Your word IS

"Your word IS a lamp for my foot and light on my path." Psalm 119:105 CJB

When I was meditating on what I was going to say today – thoughts centering around the words Your word IS -- I remembered two pieces of paper that are priceless to me. (Laura, if you’re reading this, none of them are from you, honey. But I want you to know you hold the most priceless. Don’t ever doubt that; I have an entire folder full of things you’ve written me.) Two paper napkins with words written on them from three very special people. Tonya wrote “I was thinking of you today as I picked these, and wanted you to have some.” -- a friend picking strawberries who brought them, because she thought of me that day. And on the other napkin is mine, Bo Reh’s and Ku Reh’s names, that I asked them to write in Burmese, Karenni and English, Sunday night when we took them out to eat at Mancino’s, after Home Bible Study. [Two boys come from Burmese refugee camps to America and we take them out to eat pizza and teach them how to eat with their hands again. Somehow, something just seems wrong with this picture. Doesn’t it?] I asked them to write their name in Karenni, which is their native language, and in Burmese, which is different from Karenni. (Even though I call all my students Burmese, they come from different ethnic groups within the same country. Bo Reh and Ku Reh speak both languages. I asked them to write their names because I wanted them to see how hard their language is for me to read; they already know I can’t speak it. The meaning of a word depends on whether the ending sound goes up or down, the nouns and verbs are in different places compared to ours and every letter is written in circles, because the leaf they wrote on originally, would tear if they wrote in straight lines.) Then in the middle of our names written in Karenni and Burmese, are our names written in English; they write very readable English.

Just two napkins containing 28 words, total. And I would take nothing for either one. I’ve had Tonya’s on the refrigerator since May. Bo Reh and Ku Reh’s napkin I’ll put on the refrigerator today and in a file folder later on so I won’t lose it.

The thing that makes these two napkins so significant to me is the relationship I have with the people who wrote the words. On Bo Reh and Ku Reh’s napkin, even though it’s only names, it’s their names. And even though it’s their names, those names belong to my students. And those students are very special people who had a very miserable life in a place they came from, but who have a significantly better life now. I’ve taken pictures of them so I’ll remember their faces. I’ve given them things like food and the basic necessities of life. We’ve gone places together. Even though we don’t speak each other’s language, we try. Tonya -- just a friend who once sat in my Bible classes who teaches classes of her own now -- Was there in the crowd when I taped my videos -- Told me she would use them for her clients suffering from depression -- Always giving me good advice from a counselor’s perspective, even though she’s a stay-at-home mom now -- Bringing me strawberries on a very bad day—leaving me a message on a napkin because she had nothing else to write on.

THE BIBLE: Book of the ages. Food for the soul. Divinely inspired. Furnishes light. A devouring flame. A crushing hammer. A life-giving force. A saving power. A penetrating sword. Written with a purpose. The standard of faith. Contains seed for the sower. Absolutely trustworthy. Profitable for instruction. Inspired by the Spirit. Worn on the hand and forehead. Written on the doorframes. Studied by rulers. Taught in the Psalms. Delight of the righteous. Effective. Enduring. Perfect. And Pure. Reverenced by people who stood when read. Left on the shelf. Never opened. Ignored.

It’s a book, not a napkin, not insignificant, not something to be thrown away. It’s meant to be read, not dusted once a week. It’s made people become martyrs because they proclaimed it. Yet it stays on the shelf waiting to be read by weak Christians.

Like Tonya and Bo Reh and Ku Reh’s napkin, The Bible is not just words written on a page, it’s about relationships, i.e. the author’s relationship with me, and my relationship with Him. It’s about names. Knowing His name and Him knowing mine.

It’s about being a student reading his book—his love letter to me. Reading. Studying. Memorizing.

It’s about a journey that takes me from where I once lived in a miserable condition, to being saved, with a Heavenly home.

It’s about someone who knows the very hairs on my head.

It’s about someone who supplies my every need and more.

It’s about being with someone who never leaves or forsakes me.

It’s about learning to speak His language (knowing I never will but trying).

God’s will for me is to be in his Word – to sit at His feet and listen. The natural progression of learning is to read, study, and memorize and to read, study and memorize some more.

Memorization starts with reading, which means if I want to memorize it, I must start reading it. Memorization makes me familiar with His words. With memorization His words are hidden within me. I take them wherever I go. If I really do know His words and do what He says, it’s hard for me to separate myself from Him. I do what He says. I recognize His voice. His words are life-changing for me. I start hearing them all the time. I can’t hear anything else. I have to speak them to others because they’re in my mind and on my tongue. Some people love talking to me; some people don’t. I eventually have no words but His – no life but His; I have died to myself and He now lives in me. I have tried, tested and approved His will. I have come to know it as His good, pleasing and perfect will.

I have made memories with God; I have been with Him so much. My relationship with Him is so much more than reading words on a page. What starts out as just sitting at his feet changes me into His image. Maybe........that's why Satan........tries..........to keep me........from it.

Ancient Words

Ever New

Changing Me

And changing you

We have come with open hearts

O Let the ancient words impart.

The Confrontation

To me, confrontation is hard under any circumstance, but especially when it comes to sexual abuse. What you're about to read, is an actual account of my own experience...not intended to be a textbook perscription for how one should handle his/her own confrontation, but to let you know how God orchestrated the ending of a very difficult chapter, or should I say book for me. I've only changed the names. Eveything else is true and actually happened.

For many years I was sexually abused. The first time I don't remember how old I was. The last time was at age sixteen. I've been asked why I allowed something like this to go on until the age of sixteen. And my answer has always been because he, his wife and I were in the same car together and in the dark, he somehow managed to place his hand where it should not have been and I froze. I could not move or say anything because I did not want to offend his wife.

He was a relative...someone I could not avoid, not only because we were related, but because we lived close to each other. We saw each other at church, at school, and socially when we visited in each other's homes, which we did quite often. Our families were influential and well respected in the community...which made matters even worse.

Psychiatrists and counselors have said from listening to me, there were several other times he abused me, even though I can distinctly, remember only two. They are apparently the first and the last, but I feel within my heart there were more than these.

Even though I've started this entry by recounting the years of abuse, I want you to know that that is not what this entry is all about. It's about God and what he's taught me, as a result of bringing me to such a time as this.

A few weeks ago, our families had a family reunion...like the one we have every year that brings family members back together who've moved away. It's a special day, especially for my dad, because he takes joy in seeing us all get back together. However, this day was special for me in an entirely different way.

I knew almost from the minute I awoke, that today would be a difficult day. It always had been in years past, but today it was even more difficult. I cried almost from the time my feet hit the floor. I went to Sam's to pick up the birthday cake for my mom and the tears flowed. They would not stop regardless of how hard I tried. I knew it was going to be an emotional day.

When I arrived at the reunion, the tears still would not stop. I knew that others knew I was upset, but they did not ask and I did not tell. I cut the cake, sang Happy Birthday to my mom, and asked one of my cousins if she would come outside. And she said she would. Because I knew she could relate to what I was about to say, I felt comfortable venting and asking for her advise. I told her that in years past I had managed to come to reunions without letting "Tony" bother me, but that this year was the exception. I simply could not hold it together. I felt like God was telling me to confront him. She said that she would eat and then we would pray about it...that the Spirit would tell us what I needed to do. She even told me that she would be willing to go with me if I decided to go.

After eating we went to the outdoor pavilion where each family introduced the members of their family, and gave a brief recap of what had happened to them during the last year. Our family went last, so I had a lengthy period of time to just sit there. My sister's grandkids were sitting next to me, and one of them asked if she could sit on my lap and I said she could. Little did she know that her wanting to be near me gave me someone to hold onto and allayed my emotion as well as helped me overcome my fear. Subconsciously, I must have known that I was about "Sarah's" age when the abuse started and confronting "Tony" was going to be for her as well as for me. I had to speak for all of us who had been abused and for all of us, realistically, who were going to be. That was a blessing she gave me that she did not know, but that I will never forget. As I sat there I felt a calm come over me and a peace I did not expect. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what I was going to do.

Family after family mentioned what had happened to them over the past year while I knew I was about to have a conversation, that centered around and would change my entire life.

"Tony" was sitting just two rows behind me and as I was walking out of the pavilion I looked down and asked if he would come talk to me and he said yes, that he would. So, we walked outside.

I had no idea where I was going to take him or what I was going to say. He probably didn't know either. But, he came willingly. Wanting to be away from everyone, I started to go left toward the building where we had first eaten, then for some reason, decided to go right, where I saw a life-sized monument surrounded by a heavy, wrought iron rail. What better place for me to sit when I was about to have one of the most monumental conversations of my life, taking place at a "family reunion." I patted the rail with my hand and told "Tony" to come, sit down.

The words that came out of my mouth were perfect, which told me the Spirit was speaking. I can repeat His exact words. I said, "Tony, I should have had this conversation with you a long time ago. I'm 53 years old and I just now have the courage to say it. I've seen many doctors and psychiatrists over the course of my lifetime and almost everyone of them, has told me that my headaches, stomach problems, colon problems, high blood pressure, etc. have been because I was abused by you. I don't remember how old I was when you first abused me, but I remember the last time I was 16." And then I reminded him, in great detail, what he had done to me both times. He said he did recall what he had done when I was 16, but not what he had done when I was very little. I told him that their were large chunks of time that I had blocked out...things I should but could not remember. I told him that it had been very hard for me to be around him and attend other family reunions like this one and not be bothered...that somehow this one was worse and I just couldn't leave without confronting him. And then I said to him, "The reason I'm doing this is that I just want to hear you say you're sorry. I just want to hear you say, 'I'm sorry'" and he did. I continued by reminding him of how many doctors I had been to and how I had had to have counseling to deal with it. And then I asked him why he did it. He said that he was a lot older than I was, that he was a boy with raging hormones and that he was probably just experimenting, which was the answer I expected, but not the one I felt he should confess.

Right now, I want you, the reader, to know that this entire account is not being written about "Tony" and how I think he was wrong, but about me and how God made something so wrong, right.

I continued by saying that I didn't know how many others he had done this to...that this was just about me and not about them. And then I told him one more time that I needed to hear him say he was sorry. And one more time he did. He concluded by saying he was most sorry for how this had affected my body and that he was sorry I had to go through so much pain and so many doctors because of what he did.

As we finished our conversation, sitting side by side, he leaned in close to hug me. And I, somewhat reluctantly, laid my head on his shoulder and he did.

There are several things I learned from this experience that I want to pass on to you.

For several weeks prior to the reunion I kept hearing the words kinder, gentler. I heard them in class. I heard them in my head. I heard them coming from other people. God was reminding me to be kinder, gentler and when I sat down with "Tony" the words came to me again. This confrontation was not going to be what I had expected. In my mind's eye, I had always seen it as being very volatile and loud and it was going to be kinder and gentler. Knowing this is totally not my nature, I knew those words were spoken to me for this very purpose. I rest assured of that.

1) God is constantly speaking to us if we will just listen.

The week prior to the reunion my family was eating lunch with our youth minister who was wearing several rubber bands around his wrist, which prompted my daughter to ask if he needed to be reminded of something. He was wearing more than one, so it was quite obvious he needed to be reminded of several things. I asked him if he would give me one, so I could be reminded to be kinder and gentler. So he did. I had this rubber band on when my niece was sitting on my lap. I told her not to lose it because it was a very special rubber band to me. Surprisingly, I had it on in the pavilion, but when I came to talk to "Tony," as I looked down at my wrist, it was gone. It was as if God was saying to me, "I don't have to tell you anymore. You've heard the message. Now it's time to use it."

2) God is equipping us with just what we need, at the exact time we need it.

When I went to Sam's the morning of the reunion, I was in complete angst. But, when the confrontation came I was completely calm, which made me know that the peace was coming from God.

3) You can tell if something is from God because you will respond contrary to your nature, you will feel His power and you will be overcome with peace.

Even though I was 16 the last time "Tony" abused me, it took me 37 years to confront him.

4) God is in control. His timing is perfect and He is not in a hurry.Several doctors had asked me if I could confront him, to which I responded that I never could.

5) You may not be able to do today what you think you should. But, that doesn't mean that someday, you won't.

Even though I thought the confrontion would be accusative, the confrontation was not about him. It was about me. It did not matter what "Tony" said. What mattered was that I did it.

6) What I think and how I respond depends solely upon me.

When my cousin and I agreed to wait and pray about what we should do later, I knew we didn't have to, because God had already given me the answer. Ironically, after my confrontation with "Tony," as my cousin was walking me to the car, she told me she had tried to find me to tell me her answer was "yes," but couldn't; so she assumed right then I was speaking to him, because my answer must have been "yes" also.

7) When God answers, I will know it. His voice is clear and unmistakable.

I wanted closure and I got it. I wanted the courage to confront and I received it. I wanted peace and God gave it to me.

8) God is all-sufficient.

It didn't matter what "Tony" said, I had reached the point of forgiveness. My favorite definition of forgiveness is "giving up the hope that the past will be different." When I forgave "Tony" for doing something wrong, I was not saying what he did was right. I was simply releasing him from having control over me.

9) Forgiveness is for me. Not the abuser.

"Tony" said to me as he was walking away that he hoped this would make seeing him a whole lot easier, especially at family reunions. Maybe that was what God was teaching me all along. Confrontation leads us to a place of RE----UNION...between ourselves with what we have lost and between our losses and what we have gained.

Wal Mart

Okay, so when I gave us the assignment to the Titus 2 group not to judge, not to condemn (based on Romans 8:1) I guess I didn’t have going to Wal Mart in mind and I really didn’t think about judging anybody except within the church, church to church and individual to individual. I really don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I thought it would be easy for me not to judge anyone while staying at home alone all day. :)

Anyway, I had to go to the chiropractor today at 2:45, so I decided I would swing by Merle Norman afterwards and have a facial (free of charge, which I try to do once a week because my face is oiler than a teenagers), which meant I would have to leave my make-up off. It really doesn’t bother me not to wear any make-up as much as it bothers the people who have to look at me without any make-up on. Anyway, I called Merle Norman and it took Marilyn forever to answer the phone which told me she was extremely busy. She answered in a huff, telling me she had already done seven today and had two more coming. (Problem #1) I knew my answer before I even asked which made this the first thing that should have warned me about how my day would go. So I decided to go to Wal Mart to buy a rotisserie chicken to take home for supper, since Phil has an elder’s meeting, which he has every-other Monday night. The first thing that happens when I get to Wal Mart is I get the best parking place right in front of the greenhouse, forgetting that everything I needed was on the other side of the store. So I walk in anyway thinking I’m not going to be there long and I could use the exercise. At this point it’s around 3:15. I proceed to get sidetracked and looked at some pre-school to kindergarten books that might be appropriate for the refugees that I teach on Saturdays and I picked one up that was perfect, threw it in my cart and headed to get the Oreos my husband wanted to take to the elder’s meeting. After getting the Oreos, I picked up some spray whipping cream to put on top of my iced coffee I make that’s as good as Starbucks, looked at the yogurt that I didn’t buy because it was made with sugar and meandered over to the deli where I saw there were no chickens except the ones still going up-and-down on the rotisserie thing. Through all the people in front of me who were standing there waiting to get their chicken fingers I asked rather loudly when the chickens would be ready. The guy behind the counter didn’t hear me so the woman in front of me politely asked the question for me. I thought how kind of her. He told her that they wouldn’t be ready for about 18 minutes, which the lady standing in front of me told me also, because she could see the timer. He said that he would have to check them, in about 18 minutes to see if they were done, and then determine if they were done enough to sell. (Problem #2) I told him I would be back in around 20 minutes. If you’ve spent very much time at Wal Mart you know that’s no problem. I knew I could go over to the next zip code and that, in-and-of-itself, would kill 20 minutes. I proceeded to look at the plates like the ones I had given my daughter-in-law Kelly and decided to buy at least 8 for eating desserts on while we play bridge, and thought I should have bought 12 since we sometimes have 3 tables, but didn’t. I looked at the T-shirts, wondered if I really needed one, and had one of my sinking spells. (Problem #3) I got out my hand sanitizer, found my glucose pills and popped 4 in my mouth one right after the other. I continued to walk over to the Kodak film developing place where you can develop your own pictures. I noticed it didn’t look like it worked but put my card in anyway. (Problem #4) The girl standing next to me who was developing her own pictures, never told me it didn’t work even though I later found out she knew all along. She just let me stand there looking like an idiot. (Problem #5) She told me it wouldn’t be long before I could use the one she was using—that she was only developing 9 pictures. So I waited. After waiting about ten minutes the machine spit out her last picture and a warning came up that the machine was out of tape, to call the attendant. (Problem #6) So I left. By this time only about fifteen minutes of my twenty has probably gone by, so I believe I have enough time to go get the frozen grape juice I had been reminding myself to buy by saying grape juice, grape juice, grape juice over and over again in my head. I got the frozen grape juice and started back to the deli. Getting sidetracked by the pork roasts and chicken (I forgot to say that I had called my daughter sometime in the middle of all this and asked her what the box looked like that had the orange chicken in it that she and Clinton liked and she told me it was the one I was holding in my hand. So, I decided to look at the pork roasts and the chickens as well, so I could make the pork tenderloin and cherry wine sauce along with the orange chicken Laura and Clinton liked so much. (Problem #6) It was then that I proceeded to the deli. I walked up to the counter expecting to buy the rotisserie chicken I had killed 20 minutes over, only to find there WERE NONE IN THE WINDOW. I looked at the two guys behind the counter and practically yelled at them, “Do you not have any chickens?” And they proceeded to tell me that they had ALL BEEN SOLD ALREADY except one they had in the back that was a backyard grilled chicken. (Problem #7) “How many did you have to sell?” I asked. “Eight,” he said. I said, “Eight, did you sell all eight to the same person?” He said, “No at least eight people came buy and bought one.” I put my hands on my head, grabbed my scalp and grunted but loud enough everyone around me could hear it. I made a snarling sound out loud, shook my hands in my hair and said, “What do the backyard grilled chickens taste like?” And they scowled but did say they all tasted the same if you pulled the skin off of them, except the lemon pepper ones and they certainly didn’t like that kind. “Oh great,” I thought. (Problem #8)

I grabbed the backyard grilled rotisserie chicken I had killed twenty minutes over, but didn’t want and started to the check-out line. Knowing I was on the wrong side of the store anyway, I decided to go to the other side of the store that was closest to my car to check out in anyway and chose the line I would check out in. I was the third person in line believing it would be a rather quick check-out, so I waited and I waited, patiently at first, but then not so patiently. I had picked the line where the lady two in front of me had to have a price check, which happens to either me or my husband everytime. (Problem #9) I saw the expression on the lady’s face and knew it was going to be a while before she was going to be finished so I decided to go to Goldie’s line. ( Problem #10) Years ago I was listening to a radio station that was having people call in to tell them their most embarrassing moment. My most embarrassing moment had involved Goldie. One day Goldie was checking me out when I noticed a black mark on her cheek right under her eye, and I felt like I needed to tell her she needed to see a dermatologist that it looked cancerous. So I asked her if she had ever seen a dermatologist and she told me no, that she had penciled it on that morning. I felt so crazy and wanted to crawl under the check-out counter. I laugh now thinking about it, but then I wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there. So, here I find myself in Goldie’s line again. Bless her heart, Goldie doesn’t get in a hurry for anybody, much less the woman who told her she needed to see a doctor for the mole she had penciled on that morning. She slowly, slowly, slowly, checked out the woman in front of me, who proceeded to give her a check that the cash register ATE, (Problem #11) slowing down the process even further. She looked at the machine, opened the machine and finally got it to spit it out, but not with anything on it.(Problem #12) So, Goldie had to write the amount on the check, give it back to the woman so she could sign it and then bag up her groceries. By this time I’ve been in Wal Mart forty-five minutes longer than I had expected and had thought about asking the Titus 2 Group not to judge at least a hundred times. I asked Goldie if she had ever hummed the same song over-and-over again and told her I had been humming the same song for over an hour and even hummed it for her to see if she knew what I was humming. She told me she had hummed the same song over-and-over again, but didn’t recognize what I was humming. (I was humming “That’s All” which is an old song that I listen to that’s on a CD I have of Rod Stewarts. It starts out, “I could only give you love that lasts forever…” Some of you have probably heard it.) Anyway, bless her heart if I were Goldie’s age I would probably be slower than she is, but she took forever to bag my groceries. One of the reasons she took forever was because I had forgotten I had bought the eight plates I was going to serve desserts on while we were playing Bridge (Problem #13) and I knew in the first place that it was going to take her forever, when I saw it was her, so it was really my fault that I was standing there having to wait on her in the first place. So she had to individually wrap each of the eight plates so I wouldn’t break them when I put them in the car. (Problem #14) I talked to her about teaching English as a second language to the Burmese refugees on Saturdays just to pass the time and calm me down because I’ve given this assignment to the Titus 2 Group NOT TO CONDEMN OR JUDGE and I am failing the test badly. She gets everything bagged. I give her my check. She says “Bye sweetie.” And I’m on my way. I think.

I push my buggy and head straight for the door when “Mr. Wiggins” gets in front of me who is a “Mr. Wiggins” with an odor. (Problems #15 & 16) For those of us over 50, Mr. Wiggins was a regular on the Carol Burnett show who walked at a snail’s pace. It took him forever to walk across the floor and now I was behind him at Wal Mart. I didn’t have enough room to go around him. I couldn’t get away from his odor, so I walked at the pace he was walking, held my breath and headed out the door…. fifty minutes after calling my husband to tell him I was going to kill some time waiting for the chicken to get done.

Oh my! Oh my! Oh my! Oh my! How I was put to the test! Obviously I failed it or I wouldn’t be writing this story. It was amazing how many times I was given the opportunity to judge and condemn--one right after the other. It was like Satan was throwing people my way waiting to see what I was going to do with them. Was I going to smile and go on or judge and condemn? Ladies, I will have to give myself credit for something-- giving us this assignment did help me not to absolutely lose it. I could have. And probably would have if I hadn’t told myself not to judge.

Isn’t it amazing when we try to make ourselves do something good, Satan immediately puts us to the test trying to make something bad out of it? I hope today has been easy for you; I really do. But ladies, obviously it hasn’t been for me. I am so thankful that tomorrow is another day and his mercies are new every morning. I know after today, I need all the mercy I can get. And I’m soooooooooooooo glad I’m not condemned, even after today.

The Street Sweeper

This morning, before I ever got out of bed I heard the street sweeper as he started up our street. I knew it was him; I didn’t even have to see him, because he passes by regularly and I know his sound. He never yells and says “Look at me!” He never even sweeps at the same time of day. I just hear him when he sweeps this side of the street and when he sweeps that side. He sweeps and he sweeps consistently. He never honks and tells me to get up. He never trims the hedge. He never mows the lawn. He never paints the house. He never cleans the gutters. He never seals the driveway. He never dusts the house. He never vacuums the house. He never cleans the toilet. He never makes the bed. He never does the dishes. He never feeds the dog. He never cleans the bathtub. He never cleans the toilet. He never makes the bed. He never cooks an egg. He never does the laundry. He never takes out the trash. He never washes the windows. He never power washes the deck. He never plants the flowers. He never pulls the weeds. HE JUST SWEEPS THE STREET. And because he sweeps the streets the streets are always swept. Whatever you’re doing that you think doesn’t matter, matters. Whatever you’re doing that you think isn’t significant, is significant. Whatever you’re doing that you think is not important, is important. Whatever you’re doing that you think isn’t making a difference, is making a difference—in your teenager’s life, in your husband’s life, in your neighbors life, in your baby’s life, in your boss’s life, in your friend’s life, and in that stranger’s life. And whenever you think it isn’t, just remember the value of the street sweeper.

It's Broken

Friday night as I was carrying Bella to the car, like I have done many times, while carrying Bella to the car, I looked up and said, “Bella, look at the moon! Look up at the moon, honey.” Expecting her to say what she normally says, while carrying her to the car, I expected, “The moon. The moon, Mammie! The moon.” However what she said caught me completely by surprise. With clouds strategically placed over the moon’s face, horizontally, in two perfect places she looked up at Mr. Moon and said, "It’s broken." [Long pause and sadness] "It’s broken, Mammie.” And now looking at the moon through the innocence of a two year old's eyes, I looked up and, indeed saw why she thought the moon was broken. Still pondering what Bella had just said, thinking it was the sweetest comment I'd ever heard, Bella melted my heart again. “I fix it, Mammie. I fix it. I gotta fix it.” And Mammie said to the entire family in amazement, “Did you hear what Bella just said?” And I repeated what Bella said. And then she said it again.

Bella in her innocence, at two years old, said to the moon what I say almost every day, to the God who made the moon, in my obstinance. “God it’s broken. It’s broken but I can fix it. I gotta fix it,” with whatever problem I have. Seeing God through clouds of doubt, I put more faith in myself than I do in Him.

Dr. Brooks

He was entering the print shop as I was coming out. I said, “Hi Doc!” wondering if he would remember me, hoping that he would. “How are you?” I asked just to make small-talk and he answered, “Not too good.” Amazed that he had told me the truth but so glad he did, I asked him what was wrong again and he told me Peggy, his wife, was not well. Obviously, he wanted to talk about her so I listened as he told me more. He told me that his wife had Alzheimer’s disease and I told him my mom had dementia--that she couldn’t even walk from the couch to the bathroom and he told me he just wished Peggy could stand up. I felt bad for even talking about my moma when I could see he had such pain so I asked him where Peggy was and he told me a nursing home. I asked him which one and he told me Rosewood and even bragged on them for taking such good care of her. He said he thought it might just be because he had been a doctor, but then told me he had watched and they took equally good care of everyone. And with her care he was quite pleased.

He said, “Next Tuesday is our anniversary. We’ll be married sixty-three years…” And then I interrupted by saying, “And she won’t even know it, will she?” And he said regretfully, “No. She won’t.” I could see he wanted so much to be with her, hold her hand and celebrate, but even knowing that he couldn’t, he said one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. He said, “You know it’s hard when you’ve lived with someone sixty-three years. And then his voice trickled off. “She’s not just the love of my life; SHE’S MY LIFE,” he said. And he gazed up toward heaven.

Walking toward my car realizing God was teaching me a lesson, I looked back and asked one more question. “You can’t imagine living without her, can you? And he said, “I NEVER WANT TO.”

I realized I had just had one of those “life’s lessons” moments, taught to me by an unsuspecting person God placed in my path. I wondered if I loved God as much as Dr. Brooks loved Peggy. God never leaves or forsakes me. He provides my every need. He listens when I talk, forgives when I ask. He cures all my diseases, loves me unconditionally. He even rewards me when I go home. Could I say that God is not just the love of my life, He IS my life? Can I ever imagine living without Him? Can I say, “I never want to?”

"Reach up, Mamie!"

Tonight my granddaughter Bella and I were walking outside in Baker Brothers' (which I've eaten at now 4 times in 2 weeks) parking lot. We ran fast and looked at ourselves in the mirrored glass in the building right next door. I helped her jump up on the sidewalk and held her hands so she could jump back down again. We smelled the flowers in the two flower pots and looked at the thing you put your cigarette butts into that looks like a nose bulb. We went back down the sidewalk and put our noses and hands against the mirrored glass in the building next door. We laughed and laughed as we looked at each other. Then we turned around and saw the birds. There were LOTS of them sitting on the top of the big ladder thingy that holds several satellite dishes and the other stuff I'm not smart enough to know about. Anyway, as I hunkered down to get closer to her, she hunkered down to get closer to me. As she held her hands up high she said "Reach up, Mamie." "Reach up," as though she could reach the birds. I held up my hands as though trying to reach them and said, "Bella, we can't reach that far." I held them up again and once again said, "Bella, we can't reach the birds." She persisted, "Reach up, Mamie." "Reach up!" And so I held up my hands with no faith at all that we could reach the birds. She said, "Get the ladder!" I said, "What ladder?" And she pointed to her imaginary ladder which, I'm sure in her mind’s eye was just like the one we were looking at that held the satellite dishes and the other stuff I’m not smart enough to know about. We proceeded to watch and I proceeded to count the birds (lots of birds) as they left the wires and flew away. She looked at me again as she held out her hands and said "Mamie, reach up." And so I lifted my hands, and I reached up. Then is when I heard the words, "Reach up, Teresa. I'm here for you…if you just reach up. If you will come closer to me, I will come close to you. I see the birds of the air; I see you. I will be here to catch you when you fall. I will be here to lift you up, when you need to be lifted up. Just reach up, Teresa. Just raise your hands, and I will be here to help you soar to new heights. See the unseen. Believe that you can. I can do more than you could ask or imagine.”