Close Your Eyes and Breathe It In

Prior to the “C” word, I was walking five miles a day. I’ve recently realized that beginning that routine again is necessary because I can feel my joints getting weaker. We have a very small Rec Center in our town, and it holds maybe ten treadmills. I enjoy going there because, to be honest, I’m rarely the oldest nor the largest working out. It’s small – clean – and convenient.

My normal method is to spend these 45 minutes listening to my 70’s music – Elvis, ZZ Top, Eagles, Chicago, Carpenters, Bob Seger, Clapton, CCR, The Temps….and I could go on forever. Today my heart spoke to me and suggested I listen to my Playlist of Christian Songs. I have a full Playlist that I haven’t listened to in quite a while. Every time I’d try to listen to them, they didn’t provide comfort. Our current world is in such turmoil and conflict that these soft words were not getting through all the anxiety and worry. But today something felt “different”, so I started my treadmill and clicked on this list.The first song that played was The Old Rugged Cross. “On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross”….immediately memories flooded my mind. Tears began pouring from my eyes. I could see me, Jane, Nordis, and Debbie Milburn, sitting on the second row on the left side of Bethel Baptist Church. Shirley Keck was on the piano and Myra Daughtery on the organ. I could hear Charlie Milburn and Don Sewell singing in the choir. The next song that clicked on was How Great Thou Art. “Oh Lord my God when I in awesome wonder”….memories of being in Barbara Bowles Sunday School Class with my friends, where we really studied God’s word and asked hard questions.

I could visualize Jim Keck and Mr. Painter passing the offering plate. Again, the four of us sitting on the second row – Debbie with her crutches – poking us with them – passing notes and making us giggle. Getting side looks from all the adults around us, knowing we’d get scolded at home, yet we continued. Bethel is where Charlie Milburn would belt out the chorus of Standing on the Promises and we’d all stop singing just to hear his voice. Tears came faster.

Pass it On…”It only takes a spark to get a fire going”…and I see Jane with her guitar as we gathered at Debbie’s house for Sunday School, because Debbie had had one of many surgeries, and was in a body cast held up by a piece of plywood. Then I could see our group at Linda Allen’s house – sitting in the living room – Jane on her guitar and, with Linda’s guidance, we were unfolding scripture. More tears.

What I felt during this workout was a gift from Heaven. Minutes where time really did stop – memories pushed through all the ugliness we are facing today. Bethel Baptist Church was so much more than brick and mortar. I remember Mom telling me the nursery was full – it was a tiny nursery at that time with two or three cribs. They had to double up the infants in cribs and my crib mate at times was Chris Keck. I laugh today because I still have a piece of pencil lead in my left hand where he stabbed me with a pencil during Junior High Sunday School, but that’s a different story for another time (one which he’ll deny no doubt). I ran the halls of Bethel from the time I could walk until I walked down the aisle for my wedding.

Bethel is where I accepted Jesus as my Savior and provided me the foundation to face the trials and struggles life has thrown my way. I wondered as I walked, “who would I have become without this small pink brick church?” While I was raised in a home with discipline and was taught serving others was important, my church reinforced that foundation. As Christians, we’re taught it is our moral duty to attend worship services. And I believe that’s true. But what I discovered today was not as much being at church but who I was with at church. Lifetime friendships. Adults who modeled what it means to do the right thing.

The last song I listened to was one of my Dad’s favorites and we had it sung at his Celebration into Heaven – I’ll Fly Away….”Some glad morning when this life is over I’ll fly away.” My eyes were red, and I was out of tears, but my heart and soul were filled with a joy that is unexplainable. It was true joy from Heaven. I didn’t see a burning bush, but God spoke to me today. He spoke through my heart and encouraged me to “close my eyes and breathe it all in.”

The Last Night

The relationship between adult siblings many times doesn’t get nurtured as we have children and must dedicate our time to our own lives. My brother and I grew up in a nurturing environment with our Dad’s large number of siblings. Being surrounded by aunts, uncles, and cousins always created happy memories.

Once the calendar flips to January, I begin to relive Dad’s last days on Earth. The longer he’s been gone, has oddly made the memories of that time more vivid. Last night as I was thinking about Dad’s last night in Hospice, I began to focus not on Dad but the relationship Tommy and I shared that evening. The two of us spent the night in Dad’s room. Dad was resting peacefully on his bed. The nurses had bathed him and shaved him as if he was walking out the next morning. There were two chairs and being the older (more clever) sibling, I chose the one that pulled out a bit to make some sort of place to stretch out a little. Tommy was left with a standard chair.

We spent the next 8+ hours just reminiscing. It was a magical time I’ll never forget. We just talked. About random things in our lives growing up. Remembering how Dad held us accountable for everything we did. How I rarely followed family rules knowing there would be consequences. We laughed – not cried – over family memories. I can’t imagine the joy and pride Dad must have felt, knowing he was living his last hours and his children spent those hours with him sharing memories. Dad wasn’t physically conscious and hadn’t been since he entered a Hospice on Wednesday. Yet Tommy and I both felt him participating in our conversations.

The nurse came in around midnight and took Dad’s temperature. She shared his temperature was rising, which was a normal expectation. She also shared Dad would be made comfortable, as they would continue to drop the room temperature. Tommy had one jacket with him and I had a Texas Tech fleece. She wasn’t kidding about the temperature drop. There was a point the room was so cold we were literally shivering, but Dad was very comfortable. This brought on more laughter, because in our home the air conditioner didn’t go in the window until July 1st and it was removed September 1st.

While Dad’s passing will always bring tears, I treasure the time spent with my brother. Hours no one else would understand nor appreciate. Conversations no one else would consider entertaining. Intense memories no one else would appreciate. That night with Tommy will always remain tucked in my heart. It was a night that brought us closer on a completely different level. What a legacy our father created for us that allowed us to celebrate memories on his last night before entering a Heaven. A simple man who lived life and let us watch.

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MEMORIES IN ROOM 10

The past 24 hours haven’t been easy. Eleven years ago yesterday my Daddy entered Room 10 at Hospice at Wichita Falls. He had been battling stage 4 colon cancer for several months and his body was tired.

He’d put himself through multiple surgeries and the poison of chemo all for me and my brother. Left up to him he’d spent his last six months of life fishing and sitting on the tailgate of his truck talking to his cows. But he raised a fighter and I was going to help him win this battle.

When your hero faces a life threatening diagnosis you’ll grasp at any positive word any doctor will say. I did that. Hard headedness and determination was present with David and Goliath and it was present in me. Our family would beat the odds.

Many times God’s plan and our plan aren’t the same. I’ve had to face that multiple times in my life. I’m not ashamed to admit that I don’t like it, and at times I still question God. I was angry that Dad’s disease progressed as it did. Even as he was being loaded into the ambulance and taken to Hospice, I was bargaining with God. The reality of losing him wasn’t getting through to me.

Now back to Room 10. We were instantly surrounded by nurses who were more like angels. They treated Dad as if he were royalty. The pain he was experiencing was immeasurable and yet he never complained. They ensured he was comfortable, clean, and pain-free. For the first time in months, he was relaxed and his face lacked grimace from pain. Even at this point, my mind was still in denial. Not sure what I was thinking but I wasn’t thinking I was losing my Dad.

My brother and I spent this night alone with Dad in his room. There were two chairs and being the oldest, I quickly realized which one would provide the most comfort. Tommy and I had one of the most memorable nights of our lives that night with our Dad. He wasn’t conscious, but we talked as if he was and we both believe he could hear every word we said.

We laughed and discussed how Dad had raised us to always take care of family – and he had a large one. How consistent he was with discipline yet how gentle he was at teaching life lessons. We laughed about slopping pigs, and being chased by a crazed bull. We reminisced about the Eldred Christmas’s and how 150 relatives was a small number for our gatherings. The stories were endless as was the temperature drop every time the “angel” would enter our room. As Dad’s dying progressed his temperature increased. The nurse shared with us it was “going to be a cold night for us.” I had a small Texas Tech blanket and Tommy had only the jacket he’d worn. As Dad’s temperature increased they would crank down the air conditioner. It was January and cold outside. The temperature inside his room seemed to reach freezing temperatures. Knowing that he refused to use the air conditioner at home because it would cost money, made this ironic. In his final night on Earth, his comfort was what mattered.

The common theme through our all night talk was how amazing was the man laying in the bed beside us. How he came from a lack of money, food, and education, and through determination, a sense of business, and work ethic, grew to raise a family, make good money, and pass down the importance of integrity and a strong work ethic to his children. A man having only a 10th grade education, grew up to manage a lumber yard serving millions of dollars in contractors and local builders, ran many small businesses on the side, and turned everything he touched into money. He never met a stranger and provided help to anyone with need.

While all the above is true, I believe his pride rested on the proof that his children took part of him with them when they left home. My brother earned a degree in Electrical Engineering from Texas Tech, and developed his own successful consulting firm. Dad beamed every time he wore a Tech hat and someone would ask him how Tommy was doing. He was so proud when Tommy branched out on his own. Making his own business decisions and calling Dad for advice.

And then there’s me. The one who tried his patience on a daily basis. The one who tried my teachers patience on a daily basis. I earned three degrees in education. Teaching reading for thirteen years, earning a Master’s in Curriculum and Instruction, a Master’s in Educational Leadership, and a Superintendent’s certification. For my final twelve years in education I served as a middle school principal – working daily with students who resembled me many years ago. Our Dad’s pride was in raising us to serve others. In teaching us the value of a penny and that your reputation, once tarnished, can never become shiny.

At 9:00 p.m., on January 11, 2008, we were all gathered around Dad’s bed. Jesus came into Room 10 and peacefully and quietly took Dad’s hand and led him to his home in Heaven. While my heart was still not prepared, feeling the presence of Jesus in that room is eternally etched into my memory. Each year that I lived in Wichita Falls, I would return to Room 10 on the evening of January 11th. If the room was unoccupied I was allowed to go inside and sit in the same place I did the night Jesus came. I could feel His presence surround me and provide me the belief that Dad was with Him. Sitting around fishing and watching cows. Without pain and no longer needing Room 10.

As I reflect on these memories this year I have realized I too no longer need to go to Room 10. All the warmth, love and safety I felt in Room 10 is living in my heart. Dad remains a part of me daily. I’m blessed he didn’t tell he how to live – he lived and let me watch.

Missing Simple

The past couple of weeks haven’t been easy emotionally. Christmas’ of past have been flowing through my thoughts. When Christmas was simple. Dad worked many jobs to make certain we had basic needs – driving a taxi (yes Nocona had one), hauling hay, delivering milk, and any other type of labor work he could find. Each Christmas, Dad would bring home one box of Brach’s chocolate covered cherries. An item that we no doubt couldn’t afford. But that box always made me smile, and I couldn’t wait to taste the sweetness of that candy. I can still see his smiling face as he carried the box of candy into the house on West Pine.

I never remember seeing him eat any of the candy and I most likely didn’t share it with my brother, unless I was forced. I remember savoring the sweetness from the candy as well as the excitement that signaled it was close to Christmas. I remember exactly where our Christmas tree was placed. It wasn’t purchased but was chopped down by Dad on someone’s land. The decorations were simple – a few ornaments, silver garland, icicles, and popcorn we’d strung. To me it was the perfect tree at a perfect time in my life. Simple.

With whatever money they could scrape together, Mom and Dad always made sure there were gifts under our tree. My brother and I always made a simple list and something from the list was always delivered by Santa. My parents didn’t have present filled Christmas’ growing up. They were both raised in homes where presents consisted of whatever a church or a kind stranger gave. I’ve always believed this to be the reason they made sacrifices to insure me and Tommy had what we wanted for Christmas.

Christmas Eve was always at Aunt Jackie’s house. Now my Dad had ten brothers and sisters so with their wives and children, if sixty of us gathered that was a small number. I can still hear my Aunt Ruby laughing loudly and keeping the party going. Uncle Tuck was usually sitting by Dad and no one ever knew what they talked about. I loved my Uncle AW’s hugs, and the other eight aunts and uncles talking and trying to make me mind.

Aunt Jackie was always busy in the kitchen making sure everyone was getting the food ready. Not sure who thought it was a good idea, but at times they’d decide to put all the children (at least 15+) in my cousin’s bedroom. He had bunk beds, as I remember, and to say kids were hurt in there is an understatement. We were all stair-step in age and around each other all the time, so it was basically 15 siblings fighting for survival. It was brutal in that room and one of my fondest memories.

When we’d return home it was off to bed. We had a hanging gold bell which played Jingle Bells when you pulled the cord. Santa aways pulled that cord before he left our house and returned to his sleigh. I tried so hard to stay awake each year to catch him. Even if the music from the bell woke me up, I was always too late.

Jesus was a major part of our Christmas’ and we celebrated His birth. Church services were without praise bands and flashing lights. Just a quiet congregation singing Christmas hymns from memory and sharing in the special birth of the Christ child. Simple times yet so powerful in my memories. Today I long for this type of Christmas. Where gifts were few and giving to others was the norm. Where decorations were simple and the manger was always the focus. Where family gathered and their “presence” was all that was needed.

I paused in aisle by the chocolate covered cherries this week and cried. Oh what I’d give to see my Daddy’s smiling face walk in the door one more time with the box in his hand. But he’ll be spending another Christmas in Heaven with Jesus. He has two brothers with him there and my Mom. They are with the real meaning of Christmas. For me I’ll still be working on trying to keep it simple.

And she shall bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins. Matthew 1:21

Casting Worries and Seaweed

After much discussion and surfing the web, our grandchildren convinced us that we MUST select a beach vacation for our family this summer. If you know me, the grandsons get what they want – always.

Through hours, days, and weeks I looked at all condos on Orange Beach. The location with soothing ocean waves and white, pristine sand. Finally, the perfect condo was booked and the planning began.

With the condo being right on the beach I envisioned myself spending seven days splashing in the ocean with the family. I even forced my self to try on new swim suits and purchased three new ones! Having lived in Corpus Christi for a little over a year, the voice in the back of my head kept trying to remind me of how fickle the ocean can be. Not on this vacation – not on the week my grandsons come to town. The cars were bursting at the seams with boogie boards, golf clubs, ice chests, and beach towels. This week would be one to put into my memory file forever.

We arrived at Silver Beach condo after a 12-hour drive divided in two days. The condo was roomy, with a wonderful pool and perfect beach access. Of course we immediately checked out the ocean and it was just as we’d dreamed. The sand was pristine white and the waves beckoned the boys to grab their boogie boards and join in. Their laughter made the cramped drive worth every mile!

The next morning everyone woke up ready to spend the day with Mother Nature. After gathering up ice chests, towels, and sun screen we headed to the beach.
The night before we experienced a thunderstorm and for those of you who have witnessed what the beach and ocean can look like once it has been stirred,
you already have a visual. Hours before our beach was a touch of heaven – that morning it looked like spinach had thrown up all over the sand. Being positive the boys inched in and gave it a try. They were covered in green, slimy, seaweed – and the smell was awful. To the pool we headed for the rest of the day. There’s always tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and the piles of slime were even higher on the beaches. Fed up with this green nonsense I decided to “google” seaweed to see how long this stuff hangs around. I learned more than I ever cared to know about seaweed, but what I discovered is it’s multicellular, marine algae and it comes and goes as it pleases. Unfortunately we chose just the time that the ocean decided to share its June “grass” with its visitors. This multicellular mess would hang around all week.

On our final day of vacation I visited the spinach covered beach and sat in my rented umbrella chair for the final time. As I watched the waves come and go and churn with the green barf, I was intrigued by how forceful the expulsion of the seaweed was by the ocean. It was as if the ocean was tired of the phytoplankton and saw the opportunity to dispose of it. Just get rid of the ugly stuff.

I began to reflect on life – my life – and thought how I wish it was that easy to just rid myself of all the worries each day brings. The ocean makes it look so smooth and simple. Just go forward, throw it all away, and repeat. Why isn’t it that easy for us? Why do we continue to hold on to the things we can not control or change? I continued to watch the ocean, decided to close my eyes, and began to cast a worry each time the waves came crashing in dumping seaweed. I’ve grown up repeating the verse, “Cast all your anxiety on Him because he cares for you. Phillippians 4:6-7. I know this verse by heart, yet I do not practice the casting. For a short time I was one with the waves, letting go and letting God. Practicing the casting. What a powerful feeling it was – slowly releasing the worries to God – one by one.

I left the beach that day changed. Being reminded that I weigh myself down with doubt and worry. Even the ocean is smart enough to rid itself of what weighs down its purpose. I took pictures of the spinach throw up on the beach to be a constant reminder that God wants my worries. Just as the waves rids the ocean of the ugly stuff, God will do the same. It’s up to me to practice daily casting.

Foreshadowing of a Picture

This morning I decided to begin the dreaded task of going through thousands of family pictures and dividing them up between my two adult children. I say this is my purpose when actually I think I’m trying to declutter my own mess.

Of course once you start going through pictures they speak for themselves. There’s a reason each picture was taken. Memories are tied to pictures.
Family gatherings. Kids being kids. Snow fall. Vacations. Graduations. Birthday parties. Team photos. Looking through pictures is reliving the past years – step by step. Pictures serve as reminders of happy times. Times when life was friendly and carefree. When you are raising children you snap pictures of their first tooth, their first steps, first birthday – all the firsts. Mothers are the most guilty of this behavior. It’s like we want to stop time and hold them right there. Wishing they would forever consider us their best friend, their only love. We take pictures for years of activities and most pictures do land in a box somewhere. But it is our right as mothers to capture these memories. And we take that right very seriously.

As I went through picture this morning there were thousands, maybe millions of tears. How did all this happen so quickly? Yes I admit I still have that dress tucked away hidden in a drawer. And his first t-ball jersey? Yep I have that as well. Those mother buttons with his picture in his football jersey which I proudly wore each Friday? Yes they too are in the same drawer. I could admit to so much more but any mother reading this knows exactly where her drawer of hidden memories is as well.

As I continued my walk back in time with the pictures I suddenly came across one that made me pause – reflect – and to be honest was very different than all the other pictures. Spring Break of 2001 our perfect family of four took a vacation to Ruidoso. Not to ski but to be together to laugh, climb mountain trails, take in the incredible smell of pine trees during a short rain shower, cook out, eat smores – all the family “things” we had enjoyed for the past 20 years. Our son was home from Texas Tech and our daughter was a sophomore in high school. Perfect ages to share stories of past vacations and memories as we sat around a camp fire.

On one of our adventures their Dad insisted we pull over and take pictures. Now we were married for 25 years and to my knowledge I do not ever remember him suggesting a photo session. Of course the kids were in favor so we all jumped out of the SUV and endured the 20 mph freezing cold wind – for a picture. As usual I began telling them where to stand because I’m never in a picture – I take the pictures. Gary made it clear that he was taking the picture of the three of us. My response, “Ok let’s just get this done and back in the warm car.” We continued the week of togetherness which ended too soon.

As I gaze at this picture tears fall – tears flood. What makes this picture different is that I do not remember Gary ever taking a picture of me and the kids. This picture is the only picture that exists of me and the kids – without Dad. Second, four weeks later he passed with a sudden heart attack. On a Wednesday before Brady was to come home on Thursday night for Easter break. This vacation was the last time our precious family was together as one.

As I remember the story behind the picture, it’s as if somehow Gary knew – without really knowing – this picture would represent our new family. Our family without him in the picture. A broken family who would face unbearable grief. A family with so many unanswered questions. A God serving family who would wonder “Why us?” A family who, 17 years later, is still unable to talk about the missing piece.

To me this one picture, 10 seconds of time, represented a foreshadowing of what was to come. Through continued tears I am reminded that we never know when the last time is the last time. In the snap of your fingers life can change – never to be the same again. Changing and shattering all your foundation – allowing blame to be placed on God and causing doubt in faith. Pictures truly are worth a thousand words. Sometimes the words may be silent and subtle. But the story is there for those who see beyond the obvious.