Remembering Christmas past, life is fleeting.

The holidays are approaching. If that thought causes fear and anxiety over getting it all done, why not try a reset this year? I wrote this almost a year ago at Christmas. It's some childhood Christmas memories. What I do not remember of my childhood was constant running and racing to do it all. I'm sure mama and daddy were busy, they worked hard but I can't remember any overscheduling. I don't remember being exhausted as a child until I was in athletics and band. 

Mama and daddy always had time for us. They didn't overload their schedules, they said "no" to extra things often, they chose what was important. In doing that, they taught us what was truly important.
Yes, to Sundays at Mamaws or Uncle Lattie's house or Aunt Lura's for big family dinners and all the cousins. Yes to "window shopping" trips during the holidays and driving downtown to see the Christmas lights at night. They said yes to card & board games, time together walking in the woods, playing outside, fishing from the creek bank, reading together, family visits to Pensacola beach. They said yes to church gatherings, singing in the choir, special services, revival, camps and Bible studies. Down time just doing nothing because sometime your brain needs to do nothing. How long has it been since your family did nothing? 
I wish we could all step back in time for a while. 

Writing from December 2022~~ It's the morning of Christmas Eve, I can't help but think of Christmas' past. I'm sipping coffee at 6 today but my mama would have been up for hours by now. 
My room was directly across from where our Christmas tree stood all my life. It wasn't a big house and there was only one spot for one of those monster trees daddy would cut down in the woods. He would trim it perfectly on the bottom, he and the boys get it into the house into a bucket. (we sometime laughed because he misjudged the size. Out it went again to trim a little more) They wedged bricks and rocks until it was straight, then mama filled the bucket with warm water. Next, it would be expertly decorated. She allowed us kids to hang ornaments but then we left it to her to finish with tinsel. The good stuff- heavy and delicate. I can still see her hand with tinsel separated and draped over it where she spent several evenings in a row getting the tree covered. She would painstakingly lay single pieces over each branch, only about 6 or 7 per branch, (we don't want it to look gaudy) until the entire tree glimmered in the light.
If you stood back and threw tinsel at your tree in wads and left it, she could hardly look at it. (at least I know where my OCD came from) The smell of that tree would fill the house. Each night I would beg for the lights to be left on, despite mama's certainty the house would burn down. I went to sleep with that smell and the tree illuminating the living room. Christmas morning I was the first to see what Santa left. I loved that. 

I think I've always been a little OCD. Even as a little girl of 7 or 8 years old, Christmas morning I made a quick visual survey of the gifts that arrived during the night and promptly turned the two living room chairs around for mama and daddy. I tidied up around the chairs for pictures mama would not be embarrassed by. It made perfect sense to me to get them comfortable before we began opening gifts. I would run to the bedroom, wake daddy and beg him to come quickly. Mama, up for hours already cooking in the kitchen, something delicious. Daddy would get up and build a fire in the fireplace.. it seemed to take them forever. Crant and Steve would join us and then the opening began. 
We received one large gift from Santa or two smaller gifts. That was the rule. It was all we were allowed to ask for and we were always thrilled with the outcome. There was usually a surprise gift from Santa that we didn't ask for, like new clothes. Then on to our stockings, filled with fruit, hershey kisses and little snack size candy bars- Mr Goodbar, Nestle Crunch and Dark Chocolates. We always gave our dark chocolate to mama, how convenient. She was smarter than I gave her credit at the time. Santa usually left a bowl full of tangerines on the kitchen table. Once I even remember mama being so tired Christmas Eve she didn't clear the table of dishes. Those tangerines were tossed in the bowl the northern beans were in the night before. Santa is so efficient I thought. 

There was the year my brother Crant thought he would be cute. He cut the bottom out of his stocking and put a box under it. Santa frowned on teenagers trying to be cute apparently because it didn't work. Crant had the same goodies dropped thru the stocking (now bottomless) into the box. 
When I was younger I would go to my stocking where I had 3 tangerines or oranges. Strange, how come I have three and hardly any candy when my brothers have no fruit and lots of candy?  I think they both got a scolding that year and my candy miraculously appeared back in my stocking. 

Every year leading up the the holiday a huge box or two would arrive from Pensacola. My Aunt Lora had packed gifts up and sent them. Always sent ahead of schedule to assure we had them on Christmas morning. How long has it been since I thought of something far in advance to provide joy for someone else? (Humbling, isn't it?)
I still remember opening those packing boxes each year to find our individually wrapped Christmas inside to place under the tree. One year she gave me pink fuzzy slippers and a Barbie wallet. I was over the moon. I carried that little wallet until it finally fell apart. I was so very proud of it. She likewise sent things to the boys they loved and always sent mama something fabulous. I still have my mothers Fostoria candle sticks and cake plate from her sister. 

My brother Crant was always creative and gave mama something he carved or whittled at Christmas. He made some very detailed things over the years, many of which he still has. Steve was always practical and knew what mama liked. He usually gave her some act of service he could do that required no money, as none of us had any. He would clean out her car and her side of the garage or something similar. I remember him wiring mama's radio in the kitchen to speakers throughout the house when he was a teenager. She loved having her music on. He did well. There were no wires visible and if memory serves, I believe he wired it into a wall switch too. Steve was always about convenience. He had run wires under the house, in the crawl space or in the walls, it was impressive for a teenager. 

I remember making mama a "soap bar reindeer" one year. (Hey, don't laugh it was a thing back then.) We would make little animals or Santa out of a bar of soap. I added antlers, Crant retrieved little sticks from tree branches and whittle the ends where I wouldn't hurt myself. He gave me a piece of deer hide he had tanned.. I applied it to the reindeer as a skirt I believe. I decorated it and she had that moldy old bar of soap for the remainder of her life in her box of important papers. God love her, she kept everything. 

While we were all playing with our Christmas and mama was cooking, daddy was packing for their hunting trip. Mama wanted us all to enjoy the day, daddy was waiting until he could throw his gear in the truck and head out, without mama being mad at him. They didn't talk about it much. Just the bags packed and hunting gear ready to go. Waiting.. The men in the house got absolutely giddy by mealtime. Mama cooking, daddy and the boys waiting, Christmas music playing, fire in the fireplace, toys . . . does it get any better than that?

While we ate Christmas dinner there was lively conversation around the table, it was a wonderful time. There was laughter and gratitude. Then finally mama would say "Oh go on." That's all it took for the my brothers and daddy to grab their gear and go. They could hardly wait to get in the woods. I remember kisses on mama's cheek and thank yous before they ran out the door. 
Mama would stoke the fire in the fireplace, we would wash dishes together and she would settle in with her latest book from the library. I played with my Christmas treasures snuggled up to her on the couch or in the floor.  We took naps and watched Christmas shows.

There were no cell phones beckoning, no outside world flooding in questioning our time, our beliefs or values. Nothing interfering with this time together. I wonder if children get the same undivided attention from their parents these days? Are they ever unscheduled? 

By New Years mama and I were craving something fabulous to eat. Sometime it might mean a quick hamburger and fries at Mrs Dot Vance cafe, only a few miles from home. Other times it might mean a trip to Birmingham for lunch at Britlings cafeteria and some "after Christmas sale" shopping. One year, I remember heading off to Catfish King to have fried chicken, (I had shrimp) and they served up these amazing apple fritters. They weren't what you see now if you google fritters. They were a delicate hush puppy w/a slight sweet taste, not savory with tiny bits of cooked apple all through, a sprinkle of powdered sugar on top. We talked and ate, laughed and planned gardens, spring dresses and new shoes. Most of all, we shared time together. I loved those days. 

Catfish King (formerly a Theater) Ensley, Al 1961

Soon enough everyone was back home, school would start back right on time before she wanted to strangle us. Mama and daddy would be back off to work and normal life resumed. 

My children are grown, I wish I had done more "slowing down"
Have you thought of turning the cell phone off? Scripture urges us not to be self-important. For people to see Christ in us, there must be less of "us" more of Him. 
You are not going to have those precious babies for long, make memories now. Those memories have to last a lifetime. They aren't going to remember your excessive "guilty parent" buying, or how many expensive pairs of shoes you bought them. They will instead remember who had time for them, showed up for them, read to them, sat with them and listened, laughed and loved on them. 

Savor your days, make each one special. Life is short. 

It's always there but so is the Savior.

 I started reading the report and was not only confused but a smidge concerned. I had blood work done the week before and the following week it ends up in my patient portal, for viewing. It has become routine yes, but still holds me hostage until I see the endocrinologist and am assured all is fine. (I love that man. I've shared with him what a blessing he is to us, to me. I pray for him regularly.) 

His calm and reassuring manner is very much the same as my father was and likewise, my husband. He is smart, thorough and always learning more, which I find completely necessary in a doctor. There isn't an arrogant bone in his body. He reads my face each visit, I always ask questions. He innately knows what he needs to explain to me. 
I go every six months to be checked. That blip caused me concern though. It was one of my levels looking really askew and out of range. What does it mean? Can it be something pointing to cancer again? 

I hate to admit it but it kept me from sleeping well the night before. It was after much prayer and meditating on Gods Word that I finally fell asleep before my upcoming office visit. While three hours sleep is no big deal at age 25 or 30, it is huge at my age. I felt I had been run over by a truck.

As usual, he gets me in the exam room in a timely manner. As we pass the pleasantries and greetings, he assures me my cancer markers are completely nil. He starts his physical exam but saw the concern in my eyes and we begin discussing with brief breaks where he can palpate my lymph glands. They feel fabulous, nothing there. Now, my friend.. what is so concerning you today? 

He knows I tend to overthink. His first words are reassuring that my thyroid cancer is gone. Completely gone. Melanoma, which was a death sentence 20 yrs ago (his words), is now at the forefront of new technologies and treatments. I am encouraged not to fret over it too much. Whatever comes along can be managed. Simply continue due diligence in skin checks and concerning spots. 

Now to my concern, he begins explaining with his laptop in front of me, how these tests are executed, how the ratios are figured and completed. It really doesn't give the full picture. I am seeing that the standard ( or "mean") used and the ratio provided really does cause the result to be skewed. He goes on to tell me, how really if you look at my individual numbers they are very good. He did it again. Mrs Crossley, you are good. I leave the office relieved and thankful. 

Just over three years ago I prayed profoundly & consistently for "the right" Surgeon and for the right Endocrinologist and my prayers were answered. He guided me to their doors via friend and family recommendations. I am thankful every day for those recommendations. 

It makes me think. Do we not do the exact same thing in our daily walk in faith? We are faced with dilemmas, catastrophes, physical and mental limitations every day. We overthink sometime and allow the enemy to manipulate us to the point we no longer think logically. Satan is the author of confusion, it's what he does best. He wants us messed up, off kilter and confused. He magnifies every fault and reminds us of every misstep. He wants you to doubt everything you've ever known as true. Do you hear me? He wants you to doubt everything you've ever known as truth.
When you find yourself in a place of chaos, confusion, doubt.. know, it is definitely the enemy. We allow ourselves to believe his lies. Sometime he is so convincing. When Jesus is right there, saying. .  trust me. Trust me to do what your Father said He would do. He has given us a beautiful purpose for our lives. As a follower of Christ, sometime I receive answers that I am comfortable with and sometime things did not turn out the way I thought or would have wished for. I still know, like I know my name, that God is always faithful. 

When something grabs your attention and you feel fear rise in you, reassurance is needed. 

I had thyroid cancer just over three years ago and just under two years later, melanoma. There is never a day again in this life that I wake and do not at least think about it. That's what Satan wants me to dwell on.. the "what if's". He wants me thinking about the cancer lurking just below the surface, ready to attack again at any moment. That is why an active  prayer life and praying friends come in. I love and trust my prayer warriors and know I can call on them anytime, day or night. God said, pray without ceasing. 

I've said it before but cancer has been a strange blessing. We think of blessings as those times God answers our prayers in the way we want and His timing matches what we needed. All in a neat little package. That is not life though. We live in a fallen creation and we are all imperfect. I know who my Lord and Savior is but sometime I need reminding. Sometime I need him to say in a calm voice, like Dr V, "let me explain, let me show you" .. and show me He does. I have to remind myself that while the enemy can mess with my head, he can't have me. I belong to another, I have a Savior. He puts people in my path who lift me up, who pray over me. He also removes people I no longer need in my life. Maybe they are not going where I'm going.  

So, today I will choose to trust in God. Trust that He has me in his hand. Life is so much easier when you do. 

Biscuits and house shoes.

Southerners are a traditional people. We take great pride in continuing our traditions and carefully unpacking them in front or our children.
I was probably eight or so when I began standing close in the kitchen when mama cooked. I was fascinated by the things she whipped up. One of my favorites were her biscuits. My mother could whip up a iron skillet of biscuits in less time than it took to butter toast. It was like magic. She had this huge iron skillet daddy made (compliments of Hayes aircraft.) Daddy came home with several prototypes he made until he got it just right. Mama would cook in each one and tell him what needed adjusting- whether it was size, weight, everything browned too quick or too slow. I know he made several because a couple ended up out back behind the shed. When he finally got it right, she loved it. Most of the times she pinched off  "cat head" biscuits but sometime I cut them with a jelly jar. The smell of fresh biscuits permeated the entire house. She would often have a jar of plum jelly from my Aunt Jim and my brothers would get out syrup and butter for theirs. Those biscuits were a feast. I make mine quite the same these days. High and light.

You would be hard pressed to find a southern girl who wasn't trained well by a mother or grandmother and well steeped in tradition and hospitality. Recipes and traditions always make me think of my mother. A woman who grew up during the depression and had very little in the way of material things, her own mother died when she was only five. However, she mothered very well. She had aunts and other strong women, who stood in the gap to make sure she and her older sister grew and learned well.
She was also quirky, intentional and created traditions of her own. One of those would be her house shoes. In other regions of the country they may be called "slippers" or "scuffs" but in rural central Alabama where the summers were stifling and winters cold, they are house shoes.
I can remember summer days seeing three or four pair of freshly cleaned house shoes hanging on the line drying in the sun. As a child they were often a necessity as the house could get drafty in the winter and she wanted to be sure our feet stayed warm. Later on, also for comfort at the end of a long day. Mama would come in from work and slip her heels off and ask me to fetch her a pair of house shoes, fresh off the line. When she slide her feet in this signified indeed she was home. She wore them for a few minutes with her hosed feet as she either started or finished dinner. Later she would emerge from the bathroom with a fresh scrubbed face after her bath, donning her house shoes. She bought extras in varying sizes when on sale, she mended them sometime to get just a little more wear out of them. Sometime after a long shopping day she would pull a pair out from under the seat in the car, slip off her shoes and wear them home. 

I am like my mother in many ways. I slip my shoes off when I walk in the door, slide into a fresh pair of house shoes & make a fresh glass of iced tea. It signifies love and hospitality my mother shared all my life. Sliding into those little pillows of fresh, clean terry cloth felt amazing then and it still does. She kept 3-5 pair on hand in case someone else needed a pair. If you came by to sit a while and talk, she was likely going to force a pair into your hand. No need to resist, she was pretty persistent and very opinionated on the virtue of house shoes. 

She would always ask, "doesn't that feel much better than shoes?"
When in the hospital on several different occasions mama would bring house shoes for me, freshly washed of course, smelling of sunshine. She would pull them out of her purse and lay them by the bed. 
I would say one of my mamas spirituals gifts was hospitality. She wanted everyone to feel comfortable, she thought it would help an awkward or painful stay in the hospital, or give you a respite when you were mentally or physically tired, she was probably right.

As her dementia worsened and she spent more time at her children's homes, I always made sure after her shower she had a fresh pair of house shoes. I helped her prepare for bed and placed clean house shoes on her feet. She always carried on about how heavenly they felt. 

It's those old traditions she created for us, that I miss the most when I think of her. 
I guess there will be a hot pan of biscuits for breakfast in the morning to accompany the pillows of sunshine on my feet. 
Thank you mama. 

The beautiful, mundane blessings.

 

Thoughts from May 2nd--
It's a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining, there's still a little "crisp" in the air. I've listened to the ducks squawk on the lake while I sip my coffee. I feel very blessed to live here.
Yesterday was not a great day. For some reason I didn't feel normal. I woke to a fine day outside but it happens every year on May 1st. I feel completely disconnected and off. I went into the studio to work early thinking it would help me concentrate. Oh well, I had to stop anyway, a doctors appointment beckoned. I took a nap later, not like me. Then, I looked at my calendar. . .  ah, I understand now. It's been eleven years since she went to her heavenly home. 
I do not want to be sad, it serves no purpose but there I was. I sat and prayed over it, piddled in the kitchen for a while.
Thank you Lord for answered prayer. 

I remember a particular shopping trip. Mama and I slipped away often to shop together on a Saturday. Her favorite spot was downtown Birmingham, all her favorite stores. It wasn't always buying, sometime just window shopping, watching prices. We always came back to purchase when the sales started.

S.H. Kress building still stands today on 19th street

We were usually gone all day and had to have a meal out. Depending on 'cash flow' at the time there were several options considered. One was my favorite, Joy Young for chinese food. There was also Britling cafeteria, the little cafe on the mezzanine at Lovemans or the counter at S.H. Kress five & dime for a quick sandwich. Sometimes she even brought sandwiches from home and we ate in the park. 

This particular day as we began to get hungry we headed over to S.H. Kress. It was a huge building with gold letters on the front, awnings over the big picture windows. It smelled of good food when you walked in despite most of the store was dry goods. The sandwich counter over to one side with it's twisty, swiveling stools were calling my name that day. To sit at the counter and have a sandwich and a bag of chips was as exciting as a holiday. We practically never got extras like chips at home, I was ecstatic. There was a bus stop pick up directly in front of the store and often the less fortunate hung out there to wait for the kindness of strangers. 
I had my little blue plastic Barbie wallet in my hand. My Aunt Lora gave it to me for Christmas. I had a few pennies and maybe a nickel in it and a school days picture of both my brothers. But I was feeling very fancy that day sitting at the counter on my twisty seat. 
Mama ordered two egg salad sandwiches and two chips w/a coca cola for each of us to drink. The sweet waitress added a straw to mine, I was over the moon. 
We said our blessing and began to eat. Mama was pilfering in her purse and asked me did I bring any change? Back in those days, a loaf of bread was about a nickel, change went a long way.
I proudly opened my little wallet and held it out to her, she took a little change and told me she would return it when we got home. She counted out her money and motioned for the waitress while I inhaled egg salad and potato chips. In a few minutes the waitress handed mama a bag. She told me to sit tight and she went outside the store and came right back. No discussion, no fanfare and the bag was gone. 
We continued our conversation and finished our shopping that day. It wasn't until later I realized she ordered sandwiches and gave them to the people standing outside the store. This was one of things I loved about my mama. 
My mother was a strong woman mentally & emotionally, she was a spiritual woman w/great faith, despite growing up without her mother, she mothered well. She demanded certain behavior from her children, never tolerated talking back or disrespect. She would simply say "that is not acceptable." She was also incredibly smart, kind and loving, her sense of humor was sarcastic & weird. She had a soft spot for others, she loved the sunshine and being outside. I'm sure that's where I get my love for outdoors. I'm also sure God gave her the gift of discernment because she always knew when to intervene and say something or when not to say something. When all you needed was for her to sit with you, just be there- she never opened her mouth. She just sat.  
Last night to end the day on a good note I made one of her favorite meals. Smoked sausage with bell pepper, onions and potatoes. I find it amazing so many things in my life remind me of her. Today will not be a sad day. It's honestly more a longing than sadness, to see her, to talk with her again. God promises we will have eternity to be together. 
Yes there are days in life that will be filled with sadness, losses and grief. Yet, our Father reminds us of the beautiful mundane experiences we lived, the memories which continue to bring comfort. It also reminds me to love my people who are here. To listen and soak it all in. 
Today it's raining, but it will be a beautiful, mundane day for as many blessings as we can squeeze in. Thank you Lord for another day. 

Your words have great power

It is amazing to me that it has been almost four  years since my husband had open heart surgery. I am forever thankful to the amazing doctors and nursing staff during his recovery.
It is a strange occurrence when someone you love is in dire straits. There's the time that flies as you try to gather all the information being thrown at you, all at once. It happens so quickly, then the waiting begins.  There were long hours waiting, just waiting. I try to take something to do at a hospital and we have a really nice one and there's a nice, private waiting room in the cardiac unit. I sat quietly and watched HGTV or read while I wait to see Don while he recovered. Ever thankful our surgeon requires his patients to remain in CICU.
I have always been a people watcher and you can't help but hear other peoples conversations in a confined space. I have heard conversations about other patients and extended family- when they arrive in town, when are they leaving.
At times it becomes quite comical, "well lady, no way that heifer is staying with me again, she ate me out of house and home but Lord, she makes a delicious potato salad" (Actual sentence I heard. I wrote it down immediately where I wouldn't forget)

There are those conversations that blow me away too. A family comes in- apparent older grandmother, her son in his 50's and a couple of 30'ish adults. I haven't figured out who the heart patient is yet but I've learned who their pastor is because grandmother says "he's just a baby. He's only 28 but he's learning." ( I chuckle under my breath.) I'm still scanning the room looking for a heifer that looks like she may overstay her welcome, I want her potato salad recipe.
Back to grandmother.  Apparently this sweet lady feels she has her finger on the heartbeat of the church. Then I sat for almost two hours hearing her dissect the entire church, taking it apart piece by piece, one by one. According to her, there's the lady that tries to do everything but she just needs to go home. The ones who do nothing and also need to go home. There's the pianist who no longer hits the correct notes during morning service. There's talk amongst the women that she has some dementia since her husband died, she says. Then there is the organist that just "up and left" .. well, what would make a person do that, she asks? (I think I might know)
Grandmothers 50-something son tries his best to temper his mothers comments but the complaints continue to flow like an open faucet and he finally just gives up. He is now watching HGTV with me.
I decide to put my earbuds in and listen to music while I rest, it's almost time to see my husband for a few minutes. I can still hear her.

Do we know how we sound in front of others? Because I'm pretty sure this lady was once a mover and a shaker. I've listened to the things she's done and where she's been. Somewhere along the way she got lost. She became jaded, bitter and critical.
Her words roll back and forth in my head, I can't shake them. I vow today to never sound like that. I am certainly not perfect and never will be. Lord please help me, don't let me ever see the world as this woman now does.
It reminds me of trying to work with someone like "grandmother" back when I was on staff at church. It was difficult to say the least but sometimes it was completely disabling. The things they said, the way the look at you, hangs in the air and you feel you can hardly breathe. Lord Jesus, please don't let me become like that. 

I sit here instead and start thinking of the things that have transpired over the last two months.
Almost six weeks before Don's trouble began I was anxious and I didn't know why. Something was afoot as my mother used to say but I wasn't sure what. I began to pray on it and after a while realized something was indeed coming. I knew without a doubt God was preparing me for something. I prayed fervently.  Will it be one of my children or grandchildren? 

Soon I came to understand it was to be in our house.

Have you ever had thoughts come into your head or remembered an old story and you begin writing it all down quickly before you forget. It just pours out of your head. That's what happened to me but it was prayers and scripture that began to flow out of me in the morning, in the wee hours of the night, driving down the road. It was constant and unrelenting. I didn't tell anyone, not even Don.
First, scripture from Hebrews. Then Proverbs 3:5 says, "trust in the Lord with all your heart... lean not on your own understanding"
From Psalms, "Be still and know that I am God"  Being still, hmm... not my greatest quality.
From Matthew, Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about anything, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what will you put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?" Then, Trust Me. Just Trust Me. There was also the scripture I did not want to see, how healing sometimes comes in death. Because as much as we do not want to see or hear it, sometimes the answer we desire is not what God has for us, or allows at that time. Our sweet friend and pastor of many years, Charles Anglin reminded us often.. God indeed causes things to happen but he allows them to happen too. During those times He wants us to cling to Him only. He may not have caused something to happen, it is the result of our own actions, but He uses those times to teach us how to further depend on Him.
There were many more passages and I will admit my knee-jerk reaction was fear. I thought what is about to happen? I came to understand, I'm about to have to trust God in a mighty way, in a way I've maybe never trusted before. This is going to be hard.
So, it began and The Spirit's urging prepared me and I was calm, I was at peace. After the heart specialist took me to see the results of Don's heart cath and explained what all was wrong and what had to be done.. I knew the God of heaven and earth had prepared me where I could prepare Donald. 

Psalm 19:14, KJV: Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer.

The doctor who performed my husbands heart catheterization, was short, curt & quite rude if I'm honest. He seemed irritated we were even there. The words came from his mouth like he was mad at me. Maybe he was having a bad day, maybe he had personal problems, I'm not sure but what I was sure of was I did not want him near my husband again.  He said "I'll go tell him." I said, "No sir, you will not. I will tell him." 
I began to explain to Don what had happened, where the damage was, what had to be repaired, the urgency of everything and to help him understand we had decisions to make soon. They were still holding pressure on his artery from the catheterization, I see fear in his face now. I know how he feels. 
I begin sharing with him the past five weeks and what has transpired, how God has allowed me to understand that something big is happening but He is with us. We are not alone.  I watch his face change as he listens, there are tears but he is also calm and quiet now. But God? Right where He promised He would be. We are never alone. 
As we left the cath lab recovery area, I spoke with the attending nurse and told her we would not be using the doctor who performed the heart cath. She asked me why, I told her we had chosen someone else. I harbor no ill toward that doctor but his choice of words that day told me more about him than anything else. 
Don was covered in prayer from friends on the Warrior River to the wailing wall in Jerusalem. I am so grateful for God's urging, for the quiet tug of the Holy Spirit to listen, for praying warriors by our side. For the texts that showed up exactly when we needed them, the phone messages and visits. All those words--  "We are praying Leisa" 

"We are just down the road, call me anytime you need me" 

"The children wanted to pray for Mr Don this morning at breakfast, so we did" 

"We love you both" 

"I am still praying for Don and you" .. 

Yes, what a great reminder that our words carry great power. They can reduce someone to tears, they can hang in an ear for days, weeks, years, they can destroy a child or young adult. Words can wound our elders, our spouses or friends, our pastor and staff. 

Lord help me be mindful of my words daily. I know I fail sometime but I'm working on it with Jesus. 

He was mine and I am grateful.

 

Just a quick blog post today. One day I want my children and grandchildren to be able to look back and read about their family and our lives growing up. 

My Daddy was not a perfect man, as none are but as I have said before, he was perfect for me. 
Honor & integrity were important to him. He grew up in a family with seven brothers and sisters, he was one of the younger ones. 

Growing up during the depression he didn't get the opportunity to finish high school. I always try to imagine what it must have been like for him to be a football player and enjoying school when he had to quit and go to work at sixteen, to help his family. Then to think about how well he supported his own family as we grew up, without a formal education. He was a very smart man and imagine not many people even knew he didn't graduate high school, as mama did. 

He was a brick mason, he could also build anything. 

He made the best pancakes I ever ate. He made them in an iron skillet and they were 10" around. He would ask "you want one or two?

Along with all his brothers, daddy was Navy. He joined at 18 and was one of just over 850 sailors who survived a hit on the USS Franklin during WWII .. half the men on the ship were lost that day. I never heard him talk much about his service, only briefly once or twice. I never heard him complain about anything, ever. He was kind, gentle and full of humor, a good dancer, loving and affectionate. He loved his children fiercely. He was compassionate for anyone who had little material wealth, he had been that child and he held a special love for people in need. He went about quietly helping, not telling anyone. I was grown before I knew some of the things he did for others. He never told it.

He was pretty passionate about his hunting & fishing too. He would go fishing on a Friday and if you asked him Sunday if he had been recently, he would say no. That's a love of fishing. I remember begging to go, just the two of us, not the boys. I loved those times with daddy all to myself. He would buy me a banana flip and an RC cola and off we went. I probably talked the entire time while he wet his hook but he didn't mind. He taught me to pop that worm in half and put it on my hook. Once we landed on a crappie bed down below Gross camp and we had to run up to Mr Bills to get a second ice chest because ours was full. We ate good for a while after that trip. We fished that day until our hands were cramping up. 

Daddy at 22. 

When I was 8 yrs old, I was sick with a fever and mama had no sick or vacation days left. So daddy stayed home with me. We were not allowed much in the way of sweets at our house. (mama felt sugar was the downfall of man)  Mama went off to work and daddy went out to his truck and came back with a box of Fruit Loops. I was ecstatic! He and I sat and ate cereal together and watched television. Mid-morning after reading a couple stories from the Childcraft and probably to get me off that sugar high, he told me to get my shoes on. In my pajamas and tennis shoes he bundled me up in a blanket and off we went. 
We were going fishing. (Even at 8 yrs old I knew mama would absolutely die if she knew) 
To daddy, this was a perfect plan! 
We sat on that river bank and fished for hours. I remember him looking at me at one point, feeling my head with his hand. I can still see his calloused hands, tanned from the sun and rough from work, reaching for my face. 
He pulled two aspirin out of his pocket and gave me a drink of water from a mason jar he brought along. (he was keeping me hydrated, mama should be proud) After a few fish and a while on that bank I began playing around and slipped my foot right into that water. It was a cold day and my shoe was soaked. Daddy decided it was time to go home and we headed out. I was tired and ready to go. 
When we got home he tucked me in on the couch where I quickly fell asleep. 

He had a difficult time explaining to mama why he took me fishing.. I remember my mother saying something about "What were you thinking?" He replied with a simple, "What? You think I was going to make her sick? She's already sick?" 

It was the best sick day I ever had. The best. 

Today he has been gone for forty-five years. It seems impossible it's been that long since I heard him laugh or hugged his neck or sat under the protection of his strong arms. I was only 19 when he died but the lessons I learned and the time I had with him are indeed priceless. He was the one who taught me the unconditional love of a father. He gave me a view of Christ seeing his love for others. 
I live each day with the knowledge of the promise I will see him again. 
I'm looking forward to that reunion, Lord. 

Hope for the New Year.

Thoughts over coffee this morning.
This time three years ago I was waiting on results from a thyroid ultrasound & biopsy. Nodules found on a routine doctor visit had been biopsied. January 14th I got the call, Mrs Crossley unfortunately it's cancer. One nodule tested positive and the other is suspicious, I recommend we remove it all now. Eliminate the possibility of it returning there. I agreed. 

A short two weeks later, January 30th I had surgery. March 11, 2020, one week before we all heard about covid, I went to hospital for radiation. Life changed. 
Recovery went well and I read all I could on things to look for, treatments, life expectancy and curable rates. 
Fast forward to August of 2021 and I was finally scheduled for my "missed" skin check. When you are fair skinned and blue eyed you get skin checks. Your mother made you all your life and it becomes a habit. [My Springtime skin check was postponed because of covid.]
Now, three spots were biopsied and one particularly worrisome. My kind doctor called to tell me the spot on top of my head was indeed melanoma. My surgeon was recommended and off we went, surgery followed- a shaved top of head, wound vacuum, months of healing and massaging to stretch the skin. I feel by the grace of God, I did incredibly well but again, life changed. 

The only thing I could think about this entire time for almost two years was trust Jesus, just trust Jesus. I've trusted Jesus since I as ten years old. I trust Him every day but when life gets really hard you cling to Him- not just daily but sometime minute by minute, hour by hour.. you tell yourself, this day is only twenty-four hours, it will be passed soon, hang on. He will bring a new day or take me home. Either way, I am good. 

In our human frailty, we try to take situations & circumstances in life and make them what we want them to be. We try and manipulate the outcome to be what we want, when we want and how we want. We forge ahead with everything in us to make it all work out. The truth is, we are (were) never in charge. 
Looking back on those times especially the ones no one saw, when the home health nurse and my husband picked hardened ostomy paste (set up like concrete) from my head and sniped the hair away at my scalp for an hour and a half. Someone applied it out too far and it was glued to my scalp in a five inch circle around an open wound the size of a silver dollar. Those times, I trusted Jesus. 

Before the thyroid surgery I asked everyone I could think of in the medical field, who to use. Which surgeon, who, who?  Extended family, close friends suggested my surgeon, "He's the best Leisa".. and he was. He was a God fearing, praying man. I never doubted or worried going into surgery, I knew I trusted Jesus and so did my surgeon. 

You see when you trust in Jesus, He sends the right people into your path. He always allows us free will but the Holy Spirit guides and encourages and when you are at your lowest, He covers you when you have no words. He intercedes on your behalf. When you do not even know what to pray, He fills you up. 

There was one thing during that time I could not resolve. I needed to talk to my mama. If I could only talk with my mama I knew all would be okay. 

  

Well, mama went on to her heavenly home a decade before. What I never told anyone was the dream I had two nights before my surgery. 
In my dream we were on the beach, as I had been some forty plus years ago with my mother. We had gone down to Pensacola for a few days, just the two of us, I was seventeen. Just some time with her sister, at my aunt and uncles home. Down time was hard to come by in those days for mama, she worked full time. Daddy was struggling after a car accident had caused internal injuries. But we took just a few days. It was too cool to swim but we lounged on the beach in the sunshine like cats in a warm window. There were things brewing with me and although I had not told my mother I believe her intuition had taken over. 
Mama was a loving and good mother, the best but she was not much for mushy sentiment. She was a product of her upbringing during the depression. She saw no reason for any complaining ever. 
But this day while watching the waves roll in and back out I knew she had something to say. She turned to me and said, "Leisa, there is nothing in this world that would ever stop your daddy and I from loving you. You know that don't you?" Yes mama, I do but thank you for saying it.  
"You can always depend on us, daddy and I are here. always."

There are people who will read this and think "what hooey" or "wishful thinking".. but there are those of us who know without a shadow of a doubt a mighty God who always provides. Thank you Lord does not quite seem enough, does it? 

It's February already, hard to believe. I look out the window this morning at our birds hopping and flittering around the feeders, the lake looks like glass with the occasional ripple from a duck forging ahead. 

My soul is at peace as my three year anniversary of thyroid cancer passed only a few days ago. All I can think on these days, my Father in heaven is so good, He is all I need. My hope for the new year is to grow in faith, continue to trust in Jesus and share what He's done for me. 
Just remember, we are not in control as life changes. However, the beauty and joy is in the releasing of worry, of fear, of having to do it alone. Because you don't have to do it alone, ever. 
Make this one a beautiful day, make it count. 

I Packed for Three Weeks.

Looking back on my childhood I realize I was probably what would now be considered ADHD. I bounced off the walls most days, talked incessantly and had a million things flying through my head at once. I had good organizational skills though, even as a child. My mother loved it when I organized her kitchen cabinets or her closet.  I may have been 9 or 10 at the time but I could clean those cabinets up in record time. 

Sadly for mama & daddy, as a child once the word "vacation" was mentioned at the dinner table, I was all in. Where are we going? How long are we there? When do we leave?  I'm sure mama and daddy held off as long as possible discussing in front of me. I am the youngest of three and I'm not sure how my brothers stayed so calm after the announcement. I was tripping over myself getting ready. Mama would just smile and daddy would assure me I had plenty of time to pack, it would be a little while yet. 

Daddy would caution "it's another three weeks baby". I questioned his sobriety at this point. 
I had this little suitcase not much bigger than a cereal box and I slammed the thing full of toys, little books and a couple stuffed animals. Oh, and my swimsuit. Only the bare necessities. How are they all so calm? We are going to the beach soon! May I take a Childcraft for bedtime stories? Daddy said we were NOT moving to the beach and the Childcraft was too much. Mama would study daddy for a minute, knowing she would put my favorite Volume 3 childcraft in her bag where we could read at night. 
Childcraft were a ritual at our home before google ever existed. I must have read those volumes a million times, studied the educational ones, made what would probably be considered "diy" projects in the craft ones. My brother Crant would help me with more complicated things like games. We would create the games described from empty cereal boxes, gem clips and tape. I insisted on coloring and decorating them and we would play those simple games for weeks. 

By the time vacation arrived I had repacked that bag about two dozen times. I was nothing if not efficient. It had become a daily ritual, a habit, taking something out and putting something else in. Still not a single change of clothing or underclothes, no shoes-only the single pair of sandals I wore all summer. 
My mama on the other hand packed all my necessary clothing in her bag. She carried sunscreen and a spare pair of glasses for herself. There was a paper lunch bag with aspirin, bandages, neosporin and kaopectate. Phone numbers for doctors were jotted down on an old envelope in case of emergency. Mama was always well prepared. 
The day we left I was bouncing off the walls while daddy loaded the car early with the help of my oldest brother.  

I am still amazed they did not sedate me for the trip because I'm sure I nearly drove them insane. About 20 miles from  home I started asking if we were there yet. Are we close now mama? What about now? My middle brother would get me involved in a puzzle or game. 
Those trips hold the most cherished memories. We either went to my Aunt and Uncle's home in Gulf Breeze or stayed at these little beaches cottages on Pensacola beach.
The cottages were pastel colored with screen porches and slanted roofs. They weren't much more than a hotel room w/a kitchen, you parked your car underneath your unit. They looked like pure heaven to me. The five of  us shared one unit w/me or one of the boys sleeping on a pallet on the floor. They were on stilts, set at an angle on the sand to accommodate each unit a beach view, just over the dunes. There was a huge hand built playground out back on the way to the pool. There were these life size replicas of a train and a ship just sitting in the sand for our imaginations and bare feet to traverse. You could go into the belly of that ship and climb the ladder to the top and be a pirate. The ship was my favorite. I would love to have an old photo of those cottages, they are sadly long gone. 

What's most important about our beach trips are the memories made with all five of us together. The cottages sat in a row, maybe eight or so of them, perpendicular to the road with that small beach view. We walked the beach at night with daddy while mama sat back and watched the fun from her towel. Later we would be on the little screen porch talking and going through our shells. Some trips daddy would borrow an old hand crank ice cream freezer where we could enjoy a bowl of ice cream. Because my brothers were older, sometime they would sleep on the screen porch if the nights were mild, on a pallet.
Crant would slip in just at daylight and wake me to take me out to the sand, still in my pajamas to watch the sun come up and watch for dolphin playing close to shore. The water was like glass barely making a sound as it washed ashore. We rolled my pajama legs up and I stood at waters edge letting it bathe my feet in salty warmth. 
I enjoyed walks on the beach with daddy. Strangely sometime he wore shoes. Daddy did not like the feeling of sand between his toes like most of us. I remember looking down on those wingtip dress shoes, so out of place. He hung on as long he he could manage, eventually walking with me in one hand, shoes and socks in the other.
How could those days be so far behind us? Those days were the closest to heaven on earth we will ever know, I think. 

Before we left for home I begged daddy to get boxes from Jitney Jungle and take sand home for my sandbox. I wanted Pensacola beach sand, not just regular old sand. I was sentimental even as a child. If we had room he would add a box or two to the trunk, sitting the back end of our car down from the added weight. God bless him, he indulged his little girl every chance he got within reason. 

Vacations were never dull with three children. There was the occasional "strange odor" stinging our nostrils as the ride home got underway. You know, the odor of something dead! Mama would question if daddy tied his fishing clothes up well in the bag.. I would look over at Crant as he mouthed silently, "it" got out. Oh no! He and I would begin checking every little nook and cranny we could get our hand into to no avail. 
It didn't take mama long to realize what had happened, daddy just chuckling under his breath.
Soon, from the front seat "what was it son?" Just a little sand crab in a cup mama, now dead somewhere in the car we presumed. You can't imagine how that tiny thing permeated the entire car. 
Daddy would find a nice spot to pull off the road and all three kids unloaded from the back seat while he searched for his now deceased sand crab. I can see daddy standing there w/his arm resting on the top of the car. He must have been ready to choke my brother but he waited quietly. Slight amusement came and went from mama's face, which totally confused me as a child. Steve had to explain it to me. 
Once he found it, there was a quick goodbye and we were on our way home again. For a couple weeks after, the smell lingered in the car. I always thought the car still smelled like vacation. I'm not sure mama felt the same. 

Those family vacations were such a metaphor for our life. The dawn on the beach and it's ethereal warmth, filling us with peace. The unrelenting grains of sand that work their way into everything- irritating and lingering like life's problems and disappoints, but still holding value as lessons are learned. The timeless feeling of those days long gone laughing & playing with my brothers as mama and daddy watched. Not the least of which, visiting family there. I've said it before and it's so true, my mother was never more at ease than when she was with her sister.

As we rolled back in close to home, topping the last rise coming back into town daddy would quietly say "welcome back to God's country." As a child, I didn't understand. 

Our rural, humble home was where their hearts lay. The place that brought them both complete contentment and peace. 

I am thankful for the memories of those days, long gone. Grateful for the lessons learned and the time with family most of all. Yes as daddy said, we were indeed richly blessed.