Train Tracks, Country Roads. Destination? Escape? Hope? Foolishness.

I was on Pintrest earlier, trying to de-stress, to pick up some fragile pieces that have broken off of me today and figure out what to do with them. I created a new board titled The Road To Freedom. Lots of roads, country lanes, city streets. All to take me far away. I realized that those roads were hope and I stopped pinning. What, really, is the point? Hope is a foolish thing to hold on to. So today, I let it go. Having clutched it tightly to my breast for so long it's wings are battered and torn, bruised and bent. But it will fly away, and I will be glad to see the back of it. Hope has claws under those beautiful wings. Let it go torment someone else now.

The Darkness of The Train Tunnels Is A Light For Someone Else

It seems the train has been running backwards on the tracks lately, my mind has been on the past. My lupus has been flaring up and my stress levels are high. What do they say about your frame of mind? If you are anxious, you live in the future. If you are depressed you live in the past. If you are at peace you live in this very moment. I am always trying to escape this moment, whichever moment it is, so I am often both anxious and depressed. Some thoughts I can change, some I cannot. Not even the xanax can help when your mind turns on  you, it can just ease you through a few of the rougher patches.
Tonight, for absolutely no reason, I had this fragment of a memory flit through my brain. I grabbed it before it fluttered away and nurtured it, until the fragment grew into a full story. Once upon a time my father took two of my brothers and myself away from our mother. We went to live, for a while, with my mother's parents in a tiny town in Indiana. My grandparents had a house at a crossroad. Across the street from the front of the house was a corn field. On the other corner was another pretty little house and the last corner, diagonal to their house, was a church. A tiny little white country church. The area was full of trees, grass, the houses neatly kept. The main - and only one of two - paved street through town boasted only three or four businesses and a volunteer fire station. The houses were little Victorian cottages, neatly kept. I remember a lot of elderly women with dainty furniture and hand embroidered tablecloths, fragile tea cups and gossipy visits. My grandmother had a garden in her back yard, as most folks did, and she would make corn husk dolls. In the early twilight of a new autumn, the only one I spent there, we would sit on the porch steps and watch the last of the fireflies dance across the broken stalks in the harvested corn field and hear an occasional howl which chilled me far more than the wind. But what I remember most, that fleeting bit of memory that came to me today, was of the church. It was simple compared to the mega-million dollar monuments to various pastors these days. The vestibule was tiny and the pews were hard. They were of a dark, polished wood and the older women that volunteered to clean the church must have put a great deal of care into their work because that wood shined. The windows were all very gothic in shape, and stained glass. I do not remember the depictions, only that they mesmerized me. The church was open all of the time and I often snuck in to play in the pews and wonder at the patterns the sunlight created through those magical windows. I remember that the community would come together for dinners, weddings, parties - all held in the basement. Mostly, though, I remember that I often sat in the back pew. I was a curious child, easily bored unless I had a book - and the bible did not count at the time. Often, there was a gentleman in the back pew with me and, looking back, he was probably in his late 60's, at least. This would have been somewhere around 1979 and I was a very tomboyish six year old. In fact, something that still makes me burn with shame happened about this time. I was always anxious to shed my dress and shiny shoes for shorts and ragged sneakers the moment church let out. And, being in the back pew, I was out faster than anyone. I was so fast, in fact, that one Sunday I was in my play clothes and on my bike before anyone else had really moved beyond the church yard toward their cars, parked on the sides of the street. I, having been cooped up too long with nothing but the magical windows to keep me entertained, sped out on my bike like a Tasmanian devil, wind whipping through my already messy hair. I must have been feeling particularly dare devilish on that day because I found myself veering toward a car and, before I could straighten up, the side of my handlebar left a long scratch on the car. I never did 'fess up. I put my bike away and suddenly the freedom of those two wheels and the riotous wind in my hair had lost their allure. But, as I was saying, there was often a gentleman in the back pew with me. Elderly already, he would be long gone by now. But I remember that he seemed . . . melancholy. And that he always had a butterscotch in his pocket for me. I remember his hands, the skin parchment paper thin, veins standing out, knuckles knobby and his fingers twisted a bit. And I remember his sad eyes. I think now, perhaps, he must have been a widower.
So I was just going through the motions, putting medication in Bee's feeding tube, when that church, that man, just flickered into my brain. The more I thought of him, the sadder I became until I sat down and sobbed for a man I can barely remember, one I'm sure whose name I never even knew. A man I sometimes sat beside during a brief summer and autumn of my childhood with sad eyes, old hands and a butterscotch always at the ready for an unruly little girl looking for magic in stained glass windows. A man long gone in years and memories, I'm sure, and yet I sobbed for him as if he had been my own flesh and blood and had just passed on. It took a long time to stop crying. I think, at some point, I stopped crying for the perceived loneliness of that old man and began to cry for my own consuming loneliness.
And now I sit here, the occasional tear still falling, wondering about the mysterious roads my mind often takes me down these days. I think the memory came to me because - other than myself - he has become, in my mind, the picture of loneliness. Not just loneliness. but of actually being alone. Bereft of loved ones, of friends, of community, of purpose. I feel that way so much of the time. And this man came to me, this lonely memory wandered in, because in the last week my daily devotions have concentrated on the sacrifices of Jesus. And, for some reason, I've found myself so busy that the days I've been able to pray my rosary without falling asleep have been Tuesday, Friday and Sunday - and if you are Catholic you know that those days (the Sundays during Lent) are all about the sorrowful mysteries. The first mystery is the Agony In The Garden, and it described the terrible loneliness that Jesus felt as He prayed.
InTouch had a devotion titled "The Cost of Our Salvation" a few weeks ago. Did you know that Jesus was completely separated from God during this time? That He was not just feeling the weight of our sins, He was feeling he weight of the shame, the burden of punishment, and all without that lifelong connection He had always had with God. He was, utterly and completely, alone. Even His friends could not stay awake, they did not seem to understand His great loneliness and agony. How alone He must have felt. Somewhere in my brain, in the haze of anxiety and xanax, I seem to have put the old man from my childhood and the image of Jesus weeping in the garden together and the thought of that elderly gentleman brought me to thoughts of Jesus, weeping in the garden and praying for God's love that was, for an allotted time, withheld from Him.
It is both a comfort and bitter knowledge, that Jesus understands my dreadful loneliness. I know I've written about that before - loneliness is a longstanding theme in my life. But until recently, I did not know or understand the absolute depth of the loneliness He must have felt, having been separated from God entirely. I have never felt that. God has always been in my life. I tell people sometimes - and they always look at me as if I'm daft - that God is in the flowers. As a little girl, nursing bruised flesh or feelings, I would creep into our forbidden flower beds, lean against the house and feel the flower petals. Born with Anosmia, I could not smell the flowers, but I would rub the velvety petals and feel . . . comfort. I would feel God, as if He was sitting right there enjoying the beauty of the very flowers He had crafted and watching over me. And even in times when I cannot feel God's presence, I know that He is watching over me, working in my life behind the scenes, on miracles both big and small that will come into my life in time. Unlike Jesus, I have never been without God at my side. But, for a time, that was a price Jesus was willing to pay. And the more I learn about what He went through, the more I understand, the more I am both thankful and shamed.
And so, as I sit here still weeping for a man lost to time, for myself, I know that Jesus understands how I am feeling, more than I would like Him to. Before I had my little breakdown I didn't understand people with true anxiety or depression, but now I do, more than I would like. The price Jesus paid for our sins wasn't just an accounting, sins tallied and marked off a balance sheet - it was an example, yet again, even in those final hours, for us to follow: I understand your loneliness and so I can comfort you; I can be in your loneliness with you and will not abandon you.
What have you experienced that has changed the way you can be with your fellow man, that has given you a perspective that affords you a beautiful opportunity to simply be there for another person in their anguish, their loneliness, their anxiety, pain, depression .  . . ? Don't pass up the opportunity, it is a gift you have been given, that we have all been given, to take a darkness we have passed through and turn it into a light for someone else. And for me, it is a comfort to believe that one day, this bitter loneliness I feel to my very core will transform into something beautiful, something meaningful, and will give solace to someone else. And I pray that elderly gentleman from so long ago knows that his life profoundly impacted mine, in such a brief season, for such a small acquaintance, his life still has value.

Romans 5:3-5 Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

Angels On The Train

Many, many months ago I was to have another MRI. This was before we realized I was going completely nuts, just the little cracks were showing. I've never been fond of the tiny little tube they cram you in for the an MRI but I've always managed. But the last time, the second they put that cage over my head, I lost it - seriously. I was so humiliated, I'd never reacted so instinctively in fear before. I put off attempting the MRI again, despite the need to do so. The doctor prescribed Valium and today I walked down, picked up my little super magic pill and walked over to the hospital. Mammogram first - fingers crossed all is well there but we'll see. Then . . . the MRI. In my previous post I mentioned the little cards with scripture on them. I had intended to put one in my purse, a little encouragement in case the Valium didn't do the trick but forgot, though I did remember to put two books in my purse. It is my belief that a person should never go anywhere without at least two books in hand. However, while waiting for the appointment I pulled out a book and one of the scripture cards fell out. It is one I have posted before and often find comfort in:

Philippians 4:6-7 Do not be anxious for anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

And then, they called me back. Never have I been surrounded by more upbeat, kind, compassionate women all making every effort to put me at ease and help me through what was, for me, a difficult experience. From the second I was escorted to the MRI room I was welcomed with smiles and enthusiasm. Eventually everyone left but two women and one stayed with me and held my hand, talking to me the entire time (because Valium is NOT a super magic pill after all). I think I prayed the rosary through at least three times, clutching that kind woman's hand and looking as far as I could beyond my head to see the end of the tube and the light, the wall, the outside. Angels, honestly, there are angels all around us. God in everyone we meet. And God was shining out of those lovely women today.
It doesn't take much to be kind, really. A little empathy, a little patience, and you can make a world of difference for the people around you. Maybe you won't know that you've been an angel for someone else, maybe you'll never know the impact your kindness has, but be assured that if you follow Jesus command in Mark 12:30-31 to love God and love each other you WILL make a difference in the lives of those around you. Not everyone has people in their life that show them love, that support and encourage them. But when you give that little bit of love and hope, you may just be the light that leads someone out of their personal darkness.
So thank you to my personal angels today. Your kindness, compassion, patience and infectious enthusiasm gave me a glimpse of God just when I needed it the most. Thank you.

Track Change. Where The Heck Are We Going?

Before the invention of GPS and cars smart enough to drive themselves we had to use maps to get where we wanted to go. You'd buy this crisp, new, neatly folded map, unfold it and plot your course. You would carefully watch for signs, frequently checking that trusty map. Most of the time you ended up right where you wanted to be. Other times, not so much. Maybe you misread the map, maybe you missed a sign along the way. And then, suddenly, you found yourself somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you didn't want to be. Now, it isn't necessarily a bad place, just not the intended destination. And then, of course, fed up with the map - because it is, of course, entirely the maps' fault - you try to fold it up and put it back the way it was. Does that ever actually work out? Or does it end up as a crumbled ball on the floor under your feet while you squint through the windshield looking for something, anything, to guide you back to where you belong.

But maybe, just maybe, you actually belong where you ended up. Kind of like when my train switched tracks oh so many years ago, and then again more recently when it morphed into the crazy train and rumbled off onto some seriously rickety tracks through incredibly rough terrain. I've just been hanging on to the backs of seats as I make my way to the engine and find out what the heck is going on. I mean, really - what the heck is going on? Has the engineer completely lost it? Is he even there anymore or is this train just rushing along without him?

And then I consider that the engineer is God and I know that He is, indeed, up there firing the engines and making sure I'm on the right track - even if it isn't the track I wanted or expected. Today was one of those days where I looked out the window and thought "When did we switch tracks again? How did I get HERE?" Because today, "here" was not a happy place. It was a place even Xanax couldn't work a little magic on. And as it is the end of the month chocolate and tea therapy were out of the question. In fact, as I'll have to manage the rest of the month without either, we may need to increase my Xanax.

Recently I found an etsy shop where you can purchase little cards - about the size of business cards - with scripture on them. I purchased the "Worship and Encouragement" set. I put them everywhere, use them as bookmarks, sent some to a friend. Tomorrow when they shove me in that tiny little tube for my MRI I will probably be clutching one since taking my rosary beads isn't an option. Just having Gods' words around, finding the cards in various places during the day, has been like having God send me little hugs. Yeah yeah, that sounds like I should be doodling unicorns in the margin of my notebook that already has "Mrs. Keanu Reeves" written all over it, lol. But as sappy as it sounds, it is actually true. And I need that, I need moments of unexpected encouragement. There is no hope or help in your run of the mill "Oh don't worry everything is going to be fine" sentiments that people throw at you like rice at a wedding, and just as useless. But a little moment of hope from God in the form of little cards, or your favorite flower, or a tiny little bird on your window sill, or the sun shining through the clouds or a song that makes you sing. . . now that is something special, even if it is completely ordinary.  

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm human and that means I'm still stubbornly grasping the edges of the next seat in the aisle, slowly pulling myself through each car until I get to the engine so I can direct the train where I want it to go. Because, of course, I want it my way. Thankfully, there are a lot of cars between me and the engine and maybe by the time I get there I'll have learned to put a little more faith in the engineer and will make peace with the idea that wherever He takes me is where I'm supposed to be.

Jeremiah 29:11-13

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all of your heart." 

You can find the cards here: https://www.etsy.com/shop/SweetHomeTreasures

Signs Along the Way

I mentioned previously that I'd developed a few new symptoms of my lupus. The last week I've developed vertigo when I get up out of bed. Not dizziness, just vertigo with a just-rode-a-rollercoaster-feeling in the pit of my stomach for a minute or so. A person with anxiety disorder should NOT look up things on WebMd. Just . . . no. I've discovered that I am afraid to go to sleep now. Turns out, for all the depression and suicidal feelings, I do not want to die. Yes, there are horrible moments when the depression takes me and I feel like the day is so long, that time is such a burden, but I've realized that I do - in small quantities - have some hope that things will get better. Anyway, I was afraid to lie down and sleep. I usually finish up my prayers each evening with a daily devotion on InTouch Ministries online but they had not yet posted the next one, which was odd. I waited, it still wasn't posted. Eventually I went online in search of another place for a daily devotion and what did I run across? The sweetest picture of a sleeping puppy with the following scripture:

Psalm 4:8 I will lie down and sleep in peace for you alone O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

Isn't that lovely? God shows us He is working in our lives in some extraordinary ways and sometimes in simple, quiet ways. So I'm off to bed, thanking God for putting up with me and all of my anxiety and not walking away no matter how bad I get. Thanks God, I sure do need someone on my side and I'm so glad it is you.

So keep an eye out for the signs. God sends them, no mistake about that. Take a look out of the train window as we chug along and you might see any number of signs God is working in your life, too.

A Bit of A Lag in The Train Schedule

I've had a hard time of it lately so there has been a lag of a few weeks since the last post. And this won't be the second half of that post as previously promised. You know, it's amazing how the people that are supposed to know you the most seem to know you the least. Or maybe we just accept what makes us most comfortable and happy and pretend there isn't something under the tip of that iceberg.
One of the lessons I have failed to learn time and again has been that I'm just not worth it. "It" being anything you can fill the blank with. When that terrible thing happened a few months ago, all of my friends not only walked away but not one of them stood up for me, and certainly none of them made an effort to fight for our friendship, to accept my little breakdown and love me anyway, All my life, I've looked for family. When I make friends, when I care about someone, I do so with my whole heart and with all my hope. Why haven't I learned by now that it is foolish to do so? It seems that I am destined to always and forever be alone. Loneliness has become an old friend, a comfortable companion - or at least the steadiest of them. I just seem to be easy to walk away from and so people do.
Many years ago while watching an episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer (excellent show, they don't teach college classes about it for nothing) about a young girl that was constantly ignored. One day in class she raised her hand for every question but the teacher never called on her. Finally, she glances up at her raised hand and sees the tips of her fingers begin to fade, then her hand, and so on. I often think that will happen to me one day. When my daughter has passed away, my son off living his own life, I'll just fade away and no one will even notice. Maybe that won't even be so bad. Just . . . fade away.
But tonight, with what is left of my heart broken into a few more pieces and pretending it doesn't matter, I am trying to hold on to the scripture that people often paraphrase as "If you have God, you have all you need."

John 14:8 Philip said, "Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us."

I know that should provide me with comfort. God loves me, Jesus loves me, Mary loves me. Family that will never leave me, that will always be with me no matter the circumstances, no matter my faults, no matter that everyone else has left me. And it is comfort of a sort, but - and God will surely understand this - God, Jesus, and Mary can't sit down with you and hold you while you cry, or give you a hug when you desperately need one, or just be happy to see you and spend time with you. Don't we all wish for those things? I know I do, so desperately. I want someone to love me best. Someone to think about me often and smile when they do.
Ah well, fairy tales. And I was always a sucker for fairy tales, mores the pity.

First Stop of the New Year: Prayer - Part One

I'm tired. No, I'm weary. I'm exhausted. I am utterly and completely, deep in my bones tired. With both of the kids sick, and myself as well, the last two months have been very trying. Lately though, with the onslaught of sickness I have lost my way. Instead of exercising every day, writing a lot every day, editing, spending time in prayer, I have been just . . . wandering through my days and cramming all of those things in at the end of the day when I can barely keep my eyes open. This is another one of those days so this post will be in two part, second part tomorrow.

How is your prayer life? How do you pray? Since I was a little girl hiding, nursing bruises and a broken spirit among the flowers in our garden, I've talked with God like a friend, my best friend. Sometimes I ramble. I have a feeling sometimes I get on His last nerve because I'll get started and just go on and on, one thing leading to another. But when I was a little girl sitting in the flower bed feeling the velvety petals and knowing that God was in the flowers, I would just talk to Him. I had no friends, no one else I could talk to, so God got to hear it all. I have gone through periods in my life where I haven't really prayed, not daily prayer, just occasional things like "Oh my God, Bee isn't breathing please don't let her die." Things like that. But then there have been periods when I've prayed a lot. In the last couple of years I pray daily, rambling. I usually fall asleep talking with God. I bet He is usually pretty thrilled when I drift off, too, cause I can go on and on. 

Tonight, I watched War Room. Now, normally I'm not into Christian movies. They are usually very poorly done, the writing is bad, the acting worse. I had high hopes for God's Not Dead but was terribly disappointed. I will say that The Encounter with Bruce Marchiano was really very good. He plays a very convincing Jesus. Me, Again was cute and Christmas Angel . . . well, it was excellent and we love Della Reese ( especially Bee, she loves hearing her sing ) but the movie makes me feel lonely so I don't like to watch it so we skipped it this past Christmas season. Anyway, my point is that most Christian movie are not very good. I wasn't sure what to expect from War Room. What I got was excited, encouraged, and inspired. 

Every single night I pray the same things, the same way. Since I went a little crazy I'm a tiny bit OCD so there are some things that are just going to stay the same because my brain - even with my magic pills - is telling me bad things will happen if they don't. That's fine, God understands.  I have a very small life, I know, personally, exactly 32 people and I pray for each of them every night, plus some people that Noah knows and has mentioned. I even pray for my ex-husband and his now ex-wife because I'm hoping one day my prayers for them to be blessed will be sincere. But, in the end, my prayers are always the same: God bless this person, this person, and so on, occasionally adding a specific thing like heal them or help them with a particular issue, then I get to my kids, myself and then, well, I ramble. I ramble about things that bother me in the world, my worries, lots of what if's and existential blah blah blah (for the record and this has nothing to do with my recent crazy, I believe in aliens or the possibility and it doesn't challenge my faith in God or belief in the bible at all), then I read my daily devotion and the accompanying scripture, my usual comforting bible passages, look at the news quickly to see if anything jumps out that needs a little prayer and then I'm done. Same thing, for two years. And it's fine, I think, But it isn't enough. It's more like when my father would call his parents on Sunday afternoons to catch up and check in. Nothing exciting, nothing new but changes in the weather, same conversation every week. 

But this movie, it made me think.. Not that I haven't been thinking about it, my prayer life, but I've been kind of stymied. Without the chance to get to church, I'm kind of on my own in this. I'm in the middle of the sea with no land in sight, just swimming in whatever direction is easiest. 

Prayer shouldn't be like that, though. Prayer should be so much more than just the usual everyday stuff. I mean, sure, you can have that. That's great, gabbing with your bestie God. But it needs to be more. 

As a rather . . . reserved . . . person, I'm not going to jump around and scream "Hallelujah!" or anything like that. In fact, I consider my relationship with God to be the most intimate, private relationship I have. But there is certainly room for more passion, more enthusiasm, more time and commitment, more listening, more focus. 

My kids are both finally asleep so I'm going to head that way myself. But a thought to drift off on - how do I create a revolution in my prayer life?

Epiphany . . . and Bee's Birthday

We made it to 21!!! I still can't believe it. Praise God. She's still pretty darn sick but I fully believe in a miracle. I don't think we have another whole year with her, but I think Bee will be with us for a few more months, thank God. We didn't do cake or wishes today, but we'll get to them tomorrow.

It has been a long, hard road. I never, ever expected this life. When the doctors told me that first night at the hospital, after she'd started having seizures at a few weeks old, that she would be "mentally retarded" I thought "Oh, I can handle that." I was seeing what you always think of when you hear those words, high functioning, living happy lives, maybe even on her own one day. I could deal with that. It wasn't until the neurologist told me just what she had (Lissencephaly) and told me to "go home, put her in an institution, and have normal children to love" (btw, I immediately found a new neuro), that I have any small idea of what was ahead. Still, I never realized, not really because how can you? Not until you are in the thick of it. At first it was hard to see the difference, aside from the seizures she was just like any other baby. But soon enough the differences became obvious. No sitting up, no talking, no . . . lots of things. I put away so many dreams, it hurt so much. But there were so many little joys, too. When my husband chose a different life and walked away, saying she should be "put away", our lives changed a lot. He lives a very nice life and we live below the poverty line. Is it worth it? Some days I waver but the truth is YES! My Bee is worth every back pain, every lost dream, every hungry day, every mile I have to walk, every sleepless night. She is a gift, as is my son. We are both so much the better for having her in our lives. With Christmas having just come and gone and us spending hundreds of dollars in the last few weeks on medications, OTC's, she just got one present and it was really meant to help clear her lungs - a massage mat. I'm hoping it helps. And that her diaper doesn't leak on it. But one thing at a time!

A lot of people helped us to get to this point. Her longtime pediatrician, her newest doctor, old friends, new friends, her brother and, of course, God. And we must give Bee some credit, she's strong and amazing. I've a link on the sidebar for her website if you want to check out her paintings and things. 

So before I go to bed for a couple of hours of sleep before the next breathing treatment, I wanted to just say thank you to everyone, and to God. My girl (and she LOVES that song - she also loves Taylor Swift and Della Reese) is 21!!!! 

Psalm 145

1-3: I will exalt you, my God the King; I will praise your name for ever and ever. Every day I will praise you and extol your name for ever and ever. Great is the Lord and most worty of praise; his greatness no one can fathom.

8-9: The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made. 

Prayers, please.

I'm not sure anyone reads this blog, but if you happen across it, please do me one huge kindness: pray for my daughter. She's been sick for a few months. We've been through a number of antibiotics, steroid packs, antibiotic shots and she was getting better. Then, we all caught a cold. She was fine for a few days, still a little rumble in her chest but getting better, Then she caught what my son and I had and now she is extremely ill. Another round of oral antibiotics, steroid pack, lots of fluids, airborne, breathing treatments, CPT's, nothing is helping. I'm more scared than I have ever been. I have always known that she would die, they told me that the day she was diagnosed. But with each year that passed I just worried about it less. Oh, don't get me wrong, first thing I do when waking is check her to make sure she is breathing - and I sleep on an air mattress next to her bed just to be there if she needs me at night. She gets sick, I always worry. But she's never been this sick, for this long. I can't seem to get her lungs clear. I could send her to the hospital but the last time was such a nightmare I don't want her to go through that again.
Things have been so hard for us, but I've just always hoped and prayed that she would hang on until we got back on our feet, got a vehicle, a decent place to live. She went through the bad, I wanted her to enjoy some good. We haven't been able to go anywhere together as a family for several years without a car. I'd like to take her to the aquarium again, and Silver Springs, and a million other places, for us to go as a family again, the three of us. I just need her to hang on a little while longer,
So if you read this, please, go light a candle and say a prayer for my Bee. Pray for healing, pray for her to be strong, to keep fighting. Please.

Mark 5:36 Ignoring what they said, Jesus told the synagogue ruler, "Don't be afraid; just believe."

New Year, New Stops

Frankly, I'm too sick to post much. We'd just finished the third oral antibiotic, the second steroid pack and five days of antibiotic shots with my daughter and she was finally feeling better, sounding strong, and then my son and I got sick. We tried to keep away from her but as I have to change her diapers, give her meds, change her position, give her breathing treatments, get her in and out of her wheelchair . . . well. Obviously keeping my germs from her was impossible. She is very sick again and, when picking up prescriptions today, insurance decided once again not to cover them. Between over the counter things like cold meds, airborne, pedialyte and a variety of others plus prescriptions we've spent hundreds of dollars in just the last week and a half. Money we would not have had if God did not have such perfect timing. So today, on the first day of the new year, I'd just like to say thank you to God and to all of the people that He works through. In particular in our lives in just the last few weeks that list includes our priest and the members of the RCIA, Not just for their kindness at Christmas but for the love, support, encouragement and sense of family they have given Noah. Noah's mentor/sponsor/friend and his family which contains one of the two friends I have left since I went crazy. That family! They gave Noah a gift for Christmas that can never, ever be topped and just, in general, are such blessings in our lives. Also, an anonymous person at the pharmacy three weeks ago that covered some of our prescription costs when I told the clerk I didn't have the money to cover the medications, as I thought insurance would. The Beekman 1802 Boys for being so kind and showing Bee's painting on their 24 hour youtube marathon just before Christmas. They praised her work and made her very happy! The man that cut my hair. Normally I don't get haircuts, I just hack at it when it gets too long and that is that. But a major mishap with the scissors required a professional. And as we've seen him before and always refer people to him, he did it for free, he said it was his pleasure as he'd had a good month and was just passing it along. The neighbor that found me outside crying one night, thinking of just being done with everything and she made me laugh then she bought me a card a few days later that made me laugh even more. There are others, the kind man at the electric company trying to work with me as I try to catch up on bills. The woman that always has a smile in her voice when I call to order Bee's usual medical supplies. God in so many people.
I need to go rest, I'm so tired. The coughing is just awful and taking care of the kids while being just as sick as they are is exhausting. If anyone wanted to get a doctor to make a house call, my preference is the Tenth Doctor. He may not be able to heal us but he's sure pretty to look at and that'd be enough.
So, for God, with ever so much gratitude:

Psalm 100

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the Earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness;

come before Him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.

It is He who made us, and we are His;

we are His people, the sheep of His pasture.

Enter His gates with thanksgiving

and His courts with praise;

give thanks to Him and praise His name.

For the Lord is good and His love endures forever;

His faithfulness continues through all generations.