I Broke My Scooter

I haven't blogged in a few days because I've been busy.

Busy moaning, crying, gasping, pouting, etc.

My scooter broke.

You know how when you are in bed and  you scoot your bottom over to get more comfortable?

Can't do it.

I am locked down, stove  up, tore up, messed up and hurt.

For some reason, when my bottom wouldn't scoot, I panicked.

Husband tried to calm me down, and moved me for me until I got comfortable.

I went to the chiropractor, but couldn't see the woman who has helped me before.

So I saw somebody else.

And now, I'm worse.

I got a massage yesterday and couldn't get off the table. She had already left the room so I could get up and get dressed. I had to holler, "My bottom won't move!" She graciously moved me for me.

This has got to stop.  I'm beginning to feel cheap and tawdry.

Wow! Tawdry would be a great Scrabble word!

I dug out the tinge unit, and of course the batteries were dead. They finally charged,and it gives me some comfort.

Tonight we are going to "The Atlanta Christmas Musical". Husband's first cousin is the co-writer to the score. We have tickets. Husband's Baby Sister is coming from Alabama.

MUST GO.

So I'll be electrocuting myself all night with a touch of muscle relaxant and pray for the best.

Toss a prayer up there for me, will ya?

Happenin' Stuff

So much has been going on these past few days, I don't know where to start.

Thanksgiving was nice. We did the usual preparations, except we are all chipping in more and more and Mother less. She should actually be doing nothing but when you figure out how to keep her from it, let me know, okay?
Last year I was flat on my back and had to rely on Daughter to do my part, too. This year I hung in there and wasn't flat on my back until Friday. But the massage therapist has helped. If I ain't a lot better, chiropractor, here I come. I hate being on muscle relaxants too much, but sometimes that seems to be the only solution. Daughter and I are doing a duet at church tomorrow, so I may be hollering for help in putting on my pantyhose. I'm not sure it's possible.

Speaking of being flat on one's back, one of my dearest, bestest friend's husband fell off the roof and landed flat on his back. He has grievous injuries to his back and at least ten if not more ribs broken. One surgery has been done, the "real" surgery is set for Monday if his lungs have healed enough.

I am heartbroken for them. Their lives have changed forever. As she once told me, "There was  your life before you fell, now you have a life for after you have fallen."

If you are of the praying sort, get to it, please. They need it.

I have been asked to speak to the genealogy society here. I reckon it's because I'm so old they figure I can remember way back yonder. Unfortunately, I'm so old I can't remember way back yonder, so I'll read some of a book or two of mine and we can laugh and talk about it.

I can still talk real good.

And, speaking of books, mine are still selling pretty well. If you've missed one or two, you need to contact me. Also, Christmas is coming up and I have a book for just about every age.

Oh, and please raise your hand if you know my password for my e-mail.

Eh, me neither.

Later.

Tomorrow Is Closer Than It Was

This will be my last blog for a few days.

Tomorrow  Mother is having hip replacement surgery. She is nearly 85 years old, so perhaps you can imagine my anxiety over it.

I have not wanted her to have this surgery, even though she has been cleared by a good cardiologist, dentist, and the surgeon himself.

But you see, I don't know if my unease comes from my own disastrous surgery where many things went awry and I'm stuck with it all, or if it is her age and I'm afraid she won't live through it all, or if it is my fear of my own shortcomings when it comes to helping take care of her afterwards.

All I told my Mother was: "It's your body, it's your pain, and only you can decide what has to be done"

And her reply, "I can't go on living with this pain."

So, there you go.

My hope, my sincere prayer, is that in a few days I'll be able to regale you with hilarious stories of adventures at the hospital, as I have attempted to do in the past.

I ask that those of you who are praying folks to lift my mama up in prayer tomorrow. For the Lord loves to hear our prayers, it is a sweet odor to Him. He loves my mother more than I can imagine, and I ask that you pray with that in mind.

And if you have an extra minute, add me in there, too.

Pain is a Funny Thing

Obviously I don't mean funny ha-ha, but funny odd.

For whatever reason, I have been in more pain than usual today. Blame it on the weather, blame it on how I slept, blame it on whatever you so desire.

I remember after surgery I would have terrible days, when things had been looking up. I'd wrack my brain trying to figure out what I'd done wrong.

Unfortunately, there is no rhyme nor reason as to the upswing of pain. It suddenly becomes a beast that only yesterday was an irritant. And maybe (hoping) tomorrow it will go back to being just an irritant.

When I get in this shape, I fantasize about the time that will come when I won't have pain anymore, that I will  have a whole and healthy body. I try to remember this part of life is only for the blink of an eye, nothing compared to what is to come.

God provided a miracle yesterday in our family. I am still hungover with being awestruck from that. When I called people to tell them the results of corporal prayer, many actually laughed out loud with joy.

A taste of what's to come.

So, what do I blame my bad pain days on? The fall (of mankind).

And yes, I am aware of the pun.

Say a prayer for me today, and never hesitate to ask the same from me.

We can pray, no matter what.

Company's A'Comin'!

Yesterday, we peopled our house.

This is a fancy way of saying we had company. Husband used to watch "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" and some rich old coot said "I love to people my house."

Now, I don't reckon I'm a rich old coot, at least I know I ain't rich and I don't think I'm old enough (yet) to be called old, and I think coots are always male, aren't they? Anyway, it's obvious I don't know the correct definition of 'coot', so let's move on.

There is something nice about the anticipation of company coming. The hustle and bustle, the food preparation, the making sure there's enough clean forks and that the glasses don't have spots on them. 

And: my house is really clean. It was so nice this morning to walk through my clean house and just sigh contentedly.

I know it won't stay that way for long. Probably as I sit here nastiness is creeping around the corners, filling up the corners and counters. Oh, well. That's life, as they say.

For another, it's nice to see your house through other people's eyes. I don't mean seeing that the bedroom needs painting, or the smudge you missed on the kitchen floor (which needs replacing, by the way).

No, I mean how they smile at your whimsical stuff, admire the fire laid ready to light come fall, things like that.

I like how everyone gathers in the kitchen, and everyone is talking at the same time, and when they fill their plates they tell you how good it is. 

I like the laughter, the genuine merriment that comes from people who are friends and love one another.


And most of all? I like it that we can pray together, for one another, and mean it.

Do I hear an Amen?

I No Longer Control My Life

I no longer control my life.
Pain tells me: Get up! Go to bed! Stop walking! Stop sitting! Stop standing!

Awakened in the middle of the night by a roaring, raging beast,
Only to be corralled by chemical relief,
Becomes a slumbering dragon breathing slow fire.
Waiting till I can be caught off guard, it pounces again, attacking.

But Saints called down the  Word of God.
An avenging angel stepped forward.
He guards the place that is really me,
And allows no demons near.

With strong arms 'cross his mighty chest,
And wings unfurled, at rest,
He says: "This place belongs to the Almighty,
You will not enter in."

In this refuge full of serenity's light,
I float upon living waters.
Encased in purity, love and peace,
My spirit rests within.

So, though the fire and thunderstorm of pain
Can, rumbling, wake me from my sleep,
Its lightening flashes cannot burn the me within
That's in my Father's keep.

I fiercely fight the pain with prayer,
For those I love need covered.
Lost sleep is not for ought
If graced by Holy conversation.

It soothes my soul and gives drink to thirst,
Where tranquil whispers sweeten
Darkness. Shadowed deep with softly sung
Lullabies from God.


by: kathi harper hill

Where The Rain Begins

Which, by the way sounds like a really neat title to a book. Remember that for me, will ya? I might use it someday.

When I was a kid, maybe nine years old or so, we had a very hot, very dry, summer. My granddaddy had a garden, and it was a good sized one.

He and my grandmother had retired and moved to the country after selling the grocery store, and the farmer in him re-blossomed, I guess.

He had a garden up until the year he died, at age eighty-seven, even though he couldn't stoop anymore. He just used an old potato sack to put his  knees on, and crawled from plant to plant to weed.

Anyway, there had been prayers sent up on a daily basis for the Lord to send rain to water the garden, and all one could do after that was wait.

One afternoon I was playing in their backyard when a dark cloud came up. I could hear thunder, but could still see the sun shining too. I stood up and walked to the edge of the yard, right where the garden commenced.

It started raining. Not on me in the yard, but in the garden, right in front of me.

I would stick my arm out and let the rain fall on my hand, and my arm would stay dry.

It did this for about ten minutes, then slowly tapered off, the cloud spent.

Now, I know rain starts and stops somewhere, everytime. It has to. And I've seen pavement be suddenly dry (or wet). And I've 'run into a rain' in a car, driving in and out of it.

But this particular rain was a very elementary lesson to a little girl.

Sometimes God gives you exactly what you ask for.

Nothing more, nothing less.

A Time To Die

I just found out a friend's daughter died last night.

I don't know how she will bear it. My mind balks at the very thought of losing a child to death. I don't care how old the 'child' is. This particular one was middle aged. But who cares, if you are the mother?

God knows, I'd give anything to keep from losing my child. It seems the worst nightmare a person could endure. Not to say I'd keep her here if she was suffering and no hope of recovery. No, then I'd be willing to let her go.

But I know in my heart, I would cry, 'What about me, Lord? What will I do now?'

Some of you reading this have probably lost a child. And I am truly, truly sorry that you have.

This brings to mind my faith and trust in God. Don't I? Well,  yes. I believe He is good. I believe He knows what He is doing. I believe, if my daughter died, she would be in Heaven, a far better place than this. And I believe Heaven is a far better place this this. That's why my cry would be about me, not her.

Grief is, after all, a very self-centered thing. I don't mean that in a selfish way, I mean it is all about what we are feeling, what we are going through, and how we will continue to go on.

Frankly, I don't want to. It frightens me to even think about it.

I'm afraid that's why people avoid those who have lost children in death. They may tell you, "I don't know what to say." or "I just can't stand to see them so upset." But the truth is, I think, they are afraid if they get too close it could happen to them to. Realilty is scary thing to face.

Control? We have none.

So, I'm right back to the top of the page. I'm sorrowful, I'm frightened, and I don't know what to say, or do.

But I do know I am praying. For that Mother. For my own child.

And for me.