Gracefully Frank

So, I have a birthday coming up this week. It will be the 36th one. I know some people don't like to share their age, but I would rather just be frank. Here is the question I am pondering as this birthday approaches: Am I winding down or am I just beginning? It takes me a minute to think through that. I could tell you that because of my relationship with the Lord I am 100% confident and and at peace with both the number three, and the number six being required to write out my age. But, if you are one of the handful of those I let behind the curtain closest to my heart…you know that isn’t always the case. There are circumstances in my life that, on certain days, leave me feeling like I am more on the winding down end of things than feeling like things are just beginning. A 36th birthday could be one of those days. If I’m not honest about that, I may as well hush. I probably won’t write about those things in my blog though. As I’ve said before…some things should probably stay behind the curtain.

(Pausing to gently pull back the curtain: Things you may see might be different, but you may still be able to relate - Sometimes when I look to the right or to the left and I see friends with homes and kids and husbands, pictures from their family vacation, or their babies first birthdays, I can find it a little more difficult to breathe. I can get a little panicky. 36? I’m left behind! I did something wrong! I’m winding down and I missed it. What if…? I should have….? I shouldn’t have….? If only I would have….? I know from talking with others this can happen whether you are married or not. When I look for the value of my life only in how my circumstances measure up to my expectations…36 can feel old. Especially if my expectations of life are limited to being a wife, mother, or President of the United States (I haven't even run for a county office yet). So it makes sense that if that is what I think life is all about, and that is not my life, I get nervous. Think about it kind of like the following Einstein quote which I had heard before, but saw again this week on a friend’s facebook: “Everyone is a genius. But, if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing it is stupid.” My life has purpose, but if I judge my life based only on "my ability to climb a tree"… Get it? Ok, gently close the curtain back.)

So, I am left with things just beginning…36 feels like a good time to just begin some things, and a few things are brewing as God continually surprises me. Wherever He leads... Although, things are always just beginning no matter which birthday we are celebrating. Ask my Grandma who last week sold the house she has lived in for over 40 years. She's just beginning what God has planned for her next. Beginnings happen every day. Jeremiah 29: 11-14. The last few years me and God have been working through tearing some things down. Ending some things. Some idols. Some expectations. Some things that separated me from Him. I’m not trying to imply that there is nothing left to tear down, but it is time to start rebuilding. To everything there is a season. He has led me to step out in faith away from things for a long time…and now He seems to be leading me to step toward some things in faith. I let go, now I can lay hold.

Last Friday, two of my best friends, Tiffany (friend since 1st grade) and Sara (friend since college) came to spend the weekend with me. We booked a $39 a night hotel room at the Double Tree through Priceline. Score. We were in our pajamas by 9:30, but were hours away from sleep. Saturday morning we drove to the new neighborhood where I am hoping to move in the next few months. It may only be a 13 month lease I’m signing, but it is another start of a root here in Texas. One of my professors in Fort Worth once told me he moved to Texas for three years…20 years ago. That might be me, too. I'm ok with it. I even like it. If God moves me tomorrow though, I'm ok with that, too. I'll put the roots down, and I will let Him dig them up as necessary.

We began with breakfast at Dixie’s Barn and Grill in Old Downtown Plano. The eggs were cold, but the atmosphere on a rainy Saturday was just what I needed for this weekend. Exposed brick walls, coffee, couples, friends and families talking over breakfast. We shopped the cute stores, we dug through some antiques, we laughed, we talked about the things we will only talk about with each other (some curtains are sewn shut), and we took deep breaths. I am such a fan of deep breathing. I guess that is because I have taken a lot of shallow breaths in my time. I took my camera along. I can't buy everything I like to look at. I hope there is never a law that you buy what you photograph. Here are some glimpses into our day:

Einstein, again.

After having discussed our confusion over the young people who stand in front of a bathroom mirror and take pictures of themselves to share on Facebook...we tried to take a picture of ourselves in a mirror. Maybe we don't take pictures of ourselves in the bathroom, because we don't know how. This was our first try. Fail.

Second try. We still can't do it.

Wow. That way.

In between shops, smiles and calling for the score of Seth's first soccer game of the year. Seth and his sister Kallie will be getting a new baby brother or sister this year who is being born in Ethiopia.

Hope is worth nine points.

A little smart mouthing in a pretty frame.

Dusty. Old. Wood. Brick. I can smell this picture, and I like it.

This was a good beginning to a birthday week. We ended Saturday with an evening painting class after pizza at Urban Crust. Sunday was lunch, then a couple of hours sitting on the floor reading books in an aisle at Barnes & Noble trying to use our inside voices. This weekend the three of us discovered again that year after year there are no curtains between us. Over training can cause shin splints. Laughing is easy to initiate. Chicken poop makes a garden grow. It's good to pause. Fish don't have to climb trees, and some can't paint either.

A parting picture from our antiquing adventure:

I love the old friends with whom we can always share our new beginnings.

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The story I remember is that she had an uncle who thought Authula Maud Shannon was too big a name for a little baby girl. So he started calling her Toots, and it stuck. Way later in life she became my Granny whose bowl I used today while cooking. As usual that got me thinking of her, and as of late, it's usual that leads to writing. She would set this same bowl down for me when she needed my help to tear up the lettuce for the green salad, stir gently the pea salad, or whatever light duty cooking she could give me to help prepare “dinner,” which at her house was the noon meal. I have one of her aprons, some of her bowls, and thousands of memories sitting in her kitchen watching her cook. She was a good cook. But, long before she became a cook anyone would write about, long before I ever called her Granny, she had a whole other life. Surprisingly enough she wasn’t born the day I was. She wasn’t just a Grandma waiting for us grandkids.

She was born to Roy and Bobbie Hope Shannon in May of 1927. A beautiful little red head, with all the cliche connotations being a red head brings. By age three she was stricken with polio that would change the way she walked forever, but would not change her beauty or her feistiness. At age 10 she moved into a children’s hospital where she lived for almost a year being treated with numerous other children who had been afflicted. Her mother was very pregnant when at age 11,Toots left the hospital with an autograph book signed by all of her friends, to return to her family. Within a few weeks her mom Bobbie died while giving birth to another feisty baby girl, Cynthia, who would be raised by Bobbie’s sister Tom. (Yes, Tom was a girl). Bobbie also left behind her husband Roy, and children: Jim, Toots, Bob, Dudley, Patsy, and John Perry. It hurts to imagine the heartbreak my Granny must have felt when she lost her mother. But, the Shannon’s are a resilient bunch.

Aunt Billie, Bobbie and Tom's sister, said Granny was probably about 14 here. This is my favorite picture of her.

By 12, Toots had lived with a few different family members, including her beloved Aunt Maud. By 14, Toots was working as a nurse’s assistant in Henryetta, OK and living in a nurse boarding house, making a living for herself. She had some stories to tell. I’m sure as her granddaughter I didn’t get to hear all of them, but some of the highlights she would share. Like the time she slapped the face of the head nurse for lying about her. Toots was Irish, red-headed, grew up with brothers, was toughened by overcoming being crippled by polio, and she didn’t put up with no head-nurse mouthin’ about her. She would still get a look of satisfaction on her face when she retold the story even in her 70’s. She never did regret slapping that woman.

One day, around age 16, Toots and a girlfriend were walking down Main Street in Henryetta when a car pulled up with her friend’s boyfriend in the passenger seat. The driver of the car was Johnnie Cloyse Scully. What a moment that was. I don’t know how it all works, but a flat tire a mile back keeping Johnnie and his friend from Main Street that day, and I maybe wouldn’t be typing this today…something tells me he would have found her though. She’d seen him before. He was just recently back from Detroit where he and his father had gone to find work. Johnnie leaned out the window and said “Hey Red, I’m gonna marry you.” She said, “Oh, no you’re not,” and she “kept right on walking.” But, he did.

Toots and John

John and Toots

When Toots married John she got another chance at having a mother in Bertha Sloan Scully. I’m sure Bobbie would have been pleased. Some of my Granny Toots’ bowls that I have, are actually Grandma Bert’s bowls. Bert taught Toots how to cook; how to keep house; how to be a Mrs. Scully. Toots referred to Bert as “Mom” when telling stories of their time in life together. There are recipes and child rearing secrets the two of them shared and perfected. Meatloaf. A pot of beans and cornbread. Biscuits and gravy. Fried chicken. Hot cakes. Dressing, that I will perfect someday, but certainly haven’t so far. Strawberry cake, blackberry cobbler, coconut cream pie. Some of the favorites from Toots’ table that probably came from Bertie’s.

Young Toots

Young Bertie

John and Toots had three boys: Jim, Tim and Tom. Keep it simple. Toots was fiercely protective of her sons, and lived each day caring for them and making a home for her family. Their home, their achievements, their families are the fruits of her life. She enjoyed whatever we were into, and liked to hear all about it. We knew she loved us. You could read her thoughts on her face pretty easily. It lit up everytime we slid open that sliding glass door and heard her yell "Come in here!"

It is a rare day that passes without some thought of her. Having a few of her dishes (including little juice glasses that used to be jars of jelly), her wedding ring, a few of her recipes, her laugh in my head, her mad look (usually reserved for dogs in the yard or George W. Bush) ingrained in my memory keeps her fresh in my thoughts, and I am thankful for it. She was funny. She was proud. She believed whatever “they” said on TV. Her favorite shows were Young and the Restless and Walker Texas Ranger. She said many times she wished she could have been a bank robber. She kind of meant it. (Her Grandma Hope’s house, or at least her barn, was a hideout for Pretty Boy Floyd who married into our family) Granny was a big Chicago Bulls fan. She liked watching Michael Jordan play. She held grudges. She worked hard. When we cleaned out her house there were 19 pads on her ironing board. I bet 30 years worth. Best ironing board ever. Her favorite nicknames for anyone and everyone were “Mr. Butts” and “George.” She liked to mix her salad dressings, and did not pay any attention to expiration dates on items in the refrigerator. The rims of her glasses were rose tinted, and she signed her name "Mrs. John C. Scully." When he passed away she wore his wedding ring on a necklace around her neck. She chewed Extra brand gum, and didn’t care if you saw her without her teeth at bedtime. Depending on the time of day she smelled like Jergen’s lotion, Oil of Olay, or White Shoulders perfume. She subscribed to Reader’s Digest. She pin rolled her hair her whole life. She had a fear of drowning that generally kept her out of the water, but didn’t keep her out of the baptismal when my cousin Shannon and I had the opportunity to stand by her as she decided the Lord was telling her it was time to be baptized. She knew Christ as her Savior, but wanted to honor him in that way as the bible directs before her church. She did not like to be in anyone’s attention, she did not like being in the water, but she loved the Lord and relied heavily on his promises; especially after Pa passed away. I’m sure I didn’t understand how difficult, or how precious that baptism day was to her. I’m so thankful to have shared it with her.

All of us who loved her have our own stories of our special relationship with her. She and I used to go to Wal-Mart after she moved into a nursing home. She was in a wheelchair by then. As we wheeled around the store she would eat a McDonald’s vanilla ice cream cone and small order of French fries. She liked to dip her fries into the ice cream and comment on cute babies and women she thought could have tried a little harder to look their best even at Wal-Mart as we gathered whatever was on her short list. Oh my word we had fun and laughed a lot. She was a good Granny, who had a whole life before she and I were friends. I'm grateful she shared some of the stories with me. Her young life was marked by a close family she loved, but also tragedies; her adult life was marked by the security and love in the home and family she had with Pa. They both made her tough, and they both made her sweet.

It is impossible to do her life justice in a few words, but hopefully they honor her…and hopefully, whatever I stir up in her dishes won't insult her legacy either. Today, it was Italian meatballs. She would have pronounced them as EYE-talian meatballs and would have certainly changed the recipe to her own liking or to whatever ingredients she had. Most the time that worked for her, but one year we got water chestnuts in our Thankgiving dressing. She was a good cook, but not everything worked every time…so, I guess that leaves a little room for grace for me. At least I have the right bowls for the job.

My Granny's Bowl

Authula Maud "Toots" Shannon Scully wearing Pa's ring.

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It is inconvenient for government offices to be closed on my day off. My Oklahoma Driver’s License as well as my Oklahoma License plate are a little expired. Don’t rat me out and don’t ask me what a little means. I am committed to resolve those this week. But, I have a list of other things to do today. I’m getting new pillows. I’m making Chicken Tetrazzini. Getting a thank you card for someone I love. Buying a new book, as I’m almost finished with the one I’m reading. Curling my hair backwards instead of forward to see what that looks like. But, it is my day off and I have some thoughts whirling around a little so I’m going to take a minute to have another cup of coffee and write it out.

Christmas was good for my family. Cancer can’t destroy Christmas…to add a line to a poem introduced to our family when my beautiful, funny, wise, missed-every-day Aunt Karla was diagnosed with cancer in 2007. Cancer can change aspects of it, but it can’t destroy the meaning and purpose of Christmas. We had some much needed perspective on our Hope in Christ and the important things in life this year and we scaled back on the stress and hectic-ness?, hectic-ocity?, hectic-atiousness? of the season. Such a relaxed blessed time together. Thanking God for Christmas 2011.

Perspective is key to how we cope with the circumstances in our life. A me-perspective puts everything through the “what does this mean for me” filter. Am I comfortable? Am I happy? Am I getting what I want? Are my expectations being met? Is my dad sick? This perspective can be disappointing if everything isn’t just exactly in its place…all expectations met, all wants acquired, everyone everywhere cooperating with my plan, and can leave us discontent even with what would look like an abundance from the outside. An other-perspective can also be discouraging. Are all my loved ones healthy, happy and satisfied? Even if we put no thought for ourselves and all of our hopes are put for others…Is world peace occurring? Are all the orphans being adopted? Are all the homeless sheltered and fed? Are all the terrorists having a change of heart? We can get overwhelmed. The only perspective that I have found that leaves my heart at peace is the Jesus Christ perspective. His perspective is all inclusive, alone or crowded, freed or enslaved, healthy or ill, wealthy or poor, addicted or clean, praised or persecuted, in joy and in sorrow. He is God. I am not. Trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding. In all my ways acknowledge him and He will make straight my paths. Proverbs 3:5-6.

Here are a few verses from the Word that gives purpose for us, and perspective on our circumstances. Obviously not an exhaustive list of scriptures, but ones I turn to when I am combating a me-perspective, or feeling a little hopeless with an others-perspective:

For Me: Jeremiah 29:11, Psalm 139:13-16, Proverbs 19:21, Ephesians 2:10, Micah 6:8, 2 Peter 1:3-8 Matthew 28:19-20

For Others: Romans 8:28, Philippians 4:19, Romans 5:3-5, Romans 8:18, John 3:16, Revelation 3:20

We get to choose our perspective, and it takes practice to change one. Philippians 4:8-9. I have an opportunity to remind people of Christ’s perspective of the purpose of our lives in some of their (my) darkest hours: illness, aloneness, depression, divorce, death, suicide. The game-changers. When things are swimming along lovely our “me” or “other” perspectives can serve us well. When things don’t swim along smoothly though…when cancer enters the picture, when a marriage falls apart, when finances are unstable, when you are home for Christmas and someone announces to the store where you are shopping that your biological clock is ticking (true story), when (enter whatever is out of your control here)….only Christ’s perspective on who you are, how you are loved, why you were created, and what eternity holds for us answers every question. Every doubt. Every fear. If we make the purpose of life anything that could be destroyed by…anything, then we should reevaluate our purpose and be set free from the anxiousness of trying to protect or perfect whatever that is. The Word of God gives us an eternal perspective, purpose and Hope. There lies pure joy, not contrived joy. Real peace, not inebriated or delusional peace. Christ changes us by the renewal of our minds. He makes us new. Everyday. If you spend anytime with me you will know that I don’t exhibit that in my life every moment. I can still be ungracious, unsettled, and unpeaceful in moments where I take back my me and other perspective. In moments where God’s sovereignty over my hormonal moods is less apparent. In moments where someone is driving 10mph under the speed limit in the left hand lane on the freeway. In moments where in witnessing arrogance and passive aggression in others I forget I have sin in my own life and am in need of mercy and forgiveness. In moments where I witness my loved ones suffer. Christ’s perspective doesn’t make us perfect, it sets us free from having to be perfect.

Be set free in 2012 through Christ’s perspective on the beauty and purpose for your life. (Too long for a bumper sticker?) He gives peace in all circumstances outside of our control…which includes all circumstances…except maybe my expired driver’s license and tag. I’m responsible for that. Some things we have been given charge or responsibility for. Moses had to go before the Pharaoh. David had to kill Goliath. Paul had to make tents. We still have to pay taxes. And I can still get a ticket for an expired license and tag no matter how close my relationship with Jesus.

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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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Gracefully Frank

H.S.

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Gracefully Frank

H.S.

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