Words in red...

I am convinced that I spend more time editing than I do writing. Editing, rewriting, rethinking, erasing, deleting…such is the life of a struggling writer. My “spell check” declared that I was abusive and taking advantage of its accommodating nature. My thesaurus offers alternative hobbies…anything other than writing!

So I heeded the advice of these constant companions and set aside the keyboard picking up another constant companion; my Bible. It was the King James Version with the words of Christ in red. I have owned this Bible for many years and yet it is the least worn book in my library. The beauty of the language cannot be matched but other versions offer more when I study. Tonight I didn’t want to study; I just needed to spend time with Him.

The nylon cord that serves as a bookmark was nestled between the pages that contain the 21^st chapter of Luke’s Gospel. A vivid memory quickly filled my mind; I remembered the last time I had picked up this particular Bible. It was at the end of a long day, the day my baby sister, Belinda Sue had died. I remembered coming home that night, emotionally spent and seeking comfort and answers. I had sat in a quiet living room paging through the scriptures, pushing away memories that caused such great pain. Tears filled my eyes and the words on the pages became blurred. Soon all I could see were the words in red. That night I read those words, only those words. Beginning with Matthew’s Gospel I read the crimson colored words until there were no more, ending with the eighth verse of Acts 1. My mind was filled with nothing but the words of Jesus Christ.

I had never, and have never again, read the Bible in this fashion. I may again one day, maybe tonight.

As I sit here and think about the words of Jesus it dawned on me that He never once edited His words, never rewrote, re-spoke or regretted His words. He had no need for a thesaurus or someone to check His words. He never erased a thought, changed his mind, or mumbled a reply. Not once did he mull over what to say, utter double-speak or a lie. He spoke of truth, of the past and of the future. He spoke promises and declared the gospel…the good news! He spoke as a son, as a teacher, as a friend, as a God. He spoke with gentleness and with authority. He whispered the name of Peter and called out the name of Lazarus.

And He is still saying it all today.

Tonight I glanced again at these red letter words and once again rested my eyes on the promise marked by the nylon cord—

“Verily I say unto you, this generation shall not pass away, till all be fulfilled. Heaven and earth shall pass away: but my words shall not pass away.” Luke 21:31-32

“but my words shall not pass away.” Tonight I will close my eyes knowing this.

Only if you want to...

About three weeks a ago I began a long battle with an enemy of mine called Asthma. With medication and many cups of black coffee I had been able to maintain the upper hand in this annual skirmish. That was until yesterday morning. At 4:12 AM I awoke, sitting up realizing I was unable to inhale more than a teaspoon of fresh air. The pressure I felt on my chest immediately caused an unexpected panic which of course led to an attempt to breath in at a faster rate. I fell to me knees as soon as I stood up. I knew what was happening, you see an asthma attack is not the inability to inhale but I was unable to exhale. My lungs were almost full with air...bad air. They did not have the strength to exhale and remove the bad air, making room for fresh, healthy, life giving air. 4:14 AM, in my struggles I had awoken my grandson, Logan. He began to cry, I picked him up out of his crib and held him close. He cried more, I breathed less. Again I fell to my knees. I knew what was happening and I could do nothing about it. I looked for my phone to call 911, but I couldn't remember my address, oxygen was not making it upstairs.

I have had asthma for almost twenty-five years now. My asthma is irritated by allergies to things like perfumes, certain food products and of course pollen. This time of year is quite often very difficult but this attack came suddenly and unexpectedly. Pollen counts have been falling, I am not sure what triggered this attack three weeks ago but I know now that I underestimated the power of my enemy. Because it is not just asthma anymore. A few years ago the enemy formed an alliance with emphysema forming a partnership called C.O.P.D. Now those of you who know me also know that I am a smoker, so I will allow you a moment to wag your finger in my face and call me an idiot, I will take it like one who knows the truth. I just ask that after you are done wagging you finger that you would fold your hands and say a prayer for me.

4:15 AM-I manage to get to my feet and carry my crying grandchild down the hall to my son's room. I pushed is door open  and could only mange to say to whisper his name. I held Logan out and felt him being taken from me by my daughter-in-law. My son asked my what was wrong, "I can't breathe." I said, knowing precious air was being wasted.

The emergency room is but a few minutes away. As my son drove I could feel consciousness slipping away. I spoke to God in thought only, no strength left to talk. I told Him "Not now, I have more to do here." Some of you may not understand or believe what I write next and that's okay if you don't...because I do. I heard a voice tell me "Just breathe, in and out. We are almost there. You will be okay...it's not time yet."

At 4:22 I entered the front doors of Christus Santa Rosa Emergency room. "I can't breathe." I told the lady behind the desk. The next five to ten minutes are mostly blurred, everything was moving quickly. I felt an oxygen tube being place beneath my nose and a oxygen sensor being placed on my finger. I glanced up at the monitor, my heart rate was 67, the O2 reading was 82. As I watched both numbers dropped. I looked for my son, James, I couldn't see him but I heard his voice, he was answering questions another nurse was asking. A third nurse entered carrying the mask that would provide the elixir I craved so badly to strengthen my lungs. She unhooked the oxygen from the wall and tried to hook up the new device. A loud "Pop!" told me that she had not managed to do her job. The first nurse told her she would need to turn down the volume or it would blow off again. My lungs now know they are not only being denied the elixir but the oxygen that had been delivered just moment ago. The nurse tried again, from the corner of my eye I saw the valve fall completely off the wall! What are they doing? Surely my last moments on earth would not be spent in a real life version of a Three Stooges episode. 5 seconds, ten seconds, finally I felt a mask being placed on my face, "Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth." The now confident nurse instructed.

Before the doctor would come in to wag his own finger at me I would experience an allergic reaction to some unknown drug administered through the IV. First my face felt as if it was on fire, I told the nurse, "Something is wrong!" Then I sat up and tried to stand up-she thought that was an unusual reaction-I didn't tell her that I was trying to run away. Another chemical was administered through the IV to counteract the first chemical that had caused the reaction. The nurse said, "This one may make you feel a little funny too, but for just a moment." She then went on to tell me that drug addicts come in seeking a head rush from these medications, I don't know why she was compelled to share this bit of trivia with me but it seemed to make her feel better.

The doctor finally arrived. After introducing himself he asked if I was a smoker. I thought for a moment about lying but I didn't. He stated the obvious, "You should quit."

I did quit once. I have smoked for more that forty years, quitting is hard. I had stopped for five years. And then one morning I was standing beside someone as he lit a cigarette, oh it smelled so good. Two minutes later I bummed one from him. Thirty minutes later I was buying my first pack of cigarettes in five years. Stupid, I know. I said the same thing to myself as I looked in the rear view mirror lighting the second cigarette that morning.

The doctor continued, "There are medications that can help you quit smoking. If you don't you are going to die much sooner than you want to. The emphysema or a heart attack is going to kill you. But the drugs used to help you quit will only work if you want to quit."

I knew that too. Smoking is an addiction like so many others and like so many others the physical addition is not the problem. My first two books I wrote, "Going Numb" and "Addicted to Faith" are about drug addictions and alcohol addictions that both have physical attributes that can be over come with the assistance of pharmacological remedies. Smoking, or addiction to nicotine are just like drug and alcohol addictions, after the physical addiction is easily defeated the behavioral addiction must be defeated...and that is hard part.

"Only if you want to quit..."  I do. Sixty minutes earlier I had been on my knees, unable to breathe, fearing that death was knocking. But that is not the reason that motivated me to ask the doctor for help. (Sadly it would be 4-6 weeks before I could make an appointment with my regular doctor...I have now changed regular doctors.)

The reason I am determined to quit once and for all was also born during the early morning hour, between 4:12 and 4:15 yesterday morning... I could not help my grandson. He was crying, not understanding (he is only seven months new). He needed something that I could not provide. God blessed me with just enough strength to carry him down the hall and hand him to someone who could help him. He will need my help again one day, I want to be there to help.

I do not usually covet prayers for myself but I have prayed many times to God to help me quit. My prayers haven't worked. Perhaps God was saying the same thing the good doctor said, "Only if you want to..."

Faith's Journey

I have traveled faith’s journey for the past two weeks not knowing where it would take me. My youngest grandson, Logan James, has suffered with eczema for most of his very short life; he is just seven months old. Over the last two weeks this condition continued to worsen at an alarming rate. To add to his misery his breathing rattles with allergies to unknown substances.

Much time has been spent in the waiting area of the doctor’s office—the time in the waiting area far exceeds the time actually spent with the doctor. Logan’s mommy, my daughter Sara Rose, is in her senior year at Canyon High School, Sara missing time from school is more detrimental than my missing time from work—so this week I made the trip to the doctor’s office, holding my precious grandson on my lap as waited patiently to see the doctor. After more than an hour I was told that we would not be able to see the doctor, only a nurse. Logan was also due for his second round of flu shots. So I made yet another appointment for the next day.

Circumstances dictated that Sara take a turn this time; if all worked well she would still be able to get to school in time to take a test. I waited patiently for her phone call that I knew would come after the doctor saw Logan. Two new medicines were prescribed and the recommendation to change Logan’s formula to a soy based product. Later that evening we headed to the pharmacy to pick up the prescriptions and buy the soy based formula. The nice person that stood behind the counter at the pharmacy informed Sara that only one of the prescriptions would be available, the second, a cream to apply to his skin, the one that was most critical in his recovery, required pre-approval from the insurance company. By this time it was too late to reach the doctor’s office or the insurance company. The option to pay cash was floated—the cream was too expensive. The nice person called the doctor’s office and left a message describing the problem with the script. We went home with the soy formula, the prescribed allergy medicine and a baby whose condition continued to worsen.

The next day I received a call from the daycare director. Logan was having a reaction to something. Logan's eczema has spent most of its energy and wrath on his head, the director told me both his body and face was now covered in a rash. I again left Austin and headed back down that long highway to pick up my grandson. I started speaking to God before I had even entered the highway. I paused long enough in my conversation with God to call the doctor’s office to inform them of this new condition and inquire as to the possible cause. The doctor was quite certain that the reaction wasn’t to the medications (at this point he was unaware there had been a problem in picking up both prescriptions) but that Logan was possible having a reaction to the soy product. What should I do now, I asked? The receptionist told me that I would need to find a formula that was neither milk nor soy based. What? She knew that there was one but couldn’t recall the name. I took a deep breath and then told her about the problem at the pharmacy. She told me that she would call the pharmacy and get everything straightened out. Good, I still had quite a ways to travel and hoped that the situation would be resolved before I went back to the pharmacy. I reached over and tuned the radio to a talk show, I needed distraction. I should have returned to my prayer…but I didn’t.

I finally arrived at the daycare. My heart broke when I saw Logan’s little face. The redness was bright and widespread. I laid him on the changing table and removed his shirt to look at his little body…red rash everywhere. I looked down into the eyes of my grandson and he smiled at me, reaching up to be held. Although the rash was difficult to look at it didn’t seem to be bothering him too much. That would change as the time moved on.

I left the daycare and drove back to the pharmacy. The line was long and Logan was beginning to become irritable. He face seemed to be even brighter red under the harsh lighting of the store. I finally made it to the counter only to be told that the status requiring pre-approval had not changed. At this point I had no choice but to pay the piper.

I left the pharmacy area and began my search of the no-milk-no soy formula. After reading a dozen or so labels I finally found one on the bottom shelf that met the requirements. They must not sale much of this product, there was only one facing and a hefty price tag. We checked out and Logan and I drove home.

Sara was home by the time we arrived. Her face could not hide her feelings as she looked at her baby. She provided him with a dose of the allergy medicine and gently rubbed the balm on his sores. I watched as my daughter who only yesterday was a little girl tenderly took care of her son.

My youngest son, Joseph, was at a track meet and I needed to leave to get there in time to see him run. I looked down at Sara and Logan to tell her that I was leaving and would be back as soon as I could. My heart broke as I saw the tears running down Sara's cheeks and the almost languid baby sitting in her lap. The sight of her son’s condition was too much. I had to leave before she saw my own tears.

It was almost eight o’clock last night before I got back home. The track meet had run longer than expected. With great effort I had tried not to think about Sara and Logan, but everywhere I looked I saw healthy young boys and girls running and jumping and breathing without effort. At one point I remember looking up towards the heavens and telling God, “That’s what I want for Logan!”  

I peeked into Sara’s room; she was lying on the bed with Logan at her side. Quietly I approached; I needed to see if his condition had changed. If it had I couldn’t tell.

I sat in my chair for hours worrying before I again began to pray. Sometime later I fell asleep with my pleas to God still on my lips. I had prayed that He would touch Logan with His healing hands. I prayed that He would comfort Sara with His loving touch. I told Him that I knew He could do these things and didn’t understand why He wasn’t! I told Him that Logan was just an innocent baby and that whatever I had done in my life that was standing in the way of my prayers should not keep Him from doing what only God can.

Faith’s journey ended with me falling asleep before even saying Amen.

My ever loyal alarm clock sang its song at 4:45 AM. I quietly returned to Sara’s room, using just the light from the television that had stayed on all night I could see that the redness had faded. Logan’s breathing was that of a seven month old baby—quiet, steady and without rattle.

I returned to the living room and thanked God. It didn’t matter to me if it was the medicine or a miracle by His healing hand, my grandson was getting better. As I sat there for just a moment reflecting on God He began to speak to my heart.

He asked me where I was as I drove from Austin to New Braunfels. He asked me where I was as I sat in the doctor's office quietly. He asked where I was as I stood by the track at Canyon High School. 

And then He told me that He had been there, He was always there, at those places and at those times. And then He told me that He was there last night when I was sleeping and before. Before when I had finally remembered to pray to our God. And then He told me—

 “I was just wanting to hear from you.”