Gracefully Frank: 2011

Did you know Santa Clause isn’t real? If you didn’t know that, then I’m just kidding…and you should go ahead and find something else to read.

If you did already know Santa is not real then this blog is not going to spoil anything for you. You may have just kind of gradually stopped believing, or you may have had a moment where the light began to dawn. I had a moment. My brother one time said don’t ever write about him in my blog. I think he was kidding.

The first time I really began to suspect something was going on with the whole Santa-comes-through-the-chimney-and-brings-presents thing was pretty unsettling. My Granny Toots’ house was one of the houses in the world where Santa took a pit stop each Christmas Eve. It was right on his route. We would have Christmas Eve dinner, wait the 3 days it would take my Granny, mom and aunts to wash the dishes, and then with perfect timing Santa would knock on the front door to visit. We have the usual pictures of each of us hating his guts when we were babies, but then as we got a little older our reactions were more and more excited. He always brought candy canes. Everyone knows Santa drives a sleigh guided by eight reindeer. One Christmas Eve as we bid Santa a safe journey, my brother Chris and my cousin Jimmy walked me over to the window where I anticipated we would watch as Santa flew away into the night. They knew what they were doing. Instead of climbing into a sleigh powered by reindeer…Santa climbed into a green 1970’s something station wagon powered by a V8. “Where’s his sleigh Haley?” “Where are his reindeer Haley?” I can still picture watching Santa walk toward that car.

Shannon, Chris, and Jimmy with his hands on my shoulders. The last time I posted an old school picture I was wearing a kilt. In this picture I'm dressed as Betsy Ross and looking nervous. My mom was apparantly into theme wear.

My belief in Santa got a boost sometime in the next few years, thanks to Grandpa Corky, who one Christmas morning came in from a snow covered back yard mad. We were all gathering around our piles of presents that “Santa” had dropped off while we were asleep. I was already pretty sure Santa was impossible, because of the green station wagon incident and because he always had the exact same wrapping paper as my mom. But, when Pa came in and told us he had been up on the roof cleaning the reindeer poop off, I was instilled with a few more years of at least doubt, as opposed to confirmed disbelief. Pa didn’t mind Santa parking on the roof and coming in through the chimney, but he did not appreciate Santa letting his reindeer use his roof as a bathroom. I don’t know who the guy in the green station wagon was, but reindeer poop on the roof was pretty compelling evidence that Santa maybe did exist. Pa wouldn’t make something like that up.

Christmas brings to mind so many great memories. This year will be special to remember. The year we were fighting cancer. The year we had Long John Silver’s for Christmas Eve dinner (just because we can and it made us laugh). The year that Jordi, Birdie and Shawn did my Christmas shopping with me, including picking out their own gifts and then wrapping their presents themselves (best idea I’ve ever had). Time together, laughing and I didn’t have to wrap. The Christmas of maybe the most life changing year I’ve had so far. I look forward to the memories we will make tomorrow. The kids will open their presents from “Santa.” We will spend time with family and celebrate the birth of the Savior. Our Savior. Who’s miraculous birth into this world we celebrate. Amazing. Our gift. Jesus.

Isaiah 9

6 For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. 7 Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the LORD Almighty will accomplish this.

Romans 10

9 If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. 10 For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved. 11 As Scripture says, “Anyone who believes in him will never be put to shame.” 12 For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile—the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, 13 for, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

My sweet sister-in-law is now explaining to the kids that the Easter Bunny helped Santa out and dropped off Christmas Pajamas early so they could wear them tonight. The Easter Bunny travelled a long way and hid the pajamas somewhere in the house because that is how the Easter Bunny does things….so I’m going to wrap this up now and hunt for Easter-Bunny-dropped-off-Christmas-pajamas. She is awesome. They know the truth, but they are up for the hunt.

Merry Christmas Friends!

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The last few weeks...while no one was looking, more time passed. More wakes. More sleeps. More tears. More laughs. More work. More play. More travel. Less stillness. More conversations. More silence. More reading. More writing. More questions. More healing. Lots of more…

The window I’m looking out of as I write this is not the window of a train, or plane, or even a car (although I am committed to not write while driving) I’m looking out the window of the house in which I live. I am in pajamas, wrapped in my favorite quilt hand stitched by Haley Cobb Harmon, mother of Corky Harmon, father of Glenda Harmon Scully. It is what I would grab if this house was on fire. Ethiopian coffee in my cup with a little sugar-free hazelnut non-dairy creamer, Bluegrass music in the background, yesterday’s mascara still around my eyes, and this blog is taking a different direction than I anticipated.

I thought I would finally write about one of the many starts and stops of “blogs” I’ve had these past few weeks. I have found though, if it don’t come easy…better let it go. At least for the time being. Thoughts on hope, loneliness, and why people lose their belief and trust in who Jesus Christ is as they are further and further removed from the time they first believed. That’s a big-ole question that I’m not sure how to write about. But, it keeps coming up. It came up in my life and I had to address it one way or another. It also keeps coming up in my friends and in my work. The reasons are different for everyone though. Was it even real to begin with? Do they just get over it? Do they out-smart it? Do they get disappointed? Do they get disillusioned? Do they get deceived? Did they have misguided expectations of Him? Did He lie to them? Has He forgotten them? Is He just unnecessary? If you loved Jesus once, but don’t consider Him much anymore, deny Him now, or think He has left you...why? I don’t know if anyone would like to respond to any of that, but if any of that applies to you and you would like to respond…I would like to hear what you have to say. haleyscully@yahoo.com. I can either respond or not, you tell me if you are making a statement or wanting to enter a conversation. I’ll respect it. Maybe you just want to get it out of your gut.

But back to Corky Harmon…because that is where this is going...

If this morning I were to walk into the home he and Granny B shared (and where she still keeps the fires burning) in Barnsdall, OK and I found him sitting in his center recliner in their massive couch-system with little built in tables and recliners and sleeper sofa, our time together would go something like this:

I open the screen door walk in as it slams behind me from the spring being wound too tight I guess and I put my purse down next to the book shelf that has my picture on it somewhere strung out with the rest of us who call them Granny and Pa, as I hear him say, “there’s my Hay,” and I answer “hi Pa.” After hugging Granny I would go sit by him and hold hands with him on the little table between his recliner and my section of the couch. Our hands would share the table with his rubber band ball, a coffee cup, his bible, his magnifying glass. He would ask me how things are in Texas and we would make some joke about it being fine if it weren’t for all the Texans. He would say “Sis how are they treatin’ you down at that job?” And I would detail for him how things were going. He would encourage me in some way about making them a good hand, and I would assure him I was trying, even as in my mind I would be thinking of things I could be doing better. We would talk about how good the Lord is to provide for us. He would tell me the story about how he paid off their mortgage in just a couple of years (for the eleventy-billionth time as a repeated story did not matter to him if the context was appropriate, I may or may not have this trait…my sweet momma certainly has it). He would then ask me if I was ready for a bowl of the stew we could smell coming from the kitchen. After lunch we would all get coffee and go to the porch to watch the world not pass by. On their little street in Barnsdall there is not a lot of the world to see. The gravel parking lot of the First Assembly of God church across the street, Phil and Jill’s place, Bobby and Sandy’s place, and maybe an older model Ford of some sort and a pick-up or two, 4 or 5 stray dogs, a couple of kids on bikes with or without shoes. Pa would know everyone of them though, and to some holler out something mouthy. He would know their parents. Their parent’s parents and whether or not any of them were worth their salt. I could listen to him talk for hours. I could sit on that porch and not watch the world for hours too. “That’s my Hay,” were the last words he said to me when Granny B asked him if he knew me just days before he passed away. Man he was a great Pa. I didn’t know I would write about him today, but as I’m wrapped in the blanket his momma made me many years before I was even thought of and named after her, Pa is on my mind.

Corky Harmon spent the vast majority of his life not knowing Christ as his Savior. He lived a good life though. He worked hard. People loved him and laughed with him. But, in the end those good memories would have been overwhelmed by an uncertainty. However, one day after nearly a lifetime, he finally allowed his own doubt and intellect to take a side seat to his heart’s longing for faith in God, after a man whose walk Pa respected came to drink coffee on the porch with him and led him to accept Jesus Christ. He had a few years after that to pour out the love that Christ poured into him. Everyone’s walk is different, but for Pa he did not have enough time to be distracted or deceived or disappointed or lose faith. If you ever truly believed who Jesus is…no matter how far your heart or mind goes from him…there will always be a conviction to be settled regarding him even though you successfully repress it. Because when you first accepted him as Savior, his word says the Holy Spirit was imparted into you, and though we get distracted and may forsake Him, He does not forsake us. He wants to be in relationship with us. He did not just save us from hell, but he saved us into new life. Pa fought believing for years, thankfully he had years to fight. Here are a few of my favorite old pictures of him…

Pa and his dog

Pa and his girl Bonnie

This is where I get some of whatever this is...

Pa and Grandma with their first six grandkids. I'm the one in the kilt.

The faces from some of my best childhood memories.

I'm so thankful for every conversation I ever had with Pa. And I am most thankful for the conversation Herman Forrest decided was worth having that Christmas Eve morning he got up, got in his pickup and drove to my grandparents house. I'm so grateful for the courage and love that compelled him to say yes to the Holy Spirit that morning as he pulled into their driveway, and I'm sure after a little prayer, stepped out and started the conversation that began with the words "Mornin' Cork" and ended with Pa praying to accept Jesus as his Savior and Lord.

Years later, Herman and Pa shared a room at the Barnsdall Nursing Home for a few days. It's the room Pa passed away in shortly before Herman went home to be with the Lord. I know heaven isn't like their front porch in Barnsdall (maybe), but I like to think Pa was standing at the gates to say "Mornin' Herman" when he arrived. Then, knowing Pa, he would probably turn and say "Now Peter I know him, and..."

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After a very long week...the week is over. Dad ended up spending a couple of days in the hospital as they cared for him through chemo reactions. His blood pressure continues to be very low, and he has had a lingering infection they are throwing several different antibiotics at. He has probably felt the worst he has ever felt this week. But on Friday morning they met with Dr. Waheed and her words were "the Myeloma is coming down very nicely. Excellent response." Breathe in. Breathe out. Praise the Lord for this report. The chemo is making him more sick as it heals what is attacking him. This pain is bringing him healing. It feels awkward to be thankful for that, but it is his long term healing we pray for.

I've had several conversations about this very thing lately. About having to fight hard battles to be set free from the chains that bind us, and how it can be a humbling painful experience... A close friend is coming through a struggle with addiction. The pain and hurt he is going through right now is bringing him healing. Doesn't make it easier, but makes it worth it. I am thankful for the pain of his sobriety that is moving him toward new life, over the pain of his addiction that was destroying him. I don't know if my friend is thankful for that everyday yet, but he is getting there one day at a time. Other friends are struggling through reprioritizing their lives. It has been a painful, humbling process for them to put God first in their lives and family as they understand more and more who they are in Him, and how the things of this world are temporary. It's hard to fight our nature, but it's worth it. For me, leaving my first life of trying to accomplish things all on my own was a painful experience. God had to take my strongholds and break them. My identity in my accomplishments and career, my pride. I could have denied it, avoided the pain and stayed right where I was, but when we call out to Him He moves on our behalf. He had to take me away from where I was not because of the place I was, but because of me in the place I was. I had many idols that I put above God, and that is not what I had promised Him in my youth when I first came to know Him as my Savior. My life felt empty no matter how much I tried to make it mean something. It was never going to satisfy me, because He had other plans for me. As soon as He heard me call out to Him after years of really only griping at Him, He guided me in the direction He had for me even though it was painful. Toward healing. Toward new life. Fresh air. Breath. Intimacy with Him. Peace. I would not go back to before the battle.

Whether its cancer, addiction, or pride fighting the battle brings us the healing God has for us. I'm so thankful my Dad and my Mom have the courage to fight. I'm so thankful as my friend celebrates 90 days of sobriety today, and I pray God continues to help him wage war. I'm so thankful as God gently breaks strongholds in my friends' lives that they continue to have the courage to step through the fog He is lifting. I'm so thankful that even when my heart deceives me, even when the enemy attacks me, God sends me gentle reminders of His love and purpose for my life and gives me the courage to trust Him with my moments, my days and my future.

This week Dad's battle has him wearing a mask anytime he is in public, getting his blood pressure regulated, and looking to the end of the week to possibly have his first bone marrow collection. After they collect it, the marrow will be treated for 4-6 weeks, then he will have the bone marrow transplant. The week after collection dad will meet with the neurosurgeon to determine the best course of action to address his C2 vertebra. We are uncertain of what tomorrow holds, but certain of Who holds tomorrow...to borrow a line I have no idea how to cite for credit. He will begin to lose his hair in the coming couple of weeks so I'm going to start hat shopping.

Our prayers are for mom and dad's comfort and rest, for the medicine to continue successfully fighting the myeloma, for the side effects to be few and mild, and for him to be protected from infection. He is getting blood transfusions and platelet transfusions. Mom and Dad are so grateful to be at UAMS where they have two appointments a day at the clinic to receive medicine and do blood work. I told Dad it has been a long time since he was in two-a-days. He said he's trying to get back up to his playing weight, but thinks he can do it. :) Two-A-Days are hard, but worth it.

Thank you all for praying for his continued healing.

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Yesterday wasn't a very enjoyable day. We were anxious, tired and a little overwhelmed. But, today in Little Rock things just seem to be better. Grace. I'm sitting cross legged and sideways in a booth next to my mom. She has her little reading glasses on and every once a while mouths the words she is reading from a book called A Bend In The Road by David Jeremiah detailing his battle with cancer. She is pretty amazing. She has not been telling me how to drive at all. Her mind is elsewhere and I think she is just trusting me with the wheel. I find it strangely unsettling that she's not directing my driving, like the time she told me to take my keys out of the ignition before I got out of the car (she thinks out loud). Be careful what you wish for friends. I'm pausing from writing right now because she wants to read me something from that book that is making her cry good tears...she can read me whatever she wants, whenever she wants.

We are sitting in a lovely section of the cancer institute called The Gathering Place. The Starbucks and gift shop located here closed about an hour ago and the majority of lights have been dimmed. A little old man whom I passed several times walking around yesterday in a Dr.'s coat is now dressed in plain clothes and playing the Steinway Grand piano across the aisle from where we sit. He may have escaped from the psych ward, but he's cute and I like the song he's playing... It's just me, mom and him in here right now. My Dad is behind some big doors where some young person in scrubs walked him away from us to have a series of MRIs done. Do they even realize who they were getting to walk beside? He's got on a new shirt and new slacks a couple of sizes smaller than normal. He's wearing dress shoes. Daddy has always been a sharp dresser. I took a picture of him and sent it to Chris so he could see how our Dad dressed his best even when he feels his worst. Chris texted back "Chemo can't take your cool." Daddy is cool. He has his hot buttons like everyone else, but he doesn't get too ruffled about things, at least not that anyone but mom would ever get to see. He's totally relying on the Lord, that is where he draws his strength. Every morning he reads a devotion to us and we pray together. He is a quiet testimony to a life anchored in faith, head up, taking care of business.

Tomorrow morning we will find out the results from the tests he has been through this week. They do gene mapping here at UAMS, and can determine if dad is a high risk or low risk multiple myeloma patient. I will not pretend to understand how that works. However, those results will aid in developing his treatment plan and will help the doctors determine if they should start chemo immediately, or allow mom and dad to return home and come back soon to begin treatment. Dad has gone two weeks now without chemotherapy to combat the cancer in his body. We want him to start receiving the healing medicine sooner rather than later. We spent part of yesterday and today finding a long term stay option for them, and this morning found a great place that both of them are happy with. Mom said she is not just pleased, she is thrilled. Me too then.

So tomorrow we will check out of our hotel, meet with Dr. Waheed and then either head toward Ponca City, or out to Town Place Suites where breakfast is included everyday, the beds are very comfortable, we like how it is decorated and there is no funny smell. For those of you who know my momma, you know that smells are important considerations. If you have to be away from home, and you have to be recovering from intense chemotherapy, or you have to help your spouse through that...its a great place. If chemo is to begin right away, and mom and dad do stay here in Little Rock, that will mean I will book a flight to Dallas for Sunday. I need that flight to still be open by the time I'm able to book it tomorrow. I've got a Lady Bird lined up to pick me up at DFW and take me to my car that is hopefully still sitting at the train station in downtown Fort Worth. Somehow I will get on the plane and leave my parents here to fight cancer. Thankfully, they are fighters. Thankfully they have a God who loves them more than me and makes a way for them. It is my faith in God's Presence and work in their lives that helps me to fly away from them...but that doesn't mean I won't ugly cry again. Pretty sure I will.

Please keep Dad and Mom in your prayers. God knows their names, but in case you don't...his name is Tim and her name is Glenda.

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You should read the blog I wrote early Sunday morning. I really poured my heart out. I was a little distressed, a little anxious and totally honest, completely vulnerable, and humbly surrendered. Whew! That will drain a girl. I used words like: serve, trust, passion, quiet, please, forgive, stillness, joy, faithful, boldness, anywhere, grace and love. I was kind of taking a moment, and I thought this venue, to cry out. And then in my diligence to write all of my honest feelings from my heart I remembered these words "He will quiet you with His love..."

I've sort of always been prone to lay it all out there. To say honestly what I thought about things. I’ve never been afraid of discussion. I've learned some hard lessons about timing and what constitutes something that needs to be said vs. something that doesn't...and to whom it needs to be said. I'm still learning. There are a few misguided honesty moments that stand out in my childhood...

Scene 1: The living room of my babysitter’s house. All of us in her care where told to line up to receive our paddling (this is the only time we ever had to do this). We had returned to sit on the curb with our feet in the street, after she had told us not to. I guess having our feet in the street was irresistible. I was maybe 4 and the youngest of the curb-sitters so I was at the tail end of the spanking line. I watched as each of the others took their turn and then marched to the kitchen for the chicken noodle soup and crackers that awaited us. But when it was finally my turn something I didn't expect happened. She paddled me....and it did not hurt at all. Did she mean for that to hurt? Because it didn't. And I wasn't sure of the point of this little drama if that was the big end to all of her talk. So, on my way to the kitchen with those thoughts running through my mind, I turned back to her and said: "Betty, that didn't hurt." That turned out to be too much honesty.

Scene 2: The living room of our house where I spent most of my little kid days. Probably around the same age. A good year for me. My brother and I are in front of our Christmas tree. I'm wearing a red Christmas dress and white leotards. Some family friends, who loved to give good gifts to Chris and I, came by with a present for each of us. Chris ripped into his; a Star Wars Cartoon projector set. A-m-a-z-i-n-g. He rarely let me play with his Star Wars stuff because I made Han and Leia kiss. Maybe they got me something Star Wars too! I ripped into my gift and it was some goofy looking clown holding a drum with a piggy bank slot in it. Excuse me? Is this the vibe I give off? So, to my family's humiliation I looked up and said to these friends: "Um, I never wanted one of these." The fallout from that honesty moment was a sudden overcompensating love to collect all things clowns that lasted 15 years and resulted in many, many clowns. I had friends who wouldn't even sleep in my room when they stayed the night. I did grow to like my clowns especially that first one I named Corky after my grandpa, but I learned too much honesty can have lasting repercussions.

My Brother Chris, Me and Corky the Clown. This photo is not of a reinactment.

Ok, one more:

Scene 3: Our cul-de-sac. All the little cul-de-sac children who were my buddies were in our yard. I had just organized an obstacle course for them to complete. Don't be shocked. There was a jump rope section. I remember they had to go out the back gate, circle one of Daddy’s old cars and swing on my swing set. They also had opportunity to walk the half brick wall around our porch. It was a pretty good time. The time was nearing, however, for one of my bff's from school to come spend the night. So I went and told all of my after school and weekend friend's they were going to need to head on home because I didn't get much time with my spend-the-night friend and I wanted to just play with her now. Mutiny. Susie-from-my-block went right in and told my mom about my ungraceful frankness. Mom called me out (my parents were not hesitant about that) and all of my little neighbor friends stayed to play, but were mad at me. So, I didn't have any fun because they were all giving me the stink eye and getting my school friend to be mad at me too. Full disclosure of my selfish feelings right then was not a wise way to go.

There are plenty of stories as I got older where I learned some hard lessons. And plenty of times where it was honesty's nemesis which had hold of my tongue. But some stories are left better untold, Right? Right.

Like my recent heart-pouring-out-blog, that has taken its place not on this site, but between me and the Lord. I really enjoy blogging. Shortly after my first post, was my trip to Austin to see Ryan and Jess, and shortly after that was the plan to go to Ethiopia. Writing about that trip in this blog financed the majority it. Then getting to share all that was happening during our time in Ethiopia and the week we began life with cancer was a huge part of thinking through all the drama and trauma and organizing my thoughts to see God's hand in the chaos. Writing gave me much needed focus, perspective, and release.

I still need focus and perspective and release. Back to present day: Sunday morning as I was writing my guts out came this verse to mind: "He will quiet you with His love." And He did. His Word reminded me that His love quiets me in my distress. Some things I need to just cry out to Him. He is the One who created me and loves me and only through him can I be truly quieted. Only my hope in him calms me through His word and Presence. Then he gave me time with a life-long friend to spend the afternoon with (lylas Lizzy) and sweet new roommates to spend my evening laughing with. He quieted me with himself, then with His blessings of friendship. My mom has said I'm never one to suffer in silence. I think even as God allows me to use this voice more, He is showing me new lessons on when to let Him be the one who quiets me.

So, when I feel I need to be known I need to take it to Him who knows me best, loves me most, and has the power to redeem me from the fears and insecurities I face. Then, when it’s Him, His power and grace that I want to be known...He allows me and blesses me with this little corner of space to share…honestly. Honesty to the right ear, at the right time, for the right motives. Honesty to make Him more known, so that the Hope he gives me may be more known.

"The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will quiet you by His love..." Zephaniah 3:10

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Gracefully Frank

H.S.

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