One good thought leads to another...

Jerking the car door open, I jumped in quickly, but before slamming it shut, I heard Ian shout out, “I’m praying you have a really good day.” Yeah, right! I wasn’t in the mood to hear that. Standing in the doorway in his blue pajamas and with a hopeful smile on his face, my husband was waving like a man who really wanted his wife happy before she went to work. But I didn’t want to have a really good day at work. I wanted to have a really good day at home. 

I couldn’t help smiling at him, though, as I thought about how many times in the past 33 years he must have said those same words to me. And even more importantly, how many times he had prayed that same prayer for me. But his words were not what I wanted to hear this morning. I wanted to be irritated. I wanted to be cranky. And I wanted to stay home.  I’d been up since 4:00 AM, totally engrossed in a story I was writing, a story that was finally taking shape, and I was excited at this new endeavor into the world of fiction. The writing world of fiction anyway.

But griping’s grip began to lessen, replaced slowly by the memory of Ian’s grin, which I couldn’t get out of my mind. He had no idea how many times that grin or those words had helped me get through a trying day. And then, there’s his prayer. For me, no one prays like my husband. Straightforward. Direct. Exactly what’s on his mind. No beating around the bush. Usually asking for forgiveness before he asks for anything else. Usually with emotion right beneath the surface. His prayers are as felt by me as they are heard by God.

Then I saw it. One elegantly poised deer, motionless on the side of the road. Slowing down to savor the sight, I saw more - two, three, four, five…there were six. Standing aloof from each other, yet stronger together, before they gracefully galloped across the road and disappeared into the bush. A peaceful sight to still anyone’s turbulent thoughts. “Be still and know that I am God.” 

And I couldn’t help but be still. Then it happened as it does so often. Those six deer reminded me of the morning when several more deer dashed to the front of the school, gracefully pirouetting, before disappearing into that same bush, leaving me spellbound by a riveting performance that would have rivaled the Nutcracker.

And that thought made me think of all the deer at Red Deer Farm, a place where herds of deer transfixed all who drove by. Which made me think of the lady who had owned that farm and a Bible study lesson she had once taught at CBS three decades ago.  I don’t remember what the lesson was, but remembering her made me think of all the other women from those early years of Bible study and how much we loved each other. How I used to enjoy those Mondays and Tuesdays as we prayed and prepared together. How close I grew to God during those years.

And before I knew it, I was praising God. Thankful. Grateful. For my family. For my friends. For God. For his total involvement in my life.

Jumping out of my car after quickly parking in front of the school, I eagerly -- yes, eagerly -- walked into the building. A new day had begun. A day I’ll never have again. A day to rid myself of worthless thoughts and pounder worthy thoughts of God. A day God had already begun to make himself known.

“Turn my eyes away from worthless things. Give me a new life in your ways” (Psalm 119:37 Good News).

Super Bowl Sunday

On Super Bowl Sunday, celebrating the most powerful NFL teams in our country, the most powerful words I heard were from my oldest son to his 89-year-old grandmother, who is recovering slowly from a devastating fall:  “Nana, I know you’re feeling emotionally low right now, but physically you’re growing stronger every day.” Those were the last words she heard before she went to sleep; hopefully, those were the words she thought about all night long for the long nights are the hardest for her to endure.

I certainly thought about his powerful words even though they weren’t intended for me. I thought about them because they reminded me that it’s the genuine concern and love and encouragement behind the words that make them powerful enough to affect someone else’s life.  Words that are felt, not just said. That’s the real power of words, words appropriate for more than just a Super Bowl Sunday.    

What's his last name?

Grasping my cold hands in his even colder ones, Roy’s  warm eyes held my gaze as they sparkled with curiosity undampened by his eighty years. He wanted to know who I was and why I was here; and he listened, intently, nodding while I explained my injured mother-in-law’s condition. Gazing into his peaceful blue eyes, completely at odds with his surroundings,  I was mesmerized.  His eyes sparkled, no, they twinkled – even twinkled doesn’t quite capture their sparkle – but his shining eyes completely captured my attention. I remember thinking to myself, “My mom’s got to meet Roy! He’s a catch!”  

As we visited, he told me about the other women in his life. One was a dark red-haired woman with nails to match who passed by while we chatted. He immediately grasped her hand, telling her how beautiful she was, which immediately brought a smile to her face, a smile which matched the one he seemed to wear at all times. A smile that radiated from his eyes. A smile people seemed to feel even when they could not see. And many couldn’t see well in this place.

The red-head talked a mile a minute, didn’t say much, but Roy listened to every word. And he always told her she was beautiful. And that was enough for her to make it through another day. Smiling. Sort of. Her eyes glistened with tears held back, while his eyes glimmered with encouragement. She needed to talk, and he knew how to listen.  

I knew Roy had listened to her a lot because he told me a lot about her. How she cried when she first came. How she kept to herself. How she wouldn’t socialize. But now – after Roy’s gift of listening -- she seemed more at peace with this place, not crying as much even though she was still angry and distraught for ending up in the last place she wanted to be. But at least she was at peace enough to smile at Roy as he took her hand and told her, I have no doubt for the gazillionth time, that she was beautiful. As she wheeled on, much happier now, he continued to smile and continued to scan the room, probably looking for someone else to encourage. Roy seemed to have found purpose in this place. He was an encourager. And with a twinkle in his eyes, he wheeled away with that purpose.  

Several hours later when we left to go home, I saw Roy focusing intently on a crossword puzzle in the living room.  I called, “Bye, Roy!” But he didn’t look up. I doubt he could hear me. But, oh, can he listen!

I thought about him on the drive home.

I thought about him when I woke up this morning.

I’m looking forward to seeing him again. I want to know his last name. I want to know more about this special man with the shining blue eyes. When I asked the other residents where they were from, they told me Houston or Katy or El Campo.  When I asked Roy where he was from, he told me, “Well, I live right here now.” I’m hoping Roy will be right there when I return to visit Nana. I like knowing he’s there. That the place is better because he’s there, caring about the people around him.  A man who knows how to listen. A man who has figured out how to have God’s peace in a place full of anxiety and sadness and distress.

And I still want my mom to meet Roy! My mom’s a red-head, too!  

A Bird Poop Moment

In the Garden of Eden, surrounded by all that was lovely and exciting and wonderful, Eve succumbed to a temptation that I fall prey to many times. She focused on the one thing she did not have. And what she did not have began to consume her sight, tunneling her vision, and overshadowing everything she did have – all that was lovely and exciting and wonderful.

I spent last night sad, but also irritated, that I wasn’t able to spend time with someone I loved. Instead of enjoying all that was lovely and exciting and wonderful in my life, I focused on the one thing I did not have that night.  Ouch. What a waste. So today, I’m making a list. And so far, the list looks endless. I’m not sure I’ll ever finish it for God is constantly giving me something new to be thankful for. Every day He invites me to see Him. And He’s lovely and exciting and wonderful.

In 1973, at the height of his collegiate glory, my future husband strutted to his first class on the campus of Texas A&M University. He was feeling really good about himself, proud to be an Aggie, and having a wonderful time reveling (no pun, Aggies!) at who he was and where he was in his life. All was good. No, all was great. Then suddenly, without any warning, an unseen bird, doing what birds do, pooped on his head! And the college student in all his glory (and I have to tell you, he was quite the hunk) had to go back to his apartment and start all over again.

Last night I had a bird-poop moment. This morning, it’s time to start all over again. But God’s mercies are new every morning, and how grateful I am that His forgiveness is as great as His love.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning, great is your faithfulness.”

Lamentations 3:22-23

Dropped Dead at Her Feet

All we know is that she was a 41-year-old physical therapist. Still young -- a baby, really -- especially compared to the men and women she was helping, elderly people in their eighties and nineties who were recuperating from fractures and paralysis and falls. People who needed her help to learn, once more, how to walk, how to move, how to live life. She was a young woman half their age. A young woman without their experiences, without their wisdom, without their years. But at a time in their lives when they were without many things -- their physical prowess, their ability to live on their own, and for some, the capacity to make their own decisions -- they had something she didn’t have: a long life.   

While helping those who had fallen, she fell. Simply dropped down to the ground, and was dead. Practically at my mother-in-law’s feet.

How odd that we wonder more about her now than we did when she was alive. Who was she? What did she like to do when she wasn’t working? Who loved her? Whom did she love?

We don’t know, and we probably never will. All we know is that she had a heart attack and died.

But many were impacted by her death. Many wonder about her, think about her, wish for her. Some are curious, many are upset. Some are confused, many are sad. Some don’t understand, but many try.

Life, which we try so hard to control, can’t always be controlled. Life, which we try so hard to understand, can’t always be understood. Life, which we try so hard to live to the fullest, can’t always be lived long.

These are things only God knows.