On the Road with Bob & PJ

By popular demand from my readers, all three of them, I'm delving into dangerous territory...that of my memory. You do realize these RV stories are from...oh about the time of the American Civil War?

In a time long ago and a land far away, a small family of four started on an adventure. In order to get to the land where they desired to be, Ecuador, they first had to pass a series of tests set by the O.G.RE in the tower. (OrGanizational REview otherwise know as the Missions Board). Their world required that they be able to prove their ability to adapt to a new culture and climate in which m.o.n.e.y was of little import, by demonstrating their ability to collect large sums of this m.o.n.e.y. in the American culture, specifically in their Denominational (De.m.on) churches.

Our friends were young and clueless. They approached this great adventure as ... a Great Adventure. There were some wonderful days in which the people in the De.m.on were marvelously friendly and helpful. In other place, on other days the people in the de.m.on seemed, well, De.m.on.ic.

It was a friendly day when our family found themselves in a beautiful bright sunny Southern state. The normal routine for our family was: Monday was travel day, with the evening for family time or simple chores like laundry and cleaning the RV. Tuesday thru Friday,there were services every evening in which they presented the program and tried not to beg for funds. Following these evening presentations the pastor usually invited the little family for food, either at his home or at a restaurant. These meals lasted well into the night. The family would return to their little abode about midnight and spend an hour or so reading stories to the children before everyone fell asleep. Saturday was usually the same. Occasionally Saturday was also an evening off, but not often. On Sunday there was a morning presentation usually at 10 AM in one local and an evening one, maybe a hundred or two hundred miles away. On Sunday evening our little family felt fortunate if everyone was in bed by two a.m.

This particular evening, the meal had been substantial AND there had been older children to play with the little boys. Everyone was wide awake on return to the RV. The RV Park was located right next to the runway of a U.S. Air Force Base. When they returned to the RV at 1 AM, planes continued to land and take off with regularity. The bright lights from the runway made it seem like mid-day, so the children played in a sandbox beside the RV while the parents washed and cleaned the RV.

Yep. There we were at 3:00 A.M., hose in hand washing the RV. The boys were giggling happily in the sandbox. At one point I looked around and began laughing aloud.

"If anyone from child services saw us now, they'd arrest us for sure with a charge of insanity." I chortled. "Who in their right mind has their kids up at 3 AM cleaning the house?"

We laughed...and continued cleaning. Somehow we felt safe and happy there in the shadow of fighter jets taking off and landing. And then the boys decided to join us at the hose -- so it was a 3:30 A.M. bath, disguised as a water fight for all.

Just another day in the life of a nomadic family!

WHY I BEGAN BLOGGING
(In honor of Post #500)

December 2005. I had decided to become a living liver donor. Thus, I was entering a new phase in my life. I wanted an outlet for my thoughts and a place to post news and progress to friends and family. So, I began a blog. I imagined that it would be a triumphant first few months of blogging. I could encourage more donations of organs (upon one's death) so that the kind of sacrifice I was making would not be necessary. I was to become a living liver donor.

My friend Victor Gomez had been diagnosed with liver cancer. He was so far down on the recipient list that a transplant was not going to become available for him before his time ran out. I had volunteered that Spring to be a living donor for him since our blood types matched. But his half-sister from Peru had agreed to go through the testing. However, after the painful liver biopsy in March, she opted not to donate. It delayed their even looking at me as a possible donor since a family member would be a closer match. After 6 weeks of testing, 22 vials of blood drawn, a liver biopsy and every test known to man (EXCEPT a Pap Smear and Mammogram, I might add), I was accepted as a donor. At age 55 I was healthy, but certainly older than the recommended age for living donors. I didn't even tell my primary care physician. I didn't think he'd like the idea. The University promised the best of care. And in the event that my liver ever failed, I would be put at the top of the donor list.

December 29th Victor and I both checked into the Transplant ICU at a hospital in Chicago. He was ill and could barely walk. I was hale and hearty. A tad nervous, but hale and hearty nonetheless.

The next morning in adjoining operating rooms, the two of us underwent separate 14-hour surgical procedures. Two teams of surgeons; two ORs. It was expected to be 8 hours, but when they opened him up, the remaining liver was again riddled with carcenoma. They had to keep a vein and the bile duct from his liver, because a living donor can donate 2/3 of the organ, but only one of three veins and no bile duct. With a cadaver donor, all of those items are also available for transplanting.

The bile duct was a problem from the beginning. At first it was leaking. They did another surgery and repaired it. Then it infected. It never did heal. The news was both good and bad from the beginning. The transplanted liver in him pinked up and began to work. But the wretched bile duct continued problematic.

I left the hospital after a week. I believed I'd be back at work in a month. It took almost two, and then I only returned because I was out of sick days and couldn't afford not to return. Mostly I was tired and weary. I returned to work February 21st.

For Victor, infection continued. His body became weaker and weaker. The last two week, they didn't bother closing the surgical incision. Daily procedures were done to try to combat the infection and entice his declining system to fight for health.

He was valiant to the end. The last week, each time I saw him tears ran down his face, and he'd whisper, "I'm sorry." I didn't understand at first. I kept reassuring him that I was fine, that he could make it.

But eventually I got it. He realized that his time was at an end and he was apologizing for the sacrifice that I had made. The pain he had endured was unbelievable with daily surgery and swelling of his body to the point that he could no longer speak. He was conscious, but just barely. I reassured him that it was okay to let go. The last thing I told him was to relax into the arms of God. That it would be alright. Two tear rolled down his cheek and he tried to smile. Two hours later he was gone.

That was February 22, 2006. I blogged rarely for several months. My strength did not return. I blamed it on depression. I struggled, emotionally, spiritually, physically.

Then before school started in August 2006, I decided that a mole on my left breast which had been there for years HAD to be removed. Immediately. Later my daughter-in-law said she really wondered about be because it was not characteristic of me at all.

My primary care physician said I had to have a mammogram and Pap Smear. Those were the only two test not done during December before liver surgery.

I knew right away at the mammogram that things weren't right. The technician became brighter and cheerier as the tests continued. She used every attachment there was on that wretched machine, leaving after each time to go see the radiologist. She'd come back even cheerier. And use another attachment. Finally, I had to have an ultrasound. That technician may as well have been made of stone. Absolutely no emotion of any kind marred her visage or impeded her movements.

When I got home, I sat down and tried to think. I was stunned. It was 4 pm on Friday. "I'd better make a note to call my doctor on Monday," I reminded myself. "This feel sinister."

The ringing phone interrupted my desperate attempts at reassuring myself. It was my primary care doctor. He gave me the name of a surgeon to see for a surgical biopsy and recommended that I call "Today" for the appointment.

And the whirlwind of breast cancer, mastectomy, chemotherapy, and breast reconstruction began. From August 21, 2006, the day of the mastectomy, until May 23, 2007 when the last of reconstruction was finished it was a wild run from doctor to doctor, treatment to treatment. And all of it had nothing at all to do with the mole. That was only my fixation for the feeling that something was wrong.

I blogged regularly. Blogging kept me sane. Most of the time I would simply write how I felt, what God was teaching me, or things that were happening. During the school year of 2006-2007, blogging was my regular contact with the world. I did not get out regularly except for church. Blogging was my window to the world.

So while I started blogging in order to tell a story, that story has made so many turns and twists, I barely recognize it. And that's in only three years (minus 2 months!). I keep blogging because I've made friends I want to keep in touch with; because blogging helps me keep my thoughts straight; because it reminds me where I have been and just occasionally, it points the direction in which I should go.

Here's to the next 500 blogs!!!

The Power of Naming

Gen 2:19

18-20 God said, "It's not good for the Man to be alone; I'll make him a helper, a companion." So God formed from the dirt of the ground all the animals of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the Man to see what he would name them. Whatever the Man called each living creature, that was its name. The Man named the cattle, named the birds of the air, named the wild animals; but he didn't find a suitable companion. The Message

I'm in an introspective mood. I've been reading notes from my journal...a mishmash of my thoughts, responses to sermons or lessons and occasionally a few notes from a sermon. I came across notes I had taken during a message preached by Timothy Vowell a few months ago. At this point I'm not sure how much is my thoughts and ideas and how much I'm lifting from his sermon. So I'll just give general credit now.

Native Americans had a custom of waiting to name a infant until the child distinguished itself in some way to merit a name. Thus names like "Runs-Swiftly", "Straight Arrow", and "Sitting Bull" were given.

Today most of us are given names by parents. Sometimes parents search diligently for just the right name; sometimes the name is whatever is in vogue at the time. However, for us to say names don't matter to us as Americans is easily refuted by any child who has been adopted or has had a stepfather. Last names imply belonging and association. Sometimes it implies social status or rank, as in Clayton Langston, III. (That name is totally fake, I hope. My memory sometimes drags things out that are inappropriate. No implication is intended other than "the third.")

Life sometimes unjustly name us, "Failure." People unjustly name us with teases, taunts and nicknames that hurt.

In Genesis 35:16, Rachel is in labor. She had wanted more from God. In her bitterness she named the child "Beoai" which means "Son of my sorrow." Jacob (the child's father) immediately said, "No. His name is "Benjamin" which means "Son of my Blessing."

Jacob knew what it meant to have an unjust name. His name meant "deceiver or supplanter." He didn't want that experience for his son. He had a choice and he changed the baby's name. God later changed Jacob's name to "Israel."

We have choices in naming things too. We were given the power of naming. We can speak things into existence. For example, is what you are facing now a "trial" or a "challenge?" Tomorrow I may have "problems" or "opportunities." You may be walking in a "valley" or it can be a "place of rest." And from the mountaintop, we have an excellent view of the world if we can get our sight and attention off of self for just a bit.

As I looked up this scripture, I realized that the part about naming is bracketed on either side by references to Adam finding a spouse. He named her "Eve" mother of all life. What have you named your spouse today? "Honey Bun" or "Doofus?" "Love" or Irritation? Hmmmm. I'm just sayin....

You have the power of naming. What will you call into existence? "Conflicts" or relationship opportunities??

Blessings!!

Pastor Phylis

WHEN GOD SPEAKS!

When God Speaks, I want to listen

Lately God's been bringing people from the past into my life. I'm not sure what he's saying. But I'm trying hard to listen.

Tonight, we go to our favorite little gourmet cafe for a bit of supper (Yeah, supper! It's just the farm girl in me!) and we see a man we've know for a long time. His story is one of those that brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.

Let's call him Jake for convenience and confidentiality. He was born second in a family of six siblings. The father was gone by the time the youngest girl was born and this man was about 8 and the oldest sister was 9. Mom struggled to feed and clothe them, but after two years, she married a harsh man with sufficient means to support her family of 6 children. The stepfather, however, didn't want the children around. They were routinely locked in a bedroom upstairs from the time they got home from school until the next morning. Six siblings from age two to age eleven, two beds, no bathroom. Usually they were fed. The oldest sister would occasionally manage to get out and go downstairs for extra food or milk for the littlest ones. If caught she was punished severely. One Chicago winter when she was about 12, she was locked out of the house in only her underwear for several hours to pay for her "crime." Jake was 13 then. He blamed himself for his sister's trauma. He cried while she shivered on the snowy doorstep, humiliated and cold because she tried to care for her little sisters. Jake became more and more reclusive, withdrawn, depressed.

One by one, the children were old enough to leave home --at age 16, 15 or 14 they each made an escape of some kind. Mostly the boys just left; the girls escaped with a boyfriend. When he was 21, Jake had a psychotic break. Life just became too much to bear. He was diagnosed as schizophrenic. I only knew him that way. Most of the time he could participate in one-on-one or small group conversations. He would lose touch with reality only when stressed, confused or embarrassed about something. Then his conversation would become disjointed and disconnected from the present. Even so, he was friendly with an air of childlike innocence that was appealing.

He's still like that. We saw him tonight eating lunch in our little diner. His mom died a few years ago and left him enough money to supplement his meager disability. He can now treat himself to a shake at a restaurant sometimes. He was happy to see us. Remembered our names, asked about our children. I had to say their names for him, but that jogged his memory enough that he asked about their wives. He even remembered our first granddaughter. He hasn't been around us since the younger one was born. We chatted with him for awhile until our food came.

My eyes filled with tears thinking of the wounds sustained in his life. He's past fifty now and mostly walks around town, lost his own thoughts. Too fragile to work or maintain a relationship, he lives alone. Has few friends. The picture of a train wreck kept coming to my mind. As though his life were a train that had somehow jumped or been pushed off the track. There, but not there, not able to move on. Just stuck beside the track as time moved by.

Then I thought of children I've seen these last three days. Some quiet and frightened, some angry and belligerent, some sullen and withdrawn. And through my tears, I prayed.

God, help us to remember that these young ones may be coming from situations that wound the spirit, numb the mind and discourage the soul. Help us as teachers to realize that with a soft word, a kind deed, a genuine smile we may help some child find the courage to continue, to stay on track. Remind us that within every little gang banger wannabe, every little drama queen, every little tough guy, every little lost child there is a Soul that is lovely to you. Give us the grace to see that too!

God help us to bring healing to young people struggling to keep afloat in a sea of difficulties.

And God...minister to the Jakes of this world.

AMEN

And now I think I know what God is saying:

"The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me,

for the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted
and to proclaim that captives will be released
and prisoners will be freed"
ISA 61:1

Give me strength, Lord!

Pastor Phylis

The floods came; the winds blew

Severe Thunderstorm

The civil defense horn is blowing. The sky is ominously dark, so I run outside to get photos. In the background, my husband is warning, "There's lightning out there. You're a conductor."

"No I don't conduct. I only sing." I respond cheerily.

What can I say? Where I grew up, if you wanted to know which way the storm was going, how long you had before it hit, etc., you had to go outside and look at the clouds. I still do. He's no so inclined. He thinks that's what radios and tv are for.

Meantime, it gets darker and darker. I'm trying to hold the camera still because the lens isn't getting enough light. But the flash shows nothing except the reflection of the flash off the raindrops. (Oh did I mention, it was raining?)

Finally, after this shot, I run inside. The wind is howling. I was trying to get the bend on the tree you can see very fuzzily (is that a word?) I'm guessing the winds were 40-50 mph and just before I snapped this one, the rain hit with a vengence. I mean a torrential rain driven by the fierce winds. I retreated, to my husband's satisfaction.

About 5 minutes later, the electricity goes out. We manage to light a couple of candle to give light for the roundup of every candle in the house. I also got out three oil lamps. Alas, only one had oil. (I hear a sermon coming: Don't let your oil run dry! And a song!) So today I visited the local Wal*mart and purchased a couple of bottles of lamp oil. I think that's like shutting the barn door after the horse has already escaped. But I'm ready for the next one!

After we had the candles lit, I'm trying to be productive. Aha! I have a laptop. I can finish my computer work. I fire up the laptop, have hubby take a picture. Right after this picture, I get a message, "No wireless network available." What? Oh yeah. You know, that little gizmo in my office that produces the wireless waves? It uses electricity. (I never said I was terribly bright.) So much for modern conveniences!!!

And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock. -Matthew 7:25 (Courtesy of MSD)

Pastor Phylis

A Spiritual Potpourri
Or Monday's Musings
Christy, Jayne, PJ, Laura

I know that God has a sense of humor. Sometimes I hear him laughing as he responds to some of my requests/complaints. Just a couple of weeks ago, I was depressed. "God I don't even have any friends," I complained. "At least not ones my own age. I always just hang out with my kids and their friends. I think I don't even have a life of my own."

Then...my DIL arranged an outing...her mother, another friend and I were invited to join her for a day of shopping, lunch, etc. We laughed, ate, shopped, laughed and ate some more. At the chic little Italian Cafe, it was a wonder they didn't throw us out. We were the most raucous table at lunch...giggling over life's silliness. At one point I had a fleeting thought that maybe somebody should have brought the Depends...I laughed that hard!!! (Pictures above)

Then another friend (also my age group) was stranded here for a couple of days when returning from a trip. I spend a wonderful afternoon with her. And this week we got a call from a friend we went to Bible College with (Believe me that was a LONG time ago!) who was going to be in town. So this past weekend we spend with them.

And I could hear God smiling..."Is this enough for you, PJ? I can bring more friends here if you still have enough energy!"

"Next week, God. This is Monday. I'm tired today."

Today I finally went to my primary care Doctor to follow up on cholesterol tests made in MARCH! I knew it was high, and so is my blood pressure. I just didn't want to deal with taking more meds. So after I leave the doctor's office with samples and new prescriptions, I'm complaining. "This getting old stinks. I hate meds. Why can't I just still be healthy, God? Can't you arrange that?"

While looking for a parking place to leave a package with friend at her place of employment -- a hospital -- I keep spiraling up the parking garage. No spaces. "Come on, God. I need a parking place here!"

Then I pass some reserved ones: "For Dialysis Patients" And I hear Him smile.

"You're right, God. I'm grateful. I'm truly thankful that I don't qualify for those spots," I reply with tears streaming down my face.

I'm grateful that I haven't had either a heart attack nor a stroke while in denial about needing meds for blood pressure and cholesterol. I'm thankful that in spite of having had a liver resection and cancer in the last two and a half years, I'm fully recovered. While I may resent this business of getting old and needing medications to maintain an active life, I recognize that my active life is a Gift from God. As are my Friends!!!

And...while I'm struggling with the idea (and facts) of growing older, that too is a Gift from God.

Pastor Phylis

When God Speaks

“Simon, Simon, Satan has desired to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you that your faith fail not.” Luke 22:32 (PJ's paraphrased version)

God gave me that scripture several years ago when I was praying about a particular situation. Something related to the issue then has come up recently (details in a later blog) that I've been worrying about. I know that God is in charge. I know that God has my best interest at heart...but...what can I say...I've been worrying. Last night at the Zumaely concert, Pastor Alex used the scripture as he talked about God's hand guiding our lives. He spoke straight to me although he had no clue as to the situation.

Then today, another guest pastor preached directly to the same situation. His topic was: “The other Side of Faith.”

From Hebrews 11: 1

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (NIV)

Then Verse 35-38 tells of those who went through terrible suffering and persecution, but in verse 39 says,

“These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised.” Hebrews 11:39 (NIV)

He hasn't promised that we will be spared suffering and tribulation. He DOES adjure us to be Faithful.

Earlier this week, I started using a new exercise DVD. At one point the instructor urged, just use your best effort on these exercises. The people you see here are advanced level instructors. Your moves may not look exactly like theirs. Work on effort and stretching the muscles. Don't worry about the result. Do the moves, focus on stretching and moving your muscles, not on doing them perfectly. 

 

And I'm screaming, “But I want to look like that really cute 30-something chick who looks so good in the leotard. Are you telling me that my 50-plus-year-old body will not get there?”

Oblivious of my histrionics, he continues. You're working toward good health, strength and flexibility. 

 

“Oh, that.” I mutter. “Yeah. Good health.”

So...in exercise...and in life, I must do the exercises: maintain faith, do what I know to be right. “But I want the miracle! I want divine intervention, and I want it now!!!”

“Oh, yeah. Faith. I maintain faith. I am faithful to what God has called me. The results are in His hands!"

In spite of myself, God speaks to me. He answers those nagging questions that are just thoughts. He may not answer them the way I wish ... but He answers!!” when God speaks, I really must listen.

Pastor Phylis