God didn't heal her, but...

I knew my cousin Linda more by what I had heard than from personal experiences. Oh, I’d seen her a few brief times in my life – when we were younger at our grandmother’s in Tyler and later in life at a few family reunions, and then there was that one brief time when she lived with us. That moment is especially vivid as she went ballistic when we ate her popsicles.  But really, I only knew her from what was said about her. She was the poor cousin I heard more about than I ever saw.

And I felt sorry for her.

To me, she lived a life of nevers. As a teenager, I thought of her as someone who had never had a date and never been kissed; to me, at the time, a fate worse than death. And combined with the fate of never having driven a car, her life was a tragedy. After all, what was better than teenage love and driving? What more did a young girl want?

As I grew older, I felt even sorrier for her. She was never well. Never healthy. Never free of a debilitating disease.  In fact, when she was a very young girl and had been diagnosed as a severe, brittle diabetic, bad became worse on a regular basis. From what I heard, anyway. And I heard plenty.

How the doctors told her she wouldn’t live to be 20, but she did.

How no one thought she’d graduate Magna Cum Laude from the University of Texas in the ‘60’s, but she did.

How when she was told by everyone who loved her that she couldn’t travel overseas to a communist country, she did anyway. And she survived losing her passport and wrangling with the authorities. Oh, and did I mention her vision was impaired?

How everyone tried to convince her she couldn’t work, but she always found a way to do something and helped support her mother, also an invalid, until the day her mom died. 

And then there was the finale, really, when Hurricane Ike began its final menacing descent on Galveston, she was, I think, the last to leave and only because she stood in the road, holding on to the leashes of her dogs, and a garbage truck picked her up and took her to Ball High School, where she eventually was evacuated to San Antonio. Against her will, I think.

Linda’s dad was dead, her mom ironed for a living, and they never had enough money, supported in part by relatives, including my mom who sent her money and care packages on a regular basis. Linda, by the American standard, was never a success story.

But when I went to her funeral this past week and sat at the graveside in the hot Texas sun with 14 other people who had driven hundreds of miles from various parts of the state to pay tribute to her life, I revamped – rather quickly – my thoughts about Cousin Linda.  

I had only gone to the funeral because it meant a lot to my mom, who wanted both her girls to be there. In some odd way, funerals bring out the best of us. Mom likes her girls, both now over fifty, with her in gatherings. She’s proud of us, and I really feel that in times like these. But I didn’t want to go because I didn’t know Linda besides the term cousin attached to our relationship. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had even talked to her. About her, yes.  Ironically, Ian remembers visiting with her and having wonderful conversations with her; but I don’t.  

I went to the funeral feeling deeply sorry for Linda, but glad she was no longer suffering;   I left  thinking, “Wow! What a life lived!” 

Many relatives and friends had beseeched God for over six decades to heal Linda, but God did not; instead, he gave her people -- a few, very special friends and a few, very special relatives.

One beautiful raven-haired woman met her in the veterinarian’s office when Linda, who was crying, didn’t have cab fare to return home. Their lives mingled together after that, and a friendship developed that lasted until Linda’s death. Linda couldn’t drive; her new friend could. And her friend repeatedly did in the years that followed. God didn’t heal her; but he answered a prayer.

One beautiful writer was forced out of her own urban hermitage, as she called it, when she discovered Linda was her neighbor, delightedly discovering their similar interests: both were educated women and avid readers and animal lovers and night owls. Convinced that Linda would have been a strong leader for women had her circumstances been otherwise, the neighbor also delighted us with stories of how Linda, whose volume of The Rise of the Roman Empire was dog-eared and worn, loved listening to late-night radio shows about alien abductions!   God didn’t heal her; but he answered a prayer.

One beautiful niece, who discovered Linda later in life, helped support her through many disastrous situations, including her seemingly oblivious manner towards her health. Linda lost that battle. If she was in the hospital eating exactly like she was supposed to, her blood sugar was still off the charts. She felt bad regardless of what she ate, so she ate what she wanted, including Fritos and Twinkies. Her grocery shopping drove the niece and her family crazy, but they loved her and helped take care of her. God didn’t heal her; but he answered a prayer.   

Then there was the story of the doctor who would actually send a cab for her so she could make her doctor’s appointments! Again, God didn’t heal Linda; but he answered a prayer.

And then there was my mom who loved Linda like she was her own daughter. I don’t think mom missed too many days without talking to her. She prayed for her, worried about her, sent her gifts, gave her money, and treated her like a cherished daughter, which she really was. On the day she died, mom had yet another care package ready to send to her. God didn’t answer mom’s prayer to heal Linda; instead, God sent my mom to care for her, to love her, to take care of her over and over again. God answered a prayer.

Dangerous, dramatic escapes from near-death situations and genuine, earnest friendships enjoyed over cream of wheat and margarine and equal. Stories of nobility and courage and determination mingled with stubbornness and a refusal to do it any other way but her own. Linda, weak by the standards of the world, was one tough cookie.   

My sister and I sometimes joke that we’re glad we’re adopted, glad we don’t have the stubborn McCoy gene that we see in so many of our relatives. But that ornery, stubborn, real McCoy gene (remember the McCoy-Hatfield Feud?) gave Linda the stamina to live a life against the odds. Even though it seemed otherwise, God gave her strength. God answered a prayer.  

From the dog who sat in her lap and loved watching basketball, the dog who supposedly knew how to work the remote, (not too sure about that one)  to true friends and caring relatives, Linda was loved and cherished. Her favorite expression – “Get me out of this mess!”  – will be repeated often.   

I think she walked the tightrope between crazy and sane at times, and I remember not wanting to push her off the wrong way. She was somewhat eccentric and stubborn, but dignified. Those who talked about her knew her well – her intelligence as well as her quirky idiosyncrasies -- as Linda did not live a life of pretense. And even though she drove those who loved her crazy with her stubbornness,  that same stubbornness made her a survivor. And they all agreed, she was a doer even though it didn’t seem like she could do too much.  

Linda might have lived a life of nevers, but there were never-ending stories of her tenacity and nobility throughout the memorial service, organized by my 92-year-old mom and her baby brother. I will remember Linda now, not as an unanswered prayer, but as living a life of answered prayers. God gave her people, not health. To me, she has become an invitation to peer beyond what is visible and see how God really works – bringing people together, giving us opportunities to help others, and making a difference in the lives of each other.

Linda wasn’t suppose to live past 20; she died at 64.  

And I wasn’t supposed to sit in the sun, but I would have sat in the sun a lot longer just to listen to more stories about Linda, the cousin I'll never think of in the same way again. 

BAD in the BACK PEW!

Feisty and tenacious, my 92-year-old mother is learning to text; granted, she’s not that successful at it, but she wields her tiny cell phone with gusto, popping it out and flipping it open, then punching the buttons faster than I can, and enjoying that instantaneous connection to the person’s voice she wants to hear. At 92-years-old, she’s pretty amazing. 

But on Easter Sunday, as the family gathered at her church in Houston, the tiny cell phone became her giant nemesis when one of her mischievous grandchildren texted her repeatedly during the service, startling her and upsetting her and disrupting what should have been a more reverent time. But we were in the back pew. And bad in the back pew isn’t unheard of, even in church.

“Somebody keeps calling me,” she said to me.

“So turn off your phone, “I thought to myself. Believe me, I didn’t say that one out loud. Not to my once red-headed mother who is one of the real McCoys known for their fiery temper and the McCoy-Hatfield Feud. Nope. I knew better than to say that out loud in church. This time I kept my mouth shut. My mom didn’t want to turn off her phone; she just wanted the person to quit texting her.

And that was just the beginning.

The church music was loud, a contemporary service with drums and electric guitars and lots of speakers, modern music with lovely lyrics and upbeat worship, but for a 92-year-old woman with hearing aids, the loud noise was impossible; she prefers a quiet traditional service with the familiar Baptist hymnal music of “Amazing Grace” and “Standing on the Promises” and “The Old Rugged Cross.” But all of us -- her daughters and son-in-law and her brother and sister-in-law and grandchildren -- couldn’t make it in time for the earlier service.  

And then it happened. As the uplifting, lively praise music reached a crescendo, I saw my mom’s involuntary reaction:  hands covering her ears, mouth frowning like she was in arthritic pain, eyes squinting as she peevishly glared at the musicians from her vantage point in the back pew, my mom, dressed pretty in pink, was pretty unhappy. But oh how happy it made everyone else looking at her for she was darling. Always will be one of my fondest memories of her. Vibrantly alive, actively involved, there was nothing passive about this woman less than eight years shy of 100 years old. Fully present in the moment, she obviously wasn’t happy, and we knew it.

Yes, she loves Christ Jesus; yes, she typically worships with reverence; yes, she’s celebrating the day of her risen Lord. But she was irritated and uncomfortable and ready for lunch. Even on Easter Sunday.

Later, my sister told me that mom once jumped so hard when the music began that she knocked her hearing aids out of her ears, and Janie had to crawl under the pews to find them. What a story that made. I got a text about that one – after the service, of course. Texting in church isn’t a regular occurrence.

Bad in the back pew, however, wasn’t the only thing we were convicted of that Sunday. The Romans 8 sermon by Dr. Duane Brooks was powerful, essentially discussing how God loves us and how there’s not one thing we can do about it. Not one thing. Even bad behavior in the back pew.

But I was also convicted of something else simply by watching my mother. Sometimes we want what is bothering us, like the phone, to stop.  To stop irritating us. To go away. And we’re not happy or comfortable when it doesn’t. Not one bit.

So when it doesn’t stop – again, like her cell phone -- we have to be willing to put the phone up and turn the hearing aids down and live without these conveniences so we can concentrate on God. And if we can’t do that by ourselves, we have to ask for help for I realized, belatedly, that mom didn’t know how to turn off her phone.

By concentrating on God, however, we’re doing the best we can.

A dear friend told me recently, “Becky, do the best you can, not more than you can.” Not bad advice. Whether we’re 92 or 22, that’s not bad advice at all.

The back pew, as it turns out, isn’t bad at all.

But next time, we’ll take Gran to the more traditional service!

Who can separate us from Christ's love?

Can trouble or hard times or harm or hunger? Can nakedness or danger or war? …No In all these things we will do even more than win! We owe it all to Christ, who has loved us.

I am absolutely sure that not even death or life can separate us from God's love.  Not even angels or demons, the present or the future, or any powers can do that. Not even the highest places or the lowest, or anything else in all creation can do that. Nothing at all can ever separate us from God's love because of what Christ Jesus our Lord has done.

Romans 8:35-3 (NIRV).

Bittersweet

Today, my sister is buying a house, a lovely house soon to be her home.

Today, a dear friend moved out of her lovely home, which now belongs to my sister. 

I’ve gained the physical closeness of my sister, but I’ve lost the physical proximity to my friend.

It’s a bittersweet day. Gain and loss always seem to go together.

When I visited with my friend Donna Pilcik Rolater recently about her decision to sell her lovely home and move back to Dallas, closer to her children, the only word I could come up was:  bittersweet. Donna and her husband, Tony, will be missed by countless people whose lives are now better because this couple moved to Bellville years ago. And even though we are happy for the exciting things in their future -- a new grandbaby they will be living close to, for one -- we are understandably sad for the void they leave behind is deep and wide. Both Donna and Tony hit the ground running once they moved here, and neither have stopped. 

And what a legacy they are leaving behind. Whether it’s Tony’s active involvement in the fire department, where his professionalism has impacted the department and benefited all of us as he has served as chief, or Donna’s tireless support in countless Christian organizations, and I do mean countless, both of them walk the walk and talk the talk.  Their lives are a true exemplification of what it means to follow Christ.

Recently, while Tony was showing Janie around the property, Donna and I talked about their impending move, the brevity of life on earth, and the quick way it can be over, and her comment will always stay with me:  you want to be by the people you love the most.  Simple words, yet packed with power. And certainly helpful in making a life-changing decision.

When my sister Janie first saw the Rolater’s home, she asked our other sister Liese and me to pray that she’d  make the right decision. While we were doing so, Donna and Tony were praying for the right person --  a believer in Christ -- to buy their house. God’s timing is always perfect. And a bittersweet deal, God-style, was done.  

So as Tony and Donna begin their new life in Dallas and Janie begins her new life in Bellville, they do so loved and cheered and encouraged by many, and I have no doubt God will continue to bless each of their lives in a way that only He can do.

God's sense of humor?

I’ve prayed many times over the years for God to show me what I need to change about myself and then help me to do it. And He’s done so many times; this time, however, was a vivid reminder that God sometimes shocks us into change and can do so in a creative and sometimes humorous manner.  

It had been one of those days. You know the kind when nothing goes right? No thing. Not even one. And I was exhausted and ready to go to bed for the weekend if I could have gotten away with it. And I should have gone to bed -- even for the night -- but I didn’t.

Instead, I yelled at Ian. For something important, I’m sure, like not taking out the trash last month or helping me with the laundry last week.  Something so important that I don’t even remember now what it was.

And then, in the midst of my irrational tirade, I caught a glimpse of myself, reflected in the window of our family room.

Wearing one of Ian’s old, white undershirts, covered with chocolate pudding (sugar-free, fat-free, of course) that had dribbled down the front, I had a bleached blond streak in my halo of tangled, ratted hair and black mascara circling my maniacal, yes maniacal, brown eyes.

And then -- the pièce de résistance -- globbed on my face over red splotches that had appeared on my 57-year-old skin was white baby Desitin for somewhere in an hour of desperation I’d read that Desitin dabbed on the face helped the skin! I mean, just look what it does for a baby’s bottom! Oh dear! And once more, to quote Conrad, “The horror! The horror!”

Aghast, I ran and washed my face and then immediately went to bed, realizing that the humiliating horror of what I saw reflected in our back window was actually an answer to my prayer for my reflection showed me, quite vividly, what I needed to change, and it wasn’t the Desitin even though that, too, was quite idiotic.  

Embarrassed, I was also relieved for God, undoubtedly, has a sense of humor. Seeing the ridiculous way I looked and acted was more than comic relief, however,  in the midst of a tragedy staged by a tired woman acting, no overacting, like she was on death’s door when all she needed was to go to bed and rest; but it was comical. And it was most definitely God’s answer to my prayer.

Lord, show me what I need to change.

And He did.

Time to Stop

Intent on talking to her husband while doing the laundry, a friend of mine wasn’t paying attention as she sprayed a white dress shirt with red spray paint instead of stain remover. After a few seconds of watching, her husband asked, “Are you sure you want to keep doing that?”

I’m pretty sure there are a few things I need to stop doing today. And I’m pretty sure God’s been watching a lot longer than a few seconds.

"Do what is right and good in the sight of the Lord" 

(Deut 6:18a NRS).