If you live in the DFW area, put down your pots and pans and head on over to the Purple Cow for dinner tonight. They are donating 15% of proceeds from sales today to the Children's Neuroblastoma Cancer Foundation. Their locations are as follows:
DALLAS
Purple Cow Restaurant
Preston Royal Shopping Center
110 Preston Royal
Dallas, TX 75230
PLANO
Purple Cow Restaurant
Lakeside Market Shopping Center
5809 Preston Rd.
Plano, TX 75093
FORT WORTH
Purple Cow Restaurant
Chapel Hill Shopping Center
4601 W. Freeway
Ft. Worth, TX 76107
May 27, 2008
May 26, 2008
Life After Paul...
Logically, it shouldn't be that difficult. After all, there's no physical pain involved, no persecution or debilitation. There's no fear or reason to worry. There isn't any physical need or threat to life. There's no restriction of freedom or any kind of bondage. There are none of these horrible things, and there is no logic. There is only broken-hearted grief.
May 21, 2008
Adventures in Sliding
I'm not much of a technoid. We don't have a flat panel TV; we don't have a dish and we don't do TiVO. The last cell phone I had was about 4 years old (an antique in the cell phone world). Terrill had the same phone, and he joked that our phones belonged in the communications museum next to the two cups attached by a string. But we both loved those phones. They were simple - no bluetooth capability, no downloadable ringtones, not even a camera (gasp!!) When I would pull it out, people would look at me with pity and shake their heads. Outwardly, they would say things like, "Wow. That's an old cell phone." Or, "Gee, I haven't seen one of those in a while." But I could see in their eyes what they were really thinking: "That poor girl. How in this world does she survive without the most basic technological necessities?"
But the truth is, I was proud of my phone. I enjoyed the fact that it demonstrated that I wasn't a slave to the lastest new toy, that I was faithful to what had always served me well. Like a hound dog or an old truck, it was dependable, predictable and loyal. I would see folks with these contraptions strapped to their heads, hear their hip-hop ringtones and watch them take pictures and videos with their phones, and still, I was perfectly satisfied with my faithful phone.
Then the inevitable happened: I discovered that I could save some money by changing my rate plan and signing a new contract. I'm all about saving money, so I jumped on that. Well, you know what signing a contract means: a new cell phone.
It took me a while to get used to the idea. I mean, my cell phone's been through a lot with me: it's been my communication to and from Cook Children's for the last few years. It's been dropped, kicked, and lost. It's been yelled in and cried on. It's received countless text and voices messages, all with incredible dependability. How do you just get rid of something like that?
I'm sentimental, but I'm also practical, and I knew that this phone wasn't going to last forever. I reasoned that it was better to get a new phone now, when I could make an informed decision as opposed to waiting until "Ole Faithful" finally breathed its last and I was desperate.
Basically, I was enticed by the bells and whistles. I succumbed to The Slide. I saw it from across the store, all shiny and glimmering. I picked it up - it was so light! (Suddenly, Ole Faithful seemed so heavy and bulky). Then, I SLID it open... it SLID open, and it SLID close! I didn't even care that it had a camera, and video capability (as well as bluetooth, internet and a whole host of other junk I'll never use). But the slide feature was so... slidy.
So after handing over my credit card an signing my name several times, I was the proud owner of a brand new slider phone. I took it home and discovered that it was significantly more complicated than my old phone. Not a problem, I reasoned. I'm smart, I'm adaptable, I can learn and change. And I did. I even downloaded a couple of ringtones and took a few pictures. I was really enjoying all the fun features on my new toy, and only feeling slightly guilty by seeing Ole Faithful discarded in the corner.
And then it happened. After only 5 days, my life on the edge of cutting-edge technology came to an end. I pulled the biggest bone-head move of any cell phone owner: I washed my phone. No, I don't mean I got a soft, damp cloth and wiped the fingerprints off, I mean I washed it... in the pocket of my shorts... in my washing machine... on permanent press.
I did everything a desperate person would do. I did cell-phone CPR (the hair dryer), I tried repeatedly to find signs of life (turning it on with and without a battery), I prayed (to the Saint of Communication). When all that failed, I pleaded my case to the cell phone authorities. With various pieces of my dead phone in hand, and my tail between my legs, I entered the cell phone store. I was honest. I explained my plight. And, of course, all the cell phone representative could give me was his pity.
It was a long ride home as I thought about what I had done. Technology in the hands of irresponsibility is a dangerous thing. I guess I'm just not ready for all that power.
I came home and placed my SIM card into the back of Ole Faithful, which came to life immediately. I had to smile as I thought about how faithful Ole Faithful really was. I'm not sure, but I think it actually smiled,too.
Man, I'm gonna miss that slide.
But the truth is, I was proud of my phone. I enjoyed the fact that it demonstrated that I wasn't a slave to the lastest new toy, that I was faithful to what had always served me well. Like a hound dog or an old truck, it was dependable, predictable and loyal. I would see folks with these contraptions strapped to their heads, hear their hip-hop ringtones and watch them take pictures and videos with their phones, and still, I was perfectly satisfied with my faithful phone.
Then the inevitable happened: I discovered that I could save some money by changing my rate plan and signing a new contract. I'm all about saving money, so I jumped on that. Well, you know what signing a contract means: a new cell phone.
It took me a while to get used to the idea. I mean, my cell phone's been through a lot with me: it's been my communication to and from Cook Children's for the last few years. It's been dropped, kicked, and lost. It's been yelled in and cried on. It's received countless text and voices messages, all with incredible dependability. How do you just get rid of something like that?
I'm sentimental, but I'm also practical, and I knew that this phone wasn't going to last forever. I reasoned that it was better to get a new phone now, when I could make an informed decision as opposed to waiting until "Ole Faithful" finally breathed its last and I was desperate.
Basically, I was enticed by the bells and whistles. I succumbed to The Slide. I saw it from across the store, all shiny and glimmering. I picked it up - it was so light! (Suddenly, Ole Faithful seemed so heavy and bulky). Then, I SLID it open... it SLID open, and it SLID close! I didn't even care that it had a camera, and video capability (as well as bluetooth, internet and a whole host of other junk I'll never use). But the slide feature was so... slidy.
So after handing over my credit card an signing my name several times, I was the proud owner of a brand new slider phone. I took it home and discovered that it was significantly more complicated than my old phone. Not a problem, I reasoned. I'm smart, I'm adaptable, I can learn and change. And I did. I even downloaded a couple of ringtones and took a few pictures. I was really enjoying all the fun features on my new toy, and only feeling slightly guilty by seeing Ole Faithful discarded in the corner.
And then it happened. After only 5 days, my life on the edge of cutting-edge technology came to an end. I pulled the biggest bone-head move of any cell phone owner: I washed my phone. No, I don't mean I got a soft, damp cloth and wiped the fingerprints off, I mean I washed it... in the pocket of my shorts... in my washing machine... on permanent press.
I did everything a desperate person would do. I did cell-phone CPR (the hair dryer), I tried repeatedly to find signs of life (turning it on with and without a battery), I prayed (to the Saint of Communication). When all that failed, I pleaded my case to the cell phone authorities. With various pieces of my dead phone in hand, and my tail between my legs, I entered the cell phone store. I was honest. I explained my plight. And, of course, all the cell phone representative could give me was his pity.
It was a long ride home as I thought about what I had done. Technology in the hands of irresponsibility is a dangerous thing. I guess I'm just not ready for all that power.
I came home and placed my SIM card into the back of Ole Faithful, which came to life immediately. I had to smile as I thought about how faithful Ole Faithful really was. I'm not sure, but I think it actually smiled,too.
Man, I'm gonna miss that slide.
May 15, 2008
May 5, 2008
Heart Faith
It's easy for me to have faith in the face of someone else's problem. If my friend is having an issue with pride, then I'm convinced that her act of submission will result in supernatural results. If someone I know is having marriage problems, I can pray with complete confidence that the Lord will heal and restore their relationship. When I intercede for a friend who has lost their job, I fully expect our loving Father to provide for them. It's so easy to look into someone else's life and to have unwavering faith in God's promises. For them.
But my own life is different. My problems are somehow just beyond the reach of God. It isn't that the Lord has ever failed to show up. On the contrary, He's proven Himself quite faithful in my life, and yet, somehow, this time is different. Somehow, I am not nearly so confident that the sacrifice of obedience will result in the overflow of God's work in my life.
I can pray faithfully for you, and encourage you with all confidence toward obedience, and believe beyond any shadow of a doubt that the Lord will reward you to a supernatural degree, but in my own life, things seem a little more gray: little confidence, puny faith, and conviction that is sketchy, at best.
I have wrestled with why this is, and come to the conclusion that it's all about the DOING. I can have faith in God's work in your life because I don't have to bear your struggle or endure your fight. I can be sure that your act of obedience will result in God's work and glory because I don't have to be the one who obeys.
In other words, it's a faith that hasn't moved from my head to my heart. It's a faith that will allow me to nod and say "amen" to our preacher when he states that God will exalt us when we humble ourselves and swallow our pride, and yet, when the time comes for me to follow through in my own life, I'm suddenly not so sure. It's a faith that knows the right answer and what to do and yet doesn't have the muscle to get the job done... which causes me to consider a frightening thought: perhaps it's not FAITH at all.
Whatever it is, it's all I've got, and so I can only do one thing: give it to the Lord and ask Him to transform it. But the hard part is that His transformation process is often a painful one that requires humility, obedience and sacrifice.
Will it be worth it? My head says yes. Will you pray for my heart?
But my own life is different. My problems are somehow just beyond the reach of God. It isn't that the Lord has ever failed to show up. On the contrary, He's proven Himself quite faithful in my life, and yet, somehow, this time is different. Somehow, I am not nearly so confident that the sacrifice of obedience will result in the overflow of God's work in my life.
I can pray faithfully for you, and encourage you with all confidence toward obedience, and believe beyond any shadow of a doubt that the Lord will reward you to a supernatural degree, but in my own life, things seem a little more gray: little confidence, puny faith, and conviction that is sketchy, at best.
I have wrestled with why this is, and come to the conclusion that it's all about the DOING. I can have faith in God's work in your life because I don't have to bear your struggle or endure your fight. I can be sure that your act of obedience will result in God's work and glory because I don't have to be the one who obeys.
In other words, it's a faith that hasn't moved from my head to my heart. It's a faith that will allow me to nod and say "amen" to our preacher when he states that God will exalt us when we humble ourselves and swallow our pride, and yet, when the time comes for me to follow through in my own life, I'm suddenly not so sure. It's a faith that knows the right answer and what to do and yet doesn't have the muscle to get the job done... which causes me to consider a frightening thought: perhaps it's not FAITH at all.
Whatever it is, it's all I've got, and so I can only do one thing: give it to the Lord and ask Him to transform it. But the hard part is that His transformation process is often a painful one that requires humility, obedience and sacrifice.
Will it be worth it? My head says yes. Will you pray for my heart?
May 1, 2008
A Stroller Made Me Cry
After our first trip to NYC for treatment, I realized that we desperately needed a good stroller to tackle the streets of New York. Thanks to a generous friend, we became the owners of a very tough, sturdy umbrella stroller. I strolled Paul all over NYC in that thing, and in the last couple of months of his life, it was his primary mode of transportation. In fact, the last few weeks, he depended on it completely. It was extremely painful for him to walk or even be carried, and so he would go from the bed to the stroller to the couch. I will never forget that stroller. It was a gray McLaren Triumph. I had a love-hate relationship with it. I loved it because Paul needed it so much, but I hated it because he needed it so much.
I can remember loading it up with his backpack and watching him push it through the DFW airport - all proud of himself for being such a great helper. I remember packing the bottom basket full of pain meds and strolling him through Central Park. I remember the day we made the decision to stop his treatment and pushing him down the hall and out of Cook Children's Hospital for the very last time.
It's an unusual stroller, but I saw one yesterday.
It made me cry...
I can remember loading it up with his backpack and watching him push it through the DFW airport - all proud of himself for being such a great helper. I remember packing the bottom basket full of pain meds and strolling him through Central Park. I remember the day we made the decision to stop his treatment and pushing him down the hall and out of Cook Children's Hospital for the very last time.
It's an unusual stroller, but I saw one yesterday.
It made me cry...
April 27, 2008
Family Time
When Paul was alive, I found that I was often thankful for all of the little things. So many, many times whenever we were all together as a family, I would feel this overwhelming urge to offer up a prayer of thanks. It didn't matter if we were on vacation or in the hospital playroom - as long as all five of us were together, I was grateful. I can't count how many times I simply prayed, "Thank you, Lord, for today. I don't know what tomorrow holds, but I'm so grateful for this moment." There were countless times we'd be in the car, driving home after a dinner out, our tummies full of chicken nuggets and french fries (because it was Paul's turn to pick dinner), all three boys sitting in the back seat, belting out the words to some U2 song (because it was Terrill's turn to pick the music), and I would be so... happy. It didn't matter that Paul and I had to get up at six the next morning to go to Fort Worth for chemotherapy because RIGHT THEN, at that very moment, we were all together as a family, and I was thankful.
I haven't had that same feeling of gratitude since Paul died - until last weekend. We were at Six Flags, and as I was watching Jack walk toward me with that "post roller coaster grin" on his face, that same gratefulness hit me. We were all together as a family...almost. When I said my same old prayer, I realized that it had been so long since I've truly felt grateful for my family. Shame on me.
I don't know if it will ever again "feel" like we are all together as a family. It is always painfully obvious that a huge part of us is missing, but I can be grateful... I am grateful.
Thank you, Lord, for today.
I haven't had that same feeling of gratitude since Paul died - until last weekend. We were at Six Flags, and as I was watching Jack walk toward me with that "post roller coaster grin" on his face, that same gratefulness hit me. We were all together as a family...almost. When I said my same old prayer, I realized that it had been so long since I've truly felt grateful for my family. Shame on me.
I don't know if it will ever again "feel" like we are all together as a family. It is always painfully obvious that a huge part of us is missing, but I can be grateful... I am grateful.
Thank you, Lord, for today.
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