Two Dozen Red Roses

Thirty-six years ago today, November 10, 1973, I worked the afternoon shift at the JC Penney store in the Lakewood Mall.  To my surprise, when I arrived home from work there were TWO ~ not one, but TWO DOZEN red roses waiting for me.  The card enclosed with the flowers read:

Tonight is going to be very, very, very special!

Love, Tony

Tony and I have known each other most of our lives ~ my earliest memories of him go back to age five.  We grew up in the same southern California town, attended the same church and saw each other at children's meeting, social events and gatherings.  My dad was his third grade Sunday School teacher.  His mom was my sister's Sunday School teacher.  We knew each other for many years when we began dating in 1970.

After three years of dating, I knew that the roses ~ the TWO DOZEN red roses ~ meant only one thing: that night I would be asked to become Mrs. Tony Redfern!  He reserved a table at The Gate of Spain restaurant on the top floor of a building along the Santa Monica coastline.  He paid the maitre d' for a window table.  After our meal, he pulled a handkerchief, with my engagement ring tied to it, from inside his coat pocket (he said he was so afraid of losing it)!  And he asked me Will you marry me?

So tonight, like every November 10th over the last 36 years, Tony asked me out on a date!  It will be a tender time ~ maybe even tearful time ~ as we celebrate the decision we made to make a lifetime commitment to one another thirty-six years ago, and the faithfulness of God to carry us through the best of times and the worst of times.

Thanks for asking me ~ my answer is still YES!

I am so proud to be Mrs. Tony Redfern!

I love you!

Time Travel

Time travel ~ that’s what it feels like when I find myself suddenly, once again, surrounded with the pain and reality of Scott’s death.

It always amazes me how fast I can go there.

This morning I decided not to go to church. I have fought this flu bug for almost two weeks and I decided to give myself an extra day of rest. So I poured myself a cup of coffee, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV.

A woman was speaking to a sanctuary filled with parishioners. (I recognized the church right away; the glass windows surrounding the sanctuary were a sure giveaway.) I really did not intend to keep listen to her, but she was very engaging and the story just kept pouring out of her. I did not hear all the details but her story was about the faith of children who prayed for a miracle. She was an administrator at a Christian elementary school and she asked all the students to pray for a young friend who was having surgery for a brain tumor. The results of the surgery were not good. She shared how she had to go back to those students to tell them that their little friend was not going to get better ~ the little girl had been placed on life support. Doctors saw no signs of life and were advising the parents to turn off the machines.

The children couldn’t understand why they should stop praying. They believed in a God of miracles and were going to pray anyway. The next day, the doctors told the little girl’s parents that they saw a small hint of life in their daughter. Then the next day, they saw more life, and so on, until the little girl made a dramatic recovery.

And in that instant, I was overcome with doubt. In a matter of seconds, I traveled back in time. I was standing next to Scott’s bed at the medical center. I was holding his unresponsive hand. The nurses were coming in and out to check for any changes in his condition. His chest would rise and fall with each vent from the respirator, but there were no signs of life in him.

Scott did not recover. He was declared brain dead. He became an organ donor.

As I sat there on my couch this morning, I found myself once again questioning brain death and comas and vegetative states. It is personally very difficult for me to hear of someone who was declared brain dead and then wakes up after who-knows-how-many-years. Perhaps what complicates this for me is that these terms (brain death, coma, vegetative state) are used interchangeably so often by the media and those sharing these stories of recovery.

So once again I found myself wrestling with our decision. I went to the computer ~ again ~ and googled brain death. So many of the events of Scott’s final hours came into my mind as I fought against feelings of despair.

The statement from the neurosurgeon who first admitted Scott’s airlifted body ~ I see not life in your son.

The maxillofacial surgeon who operated on Scott for more than six hours ~ I literally just closed him up; I did all I could.

The 100+ high school students ~ many on their knees in the hallways ~ praying for a miracle.

The CT scan that was performed ~ convincing two neurosurgeons to declare Scott brain dead.

The blood flow test we demanded ~ and not one drop of dye went past Scott’s brain stem.

It is not that I don’t rejoice with the speaker this morning. I am so grateful that even one family did not have to live with the grief of losing a child!

What I want to say is that I believe in a God of miracles, too . Sometimes we do not receive the miracle we ask for. I truly wanted my son to survive. I still wish I could somehow have my son back. But that was not the miracle I received.

The miracle I received was grace ~ deeper and wider and higher than I ever knew before.

A grace that has the strength to carry me when I am weary.

A grace that is tender enough to catch all my tears in a bottle.

A grace that draws near to my broken heart.

A grace that transforms mourning into dancing.

A grace that guarantees a time to come when there will be no more tears, no more death, no more goodbyes.

And then it happens again ~ His grace transports me with those everlasting arms and gives me the courage to face the realities of life, and brings me the hope of a blessed reunion.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

Revelation 21:4

A Silent Malignancy

I have a friend whom I have known for about 50 years. (Yes, it may be hard for some of you to believe that I am old enough to have known a friend for almost 50 years. It’s a fact!)

My friend is actually a little older than I am. As a young teen, she lived nearby and occasionally babysat my sister and I (poor thing ~ not that I was a terrible kid ~ but I did have my moments). Then, as newlyweds, she and her husband were sponsors in my high school youth group at church.

They have remained young at heart ~ staying active, enjoying traveling, appreciating art ~ and still in love after all these years. So it came as quite a shock this past spring, when her husband was diagnosed with a tumor ~ a large malignant tumor near his kidney and in close proximity to his aorta ~ that remains inoperable. As a healthy man, he experienced no discomfort, no signs that these cancerous cells were growing inside of him. If he had not gone in for a routine physical, they had no reason to suspect the presence of the tumor.

Over the past few months, he has undergone tests, scans, countless appointments with specialists and massive doses of chemotherapy. He lost his full head of hair. His body reacted to the chemo treatments and began to retain fluids. His energy level dropped to limited activity around the house. The good news is that the tumor did shrink. He no longer requires chemotherapy, and his energy level has improved to almost where it was before the treatments. The bad news is that the tumor did not shrink enough. He is scheduled to begin radiation treatments in a little while.

My friend keeps an online journal of their journey with cancer. One of her entries this week truly made me stop and think ~ how well am I?

Here is a summary of her entry . . .

It is almost hard to remember the days when he felt the effects of chemo; to recall how hard it was during those endless days and nights. He feels so normal now. We almost forget that he still has a malignant tumor in his body. There is no pain, no sign of it that he can feel or know, or be reminded that it is there. These last eight months that we have been on this journey have been experienced because the doctor told him he had a problem.  He never knew ~ and still would not know simply by how he feels ~ that he has a tumor which will kill him. This is really rather stunning when you think about it. How can there be something deadly in one’s body and have no idea it is there?

But it is still there, lurking in the dark, waiting for us to forget; to leave it alone so it can grow back and take over ~ how sinister! It reminds me of how attitudes and thoughts can take over in our spiritual lives ~ small or big, quietly yet deadly ~ growing . . . hoping to take over our minds and hearts if we are not watchful and prayerful about how we live and breathe, always asking God to show us those areas where we need His care and healing to remove them, to make our spiritual health intact, to live and grow in Him and bring glory to Him through our life.

Her words reach deep within my soul!

Sometimes I think we are quite good at masking reality. Denial, at the moment, may seem an easier path. But like any cancer ~ cells of unrighteousness and unforgiveness, of anger and disappointment, of hurt and envy ~ will fester and multiply. The Great Physician desires to heal us ~ redeem us ~ in every fiber of our being. His Spirit scans our mind, our heart and our soul, and reveals the thoughts and attitudes that seek to destroy our peace with God, our relationships, and ultimately, our very purpose for living.

I am reminded of the story in John 5 when Jesus visits Jerusalem. He passes by a pool where the blind, lame and paralyzed lay ~ each hoping for someone to come and meet their needs. Jesus approaches a man who has been an invalid for 38 years and asks him, "Do you want to get well?" It sure seems like a redundant question to ask someone who has been sick all of his life if he wants to get well. But Jesus knows our tendency to not deal with hard issues ~ thoughts and attitudes we choose to ignore. Jesus looks at what life could be if we are willing to face these silent malignancies that hold us back from the abundant life he truly desires us to live.

Jesus also knew wellness was going to cost this man. The invalid would no longer be carried everywhere; no longer have food brought to him. A well man would need to accept responsibility for his life.

Oh, to have eyes that see and ears that hear His offer of healing. I pray we take the first steps to redeem the future . . . acknowledge there may an area of the heart ~ a silent malignancy ~ which needs to be restored. 

Do you want to get well?

But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear.

Matthew 13:16

No November!

For the majority of my career as a teacher ~ 20 of my 25 years, to be exact ~ I spent my days with five and six year olds.   Gotta' love kindergartners and first graders! When the calendar in the classroom changed to November, the following poem was always a part of our fall celebration.  It came to mind today as I noticed the date. 

No green grass

No blue sky

No bare feet

Going by

No birds

No bees

No fall leaves

On bare trees

November

Although November brings many changes to my heart and the world around me, it is a blessing and comfort to know that the God who created the changes that mark each season, holds me in His everlasting arms.

What Word Are You?

I recently enjoyed a good read sent to me by my son-in-law, Jeff. I really connected with the short article entitled Can You Sum Up Your Life's Message in Just One Word?

The author, Bradley J. Moore, encourages his readers to find a word ~ one word ~ that is an appropriate descriptor of all the time and effort and passion one spends to integrate one’s faith into the day-to-day world. Although written to those in the business world, I believe it is an interesting challenge for anyone of faith to consider. What one word best describes how we live out our faith as teachers, parents, friends, electricians, dentists . . . you fill in the blank?

The article reminds me of a post I noticed recently on Facebook: Let's see how honest FB friends are. . . . Leave a ONE WORD comment that you think describes me. It can only be one word. No more. Then copy and paste this on your wall so that I may leave a word about you.

When I first saw that post on FB, a word did come to mind - RISKY. This innocent appeal could very well serve up a dose of in-your-face reality, quite difficult to swallow.

Seeking to find one word to express the integration of my beliefs into my daily world requires the answering of a few essential questions. Is there true integration of my faith across all areas of my life? Am I living a life of integrity or one filled with duplicity? Does my walk match my talk?

For me to find just one word to describe my life assumes that I live a life of integrity. Integrity is more than simply being someone who speaks the truth, although that is certainly a major element of its meaning. Living a life of integrity means that my life ~ the integration of my faith beliefs and my actions ~ is not divided, conflicting, or contradictory. What I say I believe is confirmed by my actions, aspirations, achievements and acquisitions.

The rub in finding a single descriptor comes when our lives are characterized by duplicity. The ancient Hebrews had an idiom that expresses the notion of living a life of integrity or duplicity. Let your yes be yes, and your no be no. In other words, let your inward yes ~ what you believe, be the same as your outward yes ~ how you live out what you believe.

The question in Mr. Moore’s article presupposes a foundation of integrity. One word ~ no contradictions, no opposing life styles, no duplicity.  One word ~  a single descriptor that communicates how we allow what we believe on the inside to influence how we live out our lives on the outside. In essence, it is faith gone public.

What word are you?

Remembering Kade

Remembering Sweet Kade Visser

Born to Jessica and Travis on August 28, 2007

Placed into the arms of His Heavenly Father October 28, 2007

Many are the plans in a man's heart,

but it is the purpose of the LORD that will stand.

Proverbs 29:11

 

May we continue to see Your glory

as we await the blessed reunion with our sons

Changing Lens

The chill of fall is definitely here. I feel it creeping in under the doors and moving through me to envelope my heart once again.

Perhaps it's the seasonal soccer games that cause me to take the first steps along this pathway. As I watch my grandsons at their weekly games, I am instantly there. And I know it is not always a conscious choice I make . . . to go to thoughts of Scott. It is just a natural place to be. So when Jack so proudly defended his goal, when he repeatedly kicked the ball away from the box, it just came out. Go, Scott! On the sidelines of the soccer field my thoughts inexplicably go to how life was, how life could have been . . . and how.life.SHOULD.be.

Perhaps it's in knowing what the chill of fall brings. It is inevitable ~ cooler nights and shortened days will escort in the grip of winter. It is easy for me to find myself emotionally, mentally, and socially preparing to close down for another winter of grief as the shadows of my sorrow stretch long across the landscape of my heart.

The chill outside brings the awareness that my winter of grief will soon be upon me. Just as the cooler days drive me deep into my closet to drag out my sweaters and jeans, so too I begin to consider how to protect my heart from the harsh realities that so readily seem to consume me.

Honestly, it is only by changing the lens through which I look at this season that brings warmth to my grieving heart. The Apostle Paul writes in II Corinthians 5 that this earthly tent of ours ~ the mortal body ~ will one day be torn down. And when that happens, he writes, that what is mortal will be swallowed up by life. Did you see that? Can you bring the contrast of those words into focus? When this mortal body is no more, we are not swallowed up by death. We are swallowed up by life.

Changing lens does not mean that the brutal force of winter will not be present in my life. The seasons of grief are quite predictable to those who mourn. But this new lens illuminates the fact that the chill of fall and the hard freeze of winter, also brings the hope of life ~ in the warming days of spring ~ and forever in eternity.

(Photo courtesy of my cousin, Bev Henry.)