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.