew what that was… she was saying my child had a pervasive developmental disability. I began shaking my head because I couldn’t bear the thought. My child? Disabled? Surely not! She then quietly gave me an article listing characteristics of people with Asperger’s. As I sat in her classroom reading, I began to sob. The article was describing Jesse perfectly – as if it had been written with him in mind. In that moment, I was filled with both horror and relief. Horror that my precious child could be what the world viewed as disabled, but relief because there was something wrong other than what everyone had been telling me for years, that Jesse was just spoiled. There was something causing his difficulties and it had a name!!

It took another year to get an official diagnosis for Jesse, and it took even longer than that to get the school system to offer him the services to which he was entitled. Because Jesse was so high-functioning, it just always felt like we were fighting to get people to acknowledge that he needed accommodations for his disability. It was so bad after we moved to AL, I finally ended up taking him out of public school and home schooling him. I mean, what else can a parent do when the teacher who was supposed to be the biggest advocate for kids with special needs looks you square in the face and says, “We don’t think there is really anything wrong with your child, other than that he’s spoiled. The only reason we’re serving him at all is because he came from another state with a doctor’s diagnosis!” (No, I’m not exaggerating… she really said that to me.) So, you see, having an autism diagnosis doesn’t always ensure that your child will receive the services that the law clearly states he or she should get.

Jesse, as a young adult, continues to struggle with Asperger’s. He understands the disorder very well and he understands that he perceives things differently than most people. What he doesn’t understand is why it makes such a difference to other people. He hates, as do I, that instead of trying to understand him, many people just write him off as “weird” and either ignore him or make fun of his peculiarities. His frustration at being excluded has now moved into depression and self-imposed isolation. It breaks my heart that life is so hard for him, but no amount of encouragement from his Mama changes the fact that his perception of the treatment he gets from the world in general is negative and hurtful.

And then there’s the guilt. I carry a tremendous burden of guilt at the fact that my much-loved son struggles with a disorder that I can never fully understand. I remember when I first heard of autism, blame for the disorder was firmly laid at the feet of the mother… she didn’t love her child in utero and somehow, the child sensed it. We’ve come a long way, and that horrible, hurtful myth has been totally debunked, but most of today’s research points to the fact that autism is caused by genetics. So I torture myself wondering what Ken and/or I did that caused Jesse to have Asperger’s Syndrome. I also carry the guilt of how Jesse’s disorder has affected his brother’s life. How many times have I had to push Benjamin aside because I was busy concentrating on getting Jesse through another meltdown? How many times has Benjamin had to deal with people making fun of his brother? How many times must it have seemed to Benjamin that I was giving in to Jesse because of his disorder? You see, autism doesn’t just affect the one with the diagnosis. It affects the entire family.

So, the next time you see a child throwing a tantrum in a store, or a parent trying to calm down a child in public, please realize that there may be more going on there than meets the eye. When you come across someone you feel is “odd” or who doesn’t see things the same way you do, don’t judge too harshly. You may be in the presence of someone who is autistic. Don’t turn away from them. If you do, you will be depriving yourself of some of the most intelligent, logical, interesting and honest people in the world. You act the way you do because of the way you perceive the world. SO DO THEY. Don’t punish them because their perception is different from yours.

Cancer SUCKS!!!

First off, I guess I should apologize about the title of this post.  It is not a word I would ordinarily use, and when I hear my sons say it, I usually tell them to choose a more appropriate word.  But sometimes, in some situations, I guess it is the only word that will do.  Secondly, if you or a loved one is now or has ever gone through a cancer battle, you may not want to read this post.  It won’t be one of those gentle, supportive, encouraging posts, and I want to warn y’all, because I do NOT want to hurt anyone’s feelings.  This post is born out of the anger, frustration and absolute helplessness that always gets stirred back up for me whenever I hear that another person I care about has been diagnosed with cancer.

For the record… I HATE CANCER!!!  Cancer is STUPID!!!  Cancer does NOT play fair!!!  Cancer is a hideous, horrible, mean disease that robs people first, of their health and then, of their dignity.  What other disease makes doctors want to carve huge chunks out of a person’s body and then poison what is left?  The treatments, while they may well destroy the cancer cells, unfortunately kill/damage/maim other cells in the body too.  A body that has been through any type of cancer treatment is never the same as it was before the cancer appeared.  People don’t even want to say the word “cancer”.  They use words like, “malignancy”, “mass”, “suspicious tissue”, all in an attempt to not have to speak that dreaded, monstrous word.  Some even go so far as to make up cute little euphemisms, like “the Big C”.  Make no mistake… there is nothing cute about cancer. 

I know that many people tend to ask, “why?”, and/or blame God when cancer is diagnosed.  Those are two things that I never really did.  I didn’t ask why once I realized that there wasn’t one single answer that would make me say, “okay, that’s a good enough reason… go ahead and let my loved one suffer mercilessly”.  And God did not wake up one morning and “decide” to give Ken cancer.  Ken got cancer because we live in a fallen world. When God created this world, He intended that we humans would obey His laws and live in perfect health and peace in His presence FOREVER.   Illness and death are direct results of man’s sin, plain and simple. 

The issue that I struggle with is who God allows to be affected by cancer.  Our world is in such a sad, pitiful, sinful state.  We NEED good people here on earth.  Good men and women who love God and demonstrate that love by loving, leading, helping and encouraging others.  Precious souls who sing God’s praises with joyful spirits.  These people should not be allowed to suffer and possibly die from such dreadful, horrible diseases.  Why is it that good people are allowed to go through such devastation when a crazy man who turned a rag-tag group of disillusioned, needy young people into cold-blooded killers gets to live for years and years (albeit in prison) in presumably good health?  Or people who live to strike terror in the hearts of others by committing heinous acts of murder and mayhem against innocent people escape punishment, living in luxury and palaces for year and years?  What kind of sense does that make?  It doesn’t.  AND THAT MAKES ME MAD!!!!!!   

So sometimes I get all sideways with God.   I shake my fist and pound my tear-stained pillows because I don’t understand.  My frustration at times borders on blasphemy when I presume to try and tell God that whatever purpose He is trying to accomplish could surely be achieved in some other, less painful way.  And then, quietly, in the midst of my anger and frustration fueled tantrums… I feel it.  A presence of comfort all around me, wrapping itself around my stubborn, angry self and overwhelming me with the knowledge that It can be none other than the Holy Spirit, my Comforter, the very one Jesus promised that He would send.  He does not try and explain Himself or His ways to me.  He reminds me that He knows what He is doing and that He does not owe me any explanations.  He whispers, “My grace is sufficient…”  And somehow, it is. 

So… does that make it “okay” that good people have to suffer with horrible diseases like cancer?  No, it does not.  Can I accept that there is purpose in everything that God allows?  Most days, yes… other days, not so much.  Do I still hate that cancer left me a widow and my children fatherless?  Absolutely.  Do I understand God’s reasons and plans?  No, I don’t.  Will I ever understand?  Probably not until I get to heaven and see Jesus face-to-face.  And then, it won’t matter anymore.  Do I still get sideways and shake my fists at Him?  Sometimes.  Does God still love me, even when I presume to tell Him His business?  Thankfully, yes.  Am I blessed to feel the Holy Spirit’s comfort and God’s amazing love?  Constantly.                             

  Does cancer suck?  Yeah, it does