Monthly Archives: October 2015

God’s Tattoo

29 Thursday Oct 2015

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One of the main reasons I started writing this blog is to bring encouragement to those dealing with the same things I’ve experienced. My life has been far from perfect, and my hope is that people struggling with hardship will be glad to know they’re not alone. And more importantly, there is a God who loves them and would never leave them, no matter what they’ve done or what they’ve been through.

So in the spirit of making sure everyone knows for SURE I’m not perfect, let me share my all time worst “Mom Fail” moment with you.

In late spring of 1993, we were living in the little military/farming community of Goldsboro, North Carolina, and we were leading the college ministry at our church. Richard, Jay, William and Robbie — affectionately known as “The Fellas,” were in our class, and they were my 2 year old and 4 year old little girls’ best friends. They couldn’t wait to see The Fellas at church each week, or to have them over at our house.

We’d gotten into a routine after Wednesday night Bible study. The Fellas would go pick up Lindsey and Kaitlyn from their Mission Friends class and meet us in the parking lot. It was the highlight of the girls’ week! They would jump in the Fellas’ arms and squeal all the way outside, and then they’d run and play with them while we stood by our cars and chatted with everyone else.

This particular Wednesday night was like all the other Wednesday nights in the past couple of years. Except for one small thing — my newborn son, Daniel was now part of our family, and it was his first week in the nursery.

I was so used to the routine after class, that I walked right outside to visit with friends and waited for the girls to finish playing with the Fella’s. I was standing there just a flappin’ my gums when I saw the nursery worker coming out of the building carrying precious cargo — my baby. My heart hit the pavement.

Did you forget something, Dee?

Why yes. Yes I did.

I could make a lot of excuses — it wasn’t part of my normal routine! I must have had postpartum fuzzy brain! The Fella’s should have gotten him too when they got the girls! I mean, they were right there on the same hall!

The bottom line is, it wasn’t anyone else’s responsibility. It was mine. My baby should have been my first thought, but instead I was doing what I was always doing on Wednesday night. I didn’t change my normal schedule to add picking up my son.

Who could forget this precious little feller?! (Of course it’s out of focus — before digital cameras, filters and iPhones hit the scene, we didn’t know what pictures would look like until we got them developed!)

daniel

I’m sure I would have realized I was missing a child as soon as we started to get in the car. He wasn’t left in the nursery for more than 15 minutes past normal pick up time, and he was never alone. He had no clue anything was amiss! But the fact remains:

I forgot my son in the nursery.

I can hear the scratching noise of people marking my name off the nomination page for “Mother of the Year” right now. I don’t think I have ever been more embarrassed of my parenting skills!

What could I have done differently? I really couldn’t prepare for it in advance because I never DREAMED I would do such a thing! I was BORN responsible! If I’d thought I could’ve been that forgetful, I would have written a note on my hand:

Don’t forget to pick up Daniel in the nursery, Doofus!

If you’ve been reading my posts, you know I spent some dark times thinking God had forgotten about me as well. I must have thought God was the same kind of parent I am, at least for a little while. I have to constantly remind myself that He is a MUCH better parent than me!

Comfort can always be found in God’s Word. We find that the Israelites struggled with the same fear I have had when we read Isaiah 49:

14 But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me,
    the Lord has forgotten me.”

The Lord sought to relieve those fears, and it should ease ours, too:

15 “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
    and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
    I will not forget you!

It’s VERY hard for a woman to forget her child (unless you’re me!), but even if she does, God never will. He will never forget us, never forsake us, never fail us.

Read on and you’ll find out God has a tattoo — more or less. I may or may not be taking some liberties with semantics, but you get the picture. Check out the next verse.

16 See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;

Why did God do this? Is He in danger of forgetting us, like I forgot my baby? Did He need to make Himself a permanent reminder not to forget His children? Of course not. The first word of that verse shows us why He engraved us on His palm. He said, “See?” It’s not to remind HIMSELF. It’s a visual aid for US. It’s to show us proof that He hasn’t forgotten us.

In that same way, Jesus used physical evidence on His palms to prove His resurrection to Doubting Thomas in John 20:27,

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.

God’s engraving of us on His palm, and Jesus’ nail scarred hands are there as proof of the Father’s love in tangible evidence to us — for our benefit, to help us to believe and not to doubt. Only love could make them put permanent reminders, “tattoos” if you will — of us, because of us, and for us, on their palms. Proof of a perfect love that never fails, never forgets.

Sister ballerinas

23 Friday Oct 2015

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Our first Halloween in Alaska was 1993. Here are my sweet girls in their ballerina outfits, ages 3 and 5. They sure did love each other!

girls halloween 2

The next Halloween, Kaitlyn insisted on being ballerinas again because she wanted to wear Lindsey’s tutu from her ballet recital. It was either a hunter in camo or the Tasmanian Devil for 18 month old Daniel. He wouldn’t have needed the costume for the second idea . . . the boy kept me on my toes.

I was in the kitchen — I don’t recall if I was cooking or cleaning. Daniel was taking a nap. The girls were playing in the living room, not 10 yards from me. I heard a thud and I went running in to see what happened.

I didn’t find out until later that the girls were trying to jump from the couch, over the coffee table, and on to the carpet in front of the fireplace. And by “later”, I mean THIS PAST TUESDAY. Oh the things your kids tell you (that you may not want to know!) when they’re grown up!!

Quite a big aspiration for 4 year old and 6 year old little girls, wouldn’t you say? Did they think they could fly? Apparently Kaitlyn went first and quickly discovered she could NOT.

Her face looked like Charles Manson had paid us a visit. Blood was everywhere. All over the floor, the coffee table, the couch. I could see her skull, and blood was shooting out of her forehead, right between her eyes, in spurts with every beat of her heart. I’ve said many times, and I will say many more I’m sure — parenting ain’t for the faint of heart.

She wasn’t crying, and she never did shed a tear. She just looked at me with those big, beautiful brown eyes and blinked in the pouring blood.

I picked her up and rushed to the kitchen. Speaking soothing words to her, I held her head over the sink and tried to close the wound and slow the bleeding. I assured her she was going to be okay. She watched her blood pour in a steady stream for a few seconds until she calmly and quietly asked,

Mama, am I going to die now? Is that ALL my blood?

My heart clenched as tightly as if someone had punched me in the chest.

No, sweetheart. You aren’t going to die. That’s not NEARLY all your blood. You have a LOT more! You have so much you don’t even need this blood! As soon as I get the bleeding slowed, we’re going to get you some stitches and you’ll be just fine.

It wasn’t until then that I realized what Lindsey was doing. She was on her knees on the kitchen floor, crying out to Jesus for the life of her little sister. She had never seen that much blood either, and she too thought Kaitlyn was dying. She prayed as hard as she could, eyes closed, hands clenched under her chin,

Lord Jesus, PLEASE don’t let my sister die! Please don’t let all her blood come out! Please take ME instead of her. Let ME die!

Again, my heart felt like it would break! I simultaneously squeezed Kaitlyn’s cut closed and turned to Lindsey to calm her fears, trying to assure her Kaitlyn was going to be okay. But she wouldn’t stop praying. She wailed,

Jesus, I don’t know if my sister knows You! She’s so little! I know that I know You and I’ll go to Heaven to be with You, so take me instead! TAKE ME!!!!

The faith of a child. And the love of a sister. It was the first time I realized my children had inherited my bent to love so deeply it hurt.

After a trip to the ER, Kaitlyn was good to go to the Fall Festival with a band-aid covering her 7 stitches. My little trooper!

girls halloween

I remember when my friends Ricky and Susan Marshall’s daughter Allie was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at age 10. Ricky asked the doctor if he could take out whatever works in his body and put it in Allie’s. He would rather carry that illness than watch his little girl carry it. Maybe that’s why we lost him to a heart attack so young. His heart couldn’t contain that kind of love this side of Heaven.

The Apostle Paul loved that deeply as well. In Romans 9, he said,

2 I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. 3 For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my people

Paul loved his people so much that he would trade his life, even his salvation, for them to be free.

However, it doesn’t work that way, does it? Lindsey couldn’t exchange her life for Kaitlyn’s, Ricky couldn’t take Allie’s dysfunctional pancreas, and Paul couldn’t give his countrymen his salvation. As badly as it hurts to watch people go through hard times, we can’t go through it for them. We all have to walk our own paths.

As always, I write to preach to myself. My heart is heavy, and I wish I could carry the burden of people I love. But like my sweet Lindsey, my dear friend Ricky who is with the Lord, and the Apostle Paul, I carry deep anguish in my heart — pain that I can’t fix.

Thankfully, I know the One who can. This is the prayer on my heart today. Maybe you’re burdened for someone you love as well. If so, you can pray this with me.

Lord Jesus, we hurt when we watch others hurt. You know how that feels. You bore our pain and sin on Calvary. It’s too much for us to bear at times, so we give it to You. We claim Your Word in Isaiah 41:13,

For I am the Lord your God
    who takes hold of your right hand
and says to you, Do not fear;
    I will help you.

We lay our loved ones at Your feet for You are our Healer, Our Comforter, our Helper. Thank You for reaching down to lift us up. Please do for them what only You can do. Heal their broken hearts, draw them closer to You, make them stronger and healthier. Not for us, but for Your glory and in Your Name, amen and amen.

Baby Dolls and Barbie’s

16 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by in Strength for the Journey

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My favorite things to play with were baby dolls and Barbie’s. In my baby doll and Barbie’s world, the family was always happy and healthy, the Mama cooked delicious meals that were ready when the Daddy came home, the house was spotless, and the children were sweet and respectful. Mama was the one who held it all together and everyone thought she was wonderful! I was born to be June Cleaver! I’m not sure what went wrong . . . . .

barbies

My people-pleasing ways started early. As long as I can remember, I wanted to make everyone happy, and if I couldn’t, I was devastated.

The worst punishment that could have been given to me actually wasn’t having the phone taken away (although that was horrible). The worst thing was to disappoint my Daddy. It literally felt like my heart would break in two. The last thing in the world I wanted was to let my parents down. I wanted to make them proud. Shoot, I wanted to make EVERYONE proud. I even hate to disappoint complete strangers!

It’s a well known psychological fact that what you think about your earthly father is transferred over to what you think about your Heavenly Father. So naturally, I’ve also always been afraid of disappointing God the same way I’ve been afraid of disappointing Daddy.

When my life completely fell apart and I questioned the goodness of God, I also struggled with the fear that I had disappointed God so deeply that He left me alone in the mess I had made of my life. I had desperately tried to BE good and DO good, but I couldn’t make my life, and all the people in it, work like baby dolls and Barbie’s.

Was God sitting up in Heaven saying,

“I really wanted to fix things for Dee. She’s tried hard, but bless her heart, she’s failed. Too bad for her and her family. I wish I could help her, but I expected more out of her, so I just can’t do it now”?

Had I let God down so completely that I had tied His hands from reaching down to me?

Let’s look at another colossal disappointment in Scripture and see how God handled him.

In John 13, Jesus is about to be killed, and He knows it. It’s the night before His crucifixion, and He is having dinner with His disciples — including His betrayer, Judas. We don’t have to speculate if Jesus knew Judas was going to sell Him out to His enemies. John records that He was well aware in verse 21:

Jesus was troubled in spirit and testified, “Very truly I tell you, one of you is going to betray me.”

Do you think Jesus was disappointed in Judas?

To answer that question, we need to think about the definition of disappointment. Webster’s defines it as:

“unhappiness from the failure of something hoped for or expected to happen, someone or something that fails to satisfy hopes or expectations.”

In other words, we’re unhappy when we THOUGHT something would happen that we wanted to, or we thought something WOULDN’T happen that we DIDN’T want to.

We’re disappointed when it didn’t work out the way we thought it would.

In light of that definition, I submit to you that although Jesus didn’t approve of Judas turning His back on Him, and He was hurt and troubled in His spirit, He wasn’t disappointed. He couldn’t be, because that would imply that Jesus didn’t know what was going to happen.

Read the beginning of John 13 and you’ll see that Jesus showed His disciples, including Judas, the full measure of His love by getting down on His knees and washing their feet. Although He knew what was in Judas’s heart, He loved him and served him anyway.

I don’t think God was saying,

“Wow. I can’t believe what Judas did. I never dreamed he’d stoop so low! I’m utterly speechless! Now I’m going to have to re-think how to save my children! He’s messed up my plan!”

God knows just how low humanity can stoop. Every last one of us. He isn’t shocked when we sin — even the most grievous sin recorded in history — the betrayal of the Son of God by one of His own.

I believe God was grieved in His spirit when Judas betrayed His Son. I don’t believe He wanted Judas to commit suicide, and I believe He would have forgiven Judas if He’d repented — just like He forgave Peter for denying Him three times on that same fateful night.

I believe He’s grieved in His spirit when I sin as well. I think His heart hurts when mine hurts. I don’t think He wanted my children to be from a broken home. But I don’t think He was disappointed — He knew it was going to happen, even if He didn’t want us to make the choices we did. He wasn’t surprised. And He still had Plan B when I messed up Plan A.

Yes, there is disappointment as part of our relationships with God. But the disappointment is on OUR END. We become disappointed when God doesn’t do what we want, what we expect, what we hope He’ll do.

How jacked up is that? He isn’t disappointed in us mere mortals, yet we are disappointed in the Creator of the Universe? Doesn’t seem right, does it?

We can’t use this as excuses to sin and hurt God just because He’s not shocked at our behavior. He has expectations of us, and they’re found in Micah 6:8

And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
    and to walk humbly with your God.

It’s a high calling, but we have a High Priest to help us.

Even today, I find myself wanting the baby dolls and Barbie’s life, and I still can’t make it happen. When I mess things up, He may not be disappointed because He knows me. However, He DOES expect me to get up tomorrow morning and try again.

Treating the Symptoms

10 Saturday Oct 2015

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My parents split up when I was a baby. When I was four, my Daddy remarried, and I found myself blessed with two mothers. One I call Mom and one I call Mama. For simplicity’s sake, I’ll my call the mother who birthed me, Mom Jenny and the mother who raised me as her own, Mama Martha. I’ll write about her one day, but for today, I have a story to tell about Mom Jenny.

My Mom Jenny lived in Miami as I was growing up, and I visited her several times a year until she eventually moved back to North Carolina in the early 1990’s.

She was always a beautiful woman. Not without her problems (she and I could write a book on that one!), but she always kept her looks. This is her after she moved to Durham. Stunning, isn’t she?

Mom Healthy

A few short years later, her health began to fail. She started gaining weight. Her thick, beautiful hair was suddenly sparse. Her face was round and her eyes bulged. She became diabetic, had high blood pressure and sleep apnea.

I kept asking her what her doctor was doing about her health problems. He increased her sleeping pills and bipolar medicine, and started her on blood pressure pills and treatment for diabetes. It seemed to me there was pill after pill being prescribed for condition after condition, but if she was okay with his prognosis, what business was it of mine? Was it my place to do something? Shouldn’t I just trust the medical professionals like she did?

She kept getting worse. Her skin was like paper. A dog jumped in her lap and just his paw on her arm tore such a deep gash that blood shot in the air. When she hit 180 pounds (she’d never been over 100 pounds her whole life), it was time to intervene. Who could look at her and not see something was wrong? Something more than eating too much? Can you believe the difference in her appearance?

Mom Cushings

I insisted on going with her to her next appointment with her primary care physician. I expressed my deep concerns about her declining health.

“Something has caused her to be diabetic. Her weight, her hair, her skin. Something is bad wrong.” 

He said, “Or maybe she’s just fat.”

What?!!? I don’t expect doctors to know everything. I have a lot of grace for them actually. They’re human beings — they’re not God. But I knew something was wrong with her! I actually felt she was dying. If he wasn’t going to help me, I was dang sure going to find someone who would!

I went with her to her next appointment with her psychiatrist. I didn’t know who else to ask. I pleaded,

“This is my mother,” and I handed him a picture of her when she wasn’t sick. “See how she’s supposed to look? She’s inside of that failing body over there somewhere,” and I pointed to her sitting in a chair. “Please help me find her.” 

When I got home that evening, her psychiatrist called me.

“I would never in a million years have believed that was the same person when you showed me that picture. I’ve been on the computer researching her symptoms all evening. I believe your mother has Cushing’s Disease.”

He told her to go back to her primary care doctor and tell him she needs surgery. Immediately, they confirmed his diagnosis. She had a tumor on her adrenal gland, and if it hadn’t been discovered, she would have died — sooner than later. In a flash, she was hospitalized at Duke University Hospital and had her adrenal gland, along with the tumor, removed.

What almost killed her had lurked beneath the surface for several years. If she had known it was there, she could have treated it before it took her health, her appearance and nearly her life.

She continues to have a myriad of health problems stemming from Cushing’s. Sadly, she was too sick to put up a fight back then. She was just treating the symptoms, and never finding the root of what was wrong.

Jesus addressed this issue several times in the New Testament. His words on the subject have caused much dispute over the years. He said in Mark 9:43,

If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off.

He also said if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out! What in the world does that mean?!? Is He advocating maiming yourself? Should we REALLY cut off limbs and remove senses?!

Don’t be silly. Of course He doesn’t mean that. What He’s saying is quite simple:

Don’t treat the symptoms. Take care of the PROBLEM. 

It makes a lot of sense to me. Treating the symptoms instead of removing what was wrong that nearly cost my mother her life. She looks and feels better than she did before her diagnosis, but the earlier she found out, the better off she would have been. The longer it went on, the more her health was permanently affected. What was hurting her HAD to come out for her to live.

Isn’t that what we all do? It’s really the human condition. Not just physically, but spiritually, psychologically and emotionally. We think we can take care of the symptoms instead of the problem and we’ll be just fine.

Your teenager is driving you nuts — that’s normal. But what if something else is wrong and is causing the acting out? Isn’t it better to find out the problem and take care of it instead of just hoping it will get better?

How many marriages could be saved if instead of ignoring the problems and pretending like nothing is wrong until it’s too late?

How many people are self medicating their miserable lives with drugs, alcohol and prescriptions from their doctors, when what they really need to do is find out what is wrong with their lives and FIXING IT?

Yesterday we found ourselves back at Duke Hospital. Here my Mom Jenny in recovery from an endoscopy. She’s been having a lot of nausea — to the point that I’ve had to take her to the emergency room a couple of times.

Mom recovery

Don’t worry, Mom. We don’t know what’s wrong yet, but we’ll find out. You’ve got a bunch of good doctors and a daughter who isn’t into treating the symptoms without fixing the problem.

Not a Sparrow Falls

02 Friday Oct 2015

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When Kaitlyn was about 18 months, I couldn’t find the remote. Other missing items had ended up being located in the toilet, but not this time. I asked her several times where it was, and she held her hands up in the air and say, “I not know, Mama.” Lord help me, but that young’un was sweet. She made you want to pick her up and cuddle her every time you looked at her.

After hours of looking, I finally sat down in exasperation and said,

“Lord, You and You alone know where that remote is. Your Word says a sparrow doesn’t fall that You don’t know it. You know how many hairs are on our heads! You said to ask and we will receive. Well, I’m asking! Please tell me where that remote is! I’m just going to sit here and be quiet and wait for you to tell me.”

After a couple of minutes, I got up from the chair, I walked straight to the love seat, I reached my hand directly behind the cushion, down into the depths of the couch, and I touched that remote. What a boost to my faith!

From that day on, if I couldn’t find something, I’d pray “The Prayer for That Which is Lost” until I found it. Lindsey lost her ring. I lost my purse. Cash. Keys. Homework. You name it, if we couldn’t find it, we prayed. I’m a little obsessive about lost things, so between looking hard and the power of prayer, there haven’t been many things I haven’t been able to find.

Switching gears (I’ll tie it all back together, I promise):

In 1996, we were given a kitten, a beautiful blue eyed boy, white with orange on his face and chest. The kids wanted to name him Jonah. Lindsey was 7, Kaitlyn was 5, and Daniel had just turned 3. He has few memories of life before Jonah.

Since then, I’ve lived in 10 different houses, and Jonah has stayed right with me. That’s remarkable since he was always an outside cat. When I’d bring him in when it was very cold, he wasn’t happy. He’d pace back and forth in front of the door wanting out. Oh the gifts he brought us! Field mice galore! Bunnies (which I found personally upsetting), squirrels, moles, voles, and surely other rodents I’ve blocked from my memory.

When he stopped hunting a couple of years ago, stopped doing anything except sleeping, I brought him in for good. He wasn’t sick, he was just old. Although he was deaf, he could see fine, and he still purred when we held him. Here he is in Kaitlyn’s arms. He was 19, she was 24.

jonah

A few weeks ago, he started meowing. A LOT. And pacing back and forth. He’d stop meowing if I held him, so I did. For two days, he meowed and he paced. We had to run some errands, and when we got home, he was nowhere to be found. We searched in every nook and cranny. I called him just in case he could hear me. No sign of him anywhere in the house.

The only thing we can figure is he located the doggie door, made his escape and jumped the fence. We live in the woods on the family farm, so we combed several acres of fields and woods. Every day. Even at night with a flashlight.

I plastered his picture all over social media. Called the animal shelter. Nothing. No real trace of him except the bit of white fur Todd saw towards the pond.

As I walked, I prayed — the “Prayer for That Which is Lost” I started praying when Kaitlyn was a toddler.

“Lord, You know where Jonah is. Not a sparrow falls outside your care. Please let me find him, even if he’s gone on to “kitty heaven”. I want to bury him here on the farm, Lord. I don’t want to keep worrying, keep looking, keep wondering where he is. I need closure.”

This time, no answer has come to my “Prayer for That Which is Lost.” I understand cats like to go off on their own when they know their time is coming. It’s entirely possible that Jonah loved being outside so much that he just didn’t want to die inside. I do wish I could’ve buried him by the pond next to our other cat, Maggie that we lost this year as well. But 19 years is a very long time to keep a kitty, so I’m thankful for what time we had.

(Before anyone gets any bright ideas about giving us a kitten, please don’t! We loved Maggie and Jonah, but my husband is very allergic to cats, and we have two dogs to love on!)

What’s the difference in finding the remote and finding my 19 year old cat? Why would God show me the remote, yet not let me bury my Jonah? I’m SO comfortable with saying, “I just don’t know.”

God isn’t a vending machine. We can’t put our money in and get the same thing every time. Maybe finding Jonah would have hurt me worse. Maybe God was protecting me. Or maybe I didn’t look hard enough. Maybe I just don’t need to know WHY.

I still trust Matthew 10,

29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.

I hope that my sweet Jonah laid down under a tree, next to an old log in the woods, snuggled into the leaves and fell asleep where he loved it most. It gives me great comfort to know wherever he fell, he wasn’t outside my Father’s care.

Wherever you are, my sweet Jonah, thank you for not running away when Daniel was 3 and used to pick you up by your head. You were so loyal, following us to house after house. Thank you for all the presents you brought us — dead rodents to us, treasures to you. If there are kitties in heaven, we hope you’re running through fields and chasing mice. We will never forget you and will always love you. You were a good boy.