Don't Miss the Bus

As I sat down on the church pew and bent over to place my purse on the floor, the first thing I happened to see was her black, orthopedic, two strip Velcro shoes.  When I sat up, our eyes met and we smiled at each other.  She was a frail little lady with gray hair and big round Harry Potter style eye glasses.  We shook hands during the morning greeting and I noticed that for the entire duration of the service, she wore her coat buttoned up and belted tightly.

Today was different.  This little lady and the other gray haired ladies surrounding me on the pews normally attend the early traditional church service, but today was Harvest Sunday and there was only one worship service, which was held during the later contemporary worship hour.  I sat in my regular spot at the contemporary worship time and perhaps they were in theirs too, just at a different time on this particular Sunday. Nonetheless, there we were - worshipping together. 

 

At the close of the sermon, the little lady beside me gathered her things, held her purse tightly and kept looking back at the double doors to the entrance of the sanctuary behind us. I could sense her anxiousness all during the altar call, the offering and service closing. So much so that at any moment I expected her to walk by me to make an early exit.  But she didn’t.  As we were leaving, she looked at me and said, “I just want to make sure I get home today.”  “Do you live close by?” I asked.  “Oh, yes, honey I’m just trying to get outside to the bus.  It will take me home.”

 

It was then that I realized she had been anxiously awaiting the bus from the very moment we arrived.  The buttoned up coat belted tightly and all the anxiety she was feeling stemmed from her not wanting to miss the bus to get home.

 

I pulled out of the church parking lot thinking I’ll be her in 30 plus years and might need the bus to get home too.  The truth is that scares me a little. And in that moment I understood her fear. 

 

But I’m thankful that only God knows the future and that He will get us all to the bus or to whatever means necessary for us to get home.  What’s important is that we don’t miss the experience before it’s time for the ride home.

 

 

The Love of God

I knew the day would be drawing near for Karen to join her best friend, Carol, in Heaven.  As I listened to the voicemail message she left me, it became more real that it would be sooner rather than later – and my heart began to hurt.  It seems the doctors have done all they can do to treat her cancer ridden body.  Cancer has now consumed her bones and has spread in the form of tumors all throughout her body.

Even though she lives over 800 miles away, God’s timing is always perfect, and I was able to visit with her one week after receiving this very sad news.  I knew it would probably be the last time I saw her before she leaves this world. 

When I arrived at her home, she was sitting on the far end of the sofa.  I gave her a big hug and sat down next to her, and Hannah, my daughter, sat beside me.  It was the three of us on the sofa together having a conversation.  She told us about her reaction while in the doctor’s office when he shared the devastating news that there was nothing further he could do for her.  She said upon hearing this, she waved her hands up toward Heaven and said “Praise the Lord.”  She is now wheelchair bound, in the care of Hospice nurses, and is being visited frequently by those who love her.  Her doctor has given her a remaining life span of six months.  In response to this news, she has made it very clear that she is not afraid to die.  After all, “Why would I be afraid of meeting my SAVIOR?” she asked.

She shared with Hannah some funny stories of my childhood and it touched my heart when she mentioned how much she enjoyed brushing my hair as a little girl, since she had no little girls of her own.  As I looked over and saw Hannah’s eyes filled with tears, I felt prompted to make two requests of my mom’s best friend.  I grabbed her hands in mine and with a very cracked voice requested that when she gets to Heaven  1.  Please let my mom know that I can still feel the touch of her hands in mine and 2.  Could she ask God on my behalf to somehow show me the sweet “best friend” reunion that will take place when Karen arrives to the city where the soul never dies.  While I was in tears, she on the other hand, in a very matter- of- fact way clarified my requests and then said, “I’ve got it darlin’.”

Knowing that one of her sweetest gifts is her singing voice, I needed to know her favorite song.   While she said it was difficult to pinpoint just one song, it would have to be The Love of God.  And she began to share the words--

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky

She told the history of the hymn and pointed out that the words were found on the wall of a patient’s room in an insane asylum after he had been carried to his grave.  I’ll never forget the smile on her face or the belly laugh she let out when she said, “If this person was crazy, I want to be crazy too!” 

I owe Karen a debt of gratitude for her beautiful words at my mother’s funeral. Their friendship truly is a friendship made in Heaven. http://morninggloriesbypambullard.blogspot.com/2014/02/a-friendship-made-in-heaven.html

Only God knows the amount of time Karen has left here on earth.  One thing is for sure - there is no doubt about where she is headed.

… and that her heart is filled with the crazy love of God.

Hallelujah.
 

Link to: The Love of God - version by Mercy Me

Jeremiah was a Bullfrog

A coworker friend of mine had asked me to join her to visit a local record store near our office called Heights Vinyl.  She had just purchased a record player as a gift for her daughter’s 18th birthday and wanted to peruse their selection of 45s and 33s.  As we walked in, the musty fragrance of collections of old album covers from households of days gone by hit me right in the face.  And to my surprise, along with it came flashing memories of my 10th birthday and my life as a 10 year old girl.

As I looked around the store, I remembered how excited I was to receive a record player on my 10th birthday.  I never had many albums, but do recall the heart throb Leif Garrett album and a single 45 of Rockin’ Robin (which I would play over and over singing every word including the ”tweet” and  “tweedle-lee-dee” parts).  My mom’s brother, my Uncle Carlton, also gave me a surprise album that year. I didn’t know the artist or the songs -- and most of all, I had no idea at the time how the words to Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World” would stay in my mind forever drawing me back to that birthday and being a 10 year old girl.

 

I was in fifth grade and I was bullied by a girl on the bus ride home every day.  We had been friends for several years, but when the new boy moved in two doors down from her, things changed - and fast!  I came in crying every day to my maternal grandmother, who was staying with us that year.  One day when grandma had enough of my tears, she called the girl’s mom.  The conversation went something like “Hi, this is Alma.  I’m tired of this bullying and we are going to solve this once and for all.  You send your daughter down to our house tomorrow after school and she and Pam will ‘duke it out’ in the circle in front of our house.  Okay…yes, see you then.” WHAT?!  Did she not know ME?  It was not long ago that I had tea parties on a daily basis with my dolls.  I was a Donny and Marie Osmond show sing-a-long fan.  I was a cheerleader.  I was a girl! And I was a girl that did NOT know how to fight!  I didn’t know who to be more upset with at this point – the bully or grandma! 

 

In grandma’s mind, this was nothing. During her school years, she and her three sisters were known as “The Babb Girls.”  They were ridiculed and bullied for many years because their father was in prison.  It was a life circumstance that she nor her sisters could control or change.  Fighting was a means of survival for her and her siblings.  I didn’t know how and didn’t want to learn!

Luckily, the next day, as the bully and I stood there in the cul-de-sac where we had played kickball on many summer days in front of the house and where we listened to records on my record player that year in my room, I found out that this girl didn’t know how to fight either.  We lost many a long blonde hair that day because all we knew how to do was pull hair.  I’m thankful for lost hair and from never hearing from the bully ever again.  

That next year, grandma gave me a Hallmark Keepsake Girl for my 11th birthday.  It has its special place in my china cabinet so that it doesn’t get broken.  This Keepsake Girl is in a long pink dress with an embroidery needle and hoop in her hands.  She’s feminine.  She’s dainty. And she doesn’t look like she would be the kind of girl to ever fight a day in her life - - that was me.  

 

Grandma soon taught me how to embroidery a little and she taught me how to cook.  It was through my Hallmark Keepsake Girl that I knew she really did know me.  

 

When I think back to the year I was 10 years old, I laugh and I cry. While her approach was not what I would have chosen then or now, I learned a lot about my grandmother, myself and how song lyrics can leave a lasting memory.

 

Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea.  Joy to you and me.