How could anyone not believe....

Amy didn’t want friends to call, or email, or text. She wanted a weekend to just rest, try to calm her overactive pancreas, and rein in her depression. Two severe bouts of pancreatitis had transpired in less than three years. One major and several small bouts had occurred over the past year, leaving the doctors befuddled and Amy frightened, and weary. There did not appear to be an obvious cause. Yet, the horrifying effects of the last two severe bouts had landed her for over a week each time in the hospital, with no food or water allowed, to try to let the flaring pancreas heal. She almost died, and was brought back by a powerful chemical stimulant.

             Then the devastating news. Two thirds of her pancreas was dead or dying. I was with her when the doctor did further tests and confirmed his initial impression.

            “Two thirds of it is dead, essentially?” she asked him.

            “Yes,” he said.

            A person cannot live without a pancreas. There is no artificial pancreas, and no substitute for a pancreas. Without a pancreas, you die. It was clear that the past two severe episodes had each destroyed a third of Amy’s pancreas. The unspoken fear was one more episode would be the last one she could endure.

            Amy enrolled in a research study, in the hopes that other rare patients of pancreatitis of unknown origin might be helped. The study gathered information about this unique population, of which Amy was an unwilling member. If enough puzzle pieces fell in place, perhaps one day, a cause would be found.

            Amy had another few minor bouts of pancreatitis and the doctor decided to do a test where they would examine the pancreas by inserting a tube down her throat. The procedure was not without risk, which is why they had waited. The test itself could set off pancreatitis. But Amy had run out of options.

            I spent almost as many sleepless nights as Amy, praying to God. Amy is an enormously special person. I know everyone’s sister is enormously special, but I couldn’t think of any sister but my dear one in such need. When Amy was growing up, she was a pain in the rear. She carried grudges, she complained, she argued, and she was discontented. She drove my family nuts…but she was my beloved little sister. And when she had nightmares, and came into my room frightened, I always let her crawl into bed with me. I loved Amy, despite all her faults.

            And then she grew up. She became an interpreter for the deaf. She sent all the nieces and nephews gifts whenever she saw something they might like. She traveled to see all of us several times a year, despite having little money to do so. Family was all important, much more important than money. She cried whenever she left to return to her home. She never tired of helping friends in need, showering them with time, money, her impossibly creative crafts. In the past year, she took up water color painting and excelled in it. She sent all of us hand painted cards. Amy became in her husband’s words- “The finest person I know.” I agreed.  No one could have predicted that outcome based on her childhood.

            So I prayed in a way I had never prayed before. I asked God for a specific miracle. I prayed constantly and fervently, night after night.

            “I know this is often not the way you work,” I told God, “But I don’t think I can do without Amy…the world cannot do without Amy. I pray, dear Father, that you will restore her pancreas. All of it. Return life to the two thirds of it that are dead. And may you be given all the glory.” I knew this was a prayer that is not often answered, not in the way the distraught petitioner hopes.

            The procedure found the first semblance of an answer. Amy had a congenital defect of the pancreas.  In Pancreas Divisum, the duct that empties the waste from the pancreas fails to join in utero, as it should, and is divided into two ducts. In some unfortunate cases, the narrower ducts become blocked, backflow, and often cysts form, as well as the life threatening and excruciating pain of pancreatitis. All those awful things had happened to Amy. Doctors don't all agree that this defect causes pancreatitis, since many people have it with no symptoms whatsoever. 
           During the procedure to fix the defect, the doctor placed a stent in the narrow duct and repaired a hole in the pancreas. He left Amy's large cyst alone, as cyst drainage can introduce infection, another dangerous procedure. He hoped the cyst would drain on its own.

            Amy thought her troubles were over. The doctor said that in most cases, prognosis was good with the surgery he had performed. Yet after the surgery, Amy never returned to feeling normal, and continued to have small bouts of pancreatitis. She fasted often to decrease the strain on her pancreas, and grew despondent. We all knew she was one bad attack away from very severe consequences.

            “Please Father,” I prayed, “I know you know best. But I beg you, please heal Amy completely…completely. Restore her pancreas to full function. All of it. All three thirds of it. It’s Amy we are talking about.”

            “How are you?” I wrote to her in an email.

            “Squiggly,” she answered, “And very tender where my pancreas is.”
            “Have you told the doctor?”
            “Sort of… they do more tests next week.”
            “Hound the doctor!” I begged.

            She hounded the doctor. He told her to wait for the tests.

            “Please Lord,” I prayed, “Make her pancreas whole. Bring it back, restore it to full function.”

I told Amy I was praying for complete healing, a pancreas fully alive and healthy. The week dragged on, but Amy said she was feeling normal finally, at least for that brief time.

            There was a message yesterday on my phone that Amy had called. I knew her test was this week, but I had forgotten the day. I called her back.

            “I am on my way from the doctor’s ,” she told me.

            “Oh! The tests were today! What did they find? Is the cyst draining?”
            “The cyst is draining. But listen to this. Remember the middle third of the pancreas that was, as the doctor put it, dead as a doornail?”
            “Yes.” How could I forget?

            “It is alive. And remember the back section that couldn’t communicate with the front section because the middle was dead, and the back third was dying?”
            “Yes!”
            “It is healing. They don’t know why, they don’t know how, but my pancreas is alive. All of it.”

            I jumped up out of my seat and Asherel raised an eyebrow as I danced around the room, waving my arms in the air. I shrieked and I think Amy might have a damaged ear drum after that resounding exclamation of pure and unbridled delight, praise, joy, gratitude….praise.

            “That is just what I prayed for!!!!!!”
            “I know, I told the doctor my sister would be happy to know that the miracle she had prayed for had been provided.”
            She had called me first. Not even her husband knew yet.

            “You didn’t call Jim!?” I asked.

            “No, if he was praying for a miracle, he never told me,” she said, “You told me. You are the only person I have called.”
            “Well I am sure he was praying. Call him now. This is maybe the most wonderful thing I have ever heard!”

            After dancing and hollering, while Asherel watched with a bemused look on her face, I could not stop smiling.  God knows how small my faith is, how tenuous my hope, how fragile my walk with Him. I don’t pray with assurance…I often pray with despair. Sometimes life seems so overwhelming that I don’t pray with words. I pray with groans, that slowly cascade into tears.  But how could I not believe?  How could anyone not believe?

Romans 8:25-27

New International Version (NIV)

²⁵ But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

 ²⁶ In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. ²⁷ And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.

           

Mute answers

Sister Amy and I punched the elevator button for floor B again, and yet again, the elevator doors closed and then instantly reopened.
"We need to take the stairs then ," I said, frowning at the dystfunctional elevator.
We headed to the stairs, and noticed that the sign indicated we were already on floor B.
"The elevator was trying to tell us all along," I laughed, "It was speaking as clearly as a nonverbal inanimate object could."

Amy gets her CT scan this morning and then immediate consult with the doctor to discuss course of treatment. I prayed with her as we started our crack of dawn drive to the Dallas hospital.
"Dear Lord, please let the test results yield a miracle. That Amy's pancreas will be completely healed and normal and no further incidents will happen . We pray as always for your will, and ask for your mercy and compassion. Amen."
"That might be a tall order," said Amy.
"Well, He may choose not to answer it the way we want, but He certainly could produce a miracle," I said.
"So how come He doesn't get the blame for not answering,but gets the praise for when things go well?"
"Cause how many of us praise Him for all the miracles He is constantly providing....like thanking Him each time we draw a breath?"

God is a lot like the elevator. We may not hear Him....and we might be standing in the very place He meant for us to be and not even know it. Meantime, Amy and I are waiting for the CT scan and praying for a miracle.

Psalm 65:2 NIV

You who answer prayer,
to you all people will come.

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Party animals inTexas

I think I am having more fun than Amy as I am helping her clean and organize after her month in the hospital. I am trying to get her to just sit and watch me and rest. However, I am not sure it is restful for her.

For example, we have had an extended battle over an end table. I am certain that if we moved it 1 foot to the right, the couch would fit flush with the corner of the wall without sticking out an extra few inches as it does now. She won't even let me try and in fact threatens another pancreatic attack should I sneak it in that position while she is not looking.

“Can't we just go have fun?" she whined.
"This is fun," I warned her. At least it is as fun as I get.

The real fun was when I chanced upon the dead baby snake in the corner of the sun room. After I stopped screaming, we huddled together and gazed at the stiffly dried black squiggle.
"That's a worm," said Amy.
"No it's not! That is a snake- a baby snake."
Amy took a picture of the snake for her saintly husband, Jim.
When Jim came home from work, we showed him the snake.
"That's a worm,"he said.
I know everything is bigger in Texas but if that really was a worm, I sure hope I don't come across a Texas snake.

The rest of our cleaning proceeded relatively uneventfully. No more supersized worms or creatures lurked in hidden corners. And we both agreed the sun room looked sunnier after the worm/snake was removed and the day of organizing was coming to an end.

"Tomorrow, we get to do the kitchen!" I told her happily.
"My, you are a party animal!" She didn't exactly say that but I bet she was thinking it.

I have discovered it is much easier to clean and organize someone else's house rather than your own. It is also easier to do as I say and not necessarily as I do. However, I am so inspired by how nice a clean house looks that when I go home, I might even clean my own.

Psalm 18:20 NIV

The Lord has dealt with me according to my righteousness;
according to the cleanness of my hands he has rewarded me.

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Futility

So I lied. I wasn't done with the wedding painting like I proclaimed a mere two days ago. I kept looking at the painting of my son and his soon to be wife, and I couldn't stand it any more. I know I insisted I was done, but it just doesn't quite look right. I had to go in and change it....again.

"Your soul sucking painting?" Amy asked me later when I called to see how she was recuperating from her nasty bout of pancreatitis.
"Yes, that one."
"Send me just Matt's head and let me see if I can help," asked Amy.
So I sent her Matt's head, not on a platter, but on gmail.

She sent back a photoshopped correction of what she felt was wrong. She lengthened the nose, dipped the upper lip, and squared the chin....the very changes Asherel told me to paint out last week. I am beginning to feel like a yo yo.

I even incorporated math into the process. I measured the distance between all Matt's features and then set up a ratio/algebraic equation to discern if my painting ratios matched. I found one measurement off by 1 cm., corrected that, and felt it did help. I may not be much of an artist, but I was pretty self-impressed by my math skills.

If I had another year....I think I could do it. But I only have two days. Then we are off to a Beatles tribute concert and then to go take care of recuperating sister Amy. Then it is wedding time.

Now I wish I hadn't made fun of all those portrait artists that use projectors to trace their subjects from a photo. At this point, I would be sorely tempted to cheat that way. It's like how I chastised my mom for all those years for dying her hair. Now that I am old and grey....if I hadn't made so much sport of her maybe I would become a blond and see if I had more fun. Smugness has a way of rebounding onto oneself.

And I must say, I have a whole new respect for God's skill in making each of us look exactly the way we are supposed to. It is much harder than you would think.

Karissa, the lovely bride to be, is nothing but grace and kindness. They will love the painting, she writes, because it was made by me. It is very sweet of her, and I almost want to paint a mustache on both of them just to see how far that sentiment could survive.

"Does it look like Matt?" I asked husband, Arvo.
"Do you have a picture of him?" he asked.
I didn't say what was in my mind, which was, "It is your son....remember him?"
I showed him a picture, which he scrutinized. He gave some good and thankfully simple advice. I agreed with those observations, mostly because I could do them without totally repainting any feature. I have noticed that my receptivity to any advice on the painting is in direct proportion to how easily I can incorporate the changes.

I have reached this point of total frustration in my art many times. Sometimes, I let the bitter defeatism take over and I take a glob of black paint and paint over my struggle with frantic, vicious strokes.( This might be that "lack of maturity" the art gallery owner who rejected my work was referring to.) I have had to leave the room to prevent this from happening to this year long labor of love. Funny how anyone looking at the final result would never suspect it took me a year to get even this far. They can't see the layers and layers and layers of failure underneath the current layer.

Again, I knew God was painting me a message. To many people, I think I appear to be at least on the fringe of respectable normalcy. I mostly can get through each day without causing too much damage to myself or others. But there are layers and layers and layers of failure underneath the surface....and the surface is still not what it should be.

I guess if it were, I wouldn't recognize my need for God. Perhaps all that failure is a blessing. Success never seems to bring me quite so desperately to His side, begging Him to take my brush and guide my hand.

Two days aren't enough....but it is all I have. So I better stop writing and make the most of my time.

Job 7:3
³ so I have been allotted months of futility,
   and nights of misery have been assigned to me.

Daniel 12:13
  ¹³ “As for you, go your way till the end. You will rest, and then at the end of the days you will rise to receive your allotted inheritance.”

The Creative Spirit

I'd passed the sign for a month, and every time, Asherel would tell me I ought to bring my paintings to that new gallery opening soon.
"I should," I agreed, since my book is still in the hands of the agent and no action seems imminent on that creative venture.
So while on my way to errands, I almost plowed over an old lady as I did a sharp right turn into the parking lot on a sudden inspirational whim.
I didn't have my paintings with me, but it seemed I was being tugged to the art gallery.

I saw they had indeed opened. A lone woman sat behind her computer, but greeted me warmly as I walked in.
"So you have opened!" I said.
"Yes, last night we had our opening reception," she said, "I am dead on my feet today!"
"Well congratulations. I have been driving by for a month and keep meaning to drop by. I am an artist....and I do work that is similar in a way to these....."  Glancing around I saw some paintings that struck me as having a similar gestural quality as my work.
"Those are really beautiful, by the way, " I added, stopping to look more closely.
"Thank you," she said, "Those are mine."
I just love it when I unwittingly give encouragement to others!

"Well I have an attic full of work and wondered if you would be interested in looking at it?"
"Our artists are all award winning artists," she said, not snobbishly, just stating the obvious. The work in the gallery was stupendous. "Have you won awards of any kind?"
I laughed, "I won 'best highschool artist'.....does that count?"
I think I won best artist in my middle school too, and designed the winning yearbook cover. I suspect it wasn't that kind of award she was referring to.
"Truthfully," I said, "I have won honorable mention in a couple of shows, but I don't enter many. Haven't in years. However, I suspect I am the world's most prolific iPod artist."
She tilted her head, peering at me.
"I do a daily blog and I draw on my iPod every day to illustrate it."
She pulled my blog up on her computer, and told me I should do greeting cards. People have told me that for years. She offered to market them for me if I got some ready. I may just do that, but for now, I needed to clean my attic.

"I would be happy to look at your work next week, before we open here," she said. So we set up a time, and then she took me on a gallery tour, describing each artist's intent behind some of the main pieces. Her own work ranged from detailed realism to broad, gestural splashes of paint.
"You have so many styles," I said, "My professor in art school told me that I had too many styles. He told me that I had to settle on one distinctive style, so anyone looking at my work would know it was mine. I never could settle on one."
She nodded vigorously and pointed at me, "That is just what they told me! And I refused."
"There are so many styles, so much to explore," I said, "How could I limit myself?"
"Exactly!" she cried, "Though I really enjoy the broader more simplified approach like this one."
"Do you know the Matisse sculpture?" I asked her, "I think it is called 'Woman'. It is a series of bas relief sculptures of the back of a woman. The first one is very detailed, very realistic, and each successive one is of the same pose increasingly simplified. The last one is of only 2 or 3 lines that give the essence of Woman.That is what I think art should attempt to achieve."
We talked an hour. When I finally left to hurry home to take Asherel to her first guitar recital, I realized I had just had a soul encounter. I haven't connected in my art spirit with anyone in years like I had connected with that artist. And I hadn't realized til then how much I had missed it.

Asherel had been practicing her song for the recital in her room for a month behind closed doors. I was anxious to hear her. Arvo had rarely heard her play her guitar. She has only taken lessons for 9 months and  we always finish practice long before he is home. I set my camera on my lap as we settled in the center front row.
"What's that?" asked Asherel, looking apprehensively at my camera.
"I am videotaping you, and that is that," I said, heading off the argument I knew was to follow.
She opened her mouth to speak, but I was quicker than even her photophobic diatribe.
"I told Aunt Amy, poor Aunt Amy in the hospital who almost died that I would videotape you for her."
Asherel closed her mouth around her protests, and slouched back in her seat.
When they called her up, she went on stage, and removed her guitar from her case. The case was outlined in duct tape, and a lovely duct tape rose adorned the top of it. She settled calmly on the center stage, like she had done this a thousand times, and played "Blackbird", by her beloved Beatles. It was so beautiful I would have cried, had I not been so anxious to catch it all on videotape.
Later I sent the video to Matt, my gifted guitarist son in his own right, and he wrote back, "She is amazing! May I post this on my facebook page?"  He told me if she continues in this vein, she could have a career in music.

As we returned home I got a text message from Jim, sister Amy's sainted husband.
"They discharged Amy. We are headed home!" Amy texted me a picture of her wearing the duct tape rose barrette Asherel had sent her.

I have often thought about what it means to mirror God, to become more like Him each day, which is my goal when all is said and done. We are, after all, made in His image. And I realized as I felt my soul sing in chorus with the gallery owner and then listen in delight to the skillful strumming of my daughter on her guitar that our God is a creative God, the author of Creation. Is it no wonder that our spirits sing when we yield to our own creative spirit?  I thought of the duct tape rose adorning the case of her beloved guitar, and the duct tape rose adorning the hair of her beloved Aunt and reveled in the beauty of praising God by using His gifts, like this daughter of my own heart.


Jeremiah 3:13
¹⁵ Then I will give you shepherds after my own heart, who will lead you with knowledge and understanding.

Nature that Bites

As  I pictured the monster with rows of razor teeth opening that large mouth beneath my floating death trap, I was glad that I had done one smart thing before taking off all alone on the deserted lake in my kayak. I had texted my husband to let him know where I was. The fact that Arvo never notices when he receives texts may have in the end led to my body not being found for days.

Asherel was off for the day with her friends so even she didn't know where I had headed. It was her birthday and friends were taking her to a day of fun at the White Water center. I had many errands to do in prep for the trip out to help sister Amy and then my son's upcoming wedding, but I thought I could squeeze in an hour at Lake Wylie. I brought a change of clothes so I could do the errands on the drive home.

I would smell faintly of fish and damp lake water hair, but it was a rare opportunity to be all alone doing something I love even more than raspberry cheesecake. Asherel's gifts were wrapped and waiting for her return, the birthday banner hung.... I drove with a goofy smile on my face to Lake Wylie, inflatable kayak bouncing in the back seat.

Mid week, Lake Wylie is deserted. I was the only boat on the lake. As I glided along, the only sounds were of ducks and geese and herons chanting with the rhythmic slapping of the water against the shore. I slipped into one cove and a huge flock of ducks rose into the air. I had never seen so many ducks! A heron circled above me, following me for several minutes. I was glad I was wearing my sun hat, as herons are large birds and I feared he was working on target practice.

I stayed close to shore, since it is near shore where most of the wildlife lingers. As I was cruising by a small island called Copperhead Island, I saw a head pop out of the water, a few feet from my boat. It was copper colored, with diamonds down the long back which I now saw trailed a good few feet behind the triangular, fang imbedded head. I paddled quickly a little further off shore and the snake slithered in between some shore line boulders. While still shuddering from that encounter with nature, I saw a floating log, about 3 feet long near my boat. I continued to look at it, thinking how much I love the peace and beauty of nature, when the log submerged. And did not re-emerge.  I don't know if it was an alligator, but all alone on the lake in my inflatable tooth poppable boat, I paddled like a lawn ornament in a hurricane out of the vicinity.  And I ammended my assessment of the nature that I love.... I love nature that doesn't bite.

As my pulse returned to normal, I paddled near some enormous lake mansions and thought of the latest news from dear sister Amy. After battling pancreatitis, a treatment of weeks of ice chips with only a brief interlude of a break form the hospital, she had received finally a possible cause for all this woe. The doctor suspects that the meds she is on for other issues may have precipitated the whole thing. The meds have been changed, and we are all hopeful that this very hard chapter in her life is coming to a conclusion. She had her first meal of solid food in almost 2 weeks, a feast, and her pancreas did not roll over in agony. If all continues this way, she will be discharged today, and will return for a CT scan in 8 days. At that point, if the pancreas cyst has not resolved, they will decide to drain, operate, or just leave it if it is still subsiding.

I reached my docking point with no further frightening encounters with carnivores, and drove on to my errands.

Later that day, there was a knock on the door. A neighbor stood there with a wrapped gift in his hand.
"This is from Comer," Ken said.
I looked at the gift. How had Comer, the 93 year old man with his feeble eyes, and cane, living in an assisted living center managed to get Asherel a gift, and how had he known it was her birthday?
"I took him to lunch today," said Ken, "And he wanted me to take him shopping. He said that when you and Asherel took him and Evelyn out yesterday, he remembered you mentioning it was her birthday today. He told me he would like very much if I would take him to a store where he could pick out a gift for her."
Comer can walk about a hundred feet, slowly, before he is worn out. I am sure the lunch out with Ken had done him in physically. With all the woes and worries of his life now with his wife with Alzheimers and his own failing body.....he had remembered how much a child delights in a birthday gift, and taken the painfully slow labored steps to secure one......

There are alligators that bite, and snakes that eject poison from fangs.... and that part of life seems cruel and jarring in the placid beauty of a quiet lake. But then, in counterpoint, there are herons that accompany solitary kayakers, doctors that cleverly find hope in hopeless places, and old men that remember what it is to be young and to yearn for what is yet to be. You just never know where joy may spring from, and for that reason, God compels us to not lose hope.

Job 6:11
 ¹¹ “What strength do I have, that I should still hope?
   What prospects, that I should be patient?

Job 13:15

 Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him;

Digging Deep

I pulled up to the senior home with both kayaks strapped atop the car. I leave them up there since we kayak every chance we get in the summer. My old friends Comer and Evelyn were sitting on the porch waiting for me, beside a sleeping lady with an oxygen tank hooked to her. Comer glanced at the car, and then did a double take when he saw me wave.
As he and Evelyn shuffled slowly over, big smiles on their faces, a concerned aide from the Alzheimer unit came running from the home.
"Where are you taking them?" he asked.
"Kayaking, " I said, nudging my 93 year old friend, "How's that sound, Comer?"
"That sounds fine," he laughed.
"Nah, I'm taking them out for a long awaited steak dinner. Would you like that better?" I asked Evelyn.
"That would be nice!" she said.

The aide patted Evelyn's hand as she settled in my car.
"She's my favorite," he said, "We sing together."
He began singing "Zippety do dah!" and Evelyn eagerly joined in. They hit line 4 and then stopped.
"We never get any further," he said, "We can't remember the words."
"Mr. Bluebirds on my shoulder," I sang, and Evelyn sparkled as she joined in remembering, "It's the truth, it's factual, everything is satisfactual, zippity doo da, zippity aye, wonderful feeling, wonderful day!"
"Wow," said the aide ,"You should volunteer here."

As I got in the car I held up the 50's music CD, "How about some music, Evelyn?"
"I don't like music," she said.
I turned to look at her.
"Don't give me that," I told her, "You love music."
She began singing zippidy doo dah again.

For months, Comer had been telling me how he longed for a steak dinner. Evelyn's condition had been so fragile that I had been hesitant to do anything but take them sightseeing in the car while eating fast food take out. It became our little nugget of ritual hope that when I dropped them off, we would say, "One day we will go to a restaurant and have a real steak dinner!"

So today I had planned a half hour drive to Lake Wylie to a restaurant on the water. We would eat on the outside patio deck right on the sparkling lake, with ducks trolling for food next to us. The restaurant specialized in TBone steaks. I had called ahead to be sure they could serve us quickly as my old friends could not be out too long without great fatigue.

As we sat down, Evelyn was beaming the entire time. She looked happily at the ducks next to the dock. The waitress bought the menus and I told them, "The print is pretty fine, but I can read to you the steak choices."
"I don't believe I will have steak," said Comer.
I blinked at him.
"How about you, Evelyn? Would you like to hear the steak choices?"
"She doesn't like steak," said Comer.
"I want the chicken club," said Evelyn.

As we ate, Comer was recounting some of the jobs he had held in his life.
"Do you know Olan MIlls?" he asked.
Everyone knows Olan Mills. They are probably the most famous portrait studio in the nation. They are everywhere.
"I worked for Olan," he said, "Before he ever had a store even."
"The person Olan?!" I exclaimed.
"Yep, me and one other guy were his first sales crew in Alabama."
"OH my! What else did you do?"
"I was a Golden Glove boxer. Pretty good in my area. Do you know Rocky Marciano?"
"No.... I think I have heard of him."
"Greatest boxer of his time. They tried to set me up to fight him, but I said no way."
"Like the Rocky movie!" I said, laughing.
"But I made the most money playing poker."
"Poker?"
"Yes. When I was in the army I won $50-$60,000 playing poker. The FBI came out and put a $2500 cap on our games when they got wind of it."
"Evelyn, did you know he was a gambler?"
She smiled nodding, "Yes, a gambler....."
"Did you ever get in trouble....?"
"Oh, I never did anything wrong.Once," said Comer, "When the war was over and we were on the train coming home, we were having a big celebration, playing poker. One soldier kept winning time after time. And then we caught him cheating. So I picked that soldier up and I threw him off the train."
"You just said you never did anything wrong!!! You threw someone off a train!?"
"I mean, I never did anything criminal."
"Throwing someone off a train!"
"Well, it wasn't going very fast...."
"Evelyn, did you know Comer threw someone off a train?"
She smiled and chuckled, " Oh dear...."
"So what attracted you to him in the first place," I asked, "This gambler who threw people off trains?"
"He was......weird," she said, struggling for the right word.
"I quit gambling then," said Comer, "By the time I knew her. But we both played poker. She is a great blackjack player."
Evelyn nodded, giggling, "Yes, black jack."

As we drove home after dropping our friends back at their Senior Home, Asherel and I were discussing the various events she could choose from for next year's Science Olympiad.
"In the end," I told her, "It doesn't really matter which event you choose. If you go deeply enough into any subject, you will be fascinated. It is only when we do overviews, surface understanding that things are boring."
And I realized that the relationship we have developed with Comer and Evelyn is becoming likewise more fascinating each day we see them. The layers of their lives that they slowly reveal always surprise, always amaze, and always entertain. What a colorful kaleidoscope of living history my old friends are!

We also prayed together for dear sister Amy, lanquishing for week number two in the hospital with her second bout of pancreatitis in a month. News had seemed so dire, so depressing the day before and Amy seemed so down and discouraged. When we got back, I called her. The doc had been in and not only had she been moved from ice chip diet to a liquid diet with jello and italian ices, but the doc felt she would be able to go home, maybe very soon. He felt that in all likelihood, the cyst on her pancreas was best left alone for now, and any procedure could likely wait for a few weeks. He felt there was little danger to her, and gave a tentative clearing of her hopeful plans to still attend my son's wedding in July. And she was bubbly happy with a beautiful bouquet that same son, Matt, and his fiancee Karissa had sent to her cheerless hospital room.

I know many many friends have been praying for her, and my heart is so warmed by the outpouring of love and concern. Another sweet friend will be taking Asherel to her home on the afternoons I will be in Texas helping Amy. And my folks offered money to fly Asherel out if that was better for me.

In my Bible reading that morning, I came across one of my favorite verses, Philippians 4:13. It captured my day perfectly:
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Watching toenails grow.....

The highlight of my sister's week was a ride in the ambulance transporting her to a new hospital. She took pictures along the way, posting them to facebook, so we could all see how she spent her summer vacation. This summer vacation appears to be made up of scenes from looking inward, rather than outward. She had thought she would get a whole hour of freedom from IVs and medical jargon and medical staff. She had thought she would be allowed an hour drive to her new digs with her husband in their own little car. But I think the nurse overheard them plotting a trip through the McDonald's drive- through on their way to the new hospital. (Amy has had only ice chips for 2 weeks or so now. Her pancreas cannot process anything but that at this point.) So she was stuffed into an ambulance instead where she snapped pictures of the scenery along the way, and her toes.... toes she has spent weeks lying in bed contemplating.

This hospital is better acquainted with the procedures that may be necessary. It affords her at least new ceiling tiles to count. She is in too much discomfort and on too many pain pills to be able to read, or watch TV long. Visits are tiring, and she doesn't really feel up to them. The hours drag on as the doctors wait to determine that the pancreatic pseudocyst has hardened enough to drain. From what I could glean from the little research I did, it really is better to wait for the portions of the pancreas that die in pancreatitis to fully differentiate themselves from the healthy pancreas cells. This apparently does happen if the surgeon waits a few weeks, and the patient outcome is far better. But the waiting is not fun. Of course, it rarely is....not when the waiting includes deprivation.

I am flying out in a week and a half. At that point she should be done with her operation, home recuperating and I will come and be her slave for a few days. After going on a month in the hospital with a brief interlude between the two visits there, it is likely she has some chores that I could help with. Of course she told me not to come, to stay home and deal with the wedding plans of my son in a month. But all my obligations for that are almost done. I just had to finish the wedding painting which took an unfortunate turn yesterday.

I had sent photos of it to Matt and his lovely bride to be, Karissa, asking them for final critique. I wanted it to be perfect in their eyes. No one else's really matter. After writing down all their suggestions I had a two page list. Nothing was too major, but any one who has ever painted knows that if you change one thing on a painting, it sets off a creative domino effect. Slowly, every thing else has to change to support that one change. At one point yesterday, Asherel walked by and saw me lying on the floor pounding my head against the rug.

"How's the painting coming?" she called in.
"Don't look!" I cried, "Please don't come in!!!!"
She of course came in. And laughed. I had to laugh too. At that point, Matt looked just like a chipmunk. I had removed his lips to shorten his nose which I suddenly realized was a shade too long, and his teeth a little too crooked, and had not yet returned lips to his face. However, two massive Beaver-like front teeth gleamed unobstructed from any semblance of a human mouth.
"I've ruined it," I told Asherel. Nine months of painting down the drain.
Still chuckling, she walked away.
I felt almost as bereft as Amy.

So I went back to work. I worked all day on it, about 9 hours straight. Karissa had thought Matt looked fine before I had made the changes. It was Matt that had suggested the changes. So I sent them both the revised portrait. Karissa's mom, who was roped into consultation, thought perhaps I should ignore their suggestions as she felt it might have captured more of Matt's essence before. Matt however loved the revised Matt, and had one more tiny suggestion.
"Forget it," I wrote back, "I am done."

So the painting is finished, and for the record, I will never ever ever ever do another wedding portrait. And for the record, Amy will never ever ever ever have another ice chip after this ordeal is over.

I suspect looking back on both events, both of us will find the humor, the lessons learned, the silver lining. Retrospect is God's gift to the patient.

Deuteronomy 8: 2-3
² Remember how the LORD your God led you all the way in the wilderness these forty years, to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart, whether or not you would keep his commands. ³ He humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your ancestors had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.

On the Rocks

It seems like a preponderance of loved ones are currently on the injured list. Our beloved agility mentor Polly has a badly broken wrist. She broke it the day we were to take her kayaking, before we showed up, I might add. Another friend is due any day to go in for a double mastectomy. And then poor dear sister Amy is back in the hospital with the second flare up of her pancreas in two weeks and on day 4 of no food. She advanced from being allowed just ice chips, to ice chips and water yesterday. That is her Memorial Day feast and she is not happy about it. And always there are our old friends in the Nursing home, who are waiting for a break in the ever present thunderstorms so I can take them to a "real steak restaurant." (We are scheduled for Thursday.0 I lay in bed last night thinking over all the aging, hurting, injured loved ones in my life and said out loud, "Help."

I feel guilty admitting I had a nice day kayaking with Arvo and Asherel and friend Josh on a lake I had never visited before. Oh sure, we got yelled at by the lake police, but it was not for a felony. They did speak harshly to us as though it were, however. We did the unthinkable crime of swimming in the lake. Yes, hardened criminals that we were, we actually dipped into the water on the 90 degree day. Good thing our government is so well funded that they can catch criminals like us. I think that alone should persuade congress to raise the debt ceiling. If 40 % of government services were cut back should they not raise the debt ceiling, who will apprehend the children swimming in the county lakes? Later we saw those same clever police pulling over a boat. They actually had red flashing lights on their police boat and moored themselves to the offending family of holiday boaters. I was not sure what the family had done, but I think they had been suspected of plotting to swim in the lake.

We kayaked to the middle of the lake where there was a picturesque cluster of large rocks. They were more picturesque from a distance, because up close it was clear that the rocks were used as the Latta Lake Goose Latrine. However, it was quite stunning, those big rocks sticking up in the  middle of the smooth blue water. We discovered as we kayaked that throughout this apparently shallow lake,  rocks lurked just below the surface. As I was in my inflatable kayak, I had to pay close attention, since a sharp rock could slice through my kayak.

This lake is just like life! It is very very beautiful from a distance. Serene even, surrounded by peaceful forests, quietly lapping water against pristine shores, rocks jutting in perfect composition to the whole delightful panorama. But then when you get down to the nitty gritty, to the actual navigating across that bucolic scene, you hit submerged rocks, goose poop, and are not allowed the relief of the cool waters.
Life is never smooth and never easy for long.

The apostle Paul was shipwrecked on rocks once. His fellow shipmates wanted to try to escape on lifeboats, or kill the prisoners the boat was carrying to justice, or save the heavy load of food . Most were succumbing to despair. But Paul told them not a single one would be lost to the sea and the rocks if they would just trust in his God. He urged them to cut away the lifeboats, throw the food overboard, and stay with the ship. In the end, everyone made it safely to shore. The rocks indeed splintered the ship, but it became the planks by which those who couldn't swim made it to the beach.

Despite the struggle of lifting the kayak back on the car, sweating to strap it down securely, packing up the multitude of necessary equipment for an outing on the lake, and having had a few anxious moments with the lake patrol and the lake rocks......I would still do it again. Hopefully tomorrow.

A few hours after we dropped Josh back home, I got an email from his mom. She told me Josh said he had a fantastic time, and by the way, there might be snails in the car, and I might want to go check.
Snails?
I sent Asherel out to the car and she returned with a warm bottle of cooked snails.
"I think they are dead," she said.

To all my beloved ones crashing against the rocks of life today, I just want to lift a prayer for you- don't abandon the ship, and be thankful you are not snails.

 Acts 27: 29-32, 42-44
²⁹ Fearing that we would be dashed against the rocks, they dropped four anchors from the stern and prayed for daylight. ³⁰ In an attempt to escape from the ship, the sailors let the lifeboat down into the sea, pretending they were going to lower some anchors from the bow. ³¹ Then Paul said to the centurion and the soldiers, “Unless these men stay with the ship, you cannot be saved.” ³² So the soldiers cut the ropes that held the lifeboat and let it drift away. ⁴² The soldiers planned to kill the prisoners to prevent any of them from swimming away and escaping. ⁴³ But the centurion wanted to spare Paul’s life and kept them from carrying out their plan. He ordered those who could swim to jump overboard first and get to land. ⁴⁴ The rest were to get there on planks or on other pieces of the ship. In this way everyone reached land safely.

When I am Weak

As we were driving, I heard a somewhat frightening clunk on top of the car and glanced in my side view mirror. Ohoh. I could see the edge of the kayak hovering over the top of my side window. That can't be good.

I pulled over to discover that the kayak had indeed slipped. I don't think it could've outright fallen off the car, but was disturbed that my fool proof tie down method had proved to only be fool resistant. There always seem to be ways for fools to creep in.

With the kayak again tied securely with my ultra fool proof method, we started on our way again. But every bump or clatter or scritch sound made me jump and eye my mirror, the whites of my eyes gleaming. On top of my anxiety as we headed to the peaceful lake with Asherel and her friend, I had pulled an intercostal muscle hoisting the kayaks on top of the van. Normally one is completely unaware of intercostal muscles, and I would bet 90% of my readers don't know what an intercostal muscle is or why we have it. We have it so that God can remind us that 50+ year old ladies should not be hoisting kayaks on top of tall vans, even with the help of 13 year olds. I may be facing the sobering reality that most of us reach eventually. My body may not be up to the task.

Amy, my sister fresh out of the hospital after a week of pancreatitis texted me early this morning. She didn't wake me up, even though it was only 5:30 a.m. and my text notification ringer was on high volume. I was awake already with aching intercostal muscles, reminding me I am no longer 23 years old. The text told me she was back in the hospital. She has a cyst on her pancreas and she will be operated on, I presume today. She says this just sometimes happens after pancreatitis. She will update me as they know more details.

Suddenly my aching intercostal muscles don't feel so bad. Those of you who are of the prayerful variety, if you would please pray for my poor dear sister, I would appreciate it.

As I kayaked on the peaceful lake, gliding so quietly to basking turtles on sunlit logs that they didn't take fright, I realized that I just may have to forego the heavier hard body kayak. I am still strong enough to handle the inflatable one. Friends can lift the hard shell ones on top of the van if they want to join us. Someday, friends may need to lift me when I can't stand up on my own power. This lesson of waning strength and failing bodies is beginning to threaten my normally sunny disposition.

The apostle Paul mentions many times that God's strength is perfected in our weakness. It is He that lifts us up, renews and restores. His power is most clearly revealed, most ardently called upon when intercostal muscles tear and pancreases swell. Anyone can deal with life when everything is perfect. It is a whole different story when it all gets shredded. I am so glad that I can hop in His kayak, and float in His strength when I can no longer lift the paddle myself.

Amy's hubby Jim just texted me. It is a "psuedo cyst" and will need draining, but it is minor surgery. I am hoping my intercostal aches and grey hair and waning strength is "psuedo aging" and also will just require minor alterations.

1 Chronicles 16:10-12 (New International Version)

¹⁰ Glory in his holy name;
   let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice.
¹¹ Look to the LORD and his strength;
   seek his face always.

When Good is distorted

I must be getting old...or lazy. Probably both. I curled up with a book, on the off and on rainy day while little tumbleweeds of dog fur blew about the house. The bathrooms, while not yet to the level of disgusting could use a good swipe. Yet, I curled up with a wonderful whodunnit book and read to my heart's content. Honeybun curled up on the couch next to me and we supined the day  away. An oasis of hours in a whirlwind year.

My sister Amy called from the hospital. I hadn't heard her voice in almost a week and after how perilously sick she was, it was music to my ears, albeit drugged, groggy, slooooooow music. She sounded a little like a record played at half speed.  She advanced yesterday to a liquid diet. Until then, she has been fed only through an IV for almost a week.
"Oh, a 5 star liquid diet too," she said, slurring a little through the pain killers, "I even got jello!"
"Jello is liquid?" I asked.
"Yes, this is a little known fact...."
"Wow, well then I suppose you got some yogurt too?"
"No silly, don't you know the meaning of 'opaque'?"

"So Amy, I was looking up what happens during pancreatitis. It is an autoimmune response."
"I know," she drawled with an indignant rise in her carefully paced voice, "Can you believe how dumb a design that is...to make an organ that decides to eat itself?"
And indeed that does seem a little silly. The pancreas produces enzymes that help with digestion, but for various reasons, in Amy's case- unkown reasons, the enzymes turn against their maker...and begin to eat away at the pancreas instead.

This is not unlike sin. Most, if not all sin, is an extreme of a normal and good purpose or function.  It is only when what was intended for good is triggered to exaggeration and goes haywire, devouring itself and unfortunately others in its distorted path. Hunger is good; gluttony is not. Sex in the healthy and safe context of marriage is good; promiscuity is not. Self care is good; narcissism is not. Rest after hard work is good; laziness is not. Etc. etc. etc. (One etc. is good....three etc. is overkill....)

The inevitable result of a distorted good is self destruction. Like a pancreas eating itself.....

Amy has spent a week in the hospital in a very not fun treatment. She was not allowed even a sip of water for almost the whole week. The treatment for pancreatitis is complete cessation of digestion so the pancreas can heal, along with healthy doses of antibiotics.

The treatment for sin is a little trickier. The Bible advises to flee when possible. Sometimes it still overtakes us. God knows of course that it will. So He gave us a book to shore ourselves up, to remind and encourage us, and He gave us a covering so the ravages of sin eating away at a fallen world doesn't chomp on our vulnerable weak souls....but on Him who is able to overcome instead. Ultimately, good will be restored and all things will work as they were intended to work at the dawn of creation.

I got a text message from Amy's saintly husband, Jim last night:
"Amy had solid food!"

Job 20:13
¹⁴ yet his food will turn sour in his stomach;
   it will become the venom of serpents within him.
¹⁵ He will spit out the riches he swallowed;
   God will make his stomach vomit them up.

1 Corinthians 6:12-14 

  ¹² “I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but I will not be mastered by anything. ¹³ You say, “Food for the stomach and the stomach for food, and God will destroy them both.” The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body. ¹⁴ By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also.

Queen for a day

My poor sister is hospitalized again with pancreatitis. No one knows why she got it the first time, or the second. I did a little research into causes and one cause is kawasaki disease. This is probably an unsatiated longing for motorcycles, though I didn't look up the definition on that one. Anyway, all you praying types, if you would pause a moment to pray for Amy, I would sure appreciate it. Amy is the funniest, kindest person I know and it will be a bummer if we discover that that is what is causing her pancreatitis.

So while Amy was suffering in the hospital, I was with my family that made me queen for a day on Mother's Day. They made my meals, cleaned the kitchen, took me shopping and out to eat the day before, made me lovely cards, and then told me we could do whatever I wanted with our day. I had been waiting for this opening. I had been begging for a year to go do the whole new Riverwalk in Fort Mill. It is along the Catawba river and starts at the spot where I hope to launch the kayaks this summer. Then the river races down 3 miles to River Park where we would disembark. I have been longing to walk the route along the Catawba to decide if this would be dangerous to the point of death, or just to the point of foolishness.

My family calls my love of hiking in nature "forced marches." I believe, in fact it was Amy, the same Amy groaning in the hospital right now, that coined that phrase to describe me. It stuck. I have a difficult time urging the rest of my family that walking all day in the sunshine along a river is as wonderful as playing Mario Cart and eating gummy worms. But yesterday I was offered carte blanche the activity of my choice.

It was as beautiful and peaceful as I had hoped. The river ran fast and high, and already there were kayakers on it. We decided that should I run into problems kayaking it in the future, the trail stays along the route nearly the whole way, so I could conceivably drag my body out of the water, and stumble to the trail for help if needed. Oh sure, I might need to battle moccasin snakes or venomous copperheads, and copses of poison ivy, and maybe on a really bad day a rabid fox to crawl up the steep bank and thick vegetation to reach the trail. It was not preferable, but it was doable if necessary.

At one point on the trail, there were 4 carved seats in logs, side by side. The seats looked like thrones, with a high curved back. There was a large throne, a medium throne, a small throne, and a baby throne. I sat on the throne, the medium one, overlooking the sparkling Catawba. The weather could not have been more lovely, and my family was treating me the way I wish I could be always treated. I sat on my throne, Queen for a day.

"I wish every day was mother's day," I sighed. This was a selfish thought, but at the moment I didn't know my poor sister was in the hospital wishing Mother's Day would end with a cocktail of strong pain killers.

That's the problem with this world. It isn't perfect. If one corner is perfect, almost for sure the adjacent corner is wrinkled.
"But then you would need a special super Mother's Day because you would get used to every day being Mother's Day," said Asherel.
And she's right. Here on earth, everything is relative. For Amy, I'll bet cleaning toilets without pain sounds like a pretty special day right now.

As I reflected on this, I thought of the series on Ecclesiastes our pastor is preaching this month. Solomon understood all this. He found that there was nothing under the sun that was permanent, nothing that was not infused with futility, no pursuit of man  that would ultimately satisfy. But he did see that the best one could do was to look upon everything as a gift of God to be enjoyed for a season.

And know that all things would have their day, but that day would end. It is true lamentably for Mother's Day, and joyfully for Pancreatitis.

Psalm 16:6-8

 ⁶The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.
 ⁷I will bless the LORD, who hath given me counsel: my reins also instruct me in the night seasons.
 ⁸I have set the LORD always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.