Category Archives: Serious Stuff

For One of Our Own

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I had the pleasure of meeting Dave this summer.  He’s a great guy with a determined spirit. And I like him, in spite of him showing me up in class ;)  Helps that he makes me sound like a rock star in describing it.

This summer, the talk was remission.  Now, it’s a return to the hospital.

Please join me in offering positive thoughts and prayers his way.  And yeah, this sentiment still applies.

Get better Scout26.  I want a rematch.

*By the way, it’s September.  Have you signed up for Kilted to Kick Cancer yet?  There are some really great prizes!

I Didn’t Know You Could Play Guitar

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But that’s because the cancer had already taken that away when I met you.  Although, it wasn’t for several months that I even knew you were sick.  You were just my friend that sang in the choir.  The friend that always made sure to check on me when I wasn’t feeling well.  The friend that always had time to make sure I was doing alright.

All while you were fighting this awful thing with no complaint.  That’s why I didn’t know that you could play.  You never complained that cancer had taken that away from you.  When the cancer took away your solid foods, you took it as a challenge to figure out how to liquefy a steak dinner.  When the doctors were worried about the blockage in your intestine, you sent a prayer request to all of us to pray for poop.  I replied that I’d never said such a crappy prayer.  (Thankfully, you also appreciated my terrible puns.)

Sometimes I felt guilty when you’d offer me encouragement.  I was just being whiny about some headache.  You were still showing up to choir after your heart had nearly stopped.

But I learned today that you could play guitar.  I even got to hear you do it.  It was a great surprise to hear you sing again.  What a beautiful gift to record CD’s for 14 years for your family.  And a wonderful gift to us to get the chance to hear you again as we said goodbye.

Your time with us was far too short.  But you certainly touched lives.  Thank you, Eric.  Your crown is bound to be heavy with all the jewels you’ve earned.  But you’ll never complain about the weight.

I Have A Word

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The Greek word translated in most English Bibles as compassion is splagchnizomai.

to be moved in the inward parts, i.e. to feel compassion

…

splagxnízomai – “from splanxna, ‘the inward parts,’ especially the nobler entrails – the heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys. These gradually came to denote the seat of the affections“

That’s the feeling with the latest news on Madison this morning.  As our senior pastor says, “Hit in the guts.”

I work with Madison’s mom.  She’s part of my ladies Bible study group.  And she is living through a parent’s worst nightmare.  Her daughter has cancer.  They are talking about palliative care and experimental treatments because there is nothing else left.

I can’t even wrap my mind around that kind of fear.  Just thinking about it gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Sheer terror.  Splagchnizomai-moved in my inward parts.

I’ve only ever seen Madison once.  She was a tiny angel.  I mean that literally.  It was Halloween.  She was dressed as an angel.  Her mom brought her to the office to trick-or-treat around the cubes.

God,

I know You’ve got this one.  I know Your thoughts are not my thoughts, but I’m praying for a miracle for this little girl and her family.  Give them the peace that only You can provide.

Amen

Still There

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She’s still in the hospital. She’s been there 10 days this go around.  There is more cancer. Going to visit her this afternoon.  Her mother called to tell me she wouldn’t be coming back to work when she said she would.  I told her that should be the least of her worries.

Sigh.  We were all hoping for better news.  They are trying to get her strength up so she can handle whatever the next stage of treatment will be.

Her spirits are pretty low.  If you can spare a thought, she could use it.

Seems the big C is all around lately.  My great aunt was diagnosed with leukemia late last week and had to have her spleen removed.  Please keep her and the family in your thoughts too.  Especially her daughter who is completely worn out with taking care of her parents.

Me?  Hanging in there just fine.  But I’ve only got so many thoughts to spare for those around me so I’ve got to ask for yours.

I hope to get a gunny fun post up later, and I’m looking forward to lots of fun at Christina’s shindig this weekend.

Fifteen Years

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Fifteen years ago today I was dolled up in blue sequins and stage make-up. I was a sophomore in high school headed to show choir competition. Who knew I’d be so festively dressed for the day my world would change?

The bus shook on its suspension as we passed downtown. We didn’t know what had happened or where that huge dust cloud had come from. We sat in silence watching it rise from the dirty bus windows as we continued on our journey to jazz square our way to a medal.

We didn’t find out until later. The bus driver must have heard the news while we were competing because he had the radio on for our trip home. We sat in silence. Probably the only silent bus trip that driver had ever taken.

We arrived at the local Mazzios to grab a quick bite before heading back to class for the afternoon. We ate in silence with eyes glued to the TVs. When we returned to the school, we discovered that all of our classmates were glued to the same broadcast being shown on the classroom sets generally used for in house announcements. They had felt the blast too.

The next several weeks saw fund-raising, volunteering, and benefit concerts. Everyone in my school either knew someone that had been injured or killed, or was close to someone else that did. We knew in a very personal way that evil does indeed exist in the world.

I heard Clinton’s pretty but empty words when he came to speak in Oklahoma City. As always, he was eloquent, but I couldn’t help but feel like he wanted nothing more than to get back to DC. He didn’t stand in the rubble and comfort the volunteers and first responders.

And now he wants to use the event to paint so many of us into an extremist box.  Shame on you, President Clinton.  Patriots ache with the memory of this terrible event.  Indeed, the majority of Americans don’t trust the government, but that does not mean any of us would take such horrendous actions.  That’s an awful wide brush you’re using there.

Today, I will remember the love that was revealed even before the smoke cleared from downtown OKC.  Today I will remember the news broadcasts telling us to stop bringing sandwiches and water for the rescue crews because people had already brought more than enough.  I will mourn the loss of the innocent life at the hands of evil.  And I will continue to support the actions of Patriots, of whom the former President is not.

Why Carry?

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People ask on a regular basis why I choose to carry a firearm.  The crime rate in this state is low.  I live in a safe neighborhood.  I don’t work in any kind of law enforcement or security type field.

In fact, my statistical chance of being a victim of a violent crime are quite low.

I carry because the chance isn’t zero.

I carry because this guy exists.  A guy that can be turned down at a bar and so he follows the girl into the bathroom.  When she again resists his advances, he hit her twice in the face and shoved her into the stall.  He broke her nose and eye socket and caused a laceration requiring 50 stitches.  A friend found her unconscious in the bathroom with her pants partially removed.

Yeah, the police caught him.  But really, how much difference does that make to the girl in a hospital room that needs her face rebuilt?  Even if the can reconstruct her to some semblance of what she looked like before, it will take years of therapy for her not to live in constant fear.  The police weren’t there to protect her.  They can’t be there.  The only way the police could really protect you is if each and every person had a personal officer escorting them every moment of their lives.  No one wants that.

I carry because that guy really believes he has a right to take what he wants from women without consequences.  And I want him to know I carry.  I want him to start thinking lots and lots of women are carrying.  I want him to think that maybe one time, on the other side of that bathroom door, there will be something far harder to overcome than manicured nails and high heels.  I want him to start to question if the drive in his pants is worth his life.

The fact that the police caught this guy is no deterrent.  If we’re lucky, we’ll get to feed him and house him for a couple of years before he’s released because he’s ‘paid his debt to society.’  In two years that girl might be finished with all the reconstructive surgery and recovery.  She’ll still be in therapy.  She’ll still have a sinking fear in the pit of her stomach every time she turns away some guy.  She’ll always have scars.

And he’ll have a record.  You know, they don’t tattoo that on a guy’s forehead so you can see them coming.  I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that he won’t be able to legally own a firearm.  Of course, you can’t legally beat girls unconscious either.  I think I’d rather take my security into my own hands.  It is a personal matter after all.

The only person that is always available to protect me is me.  I hope that I never have to employ deadly force in my own defense, but I am prepared to do so if I must.  I’d rather spend time in therapy dealing with that than in the hospital having my face rebuilt.  And then there will be one less of those guys.  I really hope just knowing that more and more women are purchasing firearms and learning to use them is making guys like that one start to think twice.