Endings and Beginnings

Can't believe the year is almost gone. The sun is shining, a few leaves are clinging tenaciously to branches, and it is pleasant enough to take a walk.  But the calendar confirms that there are only 8 days until Christmas, two weeks until New Year's Eve.

This year saw the beginning of collecting social security... and then a new job... for me.  It saw the end... or nearly so... of Sasha climbing up on beds and couches and the beginning of curling up and sleeping on the floor in her snuggy bed.

This year began with saying good-bye to four friends in the space of 30 days, exactly, and the beginning of eternal life for them. I also saw friends make the same journey with a close and beloved friend of theirs. 2011 has taken its toll on our Life Group as numbers continue to dwindle and life-changing milestones come. Last year at this time we watched Larry fight the last vestiges of his cancer battle with Ethel by his side.  This year we are watching Betty and John bear witness to a life-long love and the evidence of things not seen, the substance of things hoped for... one blessed day at a time.

I'm nine weeks out from neck surgery, a saga that began suddenly over three months ago... an experience that changed more than the configuration and appearance of my vertebrae. Much of my perspective has changed, a milestone of my own marking.

The most blessed beginning for our family was the arrival of my great nephew Benjamin in February. And next weekend we will get to see him enjoy his first Christmas. Maybe some day he will grow corn like Papa English.  Whaddaya think? (Yes, corny.)

Time is precious and fleeting, filled with beginnings and endings... all blessed by the sustaining presence of God, the privilege of knowing Him through His Son, and the promise of spending all of time with Him. As you celebrate Christmas with whatever traditions mark your holiday, I hope you'll remember the beginning of Emanuel's journey "with us" so that all of our endings would be blessed with His promise of forever.

Changing Seasons

In this time of changing seasons, much of my life is in transition.

I am surprised daily by how little energy I have during my recovery from surgery. Even though I am on a restricted work schedule, I can’t get used to how little on my to-do list gets checked off at the end of the day. I fall asleep as soon as I get comfortable in my lounge chair and can sleep 14 hours overnight. It is easy to over-do in the course of the day, but I am learning how important it is to truly recuperate.

I began a new full-time job as office manager/case manager with Northwest Marriage Institute under their three-year Pathways to Responsible Fatherhood grant. Working with this group of people will be a cut above most job experiences. We Christians aren’t perfect, but we share a faith-based perspective that frames our relationships and work ethic. Family counseling is uncharted territory for me and, except for the administrative commonality, will be a learning experience. Taxpayer funding of this non-profit has provided eye-opening exposure to the wasteful and plodding workings of government. No for-profit business could survive if it operated like a government bureaucracy.

This week I moved into my new office. It was fun to dig out my pictures and other office things that make the space mine. I love the huge window, but I look forward to changing the nondescript green walls to more livable brown tones.

My most recent renter violated the terms of occupancy in a damaging way, and I had to evict her. But my new boss needs an unfurnished space, and this fits the bill. So, yesterday I donated Mom’s furniture to the church in preparation for my new renter. I was surprised at how much it tugged at my heart strings to dissemble this place after 23½ years— 15 years after Mom’s passing.

At an age when many begin retirement, I am embarking on a new three-year working experience. That, and the prospect of an equally-long rental arrangement, opens the window to personal growth and financial stability.

 “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.”

Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

Posting Post-op

I'm two weeks out from surgery. Time to play catch-up on the blog.

Surgery 

This was my fourth surgery experience. This one in yet another facility. My brother Lynn came down to be with me for this procedure and drove me to Legacy Salmon Creek Hospital around 6 AM on the 10th. But not before praying with me for a successful outcome.

LSC Day Surgery is conveniently located on the same floor as the sky bridge from the parking garage. Checking in went smoothly because all the pre-op paperwork had been done earlier. Lynn was given a number and a name tag so he could be updated when the surgeon was finished. Then we waited to be taken to my room. We tried three different chairs before we found anything we would call comfortable, but it wasn’t long before I was called. By then Avis had joined us.

Small cubicles lined the corridor, each with a complete glass front that included a sliding door. The first order of business was getting changed into a heavy, double-thickness paper gown complete with air duct attachment for hoses from a heating/cooling outlet. Then came taking the medical history that had not yet been done (meds/supplements), along with vital signs and starting an IV. Word came that the surgeon wanted to start half an hour early, so I was double-teamed, answering questions from one nurse while the IV was inserted by another. That nurse believed me when I told him that my veins were so good he could hit them from across the room, and he started the IV without using a tourniquet. Good man. He was also appropriately entertained by the banter between Lynn and me.

Chaplain Bill Hunter from my church came by to offer good will and pray with us. Much appreciated. The anesthesiologist stopped by, a fresh eager young man on his first day at this hospital. As he began to list the possible side effects, I assured him both that I was in the medical field and that God was in control. The last part made his face fall. He did not recover until Avis told him as he left my cubicle that “we are counting you, Doctor, to do a good job.”

When Dr. Musleh stopped by, carrying his surgical scope in a well-worn case, he asked me to lean forward and marked a spot on my lower back. I asked him if he was teasing me. The male surgical nurse who accompanied him reminded him that I was having neck surgery. Embarassed, but also pushed out of his routine by the assembled number of staff in the room, he stepped back and marked the correct area on my neck. I teased him and told him I hoped he had an alcohol prep, because I wasn’t going into surgery until that mark on my back was erased.

Saying good bye to my two supporters, I was wheeled on my gurney to a surgical suite just before 8 AM. I remembered the coolness that hit my face just as the nurse told me not to worry about the temperature, since I would be heated up by my high-tech gown. Scooted onto the table, I saw my anesthesiologist above my head and was repositioned until I was “just right.” My memories of the breathing mask are short.

I woke up at 11:20 AM in Recovery. I immediately noticed two things: the pain was gone and I was remarkably alert (based on my past experiences with anesthesia). My nurse was amazing. Not only was she solicitous toward me, she was helping at least two other nurses with their patients and fielding questions which she readily—and happily—answered.

Back in my cubicle (#222), I was monitored by a new nurse, who was the best yet. Lynn and Avis came back. Melanie and Shannon dropped by. My blood pressure finally dropped enough that I was sent home. But not before Lynn was sent to the pharmacy to get my Rx.

Home

I was home by 4 PM, settled into my La-Z-boy while Lynn fielded phone calls from those checking up on us and my progress. I was feeling pretty good until I began to get nauseous a couple of hours after my narcotic pain killer and half an hour after my muscle relaxer. I threw up more than was in my stomach while Lynn was in the LR having a BFF conversation over the phone with his oldest grandson. For the first time, I questioned coming home today.

Getting in touch with the doctor proved quite frustrating. I think this clinic invented the run-around, intentionally or not. I finally called Day Surgery to see if they could help. I was transferred to my post-op nurse, and she was incredible. She not only confirmed my impression, but she also sent a message to my doc and his PA, both still in surgery. No wonder he had wanted to start early. By the time I got a call back, he was working on a 12+-hour day. I asked the PA if I could go back on the Vicodin I had left, and Lynn made another trip to another pharmacy for anti-nausea meds.

I didn’t trust myself to self-medicate during the night, so Lynn was up every 2 hours with my pain meds. Toward the morning hours, he had to wake me, so that was a good sign. We both napped throughout the next day, but we also walked a loop around the park… a half mile or so.

Lynn stayed and helped for a couple of days, going home late Wednesday evening after a long wait to get a refill on the Vicodin. I discovered that half a mile was too much exertion, but we did manage a couple of hands of cards along with a grocery run.

In the ensuing days, I learned that too much activity led to a day of feeling lousy, but days of activity were welcome, especially lunch out, cards, and a movie with the girls a week after surgery. And well worth the cost.

Post-op

Ten days out I went back for my post-op appointment. An x-ray confirmed that my head was on straight [:)] and revealed the cadaver bone spacer, titanium plate and screws that now fuse my C6-7 vertebrae in the front. When the PA asked if I wanted to look at my scar in the mirror after she removed the steri-strips, I said, “Sure, but I’m certain that I have enough wrinkles to hide it somewhere.”  She laughed, but I was right. I will have a small 2-inch scar on the left side, tucked in the wrinkle encircling the base of my neck. I’m told I will feel like I have the flu for another few weeks, weak and achy. I was cleared for easy, half-days of work, but not much head movement, computer work, or lifting. They are pleased with my progress even though I still have several grades of weakness in my L arm, wrist, hand, and fingers. 

Tingly fingers in my left hand since surgery have given rise to hope that more function will return. Saturday I was able to feel the raised marker on the "F" key of the computer keyboard for the first time in quite awhile.

Sitting without support for my head for long alerts me to how big my head is (something you all may have suspected long since), and I find that I cannot sit long at the computer. I’m still not driving. The blind spot looms frighteningly large with my limited head rotation.

The brightest spot in my recovery are the massages from Melody. Her magic fingers have all but eliminated the mirroring right-side pain ensuing from twisting when I was dressing to leave the hospital, giving me confidence that it is temporary. Not to mention my over-the-fence neighbor, Wendy, who constantly thinks up things to do for me.

What would I do without friends and family? My big bro is the best caregiver, my English “outlaws” are wonderful, my Life Group remains in a class by themselves, and my friend Karel is truly that and more. I am also thankful for my church and Demarle families, so many of whom have called, visited, sent cards, offered help, and most importantly, prayed for my healing.

Cutting Edge

One modern imaging test and a consult with the appropriate expert, and the verdict is in.  My September pain will be relieved by surgery to my neck sometime in the next couple of weeks.

The nerve root of T7, for those of you with a techno bent, is being pinched by a foramin stenosis at C6-7. In misery index terms, I have had unrelenting pain originating behind my left shoulder blade and pulsing down the outside of my left arm for almost three weeks now. First numbness in my ring and little finger, followed by worsening numbness in my other fingers. My best friend and worst enemy is Vicodin, 1/2 tab welcomed every 4 hours, begrudged more often. My MO is to reluctantly take Vicodin for a couple of days following some painful medical crisis, and then toss the prescription a couple of years later when I clean out the medicine cabinet. I don't do well on pain meds, so I take them sparingly and infrequently.

I am no stranger to this malady or its treatment. Ten years ago, I could trace the origin and insertion of the nerve that was being pinched at C5-6 from my right shoulder blade to my right hand. That surgical intervention followed weeks of "aggressive conservative" treatment of physical therapy and anti-inflammatory drugs. Surgery stopped the pain, but did not occur soon enough to prevent loss of function. I lose my grip without warning, especially when I'm tired. (Yes, I know, there's a pun hiding in there.) My dogs, who are constantly underfoot in the kitchen hoping for a dropped or proffered morsel, are conspicuously absent when I load the dishwasher at night. The doc makes no guarantees about relieving symptoms or improving hand function this time, only that the pain from the pinched nerve will stop.

The last time I had neck surgery, it was a "day surgery" but they didn't get me out the door until very late in the day because every time I put my legs over the side of the bed, my BP shot through the roof.  The next morning when I woke up, all I could think of was that some Indian had snuck up behind me and sunk a tomahawk in the back of my neck.(I know, so politically incorrect, but I am so NOT PC most of the time anyway.) 

This time, they will schedule me as an inpatient. The surgeon will need to go in thru the front, and because he will have to cut away bone to reach the back portion, he will put a bone shim in between the vertebrae and a titanium plate to fuse them afterwards.  I'm told it won't be as painful as when they cut from the back through all of that muscle tissue, but I won't be driving anywhere the first week because of pain meds.

The surgery will cause trauma to the nerve to my voice box, causing hoarseness at best or Julie Andrews syndrome at worst. I'm still mulling over the voice box issue.  He said they could go in from the left and avoid the nerve, but it would be harder to do than going in on the right side and having the angle to work with. My call in the end.

That's about all that I know at the moment. I'm not supposed to lift anything, so most of my busy projects are nixed for now. 

I'm thankful that we are supposed to have sunny days all week.

A Taste of Medicine

Long Story, Long.

Early Friday morning, I awoke diaphoretic with my heartbeat pounding in my ears and experiencing a bit of discomfort in my chest. Left chest, to be exact. I got up, drank some water, and sat down at the computer. After posting a few 3 AM notes and emails guaranteed to raise eyebrows for their sent time, this activity had its desired effect, and I was off to bed.

I was sitting at my computer around 9 AM when I experienced the same symptoms of the early morning. Soon, however, I also had a sharp knife-like pain in my left shoulder blade that very quickly started shooting down my arm. Hmmm. Three for five of possible signs of a heart attack. I debated because I didn't feel that bad. In pain, yes, seriously ill, no. Choosing to feel stupid for being overly cautious over feeling very stupid for ignoring classic symptoms, I went to Legacy's Salmon Creek ER.

I told them I was having chest and back pain and I just wanted to make sure I wasn't having a heart attack. The only thing that will get you admitted into ER faster than those two words is a chauffeured ride in an ambulance. The triage nurse did my vitals, including O2 Sat, right there. 

As soon as I was in a room, an IV was started with the rainbow set of blood drawn (one of every color tube just in case), and an EKG was done, which proved to be normal. I was hooked up to all of the monitoring equipment, including an automated BP cuff, electro heart leads, and O2 Sat. Then began the grading of pain levels followed by the administration of nitro under the tongue, reassess; more nitro, reassess; Vicodin, reassess. The second nitro seemed to help, suggesting a cardiac component. But, the cardiac enzymes came back normal as did the D-Dimer clotting test. 

At every step of negative results, the staff complimented me on my decision to come, saying that I was exactly where they would want a relative of theirs to be. Not out of the woods yet, the ER doc wanted to admit me overnight for observation. My ER nurse Sterling coaxed me into staying by relating his own story of being exactly where I was and telling me how nice the rooms were upstairs. OK. Even though it was mostly CYA medical practice, it was also pragmatic. I also think my ER nurse was growing fond of me for my sense of humor. Every time he scanned the bar code on my ID bracelet I asked him if I was on sale yet or if it was the PLU code for the meds/test.  He also liked that I was, like him, a fiscal conservative. We agreed on the likely effect of Obamacare on health care.

So, I made a few calls to alert family and close friends of my plight and to insure care of my garden. I soon met my admitting doc, an Indian lady with an accent that infuriates me on the other end of computer technical problem calls with "Shirley," but seems to dignify her profession. It was quite a wait for a vacant room in PCU (Progressive Care Unit). In all, I spent 4.5 hours in the ER.

The PCU nurse and technician were most solicitous as they redid my vitals and hooked me up to their heart/BP monitor. In case you've never had the experience, that middle breast pocket in your hospital gown is not for your cell phone, but for the remote heart monitor, whose leads snake through the back slit in the pocket to the color-coded sticky pads on your chest and abdomen. 

Since I had had nothing to eat all day and it was now mid-afternoon, I asked if I might get something to eat. They suggested a sandwich; I suggested yogurt. I got both the yogurt and the insides of the sandwich. (It is worth noting that this was one of 4 times that I was meticulously asked about my food allergies. Of the three meals I got while there, only one was gluten and egg free. Even so, milk and custard or pudding came with every meal.)

"Anything else you need?"

"Do you have anything to read?"

"Yes, we have a library; I'll ask them to come by."

They did. I picked 3 paperback books, just in case I picked poorly. I didn't last long reading. Too many pain killers on board, but not enough to stifle the boredom. Gorgeous weather outside my window and nothing on TV on the Friday afternoon of Labor Day Weekend.

Dinner was a welcome interruption. And, I could actually eat the turkey divan (overdone), wild rice and carrots (also overdone). I did not get through all of the salad since I couldn't eat the dressing, but I gave it a good try. No go on the chocolate pudding or low-fat milk.

My big brother Lynn arrived from Seattle around 9 PM to check on me and get a key so he could spend the night at my house. By then I had just about decided that my scapula felt out of place, and I asked him to press on my back... Right. There. Best course of treatment so far. Big brothers will be big brothers, and I have one of the best.

The second set of cardiac enzymes came back negative. Good news. I settled down for the night with only 1/2 a Vicodin tablet and a warm blanket to ease my back pain. That in spite of learning that nightly meds in PCU routinely included the anti-acid Pepcid (your symptoms may be caused by indigestion) and sleep aid Ambian (not, as you might suppose because it is notoriously difficult to sleep in noisy hospitals, but because most people are anxious when hospitalized). That dose of Vicodin was followed by the same dose about every 2 hours throughout a restless night. 

Shortly after 5 AM, a lab tech interrupted my cherished sleep to draw my blood. I have to say, having done that to hundreds of patients during my career, I had little room to complain. But, I do have to mention that his technique would result in retraining were he on my staff. (Yes, I guess that is a complaint... leaving the tourniquet on while assembling tubes and putting a needle in the vacutainer holder not only prolongs the patient's discomfort, it elevates K+ levels, which are most significant in cardiac patients. And re-probing the vein after cleansing the area with alcohol is well... just stupid when you’ve walked away for 3 minutes after cleansing the area so you don’t remember where it was. Not to mention that my vein practically flashes neon to mark its location.)

I was feeling nauseous, so much so that I was not overly put out that my breakfast had only one thing I could eat... and the oatmeal didn't taste at all good to me… or likely anyone else on the planet. Of course, my mouth tasted like I had been taking Vicodin all night. I wished that my breakfast of scrambled eggs, pancakes, & OJ had come before Lynn asked me over the phone who served breakfast close to my house. Still, I made several passes at the oatmeal, but ate little. Maybe Elmer's was the best choice for him.

My doc stopped by to tell me that the second set of cardiac enzymes were negative. Woohoo! I asked if she might have any idea of the origin of the pain I was experiencing. Her guess was that it was muscular-skeletal pain. For about the 12th time since I arrived at the hospital, I was asked if I were active.

"Yes."

"Are you doing any new exercise routines?"

"Yes."

"Well, that is important information (spoken like I had been withholding this valuable piece of the puzzle up to now.). That could very well be your problem. But, we will do 3 views of your chest just to be sure nothing major is going on like a tumor or a broken bone."

"OK."

"And then you will likely be discharged later today." Double Woohoo! 

But, a stress test should be scheduled as an outpatient.

I missed a call from Karel while in the bathroom peeing in the half-hat to measure "output" and returned it late enough that I thought I'd miss her, but the Wilmoths hadn't left for the beach yet. So, I caught her up on my prognosis. Triple Woohoo on the negative cardiac tests.

Lynn and I watched college football games routs and noted with delight that Oregon was playing LSU later. Lynn texted DIL Anna (from Shreveport) with "Go Ducks," but received no reply.

Lynn's stomach was upset and the cafeteria didn't open until 11 AM, nor could he find any vending machines. So I asked the tech for some yogurt and 7-up the next time she came by. I ate the yogurt and gave the 7-up to Lynn. Good thing. In less than an hour, everything I had eaten came right back up. The garbage bag attached to my bed was not made for liquids, but it worked as an emesis bag in a pinch (BTW, have you seen those new emesis bags? They don't LOOK like something you would throw up in. Wink, Wink). The tech responded quickly to my call, though, and in a flash, so did my RN— with an IV push of anti-nausea meds. I kept saying that I felt much better after throwing up, but that did not prevent the administration of drugs. Their arsenal of drugs is not only extensive, but the first line of defense.

My lunch of allergenic food went untouched except for the custard, which Lynn ate.

It was late afternoon before the ER demands of the weekend radiology crew slowed enough that I got my x-ray. And, as I lay waiting for the transporter to take me back to my room after the x-ray series, the many voices somewhere in the bowels of radiology made me wonder if the shortage were only in transporters, because no one else seemed to be busy.

When my doc came to tell me nothing obvious showed on x-ray, she also recommended that I stay another night for observation and pain moderation. No, no, no. I hadn't eaten in 24 hours by then, and I so wanted to be home in my own bed. She somewhat reluctantly agreed and wrote about a zillion scrips for me with my discharge notes.

We left my van at the hospital after agreeing that I had too many pain meds on board to be trusted to drive. And, we stopped on the way home to pick up a burger. Yes, I stopped at BK on the way home from a hospital stay for observation for cardiac disease. But, that's our secret; you won't tell, right?  Actually, I had planned to eat soup, but had no meat thawed, and Lynn wanted something more substantial. He got a Whopper, Jr. Meal and I got a Whopper Jr. Sandwich, no mayo, catsup or bun. And when we got home, I warmed up the roasted veggies from the fridge. So, we ate veggies with our red meat. Smile. Oh, did I mention the brownies (for Lynn) and frozen yogurt for dessert?  Thought not.

We watched the ducks get plucked by LSU until mid 3rd quarter, and then we went to the garden to pick tomatoes. Lots of tomatoes. Except for the mosquitoes, I love going to the garden at dusk. So very peaceful. Puts me in touch with my farmer roots. Now, THAT'S therapeutic observation, unlike spending another night in jail the hospital. Lynn picked more tomatoes than he had since his gardening days in Richland three decades ago. While I watered the plants, Lynn investigated the other garden plots in our church property community garden. The mosquitoes found him. We came home to see how bad the score was and found that a few more feathers had been plucked from Oregon.

Neither of us lasted long after that, and I made it through the night with a couple of doses of Ibuprofen and woke feeling better than the previous morning in spite of not sleeping the night through. After a leisurely breakfast, Lynn headed to Seattle via the hospital parking lot to drop me off to pick up my van. I stopped by FM on the way home and filled the Rx for Vicodin, but none of the others. Again, that's our secret, right? And so far, I'm getting by with just the Ibuprofen every 2-3 hours.

I will probably follow up with the stress test, but I'm counting on an appointment with Dr. Whitmire to diagnose the pain I'm having.  My greatest fear is that it is a pinched nerve since the symptoms mimic the pain I had on the other side previous to my C5-C6 radiculopathy.  That surgery is very painful and the recovery is very long.

This part of the story is over with a good result, but it isn’t finished yet.

Long Story, Longer.

How Do You Find A Small, Deaf, Black Dog In The Dark?

Sounds like a joke, right? 'Taint funny, McGee, in real life.

Last Wednesday night I came home around 9 PM. A short while later, two of my dogs alerted me to the fact that Sasha, my 14-year-old Silky, was missing. A quick search of the yard and house led to the discovery that the front door was slightly ajar. So, I got my flashlight and went to search for her. The challenge is that she suffers from age-related hearing loss, so I can't call her. Add to that the fact that she is mostly black and the reality that there is very little light on our street at night even with the streetlights, and it became a search and rescue mission.

Sasha has a pretty routine route when she escapes the confines of the house without a leash. She usually heads to the yard next door and makes her way down the cul-de-sac. I thought I would be able to intercept her somewhere along that route or catch her on the way back. Calling in reinforcements to help me search a wider circle around my house turned up no sign of her. Along the way, I checked in with a lot of my neighbors to keep an eye out for her. A lot of thoughts and prayers went through my mind during that search. I was mostly concerned that she not be lying injured or hurt somewhere.

After patrolling for an hour, I returned to the house to regroup. That is when the phone rang and a very concerned voice asked me if I was missing a dog. I immediately asked if they had her. 

"Where are you?"

"On 102nd and about 58th." Eight blocks from my house in the opposite direction she usually heads, a long way in the dark.

"OK, I'll be right there. I'll be in a white van."

As it turned out, my neighbor, who had volunteered to help me search, drove me because her car was parked behind mine in the driveway. We made our way down 58th street by the park and all the way across 102nd to a van parked alongside the road. I was very relieved to see that Sasha seemed OK. The couple's little girl was having a great time holding her. The dad said they almost hit her because she was heading right down the middle of 102nd at a good clip.

I don't know if Sasha was running away from home or just on an untoward adventure, but it reminded me of the times that older people wander away from nursing homes and cannot find their way back. I was so thankful that I put my name, address, and phone number on the back of all of my dog's ID tags.

Sasha is home safe. The front door has been adjusted so that it closes securely every time. I am most thankful that my first instinct is to always pray for help-- and for God's provision yet again.

Fleecing

Have you ever wondered about God's direction for your life?  Have you ever asked God for a sign?  Gideon did. Not once, not twice, but three times. Here is the story for context with the incidents highlighted:

The Lord turned to him and said, “Go in the strength you have and save Israel out of Midian’s hand. Am I not sending you?”

“But Lord,” Gideon asked, “how can I save Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family.”

The Lord answered, “I will be with you, and you will strike down all the Midianites together.”

Gideon replied, “If now I have found favor in your eyes, give me a sign that it is really you talking to me. Please do not go away until I come back and bring my offering and set it before you.”

And the Lord said, “I will wait until you return.”

Gideon went in, prepared a young goat, and from an ephah of flour he made bread without yeast. Putting the meat in a basket and its broth in a pot, he brought them out and offered them to him under the oak.

The angel of God said to him, “Take the meat and the unleavened bread, place them on this rock, and pour out the broth.” And Gideon did so. With the tip of the staff that was in his hand, the angel of the Lord touched the meat and the unleavened bread. Fire flared from the rock, consuming the meat and the bread. And the angel of the Lord disappeared. When Gideon realized that it was the angel of the Lord, he exclaimed, “Ah, Sovereign Lord! I have seen the angel of the Lord face to face!”

But the Lord said to him, “Peace! Do not be afraid. You are not going to die.”

So Gideon built an altar to the Lord there and called it The Lord is Peace. To this day it stands in Ophrah of the Abiezrites.

That same night the Lord said to him, “Take the second bull from your father’s herd, the one seven years old. Tear down your father’s altar to Baal and cut down the Asherah pole beside it. Then build a proper kind of altar to the Lord your God on the top of this height. Using the wood of the Asherah pole that you cut down, offer the second bull as a burnt offering.”

So Gideon took ten of his servants and did as the Lord told him. But because he was afraid of his family and the men of the town, he did it at night rather than in the daytime.

In the morning when the men of the town got up, there was Baal’s altar, demolished, with the Asherah pole beside it cut down and the second bull sacrificed on the newly built altar!

They asked each other, “Who did this?”

When they carefully investigated, they were told, “Gideon son of Joash did it.”

The men of the town demanded of Joash, “Bring out your son. He must die, because he has broken down Baal’s altar and cut down the Asherah pole beside it.”

But Joash replied to the hostile crowd around him, “Are you going to plead Baal’s cause? Are you trying to save him? Whoever fights for him shall be put to death by morning! If Baal really is a god, he can defend himself when someone breaks down his altar.” So that day they called Gideon “Jerub-Baal,” saying, “Let Baal contend with him,” because he broke down Baal’s altar.

Now all the Midianites, Amalekites and other eastern peoples joined forces and crossed over the Jordan and camped in the Valley of Jezreel. Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon Gideon, and he blew a trumpet, summoning the Abiezrites to follow him. He sent messengers throughout Manasseh, calling them to arms, and also into Asher, Zebulun and Naphtali, so that they too went up to meet them.

Gideon said to God, “If you will save Israel by my hand as you have promised— look, I will place a wool fleece on the threshing floor. If there is dew only on the fleece and all the ground is dry, then I will know that you will save Israel by my hand, as you said.” And that is what happened. Gideon rose early the next day; he squeezed the fleece and wrung out the dew—a bowlful of water.

Then Gideon said to God, “Do not be angry with me. Let me make just one more request. Allow me one more test with the fleece. This time make the fleece dry and the ground covered with dew.” That night God did so. Only the fleece was dry; all the ground was covered with dew.                                                                         ~Judges 6                  

I struggle with my direct sales business. It does not have the security of a 9-5 job, and I provide my only household income. It demands that I grow in ways I've never been challenged to grow before. The financial success of our current leaders is about the same as I've had from my professional career. But, the potential of a ground floor opportunity is greater, both personally and financially.

Every time that I wavered in my commitment to this business early on, I got a call out of the blue from my sponsor— more than once when she misdialed! Though brief, the contact was encouraging. (Can you feel the damp fleece yet?) Not for the first time, I laid a fleece before God over the weekend about my continuation in this business. And, I have to tell you, I would have been happy with a "no" just to be able to make a decision and move on.

Our company training meetings always have raffles, with attendees earning tickets for attendance and participation. I never win. To increase your chances of winning at nationally sponsored events, you can purchase tickets. At the annual Demarle at Home convention this past weekend, proceeds from raffle ticket sales went to the family of one of the earliest members of the US sales team, who is now in hospice care for end-stage cancer. I purchased tickets for Karen's family without any thought of winning.

US Chairman/CEO/Partner Cindy Juncaj announced the introduction of a new French pastry cookbook on Saturday morning. Translated from French, the cookbook is in the final stages of proofing, and she showed a prototype to us. She also made a spur-of-the-moment decision to raffle available copies off, whereupon I laid out my fleece.  What could be more improbable than my winning a French Pastry Cookbook? I never win anything and I'm gluten intolerant! Moreover, by that point, over $1688 had been raised for the Walters family, meaning that at least 2100 tickets had been sold with a dozen or so drawings already held. What were the odds? I think by now you've already guessed that I am the warm, fuzzy owner of a new cookbook. The only one that was raffled publicly.

I am struck anew by the tenderness of our God. When Gideon asked, for the third time, "Are you sure about this, God?" he was also saying please don't be mad, but I need reassurance about this circumstance. It is important to note that Gideon never once questioned God's power or wavered in his devotion to Him. The first time, he even asked God to wait right there while he went to prepare a sacrifice to offer Him. Aren't you glad our God is willing to wait and is patient with our human frailty?  I am.

My Aching Footprint

This expression is from a friend of mine. I have no idea of its origin or meaning. My friend most often says this when she has a pointless Bunco roll or no move in Mexican Train or cards. Neither situation requires footwork, unless you consider metaphoric options. But, this week I have reason to agonize over my aching footprint.

I injured my right foot in May of last year while mowing the yard of the vacant house next door. What followed were several trips to a podiatrist, time wearing a splint and finally a boot, and months wearing a single pair of sandals. I graduated to a single pair of dancing shoes that I wore out.

Only recently have I begun to wear REAL shoes again: Dress shoes to church activities. Athletic shoes for exercise. Garden clogs in the yard. Stylish Wellingtons to water the garden plot.

But that came to an abrupt halt this week when I re-injured my foot. I am not even sure what I did to my foot, but walking around Ft. Vancouver on Sunday was a bit uncomfortable. By the middle of the night, my foot was throbbing enough to wake me up. By the time I finished collecting another four cans of yard debris on Monday, I was in serious trouble.

Ice and rest. Being on my feet to do only absolutely necessary tasks. Ice and elevating my foot. Back to wearing my trusty sandals. Ahh... I remember it well.  

Oh, my aching footprint!

Pining for Summer

Yesterday it was sunny.  By 8:30 AM, I was at my garden plot weeding and watering. I planned to go earlier, but it was waaaay too cold. When the sun came up, tho, it warmed up pretty fast. I shed my coat soon after I started my gardening chores.

I spent most of the day in the backyard attacking the weeds that are so prolific in our neighborhood and gathering the winter's accumulated yard debris~ five 32-gal containers in all before I ran out of time and steam. Three to go, at least. After I blew the debris off the patio, it was time for some serious sun time. Nice!

I even walked over to my neighbor's for our continuing pow-wow on how to attack the critters responsible for tunneling through the four lots that converge at the SW corner of mine. (The saga continues, but our weapon of choice is the new molecat we decided to purchase and played with last night.) When I got home, I checked the weather forecast only to discover that we might get showers today.  Late, late last night I transferred 3 cans of yard debris to the yard debris recycle bin for pickup on Monday to avoid getting wet.

I was OK with the showers I awoke to this morning.  Not so much the torrential rains of the day.  I notice that the prediction of 80-degree weather to coincide with summer solstice has been downgraded. I miss summer. It seems like only yesterday...

Mercies in Disguise

I was recently given a CD with a song, new to me, by Laura Story about mercies in disguise. LINK The back story is a heartwarming one, and you will also find it there. I hope it blesses your heart as much as it did mine.

What may seem totally unrelated, but is not:  For the first time ever, I have a garden this year~ only because part of the church property is being used as a community garden. It is within walking distance of my house, so it works well into my plans for better health in more ways than one.

Our spring has been cold and wet, with nights dipping into the low 40's. And the wide open garden plot is windswept by the prevailing East Gorge winds, not to mention those that accompany storm fronts. So I did some online research into hoop houses after seeing a reference to them by one of my FB friends. It seemed to be the perfect answer to shelter my tomato plants overnight for the next few weeks.

I was pleased to find that I had most of the materials and was able to build one for right around $10. Well, almost build one. My Ryobi drill quit working, newly charged battery notwithstanding, before I could anchor the framing boards so they would be sturdy and not tilt with the torque of the PVC arches. I did, however, get my plants put to bed and snapped this shot with my phone, which I emailed to several friends and family members. (Yes, it does somewhat resemble a campsite... the chair is old and ugly and there to provide respite before my walk back home... and a place for another friend to visit with fellow gardeners.)

I had called one of those friends to ask if he would help me put the last 8 screws into my support structure. He said that he could. He agreed to call me the next morning. He did as promised, and came by to pick me up around 9 AM. I really wanted to drive myself, but that didn't go over, so I climbed into his pickup. On the way, he told me he had burned his tomato plants with the shelter he had built. That was more prescient than I ever imagined.

When we arrived at the plot, I started to unwrap my plants and was pleased with how much better they looked than the night before. My friend got out his drill and started taking my structure apart. I thought he just didn't understand that the plastic unwrapped from the other side. Not so. My structure did not please him, so it had to come down. I cannot begin to tell you my reaction. I was so angry that I had to walk away. First. Time. Ever. I did not have time for this, not to mention that I had done my due diligence and knew my plans. That did not matter to him. My friend has a heart as big as Texas, but he is also domineering and stubborn. Which also reminds me of Texas. He is not that much older than me, but he has the mindset of the generation of men who "take care of their women." I am of the generation that spawned women's lib and have by necessity become independent because I am single.

This was to have been, at most, an hour out of my day. My protests fell on deaf ears. Assurances of "this won't take long" turned into a 5-hour project that pushed lunch to after 2 PM without completion. I had many plans for the last working day before the Memorial Day weekend. Instead, this turned into day 2 of making a structure for probably 14 days of use. Not to mention a trip to find materials that more than doubled my cost and a trip back out to the garden plot to be assaulted by wind and rain and hail to do what would have taken me 10 minutes had my original structure remained in place.

I do not have a picture of the new structure for you. I have no pride of ownership in it; it is there because of my friend’s will. I can tell you that it is high enough to accommodate the tall cages my friend deemed necessary to place over my 6-12” plants. Maybe it will help the plants visualize the expectations placed upon them. For now, it just makes it hard for me to walk.

Perhaps my friend's intervention saved my plants. I'll never know; you cannot prove a negative. I only know I was pleased with the initial success.

At the end of the day, I am left to search for lessons. I do not know how to stop my goodhearted friend from bulldozing his way into my space to impose his will, nor can I quell the anger that his presumption causes to rise within my heart. The most obvious lesson is to borrow the tool and not the tool owner next time. For now, I am left to ponder if my friend is one of God’s mercies in disguise.

Rejoice and Be Glad

This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.
                                                                            Psalm 118:24

Short verse, huge message. The concept of carpe diem is not unique to believers. Acknowledgment of the source of the day is. That is no small thing.

"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..."

                                                           Jeremiah 29:11

God's plans for you today are bigger than yours. And that is cause for joy!

Predicaments, Perseverence, Prayer, and Praise

Life throws me curves.  But, none of them come without the permission of a loving God.  We often hear the lament of how could a loving God allow (or even cause) bad things to happen. I'm still coming to grips with my understanding of that.  While I do not believe that God causes problems, I do believe that because I have committed my life to Him, he filters the things that come into my life. So, why am I in this predicament?

God knows the way out, and this is my opportunity to trust Him.

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.          James

If I didn't have anything left to learn, I suspect that God would be finished with me... and everyone who knows me knows how silly that thought is. No stranger would dare suspect as much, either.

So, the answer comes in praying for answers. How do we get out of this one, Lord? Because I surely cannot do it alone. And, He promises to lead the way. The struggle comes in not always wanting the answer He provides.

More importantly, finding a heart of praise in the midst of suffering may be the greatest lesson of all.  I'm working very hard on that one.  

Retreat, Relax, Refresh, Regroup, Recharge

This past weekend marked the annual beach trip for the small group of Christians I meet with every Wednesday night to share a meal, time in the Word, and in prayer.  To say that we are like family is to understate the depth of relationship we've developed both because of our common bond in Christ and our involvement in each other's lives.

Over a decade ago, the Wyatt Life Group made its first beach trek after a year in which every family in the group had endured significant health issues. This year we came weary with death, having experienced three deaths in as many weeks in our congregation. Our group's own Larry Schoenborn would not live to make this trip, but fond memories of him were inescapable. And we were joined by our dear brother Ron, whose wife Jo followed Larry home within two weeks of his departure.

I drove through the Coast Range in the aftermath of a Wednesday night snow storm, after varying road condition warnings of carry chains/chains required, to find the roads plowed and the sun waiting on the other side of the mountains.




The joy I experienced when we emerged in the sun was a great metaphor for the journey we'd all been experiencing over the past few weeks, most poignantly by those who had left us: they to find life eternal after much suffering, we to seek renewal after our grief at their suffering and separation from us. 


 

 The last two years we have gone to this beach house. It is perched on a hillside high above the beach in Oceanside, a town that remains untainted by tourism.

The house offers an unobstructed view of the ocean, a kitchen large enough to accommodate too many cooks, and ample seating around the dining room table that IS the central gathering place for us: we love to play games as much as we love to eat.

Another thing that brings me back to this house is that it offers more privacy for those of us who are single than any place we've ever gone. This large upstairs bedroom, with the same large windows as the DR/LR, also serves as a cozy gathering place for us gals.

We spent the next three days reading, enjoying too much food, snacking and playing games, ribbing each other, walking on the beach, talking, sharing memories and our lives, and just "getting away."

 
For me, there is no better place to get away than the beach.  There is something about the vast expanse of water, the endless horizon, the rhythm of the waves, and the fresh ocean air that soothes my soul and refreshes my spirit like nothing else. Perhaps it is because the ocean's power and vastness brings me closer to God.


And, there is no better bunch of people to do it with.  I love you guys!

Too Soon

Yesterday I paid my last respects to Jeanne, a lovely sister in Christ whose death was both sudden and unexpected. Last week I honored the life of my dear friend, Larry, after a long and valiant battle with cancer that extended (by God's grace) more than twice as long as any doctor envisioned. Soon, our church family will gather to do the same for Joanne, whose battle with cancer is going to be far too short.

So, it was with especially great joy that I welcomed the birth of my great-nephew, Benjamin Henry Kelly, almost three weeks ahead of schedule. At 6 lbs, 14 oz, and 20.5 inches long, he made his entrance into the world around noon yesterday. And, he is a keeper. By all accounts, he is the spittin' image of his Dad. The world could use another man of Don's caliber, so that is welcome news, too.

Wisdom comes in recognizing that God's timing and ours are often out of sync. He welcomes my friends' deaths with as much joy as I welcomed the news of Ben's birth. All were ahead of schedule by my reckoning.  But, His timing is perfect.  It is my faith that needs perfecting. Jeanne, Larry, and Joanne all stayed here long enough to reflect the image of their Heavenly Father. And who could not find joy in that.

This Day

Happy New Year!! The beginning of a new year always gives people the sense of a new beginning. Hang up a new calendar. Set aside the old, and bring in the new. Make resolutions. Celebrate a fresh start.

The truth is that the dawning of each day is a new beginning. Yesterday is done. Tomorrow belongs to the future. One perspective of the timelessness of eternity is that God lives in the now. God tells us in so many ways to live each day.  Here, for example:

Give us this day our daily bread.

                          ~from the Lord's Prayer

This is the day the Lord has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it.

                                     ~from Psalms 118

Somewhat ironically, we seem more aware of our days-- and our dependency upon God-- in troubled times.  When each day is struggle enough, we are thankful to get through it. When our days are numbered by age or illness, we cherish each day. When we have limited days to spend with a loved one or on vacation, we savor each one.

In the absence of those reminders, it is easy to squander today because of the perceived security of our circumstances. But, none of us knows what tomorrow will bring. You have a job today; you could lose it tomorrow. You are healthy today; you could receive a dreaded diagnosis tomorrow. You enjoy a favored relationship today; it could be broken or severed by death tomorrow. You live in comfort today; it could be snatched away tomorrow.

No matter our circumstance, the only true security is found in God. Although the Lord's faithfulness continues without interruption, his loving compassion is renewed with the coming of dawn.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;

therefore I will wait for him.”

                                             ~Lamentations 3

And therein lies a secret to overcoming. The dawning of a new day brings new strength. It is a new beginning.

This day belongs to the Lord, and I will draw strength from Him and live in anticipation of His blessings. Today.