The Older I Get, The Less I Care...

Mission Waco Health Clinic

2011-11-10T15:18:00.002-06:00

I liked her purse. She was articulate and attractive. I must admit, I was a little intrigued as to why she had come to the clinic. So, I went into the patient room to talk with her. Turns out, she used to be a substance abuse counselor at the Freeman Center until she lost her job in February. Now, she is technically homeless, and she and her two kids are living with her sister. She almost cried when she told me: “I knew about this place because I’ve referred people here. I never dreamed I’d come here myself.” One unfortunate event that snowballed into homelessness…

He was a young 46. He was polite, and seemed well-educated. He told me that because of a bad decision to drink and drive, he ended up in jail. And because he didn’t have the money or means to bond out, he spent almost 4 months there. He lost his motorcycle and his job. Now, for the first time in his life, he’s homeless (staying at the Salvation Army), jobless, and with no means of transportation. One very bad decision that ended up with a man on the streets…

And there you have it: two very tangible reminders that “There but for the grace of God go I.” How fragile our situation is. How very easily our safety nets can be torn to shreds. One small snag can begin an unraveling beyond our control.

But we serve a God who has Good News… not just about our life after death, but about our situation TODAY. We serve a savior who has the power to pull us from the miry clay and deliver us to abundant life NOW. The gospel of Jesus Christ isn’t just about where we go when we die, but where we’ll sleep tonight.

Thank you, Lord, for the compassion you have to see our need, the power you have to meet our need, and your faithful promise to always be with us. Let me be part of your good news that brings healing and restoration in this life as well as the one to come.

Sweet Dreams

2011-10-18T09:05:00.002-05:00

Last night, I dreamed that Paul had come back to life. He was the same ole' sweet Paul, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him as he sat across the couch from me. We had a great conversation (I don't remember about what, I just remember that I couldn't stop smiling).

It was so real. His voice was so real. The feel of his bald head against my cheek was so real. The gratitude I felt to have him back once more was so real. But, even in the dream, I knew that it was temporary... that soon I'd be without him again.

I am so thankful for my "moment" with Paul. It is worth every ounce of hell I feel today as I yearn for him even more...

I BELIEVE in a changed life

2011-10-06T08:20:00.003-05:00

I've written before about my friends, Hope and Naz, who are fighting to keep Naz in the US (if you haven't read their story, you can do so at www.wesupportnaz.com)

TODAY is Naz's hearing. Please pray.

2011-08-25T11:04:00.001-05:00

God's plans, though always right and righteous, are seldom logical or convenient.

2011-07-06T20:19:00.001-05:00

I can reconcile death in this life. It's suffering that I can't get my mind around...

Sometimes

2011-06-19T07:24:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I don't want to be cheered up; I just want to be comforted. There is a difference.

Please Pray

2011-04-20T10:09:00.004-05:00

Please join me as I pray for a young couple named Naz and Hope. I know them because they both work at Mission Waco, and I know them to be a precious Godly couple who have committed their marriage and their lives to seeking the Lord.

Naz is currently in prison right now and is in the process of being deported. Read his compelling story at their website: www.wesupportnaz.com. Be sure to click on the link, "Naz's story".

Please read... Please pray...

Jack's Video

2010-11-28T20:09:00.001-06:00

Click HERE to see a great video created by Jack. He took the photos and the video himself while we were in Missouri visiting my folks for Thanksgiving. Hope you enjoy it...

Recipes Needed!!

2010-10-29T17:05:00.003-05:00

Please help a wonderful cause by submitting your favorite recipes. See the message below from our friend, Mark Dungan, founder of the Neuroblastoma Foundation (NBF) and Lunch for a Cure.

Very, very little of any money donated to most well-known cancer causes actually go to eradicate children's cancers. As you can imagine, breast cancer, colon cancer, and many of the more common adult cancers receive the bulk of the money raised.

However, the NBF funds research exclusively targeted for Neuroblastoma.

Here's a note from Mark about how to be involved:

********************************************************************************************************************

The Neuroblastoma Foundation has officially begun collecting recipes for its 2010 edition of its Lunch for a Cure Cookbook. The proceeds from the sale of this cookbook go to fund important neuroblastoma research. But first, we need to collect some incredible recipes.

I am asking you to donate a recipe in the name of your child, grandchild, or friend that has neuroblastoma.

It is simple:
Go to http://lunchforacure.org/recipe
Follow the directions.
Your recipe will be included in the 2010 Lunch for a Cure Cookbook. The funds from the sale of that cookbook will go towards funding an incredibly important clinical trial for children with high risk neuroblastoma.

Additionally, every recipe given in honor or memory of a child with neuroblastoma will register that child (or family) with a chance to win a brand new Apple iPad. The drawing will be held on Thanksgiving Day, November 25, 2010.

Please hurry, we only have a short time to collect the recipes.

Please, donate a recipe to Lunch for a Cure and ask everyone you know to do the same.

With hope,
Mark - father to Sydney (stage 4 neuroblastoma)

Landowner, part 4

2010-10-27T12:13:00.002-05:00

He didn't make assumptions: Now, I've already acknowledged this guy's persistence. He goes back to the market FIVE times to find those in need of a job. The fifth time he goes, there's only an hour left in the workday. Surely, he's surprised that there are STILL folks standing around without a job for the day.

Me... I would've looked at those men, judged them to be lazy and assumed they didn't want to work. I know that's what I would do because I've done it so many times. Homeless folks, folks begging on the street... these people CHOOSE to beg. That's why I can avoid eye contact with them and pass them by with only a twinge of guilt.

The truth is that I've actually met and gotten to know some of these same people. And, yes, SOME of them do indeed choose to beg on the street, some of them are actually lazy, and some of them will steal from you if given any opportunity. But not ALL of them. Some of them have been looking for a job for months, some of them are embarrassed to be accepting a handout, some of them have horrible health issues that prevent them from keeping a job. And some of them actually have a job - or two - but still can't afford to feed and clothe their family because minimum wage can't possibly provide all they need.

The Landowner didn't assume that the needy were lazy. You know what he did? He ASKED. There were people standing around without work, and he didn't know why, so he asked. He simply struck up a conversation and asked. Genius. He didn't ask with judgment in his tone or skepticism in his voice. He asked out of a genuine desire to know the answer and to do something about it if he could.

Asking instead of assuming.... hmmm. Maybe I'll be brave enough to give that a try...

The Landowner, part 3

2010-10-25T11:03:00.002-05:00

He was involved: According to verse 8, the Landowner had a foreman. Why didn't he send him to hire his laborers? Why did he go himself? Maybe he wanted to be involved, to have a conversation, to look his laborers in the eye, make a deal and shake hands. It was almost as if he was raising them up to a level higher than societal norms placed them. By going himself to make a labor deal with these folks, he was showing them some level of decency and respect. Maybe he wanted to show those he was about to hire dignity by treating them the way he would want to be treated. When he could've sent someone else to do the work, he chose to become involved.

But that's so... messy. What if you give them a fair wage, and then they want more? What if you have to listen to their story about their sick mother who lives in Padukah, Kentucky and desperately needs a liver transplant? What if they want to come into your house to borrow the phone?.... messy.

It's also dangerous. The landowner didn't know these people he was hiring, and yet he brought them to his land and let them see all that he owned. What if they collaborated together to beat him up and rob him? What if they took the day's wage, but came back in the middle of the night to steal from him?.... dangerous.

Definitely messy. Absolutely dangerous. And yet this is our example of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Landowner, part 2

2010-10-20T13:34:00.002-05:00

He continued seeking out the needy: I bet he had plenty of laborers after his initial 6 am "round up," yet the Landowner went back to the marketplace looking for those in need of a job. He went back at 9 am, noon, 3pm and then at the "11th hour", 5 pm.

Wow. This guy is persistent. I would've patted myself on the back for gettin' up at the crack a' dawn and making the first haul. But the Landowner is obviously not just in this for his own need of laborers. He is seeking out those in need and providing them with a job at a fair wage. Again and again and again.

At Christmastime, our SS class always gives to a family in need. This is a wonderful gesture (and one in which we were very gratefully on the receiving end of when Paul was in the hospital). I've participated in this - I'm pretty sure - every year. But I've discovered that if this is where my philanthropy ends, if this is what I consider "doing my part," I'm not following the example of the Landowner. A shoe box or Angel Tree gift at Christmas is a very nice thing to do, but needy people are in need ALL YEAR LONG.

In fact, I think I can admit that my generosity at Christmastime is steeped in selfishness. If I tip my hat to a worthy cause, then I don't have to feel guilty about the gluttonous indulgence under my Christmas tree. This is how I've discovered that I use needy people: I use them to feel better about my own situation (Thank you, Lord, that Terrill has a job. Thank you that we have health insurance and thank you that we have a home). And I use them to feel better about myself by giving to them out of my abundance.

Now, don't get me wrong... I'm not saying that being thankful for what the Lord has blessed us with is wrong. Absolutely not! And I'm not saying that giving out of our excess is wrong. No way!

But what I AM saying is that if that's where it ends.... if seeing people in need compels me no further than those two things... then I am a whitewashed tomb (Matt 23:27). Woe to me.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cummin, and have neglected the weightier provisions of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness; but these are the things you should have done without neglecting the others." (emphasis mine)
Matthew 23:23

Landowner, part 1

2010-10-19T11:14:00.002-05:00

So, I've been hangin' out in Matthew lately. Thanks to my SS teacher, I've seen the Gospels in a way I never have before (Thanks, Brett!). Recently, I've been stuck in chapter 20, verses 1-16. This is the parable of the landowner who hires a bunch of people at different hours of the day, but ends up paying them all the same. Remember that one? Well, Jesus begins by saying, "The Kingdom of heaven is like a landowner..." In the past, I've always assumed the kingdom of heaven to be in the future, and the landowner to be God. I still think this is a very proper way to interpret this story. However, I've missed something all these years by not thinking about how this story applies to me TODAY. As a follower of Jesus, I am to bring about His kingdom... here... on earth... right now. And if the landowner is God, then isn't that an example I should emulate in my life today?

So I began to study exactly what the landowner did in this parable. Here are a few things I came up with:

He got up early (ugh!) and he went looking for laborers: He needed people who needed work, and he went out to find them. He didn't sit at home and tell himself that these people didn't exist or must not want to work because he couldn't see them out his front door. He went to where he knew they would be.

Just because I can live my life in a 10-mile radius of white-collar suburbia and go weeks without seeing anyone any different from me, doesn't mean that people in need don't exist. They're out there, and I know where they are. They're somewhere around 15th street, but I just don't go there. It makes me uncomfortable.

He didn't just give those in need a handout; he gave them dignity: Now I'm not just being critical of giving handouts. Sometimes, a handout is exactly the appropriate response. However, most of the time, what a person really needs is a JOB. I don't own a business or have a vineyard to employ people, but I can look at how my actions and attitudes strip people of their dignity and fuel the flame of their worthlessness. How many times have I handed someone a dollar just to get rid of them quickly? How many times have I avoided eye contact, jumped in my car, locked the doors and sped away? Not exactly the example of the landowner.

Now, I know what you're thinking: But the people in the parable WANTED to work; most people these days are lazy and just want a handout. Yeah, there may be some truth to that. But I finally had to admit to myself that I don't KNOW that, I just make assumptions and judgments about people so that I don't have to feel guilty about turning a blind eye. But what if it is 100% true? There's no Biblical model for us to turn away someone in need simply because we judge them to be unworthy. Praise God He didn't do that to me.

Jack...

2010-10-08T10:01:00.003-05:00

...What a STUD!!!

2010-09-13T21:23:00.002-05:00

You may know that my friends in Iraq at PLC have recently completed "Remedy Mission," a project where they partnered with doctors and technicians from around the world to work for 2 weeks in order to perform heart surgeries on about 25 kids in their hometown.

To put this in perspective, it would take PLC almost a year to save that many kids "the old fashioned way" (by sending them out of the country to Turkey to have the surgery). In addition, the local doctors are being trained. The hope and goal is that Kurdish/Iraq doctors will be self-sufficient in heart surgery in 5 years.

The wonderful news is that, due to a lot of hard work and a lot of generous people, the project was a huge success and many families are now celebrating a life that was previously considered lost.

However, not all stories have happy endings. Click here for a challenging glimpse into the world of PLC.

Is this going to be on the test?

2010-09-02T09:07:00.004-05:00

I've been reading Matthew lately. For a while, actually (there's a lot in there). Today, I read the story of the rich, young ruler. Remember that one? The guy that asks Jesus how to get to heaven and then is disappointed when the Lord tells him to sell everything he owns... It's Matthew 19:16-26.

Today, this passage brought to mind a lot of questions, like:

* When the man asked how to have eternal life, why did Jesus respond with "keep the commandments"? Why not "believe in Me and the One who sent Me", or something really faith-based like that?

* When the man asked which commandments to keep, why did Jesus respond by listing SIX of the 10? What about the other four?

* After this exchange, how did the man know that he was still missing something? He claimed to have done all that Jesus required, so why didn't he think he was "in"? How did he know he was still lacking?

I think that maybe the answer to these questions could lie in the original question from the young man: "What do I need to do to obtain eternal life?"

I think he was asking the wrong question. Could it be, that to Jesus, this question is equivalent to "Is this going to be on the test?" The young ruler's motivation wasn't glorifying God, proclaiming His Name, or helping his fellow man; it was simply his own destiny.

Maybe, it could be that when my desire is to please God, to follow God, to glorify Christ, then I see my eternal salvation as simply a by-product... not the main course.

Not rocket-science theology, I admit. But even if you agree with this statement, you have to admit that as Christians, we do an awful lot of stressing eternal life as the "end-all" goal of evangelism. Which raises the question of how does that attitude affect our daily life and our theology of interacting with a lost world?

The more I think about it, the more I'm forced to admit that I've been doing it wrong for a long time...

Remedy Mission

2010-08-30T21:47:00.003-05:00

These past two weeks have been busy for the Preemptive Love Coalition.

Click here to read the story that the Arab and Muslim world's top publication, Al-Jazeera, wrote on their work in Iraq.

"Do you love me?... Tend my sheep." John 21:17

Please Pray...

2010-08-26T09:22:00.004-05:00

Please lift up Travis Bigham, the nephew of my friend, Mindy. He is currently in a coma due to a car accident several weeks ago. His precious family would appreciate your prayers. His Caring Bridge website is www.caringbridge.org/visit/travisbigham or you can click on the link in the column.

Also please pray for William Carter, the nephew of my friend, Karen. He is currently undergoing treatment for cancer, and his precious family would also appreciate your prayers. His Caring Bridge website is www.caringbridge.org/visit/williamcarter1 or you can click on the link in the oclumn.

Thank you for lifting up these young men to our powerful, personal God.

First Day of School Blues

2010-08-23T22:09:00.002-05:00

I've always hated the first day of school. When I was young, I hated it because I didn't want the care-free days of summer to end. Now that I'm in my 40's, I hate it because I don't want the care-free days of summer to end. I hate it because it means no more staying in our pajamas until late afternoon, no more staying up late just because we can, and no more boys filling the house with their rambunctious laughter.

I also hate it because it's one more milestone that I'm missing with Paul.

Paul, who would be in fourth grade.

Yep. I've always hated the first day of school. I guess I always will...

The End of Summer

2010-08-20T16:48:00.003-05:00

It's been a great summer.

I've done a lot of things, but nothing more important than this.

Istanbul

2010-07-20T07:24:00.003-05:00

Today was a great day. This morning our group headed to the hospital (a short walk from our hotel) and hung out with several families in the sitting area outside their rooms. We were able to give Leah's mom a little break from her, but Chro still refuses to leave her mother's side. She's 2, so I spent some time painting her fingernails and toenails. She allowed me to do it, but she is still a long way from warming up. That's OK... I can be patient!!

After lunch, Jess wanted to make a trip into Istanbul to buy something for Leah. Sarah and I went with her on the long journey. We started off in a hospital shuttle, then caught the dolmus (a group taxi), then took about a 20 minute walk. The commute was hot, the taxi was crowded and lots of people were stinky, but.... I loved every minute of it. I don't know why, but I just love Istanbul. Doesn't make any sense, really... It reminds me a lot of New York City, which I absolutely despise. It's incredibly noisy, and I typically prefer quiet. It's bustling with people, and I tend toward solitude. It's extremely huge (over 14 million people), and I like quaint. It stinks, it's hot and it's polluted, but I love it. I love it's amazing history, I love the fact that it spans two continents, I love it's beautiful horizon at sunset, I love the outdoor cafes, and the shop owners who spray down the walkways outside their doorsteps, I love that you can buy anything from phone cards to fishing gear while waiting to cross the street. I love it's different smells and sounds and scenery. But most of all, I love the Turks themselves... their culture (what little of it I understand), their hospitality and their helpfulness.

We ended up not being able to find what we were looking for for Leah, but that's OK... sometimes the journey itself is the most important part.

Hot, tired and happy...

The Banquet!

2010-07-18T07:26:00.003-05:00

The banquet on Friday was a HUGE success!! Thank you to everyone who has prayed, donated, planned and prepared for this amazing celebration. We shared a meal together, then the kids played carnival-style games. Afterward, we all walked across the street to a new theater and watched TOY STORY 3 while enjoying popcorn and Fanta! Keep in mind that for many of these kids, this was the first time they've ever done anything like this before. Everyone had a blast!

The highlight for me was meeting a little girl name Frishta (which means Angel in Kurdish). She is the sister of Mohammed Star, one of the boys who went to surgery this past year. A smile and a wave, a few pictures together, and we were inseperable for the remainder of the banquet. What a precious little girl... created in the image of God and for His glory!

Cross Culture Experiences

2010-07-14T17:42:00.003-05:00

Well, we just finished our first full day in Iraq. Sarah and I were able to spend some time in the home of Leah, one of the kids who will be going to Turkey with us at the end of the week for surgery. She is a precious little one-year-old who has downs syndrome (I didn't realize that a large percentage of kids with downs also have heart defects). She has very low muscle tone, but her mother has been diligently working with her doing physical therapy exercises and - according to Jessica - has improved and developed amazingly in just the last couple of weeks.

What a blessing to meet this wonderful family, be served water, pepsi, tea, then more water, then grapes (you definitely don't go hungry around here), and then to be reminded that even though it is so easy to see the monumental differences from our culture, when it comes to being parents, we have everything in common. The desire to provide for, protect and love your child crosses cultures. The desperation a parent feels to fight for their child's life exists in its fullest regardless of who you are or where you live. I didn't need language to understand this mother's overwhelming yearning for the health and prosperity of her daughter. And that is who I met today: a mom who loves her daughter deeply, who places nothing of earthly value higher than her child's well-being, and who prays to God every night for his hand of blessing over her children.

I wish you could've met her, too...

3 Planes, 2 Layovers and a Soccer Ball

2010-07-10T14:31:00.005-05:00

So, I leave for Iraq tomorrow! I have finally gotten all the errands run, done the laundry, packed my luggage and my carry on (and placed all my liquids in a quart-sized baggie).

Tomorrow afternoon around 4, we'll leave Waco and drive to the DFW airport for our 9 pm flight. Getting there will be the hardest part. We have a 9-hour flight to London, and a 10-hour layover. Then we take a 4-hour flight to Istanbul where we'll have a 6-hour layover. Our last flight into Iraq is 2 1/2 hours. Combine that with losing 8 hours, and that means that we won't actually arrive in Iraq until 1:30 pm Tuesday!! Because of the time of day of the layovers, we won't be spending the night anywhere, which means we'll go for about 48 hours without being horizontal! I'm not good at sleeping on planes, but I'm going to give it my best shot :-) If you think about our group anytime Sunday afternoon until Tuesday morning, feel free to pray for us...

And if you wonder why I'm going back again, click HERE.

This is a picture and a story about Ahmad, a little boy who attended our banquet last year. The soccer ball he is holding in the picture is one he received from us at the banquet. We are taking 20 more soccer balls this year (along with a truckload of other toys donated by some very generous folks from our church)

It's just a soccer ball. Here, they are a dime a dozen. But to a Kurdish boy who can now keep up with his other friends while they play, that soccer ball is worth it's weight in gold!

Three Years Ago...

2010-07-01T15:01:00.004-05:00

Three years ago tomorrow we made the decision to stop Paul's treatment. Without a doubt it was the most difficult decision I have ever made, and yet it was the greatest gift I have ever given anyone.

I will never forget that day: Paul was miserable and living in his stroller. As a defense mechanism, he slept the whole way to Cook and throughout the entire clinic visit. I remember sitting in the dark room, waiting for the results of his blood test... results that I didn't need a lab report to tell me... results that confirmed that, still, his body wasn't making blood. I remember dreading making the phone call to Terrill. Sitting in that dark room with Paul asleep in his stroller, Dr. Howrey by my side, tears streaming down my face, Terrill and I agreed that we were done fighting for our son's life. Our four and a half year war was over. Damn Neuroblastoma.

It is easy to judge ourselves as parents by two primary things: provision and protection. I mean, isn't that what we spend so much of our time doing for our kids?... providing them with the "good" things and protecting them from the "bad" things. And yet, I have come to learn that my shining moment as a mom was when I finally let my son go... when I relinquished my role in his life as his provider and his protector... when I gave up.

I have no words to describe that last trip out of the clinic. This trip that we had made countless times before, always with a slip of paper telling us when to return. Walking down the hall and to the car and buckling Paul in, with no paper this time, knowing that we would never do this again. Winding toward the exit of the parking garage and speaking to the ticket booth attendant... all things that were as familar to me as brushing my teeth. This clinic, this hospital with its familar halls and bad cafeteria and amazing employees... I not only knew the doctors, but the security guards and the janitors as well (those that worked the day and the night shifts). This place was my "soccer field", my "gymnasium". While most kids his age were learning the fundamentals of their favorite sport, Paul was learning that when his platelets were low, his nose would bleed. My son had grown up in this place. And not just grown up, but matured beyond his years. He experienced things here and met people here who shaped him into a sensitive and relational young man at the ripe ole' age of six. We fought here, we sacrificed here, and the whole time we were fighting and sacrificing, Paul was growing up. And this day, we were leaving it all behind. We were walking away. For good.

Paul continued sleeping all the way home, and I know that was a blessing from the Lord, as it allowed me the hour and a half to cry and kick and "scream" at God. It was one of a handful of times (OK, maybe two handfuls) that I have had an "R-rated" conversation with God. I would love to say that I got it all out of my system that day, but I must admit there are still some very specific things that I'm pissed off at God about. Let's just say that I have come to acknowledge that He alone is God, that I don't have even a sliver of understanding of the big picture, and that - at least for me right now - faith is more of a deliberate decision than a feeling.

Paul woke up when we got home, and he even smiled when we pulled into the driveway. Never has a boy appreciated being home quite like little Paulie.

We went to Tyler to visit Terrill's parents for the Fourth of July and spent the next two weeks enjoying every precious minute with Paul. And then we said goodbye to that beautiful boy.

Making the decision to stop treatment for Paul was the most brutal and most beautiful thing I have ever done. The greatest gifts are always those that require the greatest sacrifice.

Attention All Coffee Drinkers

2010-06-10T08:21:00.002-05:00

For the next SIX Mondays, enjoy FREE coffee at the World Cup Cafe (a ministry of Mission Waco). Details below.

Pass the word.....

*******************************************************************************

Free Coffee on Monday Mornings
June 14-July 19, 7:00-10:00a.m.
1321 N. 15th @ Colcord Ave.
World Cup Café
(offer does not include specialty drinks)

Come on over and enjoy some really good “joe”…
Breakfast & Lunch available Monday-Saturday, 7:00-2:00

Preemptive Love

2010-05-13T02:12:00.004-05:00

In recent months, I have really been feeling led to step up in terms of advocating for the Preemptive Love Coalition. Honestly, I have no idea what that really means, but I do know I've been using the excuse of not knowing as a reason to NOT be obedient. This is a trap I constantly fall into: not knowing exactly what to do and, therefore, doing nothing at all. However, I've also seen the Lord at work most in my life when I simply take a step and do SOMETHING. Most of the time, the step I take doesn't directly lead anywhere, but I end up making great strides in a different direction as a result of that first baby step, no matter how misdirected it was.

So, all that leads me to now... the only way I know to step up my advocacy of PLC is to be proactive in raising awareness of what they are doing and the needs they have. And the only way I know to do that is to speak to groups of people about it.

Are you a member of a group (MOPS, Jr. League, National Meat Cutters Assoc.) that would be open to having me speak about my trips to Iraq, what PLC is doing, and how they can be involved? Although I wouldn't pass a hat or anything like that, fundraising, awareness, and increased involvement would be my major goals.

If so, please contact me either by posting a comment below, or emailing me at leighsaxon@hotmail.com.

Thanks for being part of my first step toward obedience in this. I'll let you know how it goes...

They Called the Cops On Us!

2010-04-28T15:10:00.002-05:00

So... for a while now, a friend and I have been meeting together to pray over a local mosque. We meet on Fridays around 2:00, as this is the Muslim Holy Day, and when the mosque is most crowded. About 4 weeks ago, we moved to a "strategic" location across the street in the parking lot of the Hewitt Chamber of Commerce, where we had a good view of the entrance to the mosque. We simply sit in our car and pray for folks as they go in and out of the mosque

This past Friday, we were in our car and a cop car pulled into the parking lot, got out of his car and approached us. He informed us that the people working in the chamber of commerce had called concerned about why we were there. I explained to the kind police officer what we were doing and pointed across the street. I said we certainly didn't want to cause any trouble and would be happy to leave if they wanted us to.

So, the kind cop walked into the building and came back out about 15 minutes later, and informed us that they wanted us to leave. We agreed, and he left. Then my friend and I decided that we'd like to meet our cop-calling friends. We entered the building, introduced ourselves to the two women working in the small office and apologized for causing them any alarm. I must admit, I was hopeful they would retract their banishment of us, and although they were very cordial and polite, they didn't offer to allow us to continue praying in their parking lot.

So, we left. I have to say that on the way home, I was mad. I thought about how I am a tax-paying citizen of Hewitt and have a right to peacefully park on city property. But then it hit me.... They called the cops on us... in Hewitt TX. I just had the cops called on me for PRAYING IN THE NAME OF JESUS. Not in Iraq, but in Hewitt, TX! Praise God!

I know this isn't exactly what Jesus was speaking of when he said: "But beware of men; for they will deliver you up to the courts, and scourge you in their synagogues; and you shall even be brought before governors and kings for My sake as a testimony to them and to the Gentiles." Sure, we weren't scourged or persecuted in the same sense that Jesus was speaking, but we had the cops called on us IN THE NAME OF JESUS!!

Pretty cool... and you can bet that we'll be back praying this Friday (although we'll have to give up our front-entrance view)!

A Lot to Learn

2010-04-18T21:52:00.003-05:00

I am 41 years old, and I have a lot to learn.

In our SS class, we have started reading through the book of Mark, and I am discovering how little I know about a book of the Bible that previously, I would've said I knew a lot about. The truth is, I know a lot of general knowledge about the gospels, but I know little about what unique things they have to say about the life of Jesus.

So, I'm a little fascinated these days about the ministry of Jesus, particularly what HE had to say (not what I've always been taught) about what it means to be a Christ-follower, a child of God, one secure in the gift of eternal life. Bottom line, I want to know what Jesus had to say about how a person becomes a Christian. Today, I read the very familiar passage in Matthew 25:31-46. (It's a lengthy section of scripture, but I'll quote some major chunks of it):

Jesus speaking: "But when the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the angels with Him, then He will sit on His glorious throne. And all the nations will be gathered before Him; and He will separate them from one another, as the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats; and He will put the sheep on His right, and the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on His right, 'Come, you who are blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.' Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, 'Lord, when did we [do all these things]?' And the King will answer and say to them, 'Truly, I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.' Then He will also say to those on His left, 'Depart from Me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry, and you gave me nothing to eat..."

You know, growing up a Southern Baptist, I've been to countless retreats, summer camps and revivals, and heard this question posed dozens of times: "When you die and you stand before Jesus, and He asks you 'Why should I let you into heaven for eternity?', what will you say?" Of course, the correct answer is something like: "I don't deserve eternity, but I believe that you, Jesus, are the Son of God, who died on the cross for my sins so that I can be reconciled to God."

While I think the above question is a valuable one to reflect upon, nowhere in the Bible does Jesus suggest that He's going to ask us this question. In fact, according to Matthew 25, it seems to me that it's much more likely that He might have a different question to ask... something like: "What have you done for Me lately?" Or: "Where is the LOVE?"

I am not suggesting that our WORKS earn us a place in heaven. I am simply reading the very words that proceeded directly out of the mouth of Jesus that said, "If you love me, tend my sheep."

And I am - for the first time in my life - realizing that what I have believed about what it means to be a Christian has come from what other people have told me. I am attempting to scrutinize these beliefs by comparing them to what Jesus Himself had to say on the matter.

So far, there are surprising differences....

An "Old" Friend

2010-04-08T08:29:00.003-05:00

This morning, I was cleaning out a basket in my utility room, and I found this note from a very dear friend of Paul's. She wrote it to me in May of 2008.

*************************************************************************

Dear Mrs. Sackson, I was thinking about Paul. He was the best cid in the world. I am vary happy I got to be His Friend. And I Loved Him so much. Love, Belle.

*************************************************************************

Me too, Belle. Me too.

An Email from a Friend

2010-03-18T11:18:00.002-05:00

Judy is a dear friend of mine who lives in New York. We got to spend some wonderful time with her and her family when Paul and I were in NYC for his treatment at Sloan-Kettering and also when we went to Vermont for treatment. She sent me this email recently and it was such a blessing to me that I wanted to post it (with her permission, of course!)

******************************************************************************

Hello! I have thought of you so much in recent weeks and am just now getting around to emailing you to tell you so.

Yesterday jeff and I spent an incredible day down in NYC and we ended it thinking of you.

On the drive home, late last night, we stopped at a rest area on the freeway, looking for something to eat. The one we stopped at was one I have been to with you and Paul. We parked in the parking garage type area (strange for freeway rest stops) and went into the building, where everything was closed down, just like it was when we were there with Paul (and looking for a snack for your hungry boy...)

It is a two story building inside, with escalators taking you up to the bathrooms. Remember that one? There were only vending machines to use, that were on small breezeways that overlooked the lower area. I'm pretty sure Paul found some money under one of the machines. :)

Jeff and I were in luck, in that one store was open, Dunkin Donuts, so we ordered a bagel or two. As we stood waiting I told him about my trip there with you and Paul. I tried to pull out of the back of my brain every memory I had of that night, every place we walked in that building as we hunted for a decent snack.

Of course we started talking about Paul too. And Jeff surprised me by saying, "I still have a rock in the pocket of my orange coat, a stone that Paul gave me as we walked through the woods. It's still there, in the bottom of my pocket."

He's not a man of many words but I know what he meant. He keeps that rock in his pocket on purpose. It reminds him of a brave little boy who made a big impact on a lot of us during his short time on the planet.

Then finally our bagels were done and we walked through the almost dark, quiet building, back to the car. Then, just as we approached the outside doors, I spied something shiny on the ground. A bright copper penny.

I am sure, so sure, that Paul left that penny there for me. To let me know that he remembered too. He remembered the fun we had in the midst of pain, as we traveled up and down the dark freeways of New York.

I have not hugged you in a while, my friend. But that doesn't mean I dont miss you, think of you, and care about you.

Just wanted you to know we talked about you, and your boy, last night, and it brought smiles to our faces.

******************************************************************************

Thanks, Judy!!

Calling All DFW Folks!!

2010-02-27T10:58:00.004-06:00

Helping Kids with Neuroblastoma

Here's a chance to eat a yummy breakfast and contribute to a great cause. The New Year of Hope Foundation (www.anewyearofhopefoundation.org) has a two-fold mission: to help families whose children have Neuroblastoma and to provide funds for research at Cook Children’s NB Center.

Who: A New Year of Hope Foundation

What: Pancakes, eggs, meat, and drink included. You can even have a second helping of pancakes!

Cost: $6 per person

When: March 6, 2010. Be sure to arrive between 8am and 9:30 as the breakfast food needs to be cleared out in time to make way for the lunch crowd.

Where: Applebee’s Neighborhood Grill & Bar (Near the Ridgmar Mall)

660 West Freeway

Fort Worth, TX 76116

Tickets can be purchased in advance or at the door.

For more information, please contact Karen at karen@tdkd.com

Love Never Fails

2010-02-24T11:39:00.003-06:00

More incredible work and ministry by the Preemptive Love Coalition. I just can't say enough about their commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ and their love for the Kurdish people they serve.

Check it out here.

Church Under the Bridge

2010-02-17T09:19:00.003-06:00

I have a LONG way to go, but the Lord is opening my eyes to the many ways that I need to change.

Mission Waco and Church Under the Bridge have been a catalyst for that change in my life.

Enjoy this video of Jimmy Dorrell and CUB.

What's In a Name?

2010-02-16T09:28:00.004-06:00

I did something last night that I haven't done in a long time. I accidentally called Whit "Paul." In fact, I did it twice. The first time, I didn't even realize it until Jack corrected me. The second time I noticed immediately.

It was such a good feeling.

Of course, Terrill and I both did it a lot right after Paul died. We were used to calling the boys by the wrong name. (One time I called Paul "Jack" and he corrected me by saying, "I'm not Jack, I'm Whit. I mean... Paul!!" I guess we did it so much, we even had him confused!) It was usually Paul and Whit we confused because they were so close in age. Every time I did it after Paul died, I remember thinking how sad I would be when that habit ended. Unfortunately, it didn't take long. I have missed it.

I also remember other people doing it. During a casual conversation at church or in the grocery store, folks would ask about one of the boys and inadvertently say "Paul" by mistake. Sometimes they wouldn't even notice they had done it, and I pretended they hadn't, but it made me SO happy! When they did realize their mistake, they would often feel awkward and apologize, but I assured them that their mess-up was a wonderful reminder to me that Paul was still being thought of and remembered.

That hasn't happened in a long time.

So, last night, when it did happen - seemingly out of the blue - I couldn't help but smile. I walked around the house with this goofy grin on my face, thanking God for that wonderful memory of the chaos of life with three boys.

Not Enough Laundry

2010-02-10T11:40:00.003-06:00

This morning as I was piling all the socks and underwear into the washing machine, I realized how much I miss doing Paul's laundry. Have you ever seen Hanes' tighty whiteys in size 3? They are adorable...

2010-01-27T16:39:00.002-06:00

Want to be inspired and challenged by someone half your age?

Check out Erik Ludwinski's website here.

Paul's Birthday

2010-01-19T16:37:00.006-06:00

Yesterday, Paul would've been 9. When your last memory is 6 1/2, nine is hard to imagine. We celebrated by going with friends to the Putt-putt fun center in Killeen and doing a lot of the things that Paul loved to do. In his honor, I never bent down to place my ball, but dropped it and scooched it with my foot (something he had to do the last several months of his life because of the pain of bending over).

God is good. He has continued to bless us with wonderful, thoughtful friends who emailed and texted to remind us that they miss Paul, too. Thank you for that. It doesn't make me miss him any less, but it sure makes me feel not so lonely in it.

A friend sent these pictures to me today (they were taken in August of 2002, right before Whit was born). They are priceless treasures of wonderful memories. My first thought was how perfect his body was... no scars from surgery or port placements or biopsies... just smooth, perfect skin. I don't remember Paul like that, but it is good to be reminded.

Paul, Christmas, Reindeer and Soap

2009-12-16T11:58:00.004-06:00

Paul loved Christmas. Of course, all kids love Christmas, but he seemed to treasure it more than the average kid. It wasn't just about getting gifts (are you kidding? Paul pretty much got gift year-round so Christmas was no biggie), he really loved the season of Christmas. While Jack and Whit were inside watching Sponge Bob, Paul would be outside with Daddy hanging the lights. While the other boys were playing video games, Paul sat on the couch and supervised my decorating of the windowsill ("Just a little more over that way, Mommy..."). We have one lonely lighted reindeer in our front yard because of Paul. He wore me down one year until I finally bought one.

This morning, I've been getting ready for a Christmas party we're having tonight. In the middle of all the cleaning and organizing, I stopped at Paul's picture that sits at my kitchen sink. I stood there and had myself a good cry while I missed him. I wondered what would be on his Christmas list this year and I cried some more. I thought about how much he loved looking at Christmas lights and continued my bawl-fest. I miss him...

...And then I noticed that the soap dispenser was almost empty, so I filled it up...

The Power of Addiction

2009-12-15T08:33:00.000-06:00

I must admit I don’t understand drug addiction. To me, it seems simple: drugs are ruining your life, so just quit taking them. However, the more folks I talk with who face the stronghold of addiction, the more I am convinced: it’s not that easy. And I don’t have any answers.

This month at the clinic, we served several folks who are trying to regain control of their lives from drug addiction. Two stand out in my mind vividly.

“Monica” is a wife and a mother of four children (from 4 months to 10 years). Child Protective Services recently took her children from her because of her addiction to meth. Her marriage is in shambles. Her once-happy family has disintegrated because of her constant drug use. She is desperate to re-gain custody of her children and repair her relationship with her husband, and yet she fears that she doesn’t have the power to walk away from the drugs.

“Ralph” is in his mid-sixties. He’s been in and out of prison for over 20 years for drug abuse. He barely knows his grandchildren, but longs to be a real “grand daddy” to them. Tears stream down his face as he speaks of the time lost with his now-grown kids… time that he can never get back… relationships that he fears he can never restore. Desperately he wants to change, to be a dad and grandfather, to attend birthday parties and school recitals. But he has failed so many times before… There is true fear in his voice when he talks about the drug house that is literally right across the street from the rehab center where he is staying… And about the folks there who are more than happy to give him his first hit “for free.”

As I pray with Monica and Ralph, I admit that I have nothing to offer – no advice, no magic formula. I can’t even understand where they’re coming from. I have no power or help to cure their addiction. But… I serve a God who does! In fact, I serve the God who is the ONLY one who can fill the emptiness and pain that drugs have masked for Monica and Ralph.

Will you join me in praying for these two precious children of God? Will you claim the power of Jesus Christ over their lives? No doubt, it is the only way true healing will occur.

The Stockings Were Hung...

2009-12-12T10:04:00.005-06:00

Since Whit was born, seven years ago, I've been trying to find a 5th stocking. I have four that look great together and that I've had for years, but that 5th stocking just seems to escape me every year. I've even been willing to scrap the four I have and start completely over, but nothing seems to work for me.

This year, I was determined to hang FIVE stockings. We have five members of this family, and they would ALL have a stocking... either that or I would hang none. So, in the many boxes and bags of Christmas decor that Terrill dragged down from the attic, I found another stocking. I've had it for years (it was a gift from my aunt long ago), and it is beautiful, but I've never hung it because it doesn't "match" the other four we have. This year, however, I placed it next to the other four, where it hung very conspicuously. I decided that I would be the martyr and claim the "rogue" stocking. Afterall, it was quite feminine (plus, this way, no one could complain).

I didn't like it at first. It looked completely out of place. It screamed the truth - that it was a last resort, and constantly reminded me that I had failed as a decorator.

But then I got gradually got used to it and one day it occured to me: this was actually the PERFECT 5th stocking, but not for me... for Paul. It hung as part of a group of five, and yet completely separate from it. And the stocking even has an angelic motif. It is made out of an angel toille fabric and has little angels sewn around the top.

So now... I am no longer in search of that elusive 5th stocking. Like so many things in life, it was something I've been hunting for for years and yet had in my possession all along.

A Clinic Update

2009-11-01T20:35:00.000-06:00

“Suzanne” arrived a little late to the clinic this past week. Her name was last on our sign-in sheet. Fortunately, our volunteer doctor had already agreed to stay as late as necessary to see everyone who needed to be seen. While she was in a patient room waiting to see the doctor, I went in to talk with her. Suzanne told me she’d grown up in a middle-class family. Her parents were missionaries in Mexico. Now in her mid-fifties, she found herself in a completely new situation. Due to health problems, family issues and the poor economy, Suzanne was without a job and homeless for the first time in her life.

The amazing part of her story is that, through tears, Suzanne spoke of the Lord’s faithfulness. She admitted that she had always claimed to have trusted God, but recently realized that in the past, she’d always had a safety net. With her current situation, she had nothing to fall back on, except Jesus -- and He was consistently supplying her needs! She spoke of having to trust Him for her next meal and a place to stay for the night, and of His tender care and amazing provision. Suzanne testified that although she was facing the toughest situation in her life, she was also growing more than ever in her intimacy with her Lord and Savior.

The short time I spent with Suzanne challenged and inspired me. Her testimony has been like a magnifying glass to my own lack of trust and misplaced priorities. I have thought of and prayed for Suzanne every day since our meeting, and I am still being challenged by her story.

Our volunteer team was able to give her some antibiotics for a painful infection she was dealing with, but what I received from her was far more valuable. I was the one who was supposed to be blessing Suzanne, but it turned out to be quite the opposite. Thank you, Lord, for your wonderful ways!

Things for Which I am Thankful Today

2009-10-28T19:31:00.002-05:00

Today, I am thankful for:

* Blue skies, warm sunshine and a cool breeze... all on the same day!

* Looking out my driver's side review mirror and seeing little hands waving in the wind

* Boys who are big enough to buckle themselves in, but still young enough to need their Momma when they're sick

* Friendships that endure long distances, emotional selfishness, and miscommunications... and somehow manage to deepen in spite of it all

* A thoughtful husband who lets me sleep with the fan off

* Mission Waco... a place where my life-long habits, assumptions and beliefs are challenged and I'm afforded the opportunity to change

* Preemptive Love Coalition - a group of friends who amaze and inspire me to believe that God is mighty enough and loving enough to demonstrate His power DAILY in the lives of ordinary, obedient people

* Pictures, songs and sweet memories that remind me of the 6 years, 5 months and 26 days that Paul spent on this earth

* Forgiveness, grace and the promise of eternity.

Trust and Grace

2009-10-14T09:41:00.002-05:00

Monday night my eldest son went to his first rock concert. He is only eleven. However, he went with his dad and several other men from our church. And it was U2. It's hard to go wrong with U2.

So, as you can imagine, he was up late. As in he didn't get to bed until 2:30, which meant he got 4 hours of sleep that night.

So, as you can also imagine, last night we wanted him in bed early. This didn't go over well with Jack who assured us - by whining and sulking - that he wasn't tired and didn't need to go to bed early. In the Saxon house, whining and sulking are the absolute fastest ways to an early bedtime, so things weren't looking good for Jack.

I was really getting annoyed that he continued to ask and beg to stay up after I had repeatedly told him to go to bed. Since he's getting older, I decided to take the approach of reasoning with him. Our conversation went like this:

Me: Jack, let me ask you a few questions. First, do I love you?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Do I always want what's best for you?
Jack: Yes.
Me: Now here's the tricky one.... think before you answer: Do I know what's best for you MORE than you do?
Jack: [slumping and barely audible] Yes.
Me: Ok then. Please go to bed without arguing with me. I want you to always remember that I love you and I will ALWAYS look out for your best interest. I need you to trust my decisions, even when you don't agree with me or like what I have to say.

Hmmmm... could this be a lesson that MOM needs to learn as well? I couldn't help but think of how many times the Lord has had this conversation with me. It's amazing how perfectly clear it is when I'm NOT the one on the receiving end.

So, hopefully I have a little more TRUST in my Lord and a little more GRACE for my son.

Five is the new Four

2009-09-01T20:59:00.002-05:00

The way I see it, middle-class America is designed for a family of four. Restaurant tables almost always accommodate four, most sedan-type cars will seat four most comfortably (try squeezing three in the backseat when 2 or more are still in car seats – not happenin’). Even amusement parks are best suited for parties of four.

When I was young, four was the “in” number in a family. I had one brother, most of my friends had just one sibling. Back then, the American dream included a house, two cars, a dog and two kids, preferably one boy and one girl. These days, though, it seems that most families are opting for three kids. It seems that a lot of couples have decided that five is a good family number. Have you noticed? I’m not sure about other parts of the country, but down in Texas, three kids is definitely popular. Whenever I see a family of five – especially with three boys, I can’t help but stare longingly and wonder about their family dynamic… who’s the shy one?... who’s the athlete?... which one is more like dad?

When Terrill and I first got married, I wasn’t sure how many kids I wanted. Right after Jack was born, I wasn’t sure I even wanted the one I had :-) But when Paul was just a couple of weeks old, I knew I wanted at least three. I can remember one night in particular when I had gotten up with him, sitting in one of our red chairs in the living room while I held him. Of course, he was adorable and precious, and right then, I was convinced I wanted another Saxon in our family.

I loved having three boys. I loved the reaction I got when I told people I had three. Eyebrows would go up and they’d say something like, “Wow. You must have your hands full. It must be chaotic around your house.” I’d have to agree, but then I’d always add that I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I loved the noise and the chaos of three boys. (Well, most of the time, anyway). People always expected that I wanted a girl. I have to admit that early on in our family planning, I thought a girl sounded nice, but once I started having boys, I was hooked.

In some ways, being a family of four is much more convenient. We no longer have to wrestle with decisions like: Do we opt for the bigger hotel room (and bigger price) or settle for the inconvenience of a roll-away bed? Can we squeeze a chair on the end of our restaurant table of four, or do we wait for a bigger table to open up? Every time we easily slide into a booth at a restaurant, I miss Paul. I thought longingly of him when we qualified for the discount rate at the resort because we were a party of four. No more squabbling over who sits in the far back of the car and who gets the middle. No need to spring for the extra set of headphones for the car DVD player… it comes with two.

Even though four is convenient, it isn’t right. Not for our family, anyway. And every time someone asks me how many boys I have, I wrestle with all the variables and who this person is, and do I want to put them through the details of how complicated that answer is, and do I have the emotional fortitude today to answer fully, or could I just say that I have three and not go into any details, and then my heart screams out, “THREE! THREE! I HAVE THREE BOYS!” but with my mouth I reluctantly say, “Two.” It breaks my heart every time. And no one ever raises an eyebrow or comments on how chaotic my house is.

Wondering...

2009-08-19T12:35:00.001-05:00

I’m in the Wondering Phase now. I knew this day would come, I’ve dreaded it for a long time, but I think I have to say I’m officially here. It sucks.

When Paul first died, I could imagine him still being alive. I knew the sound of his voice, the feel of his bald head, and I knew all his funny expressions. I knew his “Yeah, baby!” expression with his hands in the double gun position. I could predict his reaction to things, what movies he would’ve wanted to see, what he would’ve laughed at, and when he would’ve cuddled up with me on the couch, interrupting one of my Sunday-afternoon naps.

I knew who his friends were, his classmates, his teacher. I even knew who was going to be Paul’s first-grade teacher and could imagine him strolling along the halls… one ordinary kid among many, sneaking to step out of line when the teacher wasn’t looking.

At his last birthday, Paul had a Dale, Jr. cake, and declared that next year, he’d choose Jimmie Johnson, so when what would’ve been his 7th birthday rolled around, it was easy to imagine him licking all the icing off the big 48 piece.

It was easy to imagine he was just gone for a little while, that he’d be back soon. It was easy to expect him to come home and re-enter the tangled mix of three boys wrestling on our king-sized bed.

It’s not that easy anymore.

What would two years have done to him? How much would he have grown? How would his hair have filled in…. straight and blonde, or wavy and a little dark? What friends would he have made in 2nd grade, and who would his 3rd grade teacher be? Would he still be as much of a NASCAR nut or would he have traded in his wheels for a baseball glove? Would he have been as crazy about Guitar Hero as his brothers? Would he still be a ham in all the church choir performances, or would he have grown into being to “cool” for such things? Would he still be as stubborn and persistent when he was told “no”? Would he still love his Maw Maw’s fried chicken and gray pudding (gravy) and ask for pink meat (ham) in his lunch? Which restaurant chicken strips would he be fixated on by now?

What would 8-year-old Paul be like?

All I can do now is wonder….

Please Pray

2009-08-01T17:22:00.002-05:00

Please, please, please...

Pray for Daryan (Dah-ree-on).

He is the little baby we met during our trip.

Click here to see his updates on the PLC website.

A Great Trip

2009-07-29T22:41:00.002-05:00

I've been home long enough to deal with the tough question many times over: "So.... how was your trip?" An obvious question in this situation. I just wish I had a better answer. "Great" just never seems to really capture all that I hope to convey.

"Great" doesn't do justice to the amazing community we felt as a team, how we prayed together, for each other and with each other, how we witnessed God at work together in unexplainable ways.

"Great" doesn't communicate the excitement of seeing families again, hugging and kissing them again, spending time in their homes again, and being humbled again by their hospitality and generosity.

"Great" doesn't decribe how amazing it is that people from completely different cultures, from completely different worlds, who speak completely different languages are able to enjoy each other, laugh together and cry together.

"Great" doesn't hold a candle to witnessing a team of Americans who stand out in a Muslim community, who are loved by this community, and who are truly demonstrating the life that Jesus lived.... a life of sacrifice based solely on LOVE.

"Great" doesn't describe the ways that my faith has been challenged, how my ideas of evangelism have been annihilated, and how the Lord is showing me how very little of anything I do is motivated by love.

"Great" doesn't say any of those things... and yet, for some stupid reason, it's the word I find myself using to describe my trip whenever I am asked.

So, if you've asked me about my trip, I'm sorry for my lame response. And, if you see me in the near future and ask about my trip, I apologize in advance for my "great" answer. Forgive me. It's a tough one to put into words.

The Heart

2009-07-24T17:11:00.004-05:00

You have GOT TO, simply GOT TO go to the Preemptive Love website to see an amazing post. It is a VIDEO of Mohammed's heart surgery. The actual video of this 10-year-old boy's chest cut open and his beating heart being FIXED by the doctors. It is absolutely phenomenal.

Click HERE to go to the website, then scroll down to the video posted on July 24.

Praise our MIGHTY heavenly Father for the miracle of heart surgery.... for the amazing skill of doctors, the incredible passion of PLC workers and interns, and the sacrificial love of those who donate to this amazing cause.

Wow. It is just an indescribable sight. I've watched it multiple times and I will watch it again. The heart... the beating heart.... the center of our physical lives and the core of our spiritual selves. How do these work together? Where does one end and the other begin? I don't know... something about seeing this physical heart causes me to wonder about the spiritual heart and how much God desires just that - our HEART.

"I pray that the eyes of your HEART may be enlightened, so that you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the surpassing greatness of His power toward us who believe." Eph. 1:17-18

" ...for God sees not as the man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the HEART." 1 Sam 16:7

"...the love of God has been poured out within our HEARTS through the Holy Spirit who was given to us." Rom 5:5

2009-07-07T14:18:00.001-05:00

For my trip to Iraq (July 9 - 19), our group of 5 is blogging on a GROUP BLOG. This way, you can hear about this trip from all of us. I hope you enjoy it!!

New Little Friend

2009-07-01T13:31:00.001-05:00

Whit had a new friend over to play the other day. He inquired about some artwork on the wall and was intrigued when he found out that Whit had two brothers. Of course, the question prevailed... where is this other brother? I explained to him that Whit had a brother, Paul, who died a couple of years ago. He nodded thoughtfully and returned to the boys' room to play.

I was in the kitchen when he returned. Did Paul die of the swine flu, he wanted to know. No, I explained, he was very, very sick with a disease called cancer. Then our new little friend had a lot of questions about how long Paul was sick (I think in his 6-year-old mind, you are sick for a couple of days... maybe a week, and then you get better). I saw the bewilderment in his face as I tried to explain to him that Paul was sick for years - sometimes he would feel good and then he would feel badly again. Once he had enough information to process, he trotted off to play again.

In a little while, he came back to ask some more questions. At some point, it came up that Paul was bald for a while. When I told him this, his eyes got big and he immediately asked to see pictures of Paul. Well, howdy, I can tell you I was thrilled to oblige. I pulled out a photo album that a dear friend made that we keep on the coffee table, and poured over pictures of Paul in all his different hairstyles.

Then New Little Friend caught a glimpse of all of Paul's 24 cars that are lined up in our china cabinet. Being very astute at the fact that these precious toys are locked behind glass, he asked, "He doesn't like anybody playing with those even though he's dead?" I explained that these were just a few of Paul's cars, and I asked if he wanted to see the rest. As we made our way into the guest bedroom and I reached under the bed to pull out and dust off the car collection, New Little Friend said, "I bet you miss Paul a lot, don't you?" I sat down on the floor with this little boy and Paul's Nascar collection - not knowing whether I wanted to cry or jump for joy - and agreed with him that yes, I miss Paul VERY much.

When we moved to the closet, and I pulled out yet another huge vat of more cars, New Little Friend couldn't contain his excitement. "Wow. Paul had a LOT of cars. You must've bought him everything he wanted because he was sick." Now it was MY turn to be amazed. He'd pegged us in a matter of minutes!

I don't get to talk about Paul as much as I would like. I don't get to see anyone enjoying his Nascar collection as much as I would like. I don't get to show off pictures as much as I would like. Thank you, New Little Friend. Come back whenever you want... and make it soon...

Dreaming

2009-06-21T16:53:00.003-05:00

I had a funny dream the other night. I dreamed that I was at a party, and I had parked my car in the host's front yard. As I was going to leave, two men approached me to tease me about where I parked, saying stuff like, "So... where you come from, do you put your appliances on the front porch as well?" As I was laughing, I noticed that one of them was Jeff Gordon! So, I took the opportunity to tell him all about Paul, and he cried.

As I was thinking about that dream, it occured to me that for a while after Paul died, whenever I dreamed about him, he was alive. Then there was a while that I dreamed about Paul, and he was alive, but I somehow knew that I was dreaming. Even though everything seemed very real, I didn't want to wake up, knowing that it would all be over. Now, I'm dreaming of life after Paul.

Like most things in my life right now, I prefer the way it used to be.

Demonstration of the Spirit

2009-06-14T13:04:00.004-05:00

This summer, I decided to start reading through Corinthians. My plan was to get through both books, but so far, I've been stuck on the first 3 chapters of 1 Corinthians.

One verse in particular has been on my mind. It caught my eye, and I have been working on it for a while now. I'm sure I've read this before many times, but never quite like I have this month.

Paul writing to the Corinthians:

My message and my preaching were not in persuasive words of wisdom, but in the demonstration of the Spirit and of power, that your faith should not rest on the wisdom of men, but on the power of God. 1 Cor. 2:4-5

This verse brings me relief and challenges me at the same time. I am relieved as I prepare for Iraq, as I nurture my boys, as I work at the clinic, that I do not have to know or come up with the right words or phrases... the "magic words" that will bring salvation to someone.

I am challenged as I realize that what I AM called to do is to "demonstrate the Spirit." I have struggled with exactly what that means. I haven't completely grasped it yet, except to know that it isn't something I can do, but something that I must allow the LORD to do through me.

Demonstrate the Spirit... demonstrate the Spirit... demonstrate the Spirit...

This is my prayer right now... that the Lord would demonstrate His Spirit through me. My confession is that I'm not completely sure what that prayer really means. Possibly, that's a good thing because if I knew, I may not be so willing to pray for it.

I rest in the knowledge that I don't have to completely understand God's ways for Him to work in my life. Praise the LORD for that!

Shad Faraydoon Hama (11-18-99 ~ 6-6-09)

2009-06-06T12:31:00.002-05:00

Shad passed away this morning. Blood clots continued to form in his body, eventually filling up his lungs until he was unable to breathe.

Please pray for his dad, who will be in Istanbul until Tuesday when he can take his son's body home.

Please pray for Shad's mother, who is still in Iraq.

Please pray for Jeremy, as he comforts and consoles Shad's father.

For more information, check out the plc blog at www.preemptivelove.org/blog

In the midst of this sadness, I am tempted to forget about the four kids who had successful surgeries this week and have healthy hearts for the first time in their lives. Join me in praising God for the blessings of Roman, Heran, Shwan and Lawen.

And join me in praising God for Shad... a little boy created in the image of God, whose life was knit together and carefully planned by his loving Holy Father.

URGENT Prayer Needed for Shad

2009-06-04T16:11:00.003-05:00

Please pray for Shad, one of 5 kids that traveled to Turkey through the Preemptive Love Coalition this week for heart surgery. Before arriving in Turkey, it was unknown whether Shad would even be eligible for the surgery. His dad (who traveled with him) was elated to receive the news that his son would be a surgical candidate. The surgery went well, and on Tuesday, Shad was recovering remarkable well in ICU. However, earlier today, Shad went into cardiac arrest and was rushed into emergency surgery.

Below is an email from Jeremy:

Join us today, tomorrow, the next day in praying for Shad’s recovery. Pray the Lord Himself would reach down (like we see in Psalm 113 where He humbles Himself to behold the things in heaven and on earth to care for the poor and the needy), hold together, and breathe strength and life into Shad’s fragile heart and lungs.

Pray for the nurses, doctors, surgeons, and all who are involved in the process of Shad’s recovery. We’ve seen with our own eyes the weight they carry as they care for these precious children whose bodies are fighting with all their might to hold on. Pray for peace and rest for them, that they would not carry this burden into Shad’s room, but instead they would walk in with hope that would move Shad to keep fighting even when he feels tired and weary.

Shad found the tubes, his inability to talk because of them, and his inability to get up from his ICU bed very agitating and miserable previously. Let’s pray that the Lord would release him from this frustration this time around, that he would not emotionally or physically work against the things that help to sustain his body, heart, and lungs until he can do so on his own. Pray that the Lord would place people and things around him to give him joy, make him smile, and help him relax despite uncomfortable tubes and his inability to communicate.

Pray for Shad’s father. Any of you who are parents can consider what to pray for this man who is waiting to see if his son pulls through, waiting in a foreign land away from his family and friends. Pray for me, that I would be able to carry the presence of our Lord to this hurting father, that this time together would give us a deep bond, and that we together would know His real peace and be able to rest in and trust our Lord as thwey wait today, tomorrow, and the next day to see how Shad will do.

You can also pray for Shad's mother who is still in Iraq with his little brother and sister. She feels completely helpless for her firstborn and for her husband.

And please pray for Jessica, Emma, and Micah who have suffered in their own way during my absence.

Pray however the Lord may lead you. But please do not stop praying. We have strongly felt today that this little boy needs to be covered in prayer. We have a surgeon and team who are able to perform the most complex surgeries and understand what is needed to repair hearts in a way that can give these kids the opportunity to live, to live into adulthood, graduate, marry, have kids, work. But God is the One who sustains and strengthens their bodies, that are far weaker than they should be, after living for way too long without the health care needed to have repaired hearts. A good hospital and a good surgeon just aren’t enough. We need God.

Click here to see pictures of Shad and read blog updates from this group of surgeries.

Above all, pray like Joshua, that God would act for the sake of His great name. Pray that God's name would not become a by-word among Shad's family, their Kurdish friends and neighbors, or their Iraqi brethren. Pray that God would be known and loved in this. Pray that in acting God would draw people to himself. Indeed God values the life of one child, but there is so much more at stake here than that alone.

Mission Waco Donation Clinic

2009-06-02T07:47:00.002-05:00

Here's this month's newsletter from the clinic. Please pray that Christ will be honored and God will be glorified in that place...

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Mission Waco Donation Clinic News: June, 2009

Treating the Physical, Emotional & Spiritual needs of the working poor and homeless while serving as a bridge for getting our patients long-term help…

“Hope and Help”

“Bryan” came to our clinic this past month on a Tuesday night. Like most Tuesdays, the waiting room was packed, and – unfortunately – Bryan was one of three folks that we had to turn away for lack of time. We assured him that his name would be at the top of the list for the next clinic night, but extenuating circumstances meant that he would not be able to return. Wanting to help him, we talked with Bryan about his symptoms, and our volunteer nurse determined that what he needed involved lab work and x-rays (services that our clinic cannot provide). After giving Bryan some over-the-counter medicine to help alleviate his symptoms, we were able to set him up to see one of the family practice doctors the very next day. Before sending him off, we prayed over Bryan for his healing and for his family situation. Even though he never even saw a doctor that night, our desire for Bryan is that he left with a glimpse of the hope of Christ.

PLEASE PRAY…

Praise the Lord! We’ve had several new doctors volunteer this month, and our June calendar is looking good. We would still love to have more professional volunteers - particularly nurses - but we are grateful for how the Lord has provided for us this month. Thank you for praying.

Welcome to Kennedy! We are in full swing with our summer intern, Kennedy. He is a health science studies major and is already proving to be a valuable asset. Again, thank you for praying for us toward this end.

We are looking for ways to expand our services (like taking a more active role in helping our patients get plugged into social services that they qualify for but haven’t taken advantage of due to inability to navigate the “system.”) Please pray for our wisdom in how to effectively operate with limited funds and time. We serve a powerful God and know that nothing is impossible through Him!

***Please continue to pray for us that we would serve the homeless, poor and marginalized of this city with the love and power of God and that every resource that is needed for this work would be supplied!!

Thank you for your encouragement, help, and assistance!

Georgeen Scanes & Leigh Saxon

Mission Waco Donation Clinic

The Big Things and the Little

2009-05-28T09:44:00.003-05:00

It's the big things.

Recently, some friends of ours got married. It was a beautiful ceremony. Even more special was the fact that Paul's very best friend, Madalyn, was a flower girl. As she walked down the aisle, I couldn't help but be amazed at how much she has changed in the past 2 years. Of course, it made me think of Paul. What would he look like now as an 8-year-old? Who would his friends be now? Would he still be in love with Nascar? Would he squirm during the wedding service? Be excited to wave at Madalyn? I'm not naive enough to believe that the two would continue to be friends or eventually get married or anything silly like that. But, a wedding ceremony does leave me to wonder... and wondering always makes me cry.

It's the little things.

Nutrigrain bars. Some people call them cereal bars; we always called them cookie bars. Paul was my only child who liked them, and we bought them regularly. It was a quick snack that I always felt was nutritious, so I let him have them whenever he wanted. I can remember many times cutting them into little pieces (one cut length-wise and four cuts long ways) and putting them into a snack baggie for the trip to the clinic. Well, about six or seven of those things have been sitting in the bottom of our cookie jar since before Paul died. That's two years for those of you who don't know. I haven't had the heart, guts, emotional fortitude, desire, or whatever else it would take to throw them away, so they have remained.

Recently, I decided it was time. I stared at them, then I turned my back on the cookie jar and cried. Finally, in one complete motion and in about 1/4 of a second, I scooped them out of the jar and pitched them into the garbage. Then I cried some more.

Yeah, it's the little things. And the big ones.

Good Schtick

2009-05-06T16:54:00.003-05:00

I was cleaning out my desk the other day and I ran across something worth sharing. A while back, my sister-in-law gave me one of those "one-a-day" calendars. You know the kind I'm talking about - you tear off a page every day (except on the weekends when they cheat you and give you two days at a time - that's really lame).

Well, this was one that had excerpts from a book (or maybe several). I can't remember the author, so I can't give credit, but let's just say that I didn't write any of this stuff. I saved a few of the days, and re-reading them, I think they are worth saving.

Just wanted to share a few that I thought were good:

Thursday July 4
Do we really understand how far the American Dream is from God's dream for us? We're steeped in a culture that worships freedom, independence, personal rights, and the pursuit of pleasure. We respect people who sacrifice to get what they want. But to be a living sacrifice? To be crucified to self?

Tuesday May 28
The truth is, the farther you go for God, the narrower the road becomes and the harder God will judge you should you fall into serious sin. You've tasted amazing things from His hands, but you can lose it all - for a period of time or for the rest of your life. The grief can be staggering.

Thursday October 17
God is waiting for each of us to grab hold of a greater vision for our lives - a vision that matches His own - and plead with Him for it to come true. To be more fruitful for God, we need more opportunity, and we need to see the opportunities already surrounding us that we have continually overlooked.

Sat/Sun October 12/13
Will you let God work in your life regardless of what He chooses? It will always be for your best.

Monday August 19
Countless Christians allow fear to stop them in their tracks because they assume that the feeling of fear is a red light from God (and a feeling of courage is a green light). Yet when we feel fear in following God, we are told to "take courage." In fact, those who achieve greatness for God run toward the discomfort zone because that's the primary place where borders expand.

Tuesday July 23
Letting the Spirit speak through us is meant to happen on a regular basis. This is the NORMAL Christian life. You and I are called to be His ambassadors - He rarely uses any other option. He's not going to speak from heaven at our workplace or in school hallways. He won't send an email to your straying friend. God needs the mouths of His people to be filled with His Spirit.

Sat/Sun July 20/21
Life change takes place when you change how you think. Truth is wasted in our lives if we don't put it to work to accomplish what God wants. Jesus promised, "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." (John 8:32) Yet most of us are only beginners at experiencing God's blessings because we haven't let the truth set us free by changing what we think and do.

Good Schtick, I think. Hope it is encouraging and challenging to you today.

The greatest of these...

2009-05-01T19:15:00.000-05:00

People keep asking me the question, "How was your trip?" That's a tough one to answer. I usually reply with "It was great!" and then wonder how much they really want to hear. It's hard to do the trip justice even with a limitless amount of time, much less while in line at the grocery store or in between carpools.

So... here I will attempt to answer that question with more than just, "It was great." How was my trip? Well, it WAS great.

I've written about my trip to the local hospital (blog entry 4/19), which was tough and left me feeling inadequate, powerless, and hopeless. But what I have wanted to follow up with is my trip to Kadeeja's house that same afternoon.

Kadeeja is the 16-year-old who had heart surgery several weeks ago. The surgery was a huge success and literally saved her life. It was so wonderful to see the excitement in her eyes and the love her family feels for Jessica and the kids. They opened their home to us and treated us like extended family.

I have a very vivid memory of sitting in Kadeeja's home and witnessing Jessica talking Kurdish to about 10 other women of various ages... talking, laughing, hugging, kissing. Occasionally, she would have time and breath to fill me in on the conversation, and other times, I could get the gist of it based on hand and facial gestures.

And I really believe I was witnessing a miracle... I was witnessing relationships tearing down the walls of discrimination, judgement and fear. How easy is it for me to judge that all Muslims hate Americans and are willing to sacrifice their own lives to destroy ours? How easy is it for Muslims to discriminate against all Americans as being the immoral, rich and petty people they see in Hollywood films? And how easy is it for both sides to fear each other... fear what they don't know or understand?

But that one afternoon, in that one home, with that one family, RELATIONSHIP was happening... in the name of Jesus. Jessica was unconditionally loving these women...not judging them or debating with them... but loving them and living life alongside them.

And they were responding... They were responding to love. They were responding to a relationship. They were responding to Jesus.

None of these women are believers yet. But I have no doubt that the Lord is seeking after them and pursuing them, and orchestrating the events in their lives to point to Him. I believe that one of them, maybe two, or possibly even three of these women will one day be followers of Christ. And not because they were talked into it, or shown the error of their ways, but because of one compelling factor: Love.

I saw a lot that day. I saw the despair, the hopelessness, the endless need of proper medical care for a sea of people who lack the money necessary to get it, I saw a child dying, and a desperate mother waiting. And I also saw hope. I saw the difference that love can make for one family. I saw the future of a young muslim girl changed not just because her physical heart was healed, but because of the power of the Holy Spirit to change her spiritual heart.

"But now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."
1 Cor. 13:13

Pics from my trip

2009-04-29T16:21:00.002-05:00

I'm anxious to write more about my trip to Iraq. In the meantime, click here for a slide show of a few pics.

The Older I Get, The Less I Know...

2009-04-25T16:59:00.004-05:00

Kadeeja (bottom row in the pink) is a 16-year-old girl who recently had heart surgery in Turkey through the Preemptive Love Coalition. She is currently doing very well.

It's really true that I know less now than I used to. When I was 20, I had all the answers (actually, it was from about age 14 until 34). Now that I'm 40, I just have a lot of questions.

I went to Iraq looking for answers. I came back with more questions. Questions like:

How do I - an unskilled, unrich, individual without any clout or "weight" to throw around - begin to help Iraqi kids who need heart surgery?

How does an organization begin to address the CAUSE of these heart issues in addition to saving the lives of those already affected?

How can I help inside a culture I don't understand?

Why was I born in America where I receive and even expect the best medical care that is almost completely covered by insurance?

How do I care for a person's physical heart (the temporal) in such a way that communicates my care for their spiritual heart (the eternal)?

How do I love someone who is so different from me... how do I avoid seeing them as a "project"... as someone I want to change?

How do I justify helping people halfway around the world when there are others right in my own neighborhood who need help?

Why - in spite of all our efforts and prayers and in opposition to every doctor's prediction - do some kids die? How do I speak hope to these parents who don't yet know the promises of Jesus?

Why can't I just forget about all those kids (because there's really nothing I can do), stay home and watch American Idol twice a week, teach the 5th grade boys' SS class, and just give generously to the Lottie Moon missions offering every year?

Whenever I have these overwhelming questions without definite answers, it takes me a good long while, but eventually, I find my way to John chapter 14. Jesus is talking to his disciples about going to prepare a place for them. He says, "...And you know the way where I am going." Then Thomas has a response that I love: "Lord, we do not know where You are going, how do we know the way?"

I love this because it is TOTALLY the way I would respond. Especially because I am so "directionally challenged", I would panic, thinking there was some map we were supposed to all have that I must've lost or missed out on. I want to know the details... give me directions... when do I turn left, how long do I travel down this road before turning right? I want specifics.

But Christ's response was beautiful. It is, simply: Me. "I am the way, and the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father, but through Me."

Jesus is the answer. To all those questions.

How do I help? Jesus
Why was I born in America? Jesus
How do I love someone different from me? Jesus
Why do some kids die? Jesus

Now, I know that there are times when very specific answers are necessary, but - at least in my life - those specifics don't come until I accept JESUS as the answer first. It is in looking to Him and for Him that the details and the specifics are revealed, or - more often than not - seem to fall into place without any effort or knowledge or great revelation on my part.

For example, in John 13, Jesus says to his disciples, "If I then, the Lord and the Teacher, washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I gave you an example that you also should do as I did to you."

What kind of love, sacrifice and humility does it take to wash someone's feet? Beyond what I know. And yet, I think that's the answer. I am not called to Iraq to save kids' lives. I am not called to Iraq to convert people to Christianity. I am not called to Iraq to "enlighten" them or bring them wisdom or open their eyes to the truth.

I am called to Iraq to wash their feet, and I cannot wash their feet until I love them. And in the process of loving and washing feet, I will receive the amazing blessing of watching the Holy Spirit do His job of changing lives and "enlightening the eyes of their hearts so that they may know the hope of His calling..."

That sounds all spiritual and wise, doesn't it? I might even have you convinced that I know what I'm talking about. Don't be fooled. I don't. I've got a long way to go, and what I really want is for someone to tell me when to turn left and how far to go to get there.

Home

2009-04-22T23:01:00.001-05:00

I'm home. Great trip. Can't write now. No sleep for 42 hours. Must get to bed. More later...

Just another day in Iraq

2009-04-19T18:45:00.002-05:00

I'm really struggling to find the words to explain today. It's late here (almost 3 am) so this could either be beneficial (as I do consider myself to be a night person) or detrimental (since I can honestly say I'm considerably tired).

But I guess first I have to back up to last night... a young woman and her husband came to dinner. This is the couple who lost their 6 month-old daughter, Honyar, after her heart surgery. The Courtney's know the language here incredibly well, but were so wise to ask their interpreter and friend to also be here - just to be extra careful to get it right.

She is a stranger. She is from another generation. She is from another culture. We have nothing in common, with the exception of one thing.... the pain, the chaos, the desperation, the emptiness of losing a child. I hope that the time we spent together was helpful for her. It was for me.

Maybe later I will be able to write about this night in more depth. Tonight, the words escape me.

It almost seems disrespectful to move on from here, but I cannot sign off without telling you about today.

It began with a trip to the local hospital here. This is a place where the children are often diagnosed, where heart tests are done, but nothing is fixed. There is no surgeon here, no machinery to do what needs to be done. There are 5 kids per room, each waiting for something. For many, that something is simply the right prescription, a few stitches or an antibiotic. But for others, what they are waiting for will never come because they need heart surgery. Heart surgery that is being done routinely in the states and in other parts of the world. But not here.

The cardiologist here is a kind man who works tirelessly, but I am sure he gets discouraged every time he says, "I'm sorry. There is nothing I can do. Your child needs surgery or they will die." He showed us into the "ICU" (admitting that it is this because there are only 3 beds instead of the standard 5 per room, and it is a little bit cleaner than a regular room).

There was only one baby in this room. His mother was holding him, and he was a familiar shade of blue. Even half-way around the world, there was so much that was familiar to me: the mom, alone with her baby, holding him gently and watching between the baby, the monitor and the doctor - her eyes going from one to the other; her supplies set up neatly on the bed, within reach; the puls-ox monitor clipped onto the baby's toe registering heart rate and oxygen saturation levels; the steady blinking and beeping of the monitors; and this I couldn't actually see, but I could feel it: the agony of knowing that your child needs something that you are completely unable to give him, and the total vulnerability and desperation of wanting and needing someone to do something to make it all better.

Speaking in English (the mother could not understand) the cardiologist said, "This baby needs heart surgery, but there is no way to do it here. We are waiting for him to die."

And I just stood there. Staring. Staring at this mother, wanting to tell her it would be OK, wanting to make it better, wanting to fulfill that little bit of hope she still had for a miracle.

But I didn't speak a word of her language and even if I did, I had nothing to say. Nothing. I had no hope for her. I didn't even offer her a hug. I simply turned and walked away. What can I do for her anyway?... I'm not a pediatric heart surgeon. And her son is one of many... too many.

So I left. I walked away from the monitors and the beeping and blinking. I walked away from the medical supplies and the nurses. I walked away from the waiting and the desperation.

I left that mother to be alone and to wait for her baby to die.

In Iraq

2009-04-18T07:32:00.002-05:00

I am here and finally awake!! We arrived to the house about 4 am on Friday morning and then slept until 2pm. We spent the rest of the day at a party with about 30 other workers (mostly Americans) who live here and in surrounding cities.

Today has been my first real exposure to the Kurdish life. We spent the morning at the local market and then went to a Kurdish restaurant for lunch. Even for a picky eater like me, it was good! I had chicken and beef kabob and rice and beans and some kind of spinach sauce, which I claimed tasted like salsa, but no one else agreed! I think it actually just LOOKED like salsa, but when you're ten thousand miles away from Ninfa's, the power of suggestion can work wonders!

Tonight, we are having a Kurdish family for dinner. This family's 6-month old daughter went to Turkey for heart surgery, but she past away after the surgery. This was just a couple of months ago.

I don't know what tomorrow will hold. Hopefully, the chance to meet more Kurdish families and more time to spend with my American friends here. It is amazing to see how they have adapted to life here, learned the language and respect the culture, and it is wonderful to see how their local friends and neighbors respect and love them, knowing it is the love of Jesus that brings them here.

Speaking the powerful name of Christ over this city...

Thanks for praying...

Almost There...

2009-04-16T10:45:00.002-05:00

Well, I'm not in Iraq yet, but I am enjoying our 24 hour layover in Istanbul. We arrived in the Ataturk Airport last night around midnight, and spent the rest of the night at the Side Hotel (pronounce See-day). After 8 hours sleep and a hot shower, I was a new woman!

One amazing blessing of this trip is hooking up with our friends, the Branhams. They live in Instanbul, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to see them. After a phone call, a bus ride and a short walk, I am now in their dining room after eating a delicious dinner that Joni prepared. It is so good to be able to hug their necks, see their children and spend time in their home. There is just something about knowing their surroundings and experiencing their life that will make me feel more "connected" to them when I return home.

I am really enjoying Istanbul. It seems that each time I come, I realize how much I really love this city. It's crowded, loud and stinky, but in a good way :-)

We leave tonight for Iraq at midnight (4 pm Texas time). It's a short 4-hour plane ride, which will be a breeze compared to what we've done so far!

This is a dark place, but God is powerful. Here, I am constantly reminded of the enemy's deception: the call to prayer heard throughout the city 5 times a day, women who cover their heads and/or their entire faces, and mosques with minurets so tall they can be seen for miles. But our God reigns and even this city belongs to Him!!

Thank you for praying...

Pants, a Passport and Peanut Butter

2009-04-14T10:33:00.002-05:00

What does one pack when going to Iraq?

That's been on my mind for a couple of weeks now. Well, let me tell you that I've narrowed it down to a few important things:

1) Comfortable (and culturally appropriate) pants. I've managed to find some comfortable ones, but culturally appropriate? To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I'm guessing it's a heck of a lot less tight and an amazing amount more high-wasted than anything you can find in this country.

2) Passport. This is a given. I've made copies for all my luggage and left a copy here at home. I've emailed a scanned copy to my friends in Iraq. I've memorized my passport number. I'm stopping short of having it tatooed to my arm.

3) Peanut Butter. I don't know what the food will be like in Iraq, much less on the plane. With the amount I've packed, I can survive on peanut butter and water for about 8 1/2 days.

So, in a matter of hours, I'm off! Thanks for praying. I don't really know what to ask you to pray specifically, because this trip is so much an unknown. But, in a way, that's been great. It has given me (forced me, actually) the opportunity to depend on Him and watch His agenda unfold....

Helping the Grieving, Part 2

2009-04-05T11:04:00.002-05:00

There are some things that we are born knowing. Men, for example, emerge from the womb with the knowledge of how to shoot a gun. Women know from birth how to find shoes on sale.

Other things have to be learned. Walking beside a grieving friend is, at least for most of us, one of those things.

"Leigh's Grief Rule #2" is one I actually learned from Jack: DON'T DENY ME MY GRIEF. In other words, don't try to make me feel better. If I'm crying, let me cry. If I'm mad, get mad with me. Don't panic that I'm losing my faith if I cuss or get hacked off at God.

Let me put plainly into words something that you already know: there's nothing you can say in those moments that will make the hurt go away. In fact, there's probably very little you can say that I haven't heard already. In those moments when I lose it, all I need is an understanding ear and a gentle hug. Don't try to fix it.

Now, I'm NOT saying that there isn't room for thoughtful words (case in point, my last post). "Rule #2" applies specifically to those "moments" when I'm suddenly overcome with grief because of a memory, a song, or for no apparent reason at all. During those times, I need to feel the freedom to emote, to vent, to have a "good cry." How does a good friend help in that process? By simply physically being there, listening, and being OK with silence.

In fact, something you say to me (or my answer to your questions) might actually make me cry. Don't feel bad. Don't think you need to apologize. You didn't make me sad. I'm already sad. You just allowed me the opportunity to express it.

Helping the Grieving, Part 1

2009-03-30T21:41:00.004-05:00

I've decided that instead of writing about grieving, I'll write about something much more useful: how to help someone grieve. This will be a process, and there's a lot to cover, so I'll probably do it in several posts.

First let me say that these are things that no one knows until they actually go through the grief process. Before Paul died, I never did this right. So, if you've done something that's the opposite of what I say, don't sweat it. I've done a million things wrong (and still do, actually, cuz old habits are hard to break). Plus, these are just MY thoughts on the subject. Everyone is different, and I could be wrong (but I doubt it!)

In fact, I'd love to hear from other Moms on this subject (Marlo, Abra, Karen, Others??). If you agree or maybe have a different perspective, then please comment.

So, with that said, here goes:

My first and greatest rule is: PLEASE TAKE EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO TALK ABOUT THE PERSON BEING GRIEVED FOR (would that be the grievee?? not sure, but you know what I mean). One of the best things a person can do for me is to talk about Paul. Even if it's a story I've heard a million times, I will still enjoy hearing it again. My dad is great about this. He has a cajillion hilarious Paul stories, and he never tires of telling them. When I can remember Paul with someone, I am blessed. Sometimes someone will share their favorite memory of Paul with me, and I beam. Or sometimes someone will tell me a story about Paul that I never knew (something that happened when I wasn't around). Even when it is something mundane and unremarkable, just knowing something new about him is wonderful.

For some reason, we adults have difficulty with this one, but kids are great. They don't have whatever it is we have that makes us feel awkward about grief. One of my favorite memories after Paul's funeral is of my friend's daughter, Emily (who was about 4 years old at the time). I was having lunch with their whole family, and we were catching up on things. This was the first time I had seen them since the funeral, and Emily was full of questions. She interrupted our adult conversation (probably about where we were going for summer vacation or if they had eaten at the newest restaurant in town) and asked, "Where was Paul when he died?" An appropriate question, I thought, for a young mind trying to wrap her head around the actual process of dying. I explained to her that since Paul was in some pain before he died and needed to get medicine very frequently in the middle of the night, he was in my and Terrill's bed - right in the middle. She seemed satisfied with that answer, her parents only slightly uncomfortable, and we continued on with our adult conversation. Several minutes later she chimed in again: "What was Paul wearing when he died?" I couldn't help but laugh, and I had to tell her that no one - not one single person - had ever asked me that before. At this point, Mom's discomfort level was rising - not sure if she should reprimand little Emily or not. I assured her this was a question that I would love to answer. I told Emily that because Paul hurt a lot, we didn't change his clothes at night. He didn't get into his pajamas - we just let him sleep in whatever he wore that day. He was wearing his very favorite T-shirt when he died (one that was on his back if it wasn't in the dirty clothes). It was a red shirt with black letters that said: "It's My Brother's Fault". Well, with that, she and her two older brothers almost fell out of their chairs laughing, which made all the adults crack up, too. Paul making us laugh... What could be more healing to a grieving mother? Thank you, Emily. Thank you for caring what Paul was wearing when he died, and thank you for giving me the chance to tell you.

See, I don't get to hold Paul, kiss him, or hear his sweet voice. All I get to do is remember him and talk about him. So, when you allow me to do that, it is like a warm cloth on an aching joint. Is there a possibility that I might cry when I speak of my precious boy? Absolutely. But that's OK. Which brings me to Leigh's Grief Rule #2...

For the next post.

Me and Mad

2009-03-25T20:56:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I just get mad.

I miss Paul. I miss him. I miss him. I miss him.

How many ways can I say it? How many times can I cry about it? What in the world can I do about it?

I just miss him. I miss him and there's nothing I can do about it and I will live the rest of my life missing him and sometimes that just really PISSES ME OFF!

I will try really hard not to take it out on you...

...but ya never know.

Gainfully Employed (partly part time)

2009-03-23T13:01:00.006-05:00

I have a job.

Like boyfriends and pregnancies often do, this job came when I wasn't looking for it.

I have written about my journey over the past year or so to diligently seek the Lord's direction in how I am to spend my time now that my boys are in school. I spent the last year and a half praying about it and committing myself to NOT take on any responsibilities. I wanted to be careful and purposeful in making commitments. I was expecting that after a year of praying toward it, some huge revelation would come over me... some great "calling" that the Lord would place on my shoulders with great pomp and circumstance. Yeah, that didn't happen.

I have also written about finally coming to the place where I knew I just needed to start moving forward. It's one thing to know that you should be doing something, and another thing to actually know where to start. In the Lord's perfect timing, it was during this fumbling time in my life that I heard a radio spot on KLOVE asking for volunteers at a medical clinic in Waco called the Meyer Center Donation Clinic(under "Programs" click "Clinic"). This clinic operates on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, providing medical and dental care to folks who don't have insurance and cannot afford to pay for medical services. (The clinic is a ministry of Mission Waco, which is a Christian-run organization that serves the poor in our community). This immediately sounded interesting to me, so I called.

That was in December.

In February (after volunteering there several times and loving every bit of it), the coordinator told me that he would be leaving in May to start similar clinics in China. Naturally, they were looking for someone to take his place. My first reaction was to throw my arm up in the air and yell, "ME!! ME!! Pick me!" However, I started to realize the reality of the idea: How could I be away from my family from 4 pm until 8 pm every Tuesday and Thursday night? These are the only 4 hours during any weekday that I get to see the boys. I simply couldn't be gone from them that much. It was out of the question.

So... I began to think creatively. How could this work? What about if Terrill and the boys worked with me? Jack would be great at handling office/clerical tasks. Whit would be too young for that, but what if he and Terrill hung out in the waiting area and played games with the kids and families while they waited?

And what about job sharing? What would really be ideal would be to find another person like me - who wanted to help, but couldn't do 2 nights. Perhaps someone would be willing to work one night, and I could work the other. But WHO? Who would want part of a part-time job helping the sick and the poor?

And then right before my eyes, in the most amazing of ways, the Lord worked it all out in every detail and in His perfect timing.

I prayed for the Lord's will, not sure if this was the path for me. I asked Him to provide that 2nd person. But to be honest, I couldn't imagine how He was actually going to do it. The clinic coordinator was leaving in less than a month. They had to replace him in the next 2 weeks. It didn't look promising.

I prayed a lot prior to my interview. I really wanted to hold these plans loosely, since they seemed so far-fetched. In my mind, best-case scenario would be that Jimmy, the Mission Waco Director, would be on-board with my job-share idea. I figured if that passed, THEN we'd have to start the impossible task of finding this person.

The interview blew my socks off! I never even pitched my job-share idea, because Jimmy came up with it on his own... and he came up with it on his own because he had the perfect person in mind... a nurse who was interested in the position, but hadn't applied because she didn't want to work a full 20 hours a week!

So within the next 24 hours, I became the new co-coordinator of the Meyer Center Donation Clinic!!

I was praying for bread, and God place an entire meal in my lap.

I just hope that, in days to come, when I am floundering and messing up in my new job, and as I begin to doubt myself and God's calling me there, that I would remember how He carefully worked out the details, even in the midst of my lack of faith.

When it seemed impossible, He made a way.

More than Prayer

2009-03-14T11:00:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, prayer isn't enough.

This is an idea that I've been learning for several years now (I'm a slow learner). At one point in my life, I would've considered this statement heresy. After all, prayer is powerful, prayer is our communication with Mighty God, prayer is... everything.

But, sometimes it isn't.

I've come to grasp the idea that prayer should be our FIRST response to any situation, but - more often that I have realized in the past - it is usually not the LAST response. It is often not the ONLY response.

First, we pray.
Then, we listen.
Then, we ACT.

There are differing amounts of time that pass between each of these steps, and we are wise not to rush the process. However, more often in my own life, I'm not guilty of rushing the process, I'm guilty of stifling it. I'm guilty of stopping at step one... Saying a heartfelt prayer for someone, checking that off my list, and then getting on with my life.

Shame on me. How many opportunities have I missed by not taking the time to listen and then act on someone else's behalf? I would be ashamed to know.

"...let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth." 1 John 3:18

Rules, Shmules...

2009-03-07T16:28:00.005-06:00

When it comes to rebelliousness, I'm a late bloomer. Most folks "sow their wild oats" in high school; a few do it in college. Me? I waited until I was in my 30s and had 3 kids.

I understand why rules exists, I just don't always believe they should apply to me. Yes, some rules are made for the protection of the public and should always be followed (kids in car seats, for example). Other rules, however, are made to punish the majority because of a minority fringe (hair cut guidelines in schools: because there are a handful of parents who would let their kids wear purple 3-foot mohawks, there must be a line drawn, and the school board arbitrarily picked that line to be above the eyebrows and the shirt collar).

I believe - right or wrong - that there is an exception to every rule. Now, I'm not talking about Biblical Truths, so don't go gettin' wadded up over a theological issue. I very much believe in absolute Truth when it comes to the Bible. When it comes to schools, companies and other earthly institutions, however, it's a different story.

Problem is that this idea was cemented in my mind whenever Paul was going through treatment. There were so many "Nevers" and "No ones" and "No Exception" policies that we blatantly ignored, that we began to believe that, as parents, WE were the ones who made the rules. The truth is that when your child is dying, there are no rules and you are willing to confront anyone who dares to tell you otherwise.

I remember my inaugural defiant act against authority. Paul had just been diagnosed, and he was having an abdominal CT done at Cook. This requires something called contrast to be mixed with clear liquid and then a certain amount taken over about a 2 hour period. They handed us his sippy cup full of contrast and told us to be back in 45 minutes for his next round. Well, on the second round of contrast, with only 15 minutes remaining, I found myself in a small waiting room with a VERY water-logged 2-year-old who was quite done with his sippy cup. The nurse kept returning to the room, holding up the sippy cup and disapprovingly looking at me. You know, like I had some power, some magical words that would make my sweet and obedient boy drink the last 6 ounces. I had just spent the last hour and a half using every bribe, threat and game I could think of to get the stuff down him. At this point, he was completely ignoring me and the cup. Of course, we were told, he absolutely HAD to drink that contrast. If he didn't, they would cancel the CT, and we'd have to come back and repeat the test another time (like some other day when he was incredibly thirsty or I had improved my mothering skills).

Well, I was not about to waste the amount of time we'd already spent in the hospital. I was determined that we would have that CT on that day. In an act of fierce protection of my son, I turned to the only other person in the waiting room (another mom) and said to her, "Not a word to anyone!" With that, I lifted that cup to my lips and guzzled the last ounces of contrast. It is one of my proudest moments as a mom! Paul was oblivious (he was busy watching the fish in the aquarium), but I was triumphant! The nurse returned, I held up the empty cup, she smiled and escorted us back to radiation.

And thus began my love of rule-breaking. It's something that I'm actually quite proud of. I'm just trying to figure out how NOT to pass it on to my kids!

God in a Garage Sale

2009-03-02T14:30:00.003-06:00

I'm going to Iraq in April.

I've mentioned the Preemptive Love Coalition before... it's an organization that was begun by friends from our church who felt called first to Turkey, and then ultimately to Iraq. Their group, the PLC, facilitates heart surgeries for Iraqi children. Since Iraq doesn't have the medical facilities necessary, PLC provides the money and facilitates the trip to other countries in order for the kids to receive the life-saving surgery.

These kids have many different kinds of heart problems, but the most common diagnosis is Tetralogy of Fallot - the same condition as Whit.

We have financially supported our friends for a while now, but recently I began praying about being personally involved. For many reasons, this was difficult for me. I have to be honest... I was extremely hesitant because getting personally involved is messy, and it almost always requires a sacrifice. I'm still quite content to stay inside the safe, comfortable walls of my home and feel sorry for myself. I mean, I'm still entitled to that, right? No one would blame me, would they? Staying here and sending money is a great option.

Before I got past that hesitation, I was faced with another: my pride. I began to realize that what was overcoming my hesitation to moving outside the walls of my home was not a Godly calling, but a search for significance. What a noble thing to do: go to Iraq and help the helpless. I mean, that's something to be proud of. Look at me, everybody!! I'm making a choice to go to that "bad" place and help people. I must be very Godly. [And yet, is it really? The reality is that it's little more than a tip of my hat to the needy.... but that's another post].
I didn't want that to be my motivation. I wanted to have a heart of compassion and love for people in need. I wanted to have the desire to follow Christ's example and command to "Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy." (Prov 31:8-9).

My confession is that my motives are not completely pure... that part of what is pushing or pulling me to Iraq is my own ego. But I do want that to change, and I believe that God has the power to use even poorly-motivated people, and if I wait to move until my motives are completely pure, I will never move.

And my dream and my hope is that by going to Iraq, by falling in love with families who are distraught over the health of their precious child, by seeing first-hand how God is working in amazing ways, by witnessing the transformation of hearts both physically and spiritually, that I will be so captivated by God that I will come to know truth: any good in me, any ability to help another person, any so-called "sacrifice" that I am able to make, is mine only because of the power of Christ. Christ alone is able to transform my offering of filthy rags into something meaningful and beautiful.

I had a garage sale this weekend. I know that seems like a leap in blog-thought, but there really is a connection. When I agreed to make the trip to Iraq, I had correctly estimated the cost of my trip to Istanbul. However, I had mistakenly assumed that from Istanbul to Iraq would be a quick (and cheap) bus ride. [Isn't that so ignorant of me... it's like I think that the entire area of Turkey, Iran, Iraq is just all the same place. As if someone from Iraq could fly into JFK airport and then just hop on a quick bus to Texas]. Anyway, as it turns out, the trip from Istanbul to Iraq is an additional SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS! Yikes! Thus... the motivation for the garage sale: I was hoping to offset this additional expense. With the help of my very generous friend, Jen, who donated several BIG items to my cause, I thought I had a decent chance of knocking a big dent into the $700.

After we closed our doors, hauled the unsold items to the Salvation Army, and put our garage back together, I counted my earnings. Would you believe the total?...

SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS AND SEVENTY FIVE CENTS!!

Praise God! Could He be any better?

Coloring Books, Bulletin Boards, and a Puffy "P"

2009-02-25T21:51:00.003-06:00

So... we're having a garage sale this weekend. No one is more thrilled than Terrill. He's been telling me for months that there is absolutely NO more room in our attic. I say you can always squeeze in one more box.

This week I've been doing a lot of sifting through closets and drawers and cabinets. This is always a long process for a pack rat like me, but it's made doubly tedious by the fact that I don't want to get rid of anything of Paul's. This means I have to carefully flip through every page of every coloring book. If there is even one picture that he colored, it must go in the "keep" pile.

Even trash isn't trash. In the boys' bathroom drawer I found a puffy purple "P" sticker - no doubt off of some craft that Paul made at church. Can't throw that away. It stays in the drawer right next to the hydrocortizone cream and the q-tips.

A while back we got our carpets cleaned and we moved the boys' bulletin boards into the garage and never moved them back. Yesterday, I was looking at Paul's: covered in Spongebob stickers, pictures from friends, and a photo of a minor-league baseball player who was a hero to Paul. Some of the items I remember helping him put up - carefully finding just the right spot; other things I don't remember at all. And that made me think of how many moments, events and routine days that I've forgotten. So many... and that makes me mad. I'm grateful for Jack - he remembers so much more than I do. I love to hear him re-tell a story about Paul that I've forgotten.

I pulled a framed print out from behind our armoir and dusted it off for the garage sale. Then, in it's place, I put Paul's bulletin board. It made me smile to think that I was selling a work of art for pennies on the dollar and replacing it with a junkie bulletin board littered with precious items taped on by tiny fingers.... far more valuable

Last night, after Whit went to bed, Jack and I returned to the garage to continue sorting and pricing. The radio was on and I heard a song that reminded me of Paul that I haven't heard since he died. Jack recognized it, too and looked at me immediately. I almost turned it off, but decided not to. So there we were, standing in our garage, knee-deep in books, legos and kitchen utensils, hugging each other and crying. I don't think the neighbors saw us, but I can't be sure.

Reaching back in the dark corners of closets and unearthing long-forgotten items brings back some wonderful memories. It made me start to think about what I've missed out on this last year and a half without Paul: how many laughs I've missed (about 952), how many kisses and hugs I've missed (5,674), how many Nascars I haven't had to buy (37), how many times I haven't had to answer the question,"How much bites do I have to eat?" (474), how many hand-print crafts I've missed bringing home (8), how many nights I haven't had to go back to the boys room to tell them to stop talking (162), how many time-outs I've avoided giving (2).

I don't know how much money I'll make at this garage sale, but the time I've spent with Paul this week has been priceless...

Nothing Unusual

2009-02-13T10:34:00.002-06:00

A few days ago, I was just minding my own business, doing some benign chores around the house. I remembered a tissue box that was empty, so I went to the bathroom to find a replacement. When I looked under the sink for the tissue, I saw something that reminded me of Paul. So I sat down on the bathroom floor and cried for 20 minutes.

I miss him more today than ever before...

Pray for Ali

2009-02-09T09:29:00.004-06:00

I found about about Ali through the Preemptive Love Coalition a "grass roots" organization which facilitates the life-saving heart surgeries for Iraqi children (the medical facilities do not exist in Iraq, so these kids have to be sent to other countries like Israel and Turkey to receive the surgery). It has challenged me to know that the heart surgery that Whit so easily received here in the States is completely out of reach for most Iraqi kids, many of whom suffer from the exact same condition as Whit (Tetralogy of Fallot).

Ali is from Jordan, but for the past year, he and his father have been in Israel receiving medical treatment. Recently, doctors have declared that they have done all they can for him, and his father has decided to take him home to his family. Read about Ali and pray for this precious child of God.

And while you're at it, check out Jack's blog for another piece of artwork...

2009-02-06T10:12:00.003-06:00

You know, I have to admit, I doubt myself in this new world of blogging. There are many times when I believe it's ridiculous and just a tad self-absorbed to believe that anyone really WANTS to hear my daily drudgery.

But then, I figure if you don't, then you just wouldn't read it. So, just know that while it's therapeutic for me to be "forced" to think my thoughts through enough to get them in writing, I completely understand the possibility of it all being trite and mundane to the rest of the world.

I guess that's just my way of apologizing for not having anything monumental to say.

The other day, I was working on a picture project, and I went through some old photo albums. Jack was about 2 years old and our only child at the time. It's really difficult for me to even remember only having one son. Paul and Whit weren't even a thought to us yet.

I looked at pictures of Jack sitting in the floor beside my grandmother... my grandmother who packed peanut butter crackers and cokes into a basket and took me on long walks and picnics... my grandmother who told me Bible Stories in bed at night without tiring for as long as I would ask, "just one more." ... my sweet ma-maw who passed away a few years ago.

I saw pictures of Jack in her tiny kitchen... that kitchen where she made countless batches of homemade biscuits for over 60 years... that tiny little area that always smelled of coffee and somehow became the focal point of all the huge family gatherings... that kitchen full of so many memories of my childhood (not to mention the childhood of my dad and his siblings)... that kitchen in the house which has been updated and sold to complete strangers.

I looked at pictures of Jack with my Aunt Ann, who, although she had no children of her own, always bought the perfect gifts at every celebration... my aunt who patiently listened to all my little-girl stories and worries and always had a kind word to return... my aunt who played dress up and rolled my hair like a princess... my Aunt Ann who is now suffering from Alzheimer's and doesn't even remember my name.

These pictures were taken just about 9 years ago. Nine short years, and yet so much has changed... so much that I would've never imagined. It makes me wonder what the next 9 will bring.

I know that God doesn't operate in a "time line" the way we do, and that He knows the future, but I think He was amazingly wise to not afford us that same ability. If I had known then what I know now, I.... well, I don't know how I would've coped. But, God hadn't given me the grace to cope 9 years ago because I didn't need it. He gave it to me only when I needed it.

I have been disturbed this week by a simple verse in Proverbs 31: "She [an excellent wife] smiles at the future." It disturbs me because I fear the future more than I smile at it. I fear that the cruelty of this world is not through with me yet. I fear that the next 9, 18 or 27 years could possibly be more tragic than the last.

And that's because I'm looking at my circumstances. I've got my eyes on the storm - or, in this case, just the possibility of some dark clouds looming in the distance - instead of on my Savior.

The excellent wife in Proverbs 31 smiles at the future not because her future is only full of happy things, but because she sees her future BEHIND the face of God. She knows that whatever her future holds, God's hand of provision and abundance is there. She knows that He collects her tears in a bottle and has inscribed her name on the palm of His hand. She not only knows it, but she BELIEVES it and she ACTS on it.

I know it, too. I know it because the Bible tells me it's so. I also believe it. I believe it because I've seen it in my own life.

Now, I just have to act on it...

A One-armed Woman

2009-01-27T12:26:00.004-06:00

Hello. My name is Leigh Saxon. I am 40 years old, and I only have one arm. I used to have 2 arms, but on July 14, 2007, I lost an arm. It wasn't in an accident - doctors had been telling me my arm was dying for several years. They told me I had no hope of saving it, but I still tried. Of course I did. What person wouldn't do everything possible to save her arm? We've all heard about medical miracles... I, for one, certainly believe the Lord is still in the business of orchestrating amazing things. So, our family, with the incredible help of an unbelievable support group, embarked on a journey to save my arm. But despite all our efforts, despite all of our research and medical treatments, despite the illogicalness of it, the Lord chose to take my arm away.

Life with only one arm is difficult. Some days are better than others. At my best, I can be grateful that I still have one arm, and I can thank God for the time I had both. I mean, I could've NEVER had that arm, so even though it's absence is huge in my life, I wouldn't trade my "two-armed" days for anything.

But there are also bad days. At times, I look around with jealousy at all the people who have two good arms. I hear them complain about a pain in their elbow or whine because they don't like the size of their wrists, and I just want to scream, "AT LEAST YOU HAVE TWO HEALTHY ARMS! LOOK AT ME... LOOK AT WHAT I AM MISSING... I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE WHAT YOU HAVE! SO STOP YOUR COMPLAINING AND GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND THANK THE GOOD LORD ABOVE FOR YOUR FULL-OF-PAIN, FAT-WRISTED ARMS!"
Fortunately, I haven't ever actually screamed that out loud.

One problem I have is that I really want to be able to look at my one-armed life without seeing what's missing. I want to see the arm that I have, love and appreciate having it, without longing for another one.... without remembering how good life was with both. Well, it's OK to remember that life, I just don't want to long for it to such a degree that I miss the blessing of my life today. But that's hard to do. I mean, my two arms got along so well! They were meant to work together, and they did! It is a constant challenge to see what I HAVE and not to obsess over what I DON'T have.

Life with one arm is possible, it's just difficult. I mean, I can actually survive with only one arm, I just have to get used to doing things differently than I did before. I have to allow myself time to adjust to living differently. I have a different perspective than I used to, and I can choose for that perspective to be a cynical, unhappy one, or I can choose the perspective of promise... God's promise that all of our circumstances here on earth are for the purpose of drawing us into Himself, and equipping us for good works "...which He prepared beforehand."

Recently, I was reading a book that was given to me by another one-armed mom, Marlo. In it, there is an interesting story about an emperor moth. The author writes about witnessing the moth emerge from its cocoon:

The great disparity between the size of the opening and the size of the imprisoned insect makes a person wonder how the moth ever exits at all. Of course, it is never accomplished without great labor and difficulty. It is believed that pressure to which the moth's body is subjected when passing through such a narrow opening is nature's way of freeing fluids into the wings, since they are less developed at the time of emerging from the cocoon than other insects.

All morning I watched the moth patiently striving and struggling to be free. It never seemed able to get beyond a certain point, and at last my patience was exhausted. I thought I was wiser and more compassionate than its Maker, so I resolved to give a helping hand. With the point of my scissors, I snipped the confining threads to make the exit just a little easier. Immediately and with perfect ease, my moth crawled out, dragging a huge swollen body and little shriveled wings!...My misplaced tenderness had proved to be its ruin. The moth suffered an aborted life, crawling painfully through its brief existence instead of flying through the air on rainbow wings.

I want to fly!!... I don't want to crawl. And even though it doesn't make sense to me that I would fly with only one arm, I choose to trust that the Lord is building within me a jet engine... in spite of my efforts to thwart His every move.

And so, I pray that even though I still have those bad days when I am cynical, belligerent and wallowing in my misery, I will recognize the situation as such and make a choice to change my perspective.

Of course, the above is only an analogy. One difference between actually losing an arm and my real life is that no one you're meeting for the first time ever asks, "How many arms do you have?"

Well, every analogy breaks down somewhere...

A Post From a Friend

2009-01-24T16:50:00.002-06:00

My dear friend, Judy, sent me this essay about Paul on his birthday. I loved it and hope you enjoy it, too. Thanks, Judy!

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Paul Did Not Die Here

We got the news early in the morning. Paul had gone home. The chains of illness no longer tortured his body. He was finally free from hospitals and needles and feeling crappy. The only glitch - he left behind an army of people who loved him and wanted nothing more than to watch him live out another eight decades on the planet.

It must be hard for the people who saw him on a regular basis and then suddenly did not. Hard for his family, who loved his smile and his charm and most of all his huge, huge heart. Hard for doctors who fought very hard to kill that nasty bug called cancer that felt so at home in his tiny body.

We live two thousand miles away. We did not see Paul every day, or every week. We saw him just a few special times, when he flew to our state to have treatments. We were blessed to have him and Leigh spend weekend days and nights hanging out on our couch and curling up in our huge papasan chair. We soaked up their company as we sat around fire pits and sang campfire songs. It was pure fun to tromp through the woods and throw rocks in the creek to give them a break from hospital routines. Even the drives down to the City and back were a treasure. I got to have long involved discussions with Leigh while Paul and Sam played hot wheels and legos in the back of the car. It was always a joy to have them in our company and in our lives.

And because we live far away, we were not able to attend the funeral. I am sure it was an amazing celebration of Paul's life. I'm not sure I would have been able to sit through it without weeping. Weeping for the loss of such a special life that touched so many people in six short years.

But because we were not in Texas in the weeks after Paul's death, we did not soak it in, as his everyday friends did. It was just a string of words....'paul died this morning...' that did not compute and did not add up. It is easier for us, even to this day, to let those words evaporate with no holding power.

Because Paul is still alive in New York. A year and a half after his death, he is not gone. I look out my back window and see remnants of a fire pit, covered in snow and hibernating until the spring thaw brings back the circle of lawn chairs. I see Paul, huddled in his mommy's lap, holding a long metal stick that has a smoldering marshmallow dripping off its end. Paul is still here.

I glance over to the bulletin board in my office and see a small pencil drawing on white paper. It is the top view of a hot wheels speed boat, carefully drawn and given to me by a sweet little kid who had worked very hard on it while we drove the long highways to VT and NYC. I can still see his face as he handed it over to me, ready to get rid of it so he could jump into his next creation. That Paul is still very much here.

Sunday will be the day Paul would have turned eight. But he won't be at his own party. He is somewhere sweet, enjoying the good life, and waiting to wrap his skinny little arms around his family again. And his family will have the party and celebrate his life anyway. They feel his lack of presence deeply and may never get used to the fact that he is gone.

But for those of us who live in Upstate New York, Paul is not gone. He was here and he is here, today and every day that his spirit lingers in our home.

Happy Birthday Paul. Wherever you may be celebrating today. You will always be missed. But more than that, you will always be remembered.

Yesterday

2009-01-15T08:25:00.002-06:00

First of all, thank you SO much for praying for me and for your amazing support. I am so grateful for that and have seen the power of it in my life many times over.

Yesterday went...well. I was smart enought to get to the hospital about 45 minutes early (I wanted to have plenty of time to wander around and cry so that I wouldn't burst into tears and freak out the poor volunteer coordinator). I pulled into the parking gargage, and started crying as soon as I pulled my ticket. It reminded me of when we first started treatment. Paul was young enough (barely 2) that we didn't have to tell him where we were going when we got in the car. About 10 miles into I35 he would fall asleep. He would wake up right as I was pulling into the garage to get the parking ticket, and he would know where where we were and start crying. Fortunately, that didn't last long. He eventually settled in and accepted the hospital as part of his life. And it was definitely part... a BIG part.

Which, of course, is why it was so tough to go back. Alone. The elevators, the cafeteria, the gift shop, the vending machines, the atrium, the waiting rooms, the stairwells, the SMELL... they are all so much of who he was.

So, for close to an hour, I wandered around and cried. I went to the gift shop and stared at the car section. Paul LOVED going there and picking out a car. Because he owned every last one of them already, I always tried to get him to pick something else. I'd show him the squishy light-up frogs and the multi-colored high bouncing balls, the sticker books and the notepad with disappearing ink. He'd take the time to look at everything, and then he'd pick out a car.... just like 3 others he had at home from the very same place.

I went to the cafeteria and looked at all the vending machines. Paul could ALWAYS find a penny, a dime or sometimes even a quarter in these things. (You people have no idea how much change you leave behind at these things - or how much joy a nickle can bring to a 6-year-old). No matter how much pain he was in, he could somehow manage to get down on all fours and look under the machines. Yesterday, I seriously considered doing that myself, but since I was alreay puffy-eyed and crying, I didn't want someone to call security on me!

I went to the 2nd floor surgery waiting area to visit a friend who works there. She lost a son 5 years ago, and has always been such a sweet source of support. The very first time I met her was when Whit was having his second surgery. She's been with me through the many biopsies, port removals and replacements, radiation, etc. I got to hug her neck and cry. That was good.

Oh, yeah... and then there was the interview. It went well. The volunteer coordinator seems like a very wise and patient person. She asked some great questions, I held it together and was able to answer most of them, and then she suggested a few options for me. I will have to go through orientation first (which will be sometime in February), get a TB test, and then I'll be ready to start! Sounds so easy, doesn't it?

The unexpected blessing of the day was running into all THREE of Paul's doctors at once. I couldn't believe it... they just walked around the corner as I was waiting on the elevator. It is truly a miracle because I have never seen all three of them together at once. Anyway, we stopped and talked for a long time. They were very encouraging of my volunteer endeavors, had some wonderful memories to share of Paul, and howled at a Terrill story I told (long story, but Terrill always had quite a reputation for telling the doctors what to do. Recently, he did the same thing when Whit ended up seeing a new doctor for an ear infection which didn't get diagnosed the way Terrill wanted it to. After he got involved, we had a prescription for antibiotics by the end of the day!) I hadn't expected to see any of Paul's doctors, and I got to see all of them. That was good.

After the interview, I had lunch with "Miss Audra." It was great to spend time with her, talk about Paul, and hear how her kids are doing. Paul loved her so much, and she could get him to sit up in bed and play games even when he was feeling crummy. I can remember many times as soon as we were registered and in a room, he would bug me to call Miss Audra. She always came... even when she was working in a different part of the hospital. That was good.

It is a difficult thing... leaving all "that" behind. Paul grew up there. There is familiarity and comfort in the things that remind me of him. The doctors, nurses and child life workers supported us and comforted us when Paul was sick, and rejoiced with us when he was feeling great. They loved him, too. They miss him, too. And that's good.

And I'm fine. Yes, I cried a lot. Yes, I was sad. Yes, I missed Paul in a way I haven't in a long time. But I don't mind. I don't mind crying. I don't mind hurting and being sad. That's what memories do, and I desperately want to keep those memories.

On the way home, I was still sad. Sad that Paul wasn't in the backseat deciding where we were going to eat dinner when we got home.

But, God is good. He is faithful and in control. He collects all my tears in a bottle, and has my name inscribed on the palm of his hand. And that's good.

Small Steps

2009-01-12T11:52:00.003-06:00

I have written before about the on-going saga of what to do with my life. It continues...

After Paul died, I deliberately took a year off from any responsibilities. I don't know if I had any specific reasons why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. I do know that my plan was to spend that year praying and seeking God's direction for how I would spend my time (since both boys would be in school). I didn't want to get sucked back into the mundaneness of life.

I envisioned a vision... you know, some great and glorious "sign" from God on what to do... a huge "aha" moment between me and God when everything makes sense and my destiny is revealed. Well, that didn't happen.

And so I waited and did nothing. Afterall, it was clearly the Lord's responsibility to pony up a plan and I was free to do nothing until He mapped it all out for me. And then a friend kicked me in the butt by saying: You know, Leigh, it's kinda like when you've been gone for the weekend, and you come home and the house is trashed. Your husband and children explain to you that they really wanted to clean up, but they just didn't know where to start.

So I prayed about it some more. And I came to a point of realizing that it was really quite simple.... all I had to do was to take the first step. It wasn't up to me to envision where it might lead, because it might lead absolutely nowhere. But I was being disobedient by doing nothing.

Since I had no direction and no idea where to begin, I just started at the only place I knew. One of my first steps was to call Cook Children's about volunteer possibilities. And here I am today, a few steps later, with an interview scheduled for Wednesday. Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not even certain I can make it out of the parking lot. There is no corner of that building that doesn't hold incredible memories of Paul, and I can't imagine walking down the long corridor out of the parking garage, down the stairs and past the cafeteria. I just hope the interviewer has plenty of tissue and a lot of patience. This might be a complete waste of time. But I'm confident that my next step of obedience is to go.

And so, I'm going. And I'm telling myself that I'm doing so without any expectations or agenda of my own. I'm telling myself that I'm doing this simply out of obedience and that I can handle whatever comes of it. That's what I'm telling myself. We'll see...

A Jack Funny

2008-12-18T20:49:00.002-06:00

Today, on the way home from school, I asked Jack if he'd had a good day at school. He replied with his ritual answer: "Yes."

"But you missed your mother terribly, didn't you?" I asked him.

He replied, "Yeah, let's go with that."

The Chicken Or The Egg

2008-12-08T08:30:00.002-06:00

A while back, I journaled this one morning:

Lord...
give me understanding so that I may give you back obedience.
give me strength so that I may give you back endurance.
give me wisdom so that I may give you back blamelessness.
give me peace so that I may give you back a content heart.
give me patience so that I may give you my trust.

I have to admit, I thought that was pretty good stuff. Sure, I was asking for a lot, but I was doing it for the right reason... the right motivation.

Lately, I've been hanging around in Psalm 119. Recently, I read these verses:
"I have more insight than all my teachers, For Your testimonies are my meditation. I understand more than the aged, Because I have observed Your precepts.... From Your precepts I get understanding..."

Clearly, the writer of this Psalm didn't first gain understanding and then become obedient (like my journaled prayer). Opposite to that, it was his obedience that resulted in understanding. I have been blaming my lack of obedience on my lack of understanding. I've been waiting on God to reveal some great thing to me so that I can then burst forth in unwavering obedience and devotion.

As usual, I think I've had the whole thing backward. The excercise and discipline of obedience is what will bring about wisdom and understanding. I step out in obedience without understanding (something called FAITH), and the understanding will follow as a result of my action.

I'm considering re-writing my journal:

Lord...
may my obedience result in understanding.
may I endure so that You will give me strength.
may I be blameless and, therefore, find wisdom.
may the discipline of contentment result in Your peace.
may I trust in You while being patient.

2008-12-03T08:28:00.003-06:00

We finally got Paul's permanent marker placed a couple of weeks ago. There was nothing satisfying in it.

"It's a beautiful marker."
Yes, it's beautiful

"I love the color of the stone."
It is a great color

"It's perfect."
Thank you

"It turned out so well."
Yes, it did

"You did a great job."
I hated every minute of it

Bragging on Jack

2008-11-14T09:12:00.003-06:00

I have to take this opportunity to brag on my eldest....

Last night, we were going through the stacks and stacks of the boys' artwork, picking out pictures to keep and to allow for bidding. Jack showed me a simple drawing that Paul had done of a flashlight. It had a button on it that he had labeled "ON" and "FOO"!! Well, I cracked up. I was laughing out loud and suddenly, in the middle of my laughing, I started crying. It surprised me, so I know it surprised Jack.

I haven't cried in front of him in a while. Don't get me wrong, I've definitely cried, but - for some reason - Jack hasn't seen it. I wondered what he would do.

And then, he amazed me...

He stood up, walked over to me, and hugged me. He didn't try to say anything to make me feel better, he didn't say, "Don't cry," or try to make me laugh. He just hugged me for a long time and let me cry. And that made me cry more.

For that amazing moment, I had the most unusual emotion. I was crying out of the deepest hurt that I will ever know... out of loss for one son, and I was crying out of the pure joy of an amazing moment shared with another son.

Lord, I don't understand your incredible ways, but thank you for Jack. Thank you for who he is and the man he will be...

His 11th birthday is tomorrow... so check out his blog and bid on his art. It's a wise investment!

The Remedy

2008-11-06T10:06:00.002-06:00

And if you give yourself to the hungry,
And satisfy the desire of the afflicted,
Then your light will rise in darkness,
And your gloom will become like midday.
-Isaiah 58:10

Wow. There it is in scripture, plain and simple: the remedy for feeling sorry for myself is in helping others.

Now I just have to get to a point where I want to stop feeling sorry for myself. Because wallowing in my misery is, somehow, very appealing.

I'll let you know how it goes...

2008-11-04T09:28:00.002-06:00

Let the name of God be blessed forever and ever,
For wisdom and power belong to Him.
And it is He who changes the times and the epochs;
He removes kings and establishes kings;
He gives wisdom to the wise men,
And knowledge to men of understanding.
It is He who reveals the profound and hidden things;
He knows what is in the darkness,
And the light dwells with Him.
Daniel 2:20-22
Go vote today with the joy and assurance that God is in control!!

Jack's Blog

2008-10-30T19:58:00.001-05:00

Hey, all...

Check out Jack's blog for his latest post.

What a great kid :-)

Jack's Blog

The Missing Indy

2008-10-03T14:08:00.003-05:00

The Indy 500 Race Car game is gone.

It used to be in the left corner as you exited out of our Walmart... right beside the big crane game. I noticed the other day as I was leaving that it's gone.

I froze right there at the exit, shopping cart and all, and stared at that empty spot. How many times did Paul crawl up in that seat? I used to hate that thing because I knew it would take every negotiating skill I had to get past it without stopping. "Pleeeeeeeeze, Mommy," he would say, "Just one minute?" I almost always gave in (he was hard to resist), and the ritual would begin: first, he'd stick his hand in the coin dispenser to see if there were any abandoned quarters there. Then, he circle the entire machine, looking under it for any run-away coins that might have found a place to hide. Finally, he'd end up in the seat and watch the display. He never actually played the game, he just watched the "promo" part and pretended to drive.

It was one of those big arcade games, so I'm sure that moving it was no small task. I wonder if the people who hauled it off had any idea the memories they were taking with them...

As I crossed the Walmart parking lot, the reality hit me that in little ways and big ways, life is changing. And that makes me sad.

Right now, our family dynamic is pretty unchanged since Paul's death. There are still so many memories of him. But as little things change - like the Indy 500 Race Car game at Walmart - it seems that Paul gets farther and farther away. I have this fear that his memory is somehow slipping away. Irrational? Maybe. Maybe not.

Whit is now 6, and very soon, he's going to hit that milestone that I've been dreading since the day Paul died: on March 19, 2009, he'll be older than Paul.... older than his older brother.

Jack was a baby 10 years ago. At the time, it was the most unforgetable and amazing thing that had ever happened to me. Now, however, it's hard to remember him as a baby.

So... what happens to my memories of Paul 10 years from now? Jack will be 20 - probably a junior in college. Whit will be 16 (and, hopefully, doing his best to stay out of trouble). The Legos will long be put away and the swords and nerf guns will find their way to the attic. Where does a 6 year old boy fit into that family? Will my memories of Paul still be so vivid? Will Jack and Whit still see a toy or hear a song and be prompted to tell a funny story about Paul?

And what about this house?... this is where Paul lived his whole life. He died in our bedroom, for crying out loud. How do I sell this house to strangers who have no idea the things that have happened within these walls? Moving would mean leaving behind so many, many memories. And yet, do we stay here forever? Maybe. Maybe not.

And what about when I'm 60?...70?...80? They'll no longer be playing songs on the radio that remind me of Paul, Jeff Gordon won't be driving the 24 car, and no one will have heard of Zathura or Nacho Libre.

Life goes on. I hate that saying. I hate it with everything in me. I hate it because it means things will change. I hate it because it means leaving behind a precious 6 year old boy.

But mostly, I hate it because it's true.

Questions and Answers

2008-09-10T12:09:00.003-05:00

Four score and twenty years ago in a galaxy far, far way, Whit did not talk. Then the Baylor Speech and Laguage therapists entered his life, and things are quite different currently. Today, he talks. And talks. And talks.

Currently, he's asking a lot of questions. Some of them are easy to answer: Can I have some more gum? Can I stay up later? Can I ride the dog like a horse? Others take a little more effort: Why do we have skin? How fast do clouds move? How far is space? Why are butterflies nice?

There was a time when he was working through questions about Paul: Why did Paul die? Why was Paul sick? Will I die if I get sick? Where is heaven? Where is God? There's nothing quite like a 5-year-old to force you to answer the really tough ones.

I think he's worked through all of that (or maybe he's just figured out that I don't know any more than he does) because he isn't asking those questions anymore. He still talks about Paul, but these days, it's not questions that he's asking, but memories that he's vocalizing.

His question-asking can be incessant at times and, I must admit, really tries my patience. I try hard not to let my frustration be heard in my voice, but I'm rarely successful. However, the other night, he asked a question that really got my attention. I was tucking him in bed, and he looked up at me and asked, "Mommy, why are we still alive?" I asked him to repeat the question, partly to make sure I heard him correctly, and partly to buy some time to think of my answer.

It took me a minute, but then I realized his angle. Whenever he would ask me why Paul died, I would tell him that the Lord was ready to have Paul with Him and to make Paul completely well by giving him a new body. I told him that God created Paul, loved him even more than we did, and had made a special place in heaven for him. Once he had grasped that concept, his next question was naturally, "Then why are we still here?"

And then I realized that I'm still stuck. Even though I'm giving my son all the answers, I'm still asking the same question: "Why did Paul die?" I haven't moved on to the next place yet: "Why am I still alive? What purpose does God have for me still here on earth?" What an extraordinary place of faith! To move past the "Why is Paul dead?" and to land on "Why am I NOT?"

I told Whit exactly what I believe: that he is still alive because God has a reason for him to be here... a purpose for him on this earth, and that God would not leave him here on earth, apart from Himself, for one minute longer than He absolutely has to.

I don't know if my answer helped Whit any, but his question did a lot for me. It's one I'm going to ask myself everyday until I have an answer.

Quote of the Week

2008-09-03T11:16:00.001-05:00

From Jack:

"I guess I'll have to fix my own breakfast. Mom's too busy playing Guitar Hero."

Blue Skies

2008-08-31T16:54:00.004-05:00

I haven't always been weird. It's something that's happened to me in the past 10 years or so. Because I haven't always been weird, I have to remind myself that I am. Actually, I get reminders from other people's reaction to the things I think are great ideas and that other folks think are stupid.

Like jumping out of an airplane... something I've "always" wanted to do. Terrill's heard me say this many times, and so, for my 40th birthday, he planned a skydive trip for me. When he told me, I was THRILLED! When I called friends to tell them, they were horrified.

But we did it.... yesterday!! And let me tell you that it was every stitch as much fun as I thought it would be!! It was the most thrilling thing I've ever done. And Terrill did it with me. (Thanks, Honey!) He wasn't crazy about the idea, but he realized the importance of sharing this experience. I mean, how much fun is watching a really good movie alone and then having no one to discuss it with?

Terrill and I have talked about it a lot, but we haven't really found words that explain the experience. Thrilling, exciting and fun just don't seem to do it justice. There were a few things that I didn't expect - like when the airplane door opened. That was an incredible sight... as I sat perched on the edge of the airplane looking down. It's a long way down - especially when you know how you're getting to the ground! Another thing I didn't expect was the wind. I mean, I knew it'd be windy, but I just didn't realize the power of wind against the human body falling at 128 miles an hour. Yeah - that's some wind.

And here's the strangest thing that surprised me: I never really felt like I was falling - it was more like I was flying. Vertically. Down. Fast.

My only complaint was that it was just too short. From airplane to ground was probably only about a 3 or 4 minute trip. I jumped at 10,000 feet (about 2 miles) and did a 30-second free fall. After that, the parachute part was just a walk in the park!

So... Thank you, Terrill for a WONDERFUL birthday and thank you, Higgs and Grahams, for hanging out with us and being there for moral support (and camera crew and video crew and refreshment crew and babysitting crew)!

The sad part is that I think my birthday celebrations finally have to cease. I milked it for all I could with dinners out, girls' weekend, skydiving... Now I've got to think about how to clean the top of the living room fan blades and what to fix for dinner this week.

Blue Skies....

p.s. as a follow up to my previous post, i want to let you know that i finally figured how to pray... i simply asked the Lord to do for the mikulaks exactly what He did for us: surround them with incredible people who love and support them, lead their son away from them gently and tenderly, and remind them of His faithful promise to never leave them or forsake them.

Venting

2008-08-29T23:44:00.004-05:00

Can I do a little venting here? If you want to hear something uplifting and encouraging, then stop reading right now. If you don't mind a little cussing and kicking of the dog, then please proceed.

I keep up with some Neuroblastoma kids. There are some spans of time when I check on them daily and other times when I go for a few weeks without checking in. Sometimes it's just hard... on several levels. If they are relapsed or refractory kids, then I know what lies ahead, and it's sometimes difficult to walk with them and hope with them when I actually have no hope for them. And then, it's also difficult to read about their lives... their family vacations that they squeeze in between hospital and clinic visits, their elation or disappointment that is governed by test results, the amazing ways they are being loved on and carried by their community of support... all so reminiscent of our lives when Paul was alive. I am happy for them... and jealous, too. Thrilled that they are still enjoying their child, and mad as hell that I am not.

I have been checking the website of Max Mikulak as regularly as I can lately. Max is dying. And he's in pain. A lot of pain. I was reading his website tonight and crying. I wanted to pray for his parents, but I couldn't think of what to say to God. So, instead I just yelled at Him... because what the hell does it matter what I say anyway? He knows what they need - they need the pain to end - they need their son to be healed - and yet that's not happening. My prayer's not going to change that. I couldn't pray for peace for them because I know that's ridiculous right now. Their son is IN PAIN. There's no peace there. So, the only other thing I could think to pray for was for Max to die sooner rather than later. That's it. That's all I could pray for? That SUCKS and it made me pissed off at God.... Mad because I know the heartache his parents are experiencing now, and I know the heartache they'll be experiencing a year from now when - as crappy as things are right now - they'll be wishing for these days back.... longing for those brief moments of joy with their son.

So there you have it. Midnight ravings from a mad mom. In the past, many people have left comments on this blog saying, "Thank you for being so honest" so here's a great big dose of honesty from me. If you like it, great. If you don't, fine with me. It still won't change reality.

It's late. I gotta go to bed.

A Fact of Life

2008-08-28T08:51:00.005-05:00

It happens everytime. It's an undeniable fact of life. There aren't too many sure things in this world, but this is one of them: the first day of kindergarten causes tears. Now, to the less experienced person, it would be logical to assume that it's the kids doing the crying (or perhaps, even the teachers), but the strange and surprising truth is that it's the MOMS.

Tuesday of this week was my third and final first day of kindergarten. It was met with the usual first-day excitement: everyone in the house is up early, breakfast is substantial, clothes are carefully laid out from the night before, and everyone seems to be watching the clock in anticipation. (Now if your home is like mine, then you already know that next week will be a sharp contrast: I'll have to roll the kids out of bed, throw a pop-tart at them, dig through the dirty clothes to find a "cleanish" pair of socks, and we'll all be watching the clock in desperation!)

The first day of kindergarten is definitely special. It is a once-in-a-lifetime milestone that must be captured on film in some capacity. It is the beginning of growing up for our children and letting go for us moms. I read somewhere that some women don't do it at all, and few women do it well, but that letting go of our children is the most delicate and important thing we can do. I can say that it's completely unnatural, it tears open a mom's heart, and it requires more discipline and self-control than I will ever have without the intervention of the Holy Spirit.

But Whit did fine. He strolled right into the classroom, found his seat, and began cutting and glueing like a pro. As I squatted down next to him to tell him what a big boy he was, I realized he wasn't listening, and I was just an intrusion now. It was time to go.

As I left the school, I was crying for many reasons: sadness that my "baby" was no longer a baby, gratefulness that I knew I was leaving him with a godly woman and teacher who is truly called to this agegroup, and fear of what awaits him that I can no longer protect him from.

I was crying because Whit was growing up. And I was also crying for Paul... who won't.

Hope and Tenacity

2008-08-14T08:57:00.002-05:00

I was doing a word study on HOPE recently, and I found this verse from Job 13:15:

Though He slay me, still I will hope in Him. Nevertheless, I will argue my ways before Him.

We all know the story of Job: God had allowed the enemy to take all of his prized possessions from him... ALL of his children were killed, his houses were destroyed and all of his material possessions and slaves were gone. Satan even took away his health (I've always found it interesting that nothing ever happened to his wife. She stuck around to nag poor Job).

So, in the midst of every imaginable earthly tragedy, Job declares that even if God goes one step further and kills him, his faith will remain intact. I have to admit, I've wondered what I would do in the face of tragedy. Whenever we sing certain songs at church ("Forever I'll love you, Forever I'll stand)... I have a hard time. Will I? What if that popular theory is wrong... the one about the believers being taken up to heaven BEFORE the tribulation? In the midst of all the Bible says will occur in those times, would I be one whose "heart is hardened"?

But Job knows - he knows with certainty, because he's in the middle of it all. He can claim that even if God kills him, he'll still believe, because he's already experienced things far worse than death... and his hope is still in the One and Only.

So, the part I really love is the next line... "Nevertheless, I will argue my ways before Him."
After declaring his unwaivering faith, Job follows up with a big BUT. "I will love You forever, LORD, but I'm still going to pour out my complaint to you because I want my situation to CHANGE!"

It's as if he's saying, "I love You, LORD, but I don't like what You're doing."

How many times has this been EXACTLY what I've felt? And here is the incredibly faithful Job saying it perfectly for me.

The Search for Significance

2008-08-10T14:51:00.002-05:00

I turned 40 yesterday.

40.

That sounds old.

I don't think it's any coincidence that I would turn 40 and in the same month my "baby" would start kindergarten. God's funny like that.

I've spent this past year praying about this month... about how I would spend my time once all my boys are in school "full time." Do I want to go back to work full time? Part time? Volunteer work? PTA? Go on some mission trips? The possibilities are endless, and yet I don't want to get sucked in to a bunch of piddly tasks that leave me frustrated and have no eternal significance.

I have to admit, I miss the hospital. Ironic, isn't it? The place I hated when Paul was alive, is now the place I miss. But I know it's just Paul that I miss... that place was where I spent so much time with him. Some of it was awful, but some of it was fun, too.

So, on the morning of my birthday, I was enjoying some quiet time in bed (thanks to Jack being vigilant to keep Pepper and Whit occupied as long as possible), and I was thinking about the possibility of volunteering at Cook. I found myself considering what tasks and responsibilities I could realistically handle as a mere "volunteer." At one point, I came to the conclusion that since it would be a 2 hour drive up and back, it would be senseless for me to do just "any" task... something that anyone who lived close by could do. I mean, why would I waste all that time just to disinfect toys or clean up the playroom? Anybody could do that. I want to do something more, something.... significant.

And then it occured to me: the backwardness of my state. To truly volunteer, to really serve someone, there is no task that's too menial. True servanthood is born out of love for those whom you're serving... not out of a search for your own significance. One is completely selfless, the other completely selfish. If I volunteer at Cook - or anywhere for that matter - with the intention of accomplishing something noble, something that makes me feel important or needed, then I am doing it for myself. But if I'm doing it out of true love and compassion for those I'm serving, then I am not just a volunteer, but a servant.

"...but whoever wishes to become great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave; just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve..." Matthew 20:28

So... here's my 40-year-old dilemma: how do I spend my time wisely and keep an eternal perspective in all that I do, and yet selflessly serve in any capacity, regardless of how menial?

I'm not sure, but I think, somehow, LOVE is at the root of it all. True, selfless, sacrificial love.

I've got a long way to go.

Life was so much easier when I was 20...

A Bronze Plaque and Imperfect Plans

2008-08-01T21:55:00.005-05:00

I got the plaque today.

It's been over a year, and we still don't have a permanent headstone for Paul. There's a good reason. It's that simple word: permanent. We knew we had one shot to make this what we wanted, but we weren't sure what we wanted.

After 3 different companies, umpteen different designs and countless detail changes, we finally made a decision. It wasn't an easy one: bronze or granite?... big or small?... lower case or capitals?... race car or not?... border or plain? How do you sum up someone's life in a 9" by 11" piece of stone?

We finally decided on a bronze plaque (which we ordered on-line) set inside granite (which we'll have to have done here in Waco by another company). After we exhausted the poor plaque designer by making more changes than humanly possible, we placed our order and.... waited. Waited for the 4 weeks it took to get the plaque in our hands. And it came today...

... And there's a problem. The first set of quotation marks around the scripture verse is missing. The second set is there, but not the first. I double checked to make sure it was correct in the design, which it was. So... just one of those production mistakes.

Which is actually quite appropriate, don't you think? I mean, no matter how much you plan, or how much you fret over the details, sometimes things just don't turn out like you expected. Proof of the limits of our "control" because, ultimately, things are out of our hands.

Mistakes happen. Life isn't perfect, and you can't predict when those unexpected bumps in the road (or deep, dark chasms) will find you. So we spend our time trying to prevent them or, when they do happen, trying to fix them.

Maybe I'll keep this "blemished" plaque as Paul's headstone to remind me of the imperfectness of life. On second thought, why the heck do I need a plaque to remind me of that? I wake up with that knowledge every morning.

Maybe I just haven't gotten my full 8 hours the past few nights, and I need to go to bed and email my complaint to the bronze company in the morning.

There I go... making plans again.

The Pain of Change

2008-07-17T08:24:00.005-05:00

Without a doubt, our family has changed in this past year since Paul's death. I can think of some specific ways that each of us is different now - some good, some not so good.

I, for one, am more introverted, less optimistic about the future, much more likely to feel sorry for myself, but I also have a clearer perspective of eternity.

I believe that the Lord is always "working" on us - always orchestrating our circumstances in order to grow us into something more, bring us closer to Himself, and prepare us for a greater earthly purpose.

My problem is that growth requires change and change is difficult. It necessitates the humility to admit the need for change and the discipline to make the change happen. It is much easier to settle for the way things are. Or worse, to let the inertia of my circumstances pull me into a bitter, unhappy heap of a person.

To grow, I must fight against the "gravity" of nature - the desire to complain, to feel sorry for myself, to compare my plight to others, and to let anger and disappointment control my life.

And yet, in the last year, I can see that - left to my own way - that is the very direction I would go. In fact, I've gotten down that road on numerous occasions. It's a downhill road, you understand, so you can be well into it before you even realize it. Then, to get off it, you have to backtrack by climbing uphill. It's a lot of work - mentally and emotionally.

Truth is, there's nothing special about the one year mark. I wasn't any more sad about Paul that day than any other day. But it is a good reminder to reflect back over this year - to admit my mistakes and my need for change, to ask the Lord for the wisdom and the discipline to take the road of growth, to remember Paul and all I learned from him, and to commit to not wasting his life or his death.

My soul cleaves to the dust;
Revive me according to Your word.
I have told of my ways, and You have answered me;
Teach me Your statutes.
Make me understand the way of Your precepts,
So I will meditate on Your wonders.
My soul weeps because of grief;
Strengthen me according to Your word.
Remove the false way from me,
And graciously grant me Your law.
I have chosen the faithful way;
I have placed Your ordinances before me.
I cleave to Your testimonies;
O LORD, do not put me to shame!
I shall run the way of Your commandments,
For You will enlarge my heart.
Psalm 119:25-32

One Year

2008-07-14T09:52:00.001-05:00

I always loved being Paul's mom. It was, perhaps, the most significant role I've played in my life thus far.

Broken Promises and Long Walks

2008-07-01T21:46:00.005-05:00

I am really cherishing these morning walks with Jack and the dog. It's hot and there's poop to pick up, but it's great "talk time" with my eldest son. Tomorrow will be our last such walk as Whit will finish up reading camp and will be joining us on Thursday. Not that I'm not looking forward to adding my youngest son to the routine, it's just that "talk time" will probably turn into "fight time" over the leash, which direction to go, or who gets to kick the empty water bottle laying in the street.

Anyway, during today's walk with Jack the conversation somehow turned to the idea of broken promises... those promises we make with every intention of following through, only to have unforseen and uncontrollable circumstances deem keeping the promise impossible.

It reminded me of this memory of Paul, which I shared with Jack:

I don't remember the date or even the time of year, I just remember it was one of Paul's many in-patient surgeries. I'm pretty sure it was for the purpose of putting in a new port because they were using a peripheral IV (that had already been placed in his arm) to administer the medicine.

Anyway, as we were waiting for our "turn," Paul informed me that he did NOT want me to leave him until he was asleep. I promised him that I would stay with him until he received the "sleepy juice." Now, you must know that it is Cook "policy" to administer a drug called Versed to patients while the parents are with them. This drug is supposed to make them feel "drunk" and not really care that they are being ripped from their mother's arms. (They supposedly don't remember the experience. Let me assure you, however, that the parent remembers every harrowing moment of it)! Once they are in the OR, they get Propaphal, which is what makes them go to sleep. However, Paul had had Versed in the past, and it did absolutely nothing for him... he was still very much aware that he was being taken away, and he still very much cared. So...Terrill and I always insisted that we be with Paul until he received the Propaphal. Depending on who the anaesthesiologist was that day, this task ranged from simple ("Is that the way Paul likes to do things? Well then, no problem!) to extremely difficult ("I'm sorry, ma'am, but administering that drug outside the OR is a very unsafe thing to do. We only have the safety of your child in mind when we say that this is against our policy"). I won't go into how the conversation went whenever the doctor had this attitude.... let's just say that I don't ever recall NOT breaking Cook's "policy."

I will never forget that day that the anaesthesiologist was a very dear man named Dr. Byrd. He was more than happy to comply with Paul's desire to stay with me until asleep. I placed Paul up on the gurney, Dr. Byrd told the nurse the amount of medicine to administer, and then he left. Now, keep in mind that Paul had done this same drill numerous times. This routine was just as familiar to him as soccer practice is to most kids his age. He watched the white medicine flow through the tubing and into his arms and expected to fall asleep within seconds. Instead, he looked at me and said, "Mom, I'm not sleepy." When Dr. Byrd returned, he was amazed that Paul was not out given the amount of drug the nurse had administered. Then, he examined Paul's IV and found the problem: his vein had blown. He showed me the "puddle" of medicine just pooling in Paul's arm underneath the skin. I don't remember exactly what he said next, but it involved me leaving. I knew I had to go immediately or I wouldn't be able to go at all. I kissed Paul, looked into his eyes, apologized repeatedly and left the room.

While I waited for Paul during the surgery, I held onto the hope that maybe enough of the drug had gotten into his system so that, even though he was awake, perhaps he would not remember the separation. The surgery went fine, Paul's recovery was typical, and we were back in his hospital room by mid-afternoon. Paul never mentioned the botched pre-surgical job, so I broke the ice. Holding on to my "memory loss" hope, I asked, "Paul, do you remember when you left me for surgery?" I will never forget his reply: "You mean, when YOU left ME." I was crushed. I apologized profusely and asked him if he understood. Of course he did. Would he forgive me? Of course he would. And like the sweet child that he was, he never mentioned it again.

I don't know exactly why I'm re-hashing this particular memory. Maybe it's just a chance to talk to Jack about the times when we just can't keep our promises. Perhaps it's to remind myself to be careful about the promises I make to others. Maybe it could be that I need to learn from Paul's example and forgive those who've let me down. Or maybe I just miss my Paulie.