Tag Archives: Southern

Just when I thought I was safe

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Picture found at www.awayathomemom.com whose blog on this subject made me chuckle.

Picture found at www.awayathomemom.com whose blog on this subject made me chuckle.

I had the honor of speaking to a MOPS group in a town not-so-far from my own this morning.  It was a blessing, bringing joy to my heart with the knowledge that my story of forgiveness touched other lives.  Time and time again, God has used events in my life to teach me about His heart for forgiveness.  Totally unscripted as I stood there before those sweet mommas; I knew how I was to end the talk.

Without forgiveness, mercy and grace are just words. 

It was a great experience, and I am glad I had the chance to go.  But that isn’t what I am choosing to share with y’all.  No, today I am going to share one of those divine appointments that just make you smile.

One my drive to the church, I had drunk a large Coke which didn’t seem to be a problem until I was backing out of the parking lot to head home.  Now here is a serious lesson in pride – something this girl could use some work on.  I was too prideful to scoot back in and ask to use the church’s restroom.  Racking my brain on what was available in Montevideo, I made a bee-line to the mecca of all Southern girls: Wal-mart.

As I entered into the bathroom, I ran into a mom of one of my children’s former classmates.  We hadn’t seen each other in a while, and I don’t think she recognized me at all.  Thus, it wasn’t time for a reunion in the potty department. First, I really had to go, and second, who does that?  Hey!  I know our daughters were not really friends, but your child used to be a classmate of my child.  So nice to see you!  Glad we bumped into each other.  I love what they’ve done with the place.  That probably never really happens.

I soon discovered that this mom wasn’t using the facilities, in the traditional sense.  Nope! Instead of bathroom, it was her conference room. She was having a cell-phone conversation with another one of her children (who apparently made a bad choice at school).  She proceeded to coach the child on what she expected of him; told him, yes in fact, he was in trouble; and explained how he was to apologize the teacher and make better choices for the rest of the day.  She ended with the words all children need to hear: I love you.

Then it came over me, and I knew why God put me in THAT bathroom at THAT very time. Seriously God! I am tinkling here, and you want me to tell that Mom you are proud of her. 

Apparently, her child thought the conversation was over and hung up.  But this mom called back to the school to make sure she connected with the teacher. (This was a good thing because I still needed to wash and dry my hands, and I didn’t want to have to chase her around the rolled-back discounts.)

While she was on hold, I walked right over to her and said, “If no one has told you this in a while, God wants you to know:  YOU are a really good momma.”  I stayed long enough to see tears well up in the corner of her eyes, and then I excused myself.

I keep my eyes and ears open to how I can bless others, but this was new. . . even for me.  So I guess, today I am thanking God for good mommas and full bladders.

The thing about grief . . . Part 6

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from brandeating.com

from brandeating.com

I hate chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes.  I mean hate, hate, HATE, them. The reason for my extreme distaste is that meal was served to me over and over and over in the ICU following the bus crash.  In the hospital’s defense, it wasn’t their fault.  It was purely my own.  In the aftermath of our darkest hour as we were dealing with one son’s death and the other son fighting to hang on, I didn’t even notice the menu that came each and every day for me to fill out.  So for 8 days, every lunch and supper meal was chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes with chicken gravy.  Yuck!

I really couldn’t even think about eating. (Again it wasn’t the chicken nuggets fault.)  I just was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t even remember how to chew food.  Southern to the core, I eventually called my dad at the hotel and asked if he could pick me up a jug of sweet tea.  And so, it was that I existed mostly on ice and sweet tea for probably 8 days.

I remember was everyone hovering around asking me to eat, all knowing that I really needed to do so, but also realizing that under the circumstances I was doing okay.  Oh, I got offers to leave the hospital or even to go down to the cafeteria, but everything I held precious was in that children’s wing in the ICU (including my sweet little girls).  And I WASN’T leaving – even if it meant I was sentenced to a life of chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes.

The game changer came on a Saturday afternoon a few days following Sawyer’s discharge from ICU to the rehabilitation children’s wing.  On that Saturday, friends who are teachers at our school came down for the day.  While they were visiting with Sawyer, they asked him if there was anything they could get him.  His response floored us all because he too hadn’t eaten much since Tuesday either. “Mr. and Mrs. (Teacher), do you really mean anything? If so, I would really love a foot-long chili dog from Sonic.” Without batting an eyelash, those sweet people drove across town to get my boy his request.

Their willingness (along with all the other sweet and kind things people did for us) helped me to be okay with finally saying yes to get out of the hospital for a few hours that same evening.  My parents agreed to stay if we (Daniel and I) would go out to eat with my siblings and their significant others.  We drove around from restaurant to restaurant seeing long lines.  I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bear to watch people be happy and enjoy themselves. Finally after driving around for an hour, we ended up at Sonic (despite the frigid temperatures).  We ordered, we listened to Christian radio, but mostly we sat in a vehicle with windows frosting over while we waited for the food to arrive. When it did, I really was ravenous, but I took one bite and broke down.

I cried over and over for a boy who would never eat cheeseburgers and drink limeade again.  He wouldn’t enjoy those moments with his family, but more importantly we would NEVER enjoy them with him. I felt guilty for being there without him. I felt like I was cheating him.  All I got down was that first bite.

When we returned home the first day, there packaged in the sweetest man I have ever met was a home-cooked meal.  He came, donning his apron under his coat, with his bundle of delicious food.  He didn’t want to stay because he knew the funeral director was coming any moment.  Yet what he brought was so much more than a meal, he helped bring us HOME to where the memories we held most dear lived – not mention many of the people who loved us as well.  His tenderly prepared meal gave us HOPE.

It was at that moment that I realized that even though I wouldn’t be sharing any more meals with Reed – I would be sharing meals for the rest of my life with people who carried him in their hearts.  While I ate here on earth, Reed was probably enjoying the best cheeseburgers (ketchup only) that Heaven had to offer. With that thought in mind, how sweet was that first bite.