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 Fixer

All my life I’ve been a fixer. I “fix” things. Arguments among family members. Being the peace-maker between my parents. Tracking down a best friends boyfriend who did her wrong. Didn’t matter that they were in the middle of officiating a high school basketball game. Yes, I did have him stop the game, called him over to the side of the court, and lectured him on his mistake.

Punching one of my brother’s peers in the face at the swimming pool (not one of my best choices) because this peer had picked on my younger brother for years. I had warned the kid hundreds of times. This particular day he called me on it and held my brother under water. The swimming pool had to close for the day. Even in the 60’s blood wasn’t a good thing for public swimming pools. I can still hear the complete silence – other than the kid crying from a nose bleed – as well as the stunned look on my mother’s face. The kid never bothered my brother again. Expecting a spanking when my Dad came home, I only got his shaking head saying, “Raylene.” When I think about that moment really hard, I think I also heard him chuckle. The fixer teaching the fixer.

For the past 20 years I’ve bounced in and out the 5 stages of grief. Being careful not to stay in one stage too long. You see this made me feel in control of what I couldn’t control. For some that doesn’t even make sense. For those of you who know me, understand that concept well. When I’m thrown into devastating circumstances, the only control I have is how long I spend in each stage.

grief image

I spend a great deal of time in the “Bargaining” stage. This is where a “fixer” works their hardest. Trying to negotiate and make adjustments. I’m an expert in this area. I’ve trained myself to flow flawlessly through the stages, while surviving as a young widow, while running a school campus, managing 800 students and 85 staff, managing a blended family, as well as helping my parents with end of life issues. I hold my cards close to my chest. No one knows “the fixer” is at work.

Twenty-two days ago President Trump declared a National Emergency due to COVID19. My adrenaline ramped up. While others are continuing with their daily lives, I’ve already mentally moved into action. That’s what “fixers” do. My grandsons are in Arizona for spring break. I have to buy food for them as well. My husband had heart bypass five months ago. I must shelter him from all germs. My daughter is pregnant and lives an hour away. I must make sure she’s ok. You see? Yep I start fixing. In my gut I know this isn’t going to turn out well.

I began paying attention to the news. I follow the briefings. I do intelligent research as the country moves into March 15 where the CDC warns against large gatherings. My husband and I both have lost our jobs. I’m trained for bad news. I’ve had many situations of catastrophic news so my mind is prepared – it’s wired to go into “fix” mode. I follow the time line and daily news briefings.

I make plans and move in and out my grief map. Some days I would wake up into the acceptance stage. Telling myself, “this will be ok. This can’t last much longer, just hold on.” Some days I would move into the bargaining stage. “Ok we have to be extremely careful but everyone in my family is still alive.” The denial stage is easy for others to linger in, but not a “fixer.” Time in denial is burning daylight for me. There’s work to be done and plans to be made!

I spent two days in the depression stage. My poor husband. He doesn’t “understand” the “fixer.” Depression stage isn’t pretty for a controller. Sudden bursts of solid crying. For no reason. Thank goodness I don’t allow myself to remain in the depression stage very long.

Today I have to admit – “the fixer” has no answers. Everyone I love is at risk. The knot in my stomach is tight, deep breaths aren’t always attainable. COVID19 has forced me to bounce through the stages of grief several times a day. I pray with God, even bargain at times. God knows me for this and accepts me with this fault. I try to find peace in scripture, my faith tells me God is in control. But…there’s always a but with me…..But I need a sign. Similar to Doubting Thomas, I need to see. I need to see there is life out there. That this isn’t our new norm. That there are still things I can “fix.”

As the child of a lumber yard worker, we only needed four things in our house for repairs. A hammer, duct tape, rusted screw driver and baling wire – with these four items you could fix gates, fences, bicycles, cabinet doors, even cars. The possibilities were endless. The above pictures are of my Dad’s hammer, tape, and screw driver. I had them out this morning. Holding the hammer I know he used to “fix” things always makes me smile. Today holding that hammer brings me to my reality – acceptance. Acceptance that “it is what it is.” We can not control the cards we are dealt, only the way we play our hand. This “fixer” is letting go.

God’s promises, learned in my hometown church Bethel Baptist, are the tools I have to use. These tools withstand all tests of time. I’m adding a 6th stage to my grief cycle – that is Hope. As we are in the season of Easter, imagine the hopeless feeling of Jesus’ followers. But then Sunday came – the tomb was empty – Christ arose. I know our Sunday is coming. God’s plan is flawless. He is the true “fixer.” So we wait. We pray. We bounce through our emotions. We worry. We accept and then fear again.

I will continue to try to “fix” because it’s in my DNA. What this ‘fixer” will focus on during these troublesome days, is spending more time in the Hope stage. As I’m writing this the lyrics of “The Solid Rock” are flowing through my mind.

My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

PAUSE.

My heart is full of worry and uncertainty just like every one of you. The first thought on my mind when I woke up this morning was wondering how many more cases of COVID19 were reported overnight, as well as how many families were grieving today due to this disease.
Then I was sent a “pause” and heard another thought….my Dad….oh how I wish I could hear his voice but his wisdom still pushes through all the confusion in my mind.

He reminded me of another scary time. I was born in 1957 in Nocona. Our parents were experiencing much what we are currently yet they didn’t have instant news, daily updates from Dr. Fauci, nor a country filled with billions of dollars to produce equipment and medicines almost overnight. The horrible disease facing our families was polio. I looked at some numbers and we experienced over 16,000 cases of paralysis and over 18,000 deaths each year from 1951-1954. There were only 150 million people in our entire country so those percentages are horrific. The sadder part of this is polio was mainly a childhood acquired illness affecting children under five.

Dr. Jonas Salk did invent a vaccine. I remember lining up at North Ward school in Nocona for several Sundays after church, (maybe 4) to receive my sugar cube containing the vaccine. What I didn’t know at that time was I would make friends with one of the sweetest girls in my life. She was a year older than me and the vaccine didn’t come soon enough for her.

She contracted the disease, faced extreme physical issues, many many surgeries. At one point, as a teenager she was in a body cast for months, attached to a plywood board. We went to her house for Sunday School each week. Looking back I’m flooded with tears for her. How close did she come to receiving the vaccine? A few months? And never did she allow us to feel sorry for her. She continued into adulthood, became an educator, married, had two amazing daughters and is currently chasing grandchildren in her motorized wheelchair. One little word, polio, changed our world.

We are asking ourselves these questions today. The news is everywhere. We have instant updates. We don’t have to wait for a small town doctor to deliver the news in our home-town newspaper. We all have family members who are in vulnerable groups and, to be honest, I believe we are all vulnerable. Schools and churches closing brings all our fears to the surfaces.

So in my Dad’s way he refocused me this morning. He reminded me of my raising and remembering what I learned in that small town. Proverbs 27:1 “Do not boast about tomorrow for you do not know what a day may bring forth.”
Jeremiah 29:11 “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.”

When I was faced with being a young widow thousands of times I wanted to give up. During these times Isaiah 40:31 gave me hope. “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”

Today I’m thankful for my Dad’s “pause.” As I rethink who I am and how I was raised, I have asked are we near the end of the world as we know it? I don’t know. But I do know Who does know. I also know He expects us to continue living and taking care of each other. He is control and has provided us with the abilities to produce supplies and medications overnight. Man did not acquire this knowledge alone. We all need to “pause”, listen to the news less and spend time listening to Him. Our Lord of hope and promise.