When Time Is Our Enemy ~ Pray for Diana

One day last week, I went up to the hospital to sit with dear friends who have been there with their daughter for a little over a week now. I’ve known sweet Diana since she was born. She is now 29 and has a little girl who looks just like her.

 

 

 

The long and short of it is Diana needs a miracle. Two years ago, she had a liver transplant. Now, her body is rejecting the donor liver. Her kidneys are shutting down; she is on round-the-clock dialysis and breathing through a ventilator. She has recently developed pneumonia. The doctors are keeping her sedated for obvious reasons.

 

 

 

As I sat beside Diana’s bed on Wednesday, I prayed for a miracle (nothing is too hard for the Lord), and I asked God to give her family strength for the day. Not strength for tomorrow or next week, but for today.

 

We can only live one day at a time, and it’s okay if we don’t know how it’s all going to turn out. The answers will come when we need them. The fortitude to carry on will be there. God promised strength for our weakness, grace sufficient for every need.

 

 

 

 

And when we don’t even know how to pray for ourselves or our situation, He has people praying for us. This I know from past and present experiences.

 

 

 

Time is often our friend. It stretches long in front of us while we carefully fill it up with this and that. And then there are those situations in which time is our enemy. It breathes down our neck and closes in on us each day, our doings and efforts swallowed up faster than the day before.

 

Diana has been placed on the transplant list. And while time is of the essence, the family remains hopeful. 

 

If you think of it, would you pray for Diana and her family today?

 

 

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The Blanket Chest ~ A Favorite Thing

Several years ago, while searching for that perfect something to fill a barren spot just beyond my entry, I haunted vintage stores and antique shops, hoping something would catch my eye.

One afternoon, a young woman, seeking to be helpful, showed me a small mahogany table. While it appeared lovely to look upon, it seemed much too perfect, much too ornate to fit among my ordinary furnishings. So, I kept looking.

One morning, I drove by a neighborhood tag sale and spotted a blanket chest—scuffed and flawed and very old. Perfect!  Plunking down $20, I lugged it home.
 

 

It is always filled with afghans, blankets, and quilts—enough to keep my family and guests warm all winter. The fact that its hinges and locks aren't in working order is okay with me. I've never bothered fixing them, although I haven't ruled it out either. Truth is, I love it, just the way it is.

 

 

I'm not sure what the purpose of this small partition is (feel free to enlighten me), but, for now, I have vintage pillowcases there, taking a rest from being displayed.

Do you have a few favorite things around your home? If so, you might do what I'm doing and link up with the lovely Claudia over at Mockingbird Hill Cottage for "A Favorite Thing."

 

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This post is an excerpt from an article that originally appeared in The Dallas Morning News. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One Morning, On An Ordinary Road

Several weeks ago, I drove over to take my mom to her first physical therapy session, following the discovery of two slipped discs in her back. My parents live about two hours away, and her appointment was at 9:30 in the morning, so that meant getting a move on.

 

 

Under an early morning sky, I joined the Houston commuters and headed East. I’d not gone but a few miles when my eye caught something round and glowing up ahead. (Do you see it?)
 

 

There it was—the sun rising, announcing the dawn. There’s just something about the breaking of day that is hard to describe. It’s magical and humbling and thrilling all at once.

 

 

As I crossed Lake Houston, I eased over on the shoulder to make the most of my phone's camera. That’s how I roll. If I’m driving and see something worthy of a photo, by golly, I’m going to do my best to find a way to make it happen. From the looks of things, this was going to be a crystal clear day.

 

But a mile or so up the road, something changed.

 

 

Without warning, a layer of fog suddenly appeared, blanketing the sun, hiding its face behind a veil.

 

All around me, the fog seemed to whisper the mysteries of morning.

 

 

I was glad to be traveling alone, because, once again, I felt compelled to pull over and document this moment. I’m certain there came a surge of goosebumps, so captivated I was by the view.

 

 

I don't remember how long I sat there, but as I rejoined my fellow travelers, I thought for a long time about what I’d just witnessed, and  I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else had noticed the extraordinary scenes unfolding on this ordinary day, on this ordinary road.

 

***

 

“My Father God, help me to expect Thee on the ordinary road. I do not ask for sensational happenings. Commune with me through ordinary work and duty. Be my Companion when I take the common journey. Let the humble life be transfigured by Thy presence.” (from Streams in the Desert 1, by Mrs. Charles E. Cowman)

 

Sharing with Stuff and Nonsense (Fridays Unfolded)

 

I Did It! ~ The Saga of The Painted Headboard

After much hemming and hawing, I finally decided to take the plunge and paint the headboard in my guest bedroom, using CeCe Caldwell’s chalk paint. This bedroom suite was part of The Man’s furnishings when we married, and served as our bedroom furniture for several years, even though I’ve never been crazy about it, personally. It is a 1970’s colonial style and, for my tastes, is a bit heavy. But, it resides in the guest room and will probably remain in the family.

If you know me, you know I love wood furniture in its natural state, and have never painted a single piece in my life, so this notion of painting furniture would be a big step for me.

I started with a trip to Rosy Revival to pick out the paint and wax. If you’re a regular reader of my blog (all seven of you), then you know the story of Rosy Revival, and you know the shop is a dealer of CeCe Caldwell’s chalk and clay paint, and you know the owners of this adorable place are relatives of mine—sugar plum’s mom and dad.

(I'd be thrilled if you went and "Liked" Rosy Revival on Facebook. Can you tell I'm a proud aunt?)

Back to my story. There are a host of colors available, but I didn’t want to get too wild and crazy on my first piece. So, I chose a color called Johnston Daffodil, and decided on a clear wax, as opposed to a dark wax.

I must confess. Even though chalk paint is the new rave and goes on with little or no prep work involved, as each step progressed, I hated the results more and more. I really did.

Even when the bed was fully covered in paint, and waxed to a wonderful sheen, I was not completely in love. I still questioned my decision; I can be a tough sell like that. But I had faith, because I've seen so many pieces on blogs, and at Rosy Revival, that I liked, so I plowed onward.

***

In the end, distressing was key to my opinion turning the corner.

I apologize for the inconsistency of colors in these various shots; it's because of using a flash on some, not on others, not to mention three different cameras. My bad.

While I wish I had the energy right now to paint the guest bedroom walls another color, so this bed would pop a bit more, I’m totally pleased with the outcome, and the whole concept of painting furniture is growing on me. I suspect it won't be my last piece, and I also suspect I will paint the guest bedroom, at some point, Lord willing.

So ... there you have it. I did it! I painted a piece of furniture! Woo-Hoo!

What fun things have you done this week?

I will be sharing my fun adventure at the following fabulous parties, if you’d like to click over and check out some great blogs.

Metamorphosis Monday

Tweak It Tuesday

Cowgirl Up

Wow Us Wednesday
Fridays Unfolded

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A Favorite Thing ~ Granddaddy's Adding Machine

When my maternal grandfather passed away, at the age of 95, my mother passed some of his things down to her kids. The Burroughs adding machine came to live with me. It is, truly, one of my favorite things.

 

 

(My grandfather)

 

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My mother estimates that the Burroughs was purchased in the late 1930's or early 40's; she grew up with it. Amazingly, it is still in good working condition, not that I have a clue how to work it.

 

The only downside of the Burroughs is how much it weighs. I've never weighed it, but I would estimate it's a full 50 pounds. It's so heavy that I don't try to lift it by myself.

 

My grandfather was a railroad man until he retired, but he also did some accounting on the side. Whenever we would visit, Granddaddy could often be found at his desk in a little office next to the laundry room. I can still remember how he looked sitting there, and I can hear the clicking of the old adding machine, as he worked late into the night.

 

 

I'm grateful to have this piece of history in my foyer. I never look at it without remembering my dear grandfather, and the very special man that he was.

 

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Linking up with Claudia for

A Favorite Thing

 

 

 

October Rain ~ Living in the Moment

While a cool, gray, October rain splatters against the windows, the smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon remind me again why I’m so in love with autumn.

This may be the shortest post ever.

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Happy Birthday, Twin Sister

It's impossible to celebrate my twin sister's birthday, without mentioning my own, so let me just say, today is our birthday! (Didn't we just have a birthday? Oh my ...)

I'd like to invite you to hop over to Gayle's blog and read the wonderful essay she wrote about what it means to be an identical twin. This story encompasses what our life has been like all these years.

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This time last year, Gayle and I were high on a mountain top in the Great Smoky Mountains, having way too much fun, but this year we kept it low-key.

On Friday, my sweet family gathered at my niece and her husband's beautiful home for a birthday dinner of homemade hamburgers (and cheesecake), one of my favorite meals. I was missing The Man, but he's away for the weekend with his siblings.

Today, Gayle and I are enjoying a day together with food and lots of laughter, as always.

We know one another's faults, virtues, catastrophes, mortifications, triumphs, rivalries, desires, and how long we can each hang by our hands to a bar.  We have been banded together under pack codes and tribal laws.  ~ Rose Macaulay

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Breast Cancer : Sisters share — even a scare

On a warm Tuesday morning in 2004, I leave work and drive to the doctor’s office where my twin sister has an appointment to discuss the persistent pain in one of her breasts. Although Gayle insists I shouldn’t come, I insist on being there.

Elaine, our older sister, has driven down from Tyler the night before. We aren’t expecting bad news, but should it come, we want to be there for support.

By the time I arrive, Gayle is already with the doctor. Elaine sits thumbing through old magazines. We hug each other and make small talk.

After an eternal wait, Gayle appears and breaks the news: The doctor wants her to go over to the hospital for a mammogram and a chest x-ray.

My heart races, but I don’t panic. The last thing Gayle needs is for me to get hysterical.

When we were little, I occasionally got hysterical. If Gayle was having dental work done, I screamed bloody murder in the waiting room. When she got a spanking, I went berserk. I didn’t want anyone hurting Gayle.

Today, people throw around the term “soul mate,” but Gayle and I are real soul mates, although we often refer to ourselves as “womb mates.”  We’ve never experienced life without each other. And I can’t imagine having to.

As we work out the details of what is to come, I manage to remain calm. Gayle will go for the chest x-ray, then to the hospital for a mammogram in the afternoon.

We head over to the imaging center across the street and settle into the chairs in the waiting room. The gravity of why we are here hits me. What if Gayle has breast cancer?

About one in eight women in the United States will develop breast cancer in her lifetime. I have friends who’ve been through it—some did not survive. My throat hurts.

The door opens and a kind woman takes Gayle away. Watching her go leaves a sinking feeling in my stomach. Elaine reaches for my hand.

The chest x-ray is over in minutes. With time to spare, we decide to have lunch at a nearby eatery. My appetite has vanished, but I order my usual and join my sisters at a small table.

After a prayer, we launch into a conversation about what ifs. It is a lighthearted conversation, but the seriousness of it doesn’t escape us. We talk about treatments for breast cancer, reconstructive surgery, and about life afterwards. Underneath the chatter, I sense that we’re all in agony.

Suddenly I want to reach out and touch Gayle’s hand. I want to look into her eyes and let her know how much I love her, but I fear I can’t say anything without falling apart, so it goes unsaid.

We finish eating, drive back to the hospital and sit in the breast center’s waiting room. There are magazines and we each take one.

Growing up, one of our favorite events was the arrival of a new Sears & Roebuck catalog. What followed went something like this:  Elaine held the catalog and sat between me and Gayle on the sofa. 

Opening to Page 1, she would point to the page and say, “Gayle,” which meant that it was Gayle’s turn to look at the pictures on the page and make up a story about them. Gayle might say, “That’s me in the red dress, and that’s my best friend in the black hat. We’ve just been to see the Queen of England."

On Page 2, Elaine would point and say, “Dayle,” at which time I would concoct some tale about the images there. On the third page, Elaine would point and say, “Elaine,” then proceed to spin her own lively story.

On and on the chant would go. Page after page, it was Gayle, Dayle, Elaine. Our hopes and dreams were whispered over the pages of a Sears & Roebuck catalog. Now, my only wish is for Gayle to be OK. Please God, let Gayle be OK.

It helps to know we aren’t alone in our anxious waiting. In hospitals across America, other sisters are clasping hands, hoping and praying that it will not be their loved one who must embark on this intensely personal journey. But every three minutes, a woman in this country is told she has breast cancer. Truth is, we’re all afraid. And it is our fear that unites us and energizes us in the fight for a cure.

A cheerful nurse appears and escorts us through a door. From there, things move quickly. Gayle is taken into a room, the mammogram is performed and the results are read by a radiologist, who isn’t totally pleased with what he sees. Although no masses are seen, there are some dense areas, so he orders an ultrasound.

By this time, I have resigned myself to the idea. If Gayle has breast cancer, we will get through it. I think of all the difficult things my sisters and I have been through in our lifetimes, and I know this will be no different. Together—and with God’s help—we will endure whatever comes to us.

After a while, the radiologist emerges, smiling. I take that as a good sign. “You can go in and see her now,” he tells us, and we do.

Gayle is beaming. Turns out, there is no evidence of cancer, only “normal fibro-glandular changes” in the breast. A collective sigh of relief fills the room.

Later, as we walk slowly to the parking lot, I realize that it is in the disquieting struggles and fears of life that families come together and find the strength to survive, to move forward, to cope.

With the sun on my face, I inhale the warm afternoon, deeply grateful for my sisters beside me. Our little circle—Gayle, Dayle, Elaine—has been strengthened once again.

***

This essay first appeared in The Dallas Morning News on October 19, 2004, and, later in the book, Chicken Soup for the Sister's Soul 2.

All rights reserved.

Linking up with Fridays Unfolded

Are you a scaredy cat? Fear is not of God

I should warn you. This post goes on forever, but it's something I've bottled up for awhile. Ever have that happen? You mull something over for months, then, one day, you have to put it in writing? Well, here goes. I'd be pleased to have you along for the ride, but won't hold it against you if you move on down the blog road, so to speak. If you're like me, some days you're just not into long-winded people.

This post is not meant to be critical of anyone, and I hope you who come along for the ride will not take it as such, but I've been disturbed lately about something. I meet so many people, via blogs, Facebook, or in person, who are living beneath the life God wants them to have, and that bothers me. You might be wondering how I, a not-so-spiritual woman, know this? Because their own words tell me so. 

It seems they are afraid of everything. They fear they aren’t being a good wife, sibling, daughter, teacher, jogger, writer, speaker, Christian. They fear they aren’t parenting their children correctly. They fear they aren’t pleasing God. They fear they’ll fail at whatever task they’re about to take on. 

They fear. They fear. They fear. 

As a reader, such writings are depressing, and I’ll just be honest: There are blogs that I used to frequent because they offered bread for my spirit, but somewhere something changed. I no longer go there, because I leave feeling worse than when I arrived. There’s nothing there that lifts my spirits. Just the opposite. I've had to hide friends on Facebook, because their negativity is toxic.

Does that mean that I’m never fearful? No, not at all. There are times when I’m not only fearful, I’m plumb terrified. But whenever fear threatens to choke my faith, I spend a lot of time speaking the Word, out loud. One of my favorite Scriptures comes from Philippians 4:13: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” I can’t tell you how often I quote this verse, because I need it and I believe it and it has been proven, in my own life, to be true. Things I thought I could not get through, I got through them, only by the strength of the Lord.


I think it's safe to say that readers want to leave your space feeling hopeful, seeing how God can take nothing and make something, or how He brought you through the fire. How He took you from fear to faith. Such testimonies make readers know things can turn around in their own life. The greatest compliment I can hear from a reader is one that says, "Thank you for your candid writing." I think women find strength in sharing their struggles with each other. I know I do. It helps to know someone has been in my shoes. 

But sharing our struggles is not the same as constantly expressing our fears. Unless at the end of our fearful revelations, we show how we were connected to faith, we leave our reader unfulfilled, feeling hopeless. 

Let’s take a look at what the Word of God says about fear.

When the Apostle Paul wrote to Timothy in his second epistle, it is clear that Timothy had an occasional bout with fear, so much so that Paul said in the first chapter, and I paraphrase, “Timothy, I’m praying for you night and day. I remember the faith that is in you, that was first in your grandmother and then your mother, and I am persuaded it is in you.” He goes on to say, “Listen to me, Timothy. You were given a gift by God. It is there, still, within you. Do you remember it, Timothy? I laid my hands on you and you received the gift of God. Stir it up, my friend. Stir up the gift that is in you!” 

And then, Paul says something life-changing in the seventh verse: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” 

Fear is not of God. Fear is the opposite of faith. Those who walk in fear are not walking in faith. It’s as simple as that. In John 10:10, Jesus said, “The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they [you] might have life and have it abundantly.” It’s perfectly OK, in fact it’s what God desires for us, to live an abundant life. Not a life bowed over, or cowed down in fear, but an abundant life! 

 

In First John 4:18, Paul wrote, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear; because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.” He goes on to say that we cannot be perfect in love if we hate our brother. We cannot even love God, unless we love our brother. 


I’d like to call an end to fear. Fear is not of God. The psalmist David often showed distress in his writings. He acknowledge being weak and afraid and fearful, but he always ended on a high note. “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” (emphasis mine)

It is not a sign of arrogance when women refuse to be intimated by fear, standing up and boldly declaring Scriptures; it is a sign of their faith in God. 

Next time you’re feeling fearful, try quoting a few verses. Here are some of my favorites: 

“I can do all things through Christ!”  (Philippians 4:13)

“Greater is He that is in me than He that is in the world!” (1 John 4:4) 

“My strength comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth!” (Psalm 121:2)

“The Lord will uphold all that fall, and raise up all that be bowed down!” (Psalm 145:14)

“I will sing of your power! I will sing aloud of your mercy in the morning, for you have been my defense and refuge in the day of my trouble!” (Psalm 59:16)

“If God be for me, who can be against me?” (Romans 8:31)
 
"What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee." (Psalm 56:3)

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At long last, this post has come to an end. It isn't often that I get so wound up, and I hope you won't hold this one against me.

 

I humbly invite you to join me in my mission to end fear, once and for all, to be a woman of faith, not a woman of fear, to stand up and boldly proclaim, "I can do all things through Christ!"

Ladies, we can do this!

***

Photo source

My Cowboy Boots ~ A Favorite Thing

I’ve been a Texan since 1969. I purchased my first pair of cowboy boots last month (red ones, no less). I guess better late than never.

So far, I have to say, I’m fairly addicted to them, as they are the most comfortable thing I’ve ever put on my tootsies. Thanks to twin sister for buying herself a pair not long ago. She assured me I needed a pair and would love them. She was right. They are already a favorite thing.

The other pair of adorable feet/boots you see here belong to my grandniece, the one I call sugar plum. It seemed only right to include such cuteness in my boot collage, don't you agree?

 

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I’m sharing once again at the “A Favorite Thing” party, hosted by the lovely Claudia at Mockingbird Hill Cottage.

 

 

Working Girl

In case you've missed me, even just a tiny bit, here's where I've been hanging out this week, as a gainfully employed retiree.

 

My niece and her husband own this adorable little shop in Old Town Spring (Texas), and left me in charge while they're out of town.
 

To be surrounded by pretty things all day is a little intoxicating.

It smells like autumn in here. 

Got some music on the radio. 

The weather is fine. 

What more could a girl ask for?

I'll be here through Friday, if you're in the neighborhood. Stop in and say, "Howdy!"

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