Last night was just another typical Wednesday night. Every Wednesday we prepare an inexpensive meal for our church family and serve it at our 'Summer Cafe' an hour before service. We didn't have time to stop for gas on the way to church, so we drove up to the door on gas fumes. When service was over and we finished chatting with everyone, we drove to the nearest gas station.
As I walked inside to pay the attendant, I noticed a man near the pumps. An almost sickly thin African American man in disheveled, stained clothing held a white plastic bag in his hands and he was very carefully picking through the contents of a nearby trash can. I did a double take and wondered if maybe he worked there and perhaps he was emptying the garbage?
When I came back outside, he had moved on to another waste can beside another gas pump. In his white plastic bag was now a crumpled McDonald's bag. And I realized, he did not work there. I went back in my car and closely watched him. He was near my husband as he was pumping gas into our car. But this man never looked up or asked for anything. He just continued intently peering through and moving around the contents inside the garbage cans, earnestly looking for food. And my heart broke.
We've been approached several times by people that needed help with gas money at gas stations or food money at restaurants. And if we've had any to spare, we've shared what we had. But this was different. This was very obviously a homeless, hungry, desperate and yet focused man. He was without pride digging through a garbage can to find something to feed himself. And yet he was prideful in that he did not ask us for a thing.
I turned to my son who was sitting in the back seat and asked him to hand me the 2 leftover sandwiches from the Summer Cafe' meal that we were taking home for a late night snack. When my husband climbed back into our car from filling up our gas tank, I asked him if he'd noticed this man. I pointed him out and explained what I had seen. And at that very moment, the man was dragging one of the trash cans, minus its squeegee and minus its lid which were both haphazardly left near the gas pump. He labouringly pulled it into a dark alcove behind the building to go through its contents more thoroughly.
I asked my husband if we could stop and give him our leftover food. We drove to the rear of the building and the man was going through the trash can near the dumpster. My husband opened our car door and asked the man, 'Do you work here?'. He replied, 'Well, sometimes.' 'Are you hungry?' my husband asked. The man shuffled his feet and said, 'Maybe.' My husband gave him the 2 sandwiches and told them they were made fresh that evening. The man hesitantly took the sandwiches and leaned in toward my husband and asked 'What time have you got there?' My husband said '9:18'. Then the man said, 'Alright, thank ya.' And he walked away with the sandwiches. And my heart broke.
As we drove home, I continued thinking about this man. I recalled the scripture about 'entertaining angels unaware', but I knew he was no angel. It shocked me that there could be someone so desperately in need in our small community. It saddened me that I didn't have more to give him. It grieved me that there are people that are forced to live in this way. It tore my heart out that I can't provide a solution for him. For the homeless. For the hurting.
I came home and walked through the door of our house. Our cool, air conditioned home. With doors we can lock. With beds we can rest in. With bathrooms and showers to take care of our bodies in. With extra clothes to put on our bodies and a washer and dryer to clean our clothes with. With food in our pantry and our refrigerator. What a blessed life we live. There are times that I think how we don't have much, and how we need so much more, but compared to this man we met tonight, we have so much more than enough.
(Note: The pictures included in this blog are not my own, I found them randomly through flikr. I attempted linking them back to their original location but had some problems doing so. I in no way am claiming these as my own photos, they are merely included in the blog to lend a visual image of sorts to the words.)
Meet our new puppy Gus! Isn't he a sweetie? We have totally fallen in love with him.
It's been nearly 20 years since I had a dog & I have soooo missed it. My hubby has dog/cat allergies, but we found one that doesn't seem to bother him the way most others do, although I think I may have scared him into getting the pup b/c I always joked if anything ever 'happens' to my hubby the first thing I will do is go out and get a dog! The last couple of months he's been researching what kind of dog he might be able to tolerate & Eureeka! We found the Cairn Terrier.
Being that it's been 20 years since I've been a puppy's master, I had totally forgotten all about the hard work of breaking in a puppy. Its been about 3 years since I potty trained my youngest child and doggies are different than babies in that they deposit their lovelies at any given spot & any given moment. Voila, puppy poopy surprise!
Have I mentioned that Hubby can't feel his feet due to some nerve damage from surgeries + his diabetes? Well, puppy went missing for 5 minutes, so hubby went to find him. Moments later, he bellowed from the bathroom in agony! I jumped up & ran to the rescue and there he was with one foot in the air and lovely puppy poop all over the bottom of it! He had accidentally stepped in some puppy poop and tracked it all over the bathroom floor & rugs before even realizing it was on his foot b/c he couldn't feel it! I of course who always laugh at the wrong times immediately exploded into laughter!
Hopefully it won't take long to get Gus going right, if you know what I mean!
You've heard the phrases 'choose your words wisely' and 'what's in a word'? I know the power of words. And I think that's why 'words' (writing) has become so important to me. According to the Bible, there is power of life and death in the words that we speak.
Proverbs 18:21
Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and they who indulge in it shall eat the fruit of it (for death or life). ~ (Amplified Bible)
Words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit - you choose. ~ (The Message)
I don't touch on or go too deeply into certain areas of my background very often because it is painful and a bit revealing, but I am a product of a home that had some definite dysfunction going on. And if you knew me very, very well growing up, you might possibly have known that secret, but probably didn't. We hid it well. Our family motto was like the Vegas slogan. We literally were told 'What happens at home, stays at home'.
Even now, it's extremely awkward for me to share this because I almost feel as if I'm betraying my family. But let's be honest family, what happened, happened. And we were affected. I never faced any physical abuse myself, but there was definite verbal and emotional damage done over the course of my lifetime. And to this day I battle inwardly with words that were spoken or yelled or cursed at me and have lingered and echoed in my head for many years. And I am 1.5 years away from turning 40.
Let me also say that I love this person. This person that said these things. For years. For hours at a time. These occurrences were as far away as I can remember into my formative pre-pre-teen years. And as close as just a year ago. I love this person, and I continue to work on this relationship at a slow pace, with pauses and sometimes with fear and dread. And sometimes I become paralyzed for a little while and don't know how to communicate. And sometimes I swallow very hard and pick up the phone and call this person. And tell them that I love them. And speak life over them. Because I do. I love them. And I want them to live, in the fullest meaning of that word.
That's why it has become so important to me to choose my words carefully before I speak. Before I discipline my children. Before I disagree with anyone. Before I say something about somebody else or even about myself. Because just as in the Message version of Proverbs 18:21 (above), I must make a choice each time I open my mouth. Am I going to give life to someone? Or am I going to give death?
And there's a flip side to that as well! In regards to the words that were spoken over me. Those words that linger in my head and torment the way I think about myself. Now that I recognize what was happening to me, that death was being spoken over me, that my thoughts and my perception of who I am was being poisoned, I have to repose those questions. Am I going to choose life and redefine who I am according to what God's word says? Or am I going to choose death and accept the curses that were spoken over me? It may be a daily struggle I face, but daily... daily I must face the words in my head and I must choose life. I am who God says I am. I am above and not beneath, I am the head and not the tail, I am blessed and not cursed!
And today, I choose to use this Super Power that God has given me. I choose to speak life over my husband, my children, my family, my friends, and yes dear reader, YOU! Whether you believe in prayer or God or the power of words or not, know that you have been covered in it today. May you be blessed today and know the power of your words!
Recently my inquisitive kiddos have been firing off alot of questions. Some of their inquiries have made me laugh, some have caused me to reflect and generate questions of my own and others have totally confused me! I thought I'd share a few of them with you for today's entertainment. Enjoy!
Am I supposed to be at school right now?
(Kellan, leaning over my bed at 9:30 a.m. one day)
Will you smell my finger? (Emmi, to Donnie while I was at work)
Is THAT your chin?
(Kellan, pointing to my neck as I was looking down at him)
Why did God make us?
(Emmi, while she was in the hospital)
Will that dress look good on her boobs?
(Kellan, to Emmi as they were playing with Emmi's barbies)
Can I have a mayonnaise and jelly sandwich?
(Emmi, waking up for one of her midnight snacks)
When I grow up to be a daddy, can I still live with you?
It was only 6 years ago that I sat anxiously waiting to hear the results of my husband's first, of many, life changing surgeries. I was 4 months pregnant at the time with my little girl. My husband, who was only 35 years old at the time, had been sick for 5 weeks, misdiagnosed 4 times and was literally near death before we finally saw a surgeon who realized that his body was being ravaged by the flesh eating disease, Necrotizing Fasciitis.
Of course my emotions were all over the place since I was expecting my daughter Emelia. I had been nursing my husband for the last several weeks, seeing him deteriorate and not getting any answers from multiple appointments with varying Doctors and at the same time taking care of my 2 year old son and filling in for my husband in his position at our church. I was a wreck. And I was angry. I was SO MAD at God that my husband was so ill and that I might lose him and be left alone to raise my son & my soon to be born daughter. I was livid with Him that He would give me a gift (my baby girl to be born) & be taking away my husband at the same time. It was devastating to even think of it.
But over the next 2 months and multiple surgeries, my husband began to slowly recover. His life was preserved; he was able to come home and build his strength back up and become a father to our little girl. In the years since, he has had several additional infections including MRSA, a total of 16 surgeries (including the amputation of both his great toes), and multiple complications that have become a normal part of our daily lives.
My little girl is now 5 1/2 going on 32 years old. She is full of sass and has a hilarious sense of humor and perfect timing for her witty remarks. She is full of energy, high maintenance, and exhausting. She also has eczema and asthma and we cannot seem to control her scratching or itching no matter what prescription lotions or treatments we try (please don't suggest anything, we've literally seen, heard & done IT ALL). And just a few weeks ago, we were in the hospital, anxiously waiting at 4:30 a.m. in the Family Holding room for her Dr to let us know how the surgery went.
In those moments I found my mind back in that first consult room 6 years earlier, waiting for my husband's surgeon to come out and tell me if we had waited any longer my husband would have been dead and that he wasn't out of the woods yet. I was terrified when he told me that. But it didn’t even BEGIN to compare with the horror I felt inside at the thought of my daughter having to endure surgeries comparative to what my husband had gone through. After that moment of flashing back, I informed God that if He took me through all of that back then just to lose my daughter now, I was going to be SO MAD at Him!
Of course, she is fine. Of course, it was just one finger infected, not an entire limb. Of course, I WAS overreacting to the situation. Of course, the Doctor is the best hand surgeon in the area and absolutely knows what he is doing. Of course, the anesthesiologist has had years of experience dealing with people that have eaten only a few short hours before an emergency surgery. And yet as the time crept by I became more anxious. Maybe it’s because I know what can happen; I’ve seen ugly infection and ugly results.
And I know, I KNOW that anyone can analytically reason things out that we came to the hospital at the perfect hour to have the perfect Doctor operate at the pivotal time for my daughter. Anyone can mock my faith and my beliefs and my practices and my values. Anyone can say whatever they want to, but I know what truth is. And truth is that God prepared us for that moment. We knew what signs to look for: the swelling, discoloration and streaking. We knew because we had been through that with my husband’s infections numerous times. He prepared us by giving us the knowledge through my husband’s experiences. He designated that Doctor to be available to operate on my daughter. And now, her finger is fine, her hand is fine and the scars are barely visible.
There are people out there that will attribute my daughter’s recovery to the Doctor’s aggressive response to infection. There are people that will say it’s due to the Doctor’s training, our wisdom and coincidences of time/place/convenience. But I know that my sovereign God intervened on our behalf. And although I am thankful for the Doctor and the education he received to enable him to give my daughter the appropriate care, I am more so thankful to my God for keeping His hand on my daughter’s life, for ordaining each moment and each step of our lives. I am thankful for great medical care and we followed through (as always) on the Doctor’s advice, but ultimately it is to God I give the glory of keeping my precious baby girl safe and sound and healed.
And to those that disagree, I respect your opinion and I value your input, but in times like these we will just have to agree to disagree.
Here's another game of Whodunit to boggle your mind and sharpen your detective skills! (See the last Whodunit here!)
Saturday: The life-sized Barbie was given a permanent marker beauty treatment of eyeshadow, lip gloss & finger nails all in goth-black.
Sunday: Cotton was plucked from the tops of Q-tips just for their scalps to be brazenly thrown all over the floor. Then the Q-tips were maliciously tortured by being sliced in half and collected in a wallet-photo-sized black mesh-fabric bag.
This Morning: A fleur de lis was inked on a small left arm to mimic daddy's new tattoo.
This Afternoon: Bandaids were found lovingly applied to the living room lamps.
Tonight: Orange juice was squirted all over the kitchen floor, just to 'make it shiny'.
