"On Being OK"

OK:  adj.  In good health or a good emotional state.

Upon greeting  me, a client often asks, "How are you, Ladonna?" 

"I'm OK," I typically respond.  

"Just OK?" he questions. 

 I usually laugh and answer  "It's better than not OK."  

Heading out to mow, it was four weeks to the day since I took an inglorious spill in a crosswalk in downtown Boise, Idaho. There was nothing casual about the fall, no trip and stumble, rather a splat to the street. 

A visit to the emergency room verified my initial comment as I pulled myself up. "My jaw is jacked up." An X-ray confirmed that it was indeed. I had actually broken my jaw.

There is no cast for a broken jaw, and, in order for it to be stabilized, extreme braces were put in place. The initial plan was for screws to be placed in the gums and then wires attached. The correct wire wasn't available so plan B included braces with bands. Thank God.

"Liquids only for six weeks," I was told. At first, I could ingest liquids with a syringe through a very small tube. After twelve days I would be promoted to just the syringe. No chewing allowed. My blender became my best friend.  

Adjustments were made as I filled the fridge with protein- and calorie-rich dairy products and shakes, maximizing meals with as many legumes as possible, creating dishes with combinations of a variety of foods to provide the eighty grams of daily protein suggested by a dietitian.  I was never able to come close to that.

Settling in to the process of physical healing, I wasn't prepared for the need to be healed emotionally.  

My family insisted I stay with them for the first several days despite my claim that I was fine. Surrounding me with love and protection, it was the perfect environment and cocoon in which to begin healing. In retrospect, I wasn't as fine as I thought I was.  

Pain was never an issue; having the rug pulled out from underneath me was.

The lack of confidence and the sense of being unsure of myself and basic motor movements  came like a wave hitting the rocks, unannounced at random moments. I found the fall had shaken me.

The first time I went into the grocery store alone I sat in the truck, steeling myself. My family had surrounded me for ten days, and now I was on my own. Cautiously, gauging every step and every flaw in the pavement, I headed out.  Knowing my inability to express myself verbally because of the restrictive banding, my instinct was to retreat, but an empty larder and the need to feed myself won out. 

Fear has its residence in the unknown, and all of life is just that--unknown. The "what ifs?" took over. What if I fall again? What if the jaw isn't fully healed, and I damage it yet again? What if, what if?

I had to force myself to cross the street to get my mail from the mailbox. Holing up inside my house, curling up into a ball and staying there almost seemed easier and was quite inviting.

My faith, my spiritual being, was shaken as well. "You let me fall.  You didn't keep me from falling," I cried out in those quiet, alone times. God reminded me of Job, who was stripped of his livelihood and his family and still refused to turn on Him.  God does not keep us from difficult situations, but He promises to take us through.  

A client who has had several bad falls with serious injuries described them as being traumatic--a new concept to consider. That description matched some of what I had been feeling, including a real sense of vulnerability.  

Going back to work was my version (or make that God's version) of being pushed out of the nest. I fought it, yet at the same time I knew it was important for my well-being. I needed to get back in a familiar routine again. I did only cleaning that first week. I tested any unexpected ramifications from using the vacuum cleaner, leaning over while working, anything which might cause a shift.   

I mowed for the first time almost a month after falling. It was the first time I had off-loaded and loaded the mower from the truck, the first time I had started my tools by pulling on the rope starter. Was I putting pressure on the healing jaw? Was my ear protection pressing against it? So much of the body is used in the simplest of motions. Was I causing unforeseen damage?  

Peace was not my friend as I concluded my day and headed home. Pulling into the garage, I heard my inner voice--"I am not OK. I am not OK. I am not OK." Over and over again it spilled out until I was emptied. There was only silence as I headed to clean up. Then, very quietly I heard, "You are OK."  

So many times we want to be great, fantastic, fabulous, outstanding, and superb. But those are often bubbles which quickly burst and disappear. My position is being "just OK" is a good thing. 

And I am OK.


"It is well with my soul."



     





         

"On Giving Thanks in Everything"

thanks:  n.  An expression of gratitude.  Grateful feelings or thoughts.

Quietly minding my own business while ironing a pair of pants for a client, the thought entered and settled in, probably through the back door of my mind, before I had a chance to put up my guard."I don't think that's a good idea," I countered, "I'm not going to lay myself out like that," knowing full well there was no way to sweep it under the rug, pretending it wasn't there. Once an idea is given to me it becomes the elephant in the room--It will be addressed and dealt with.  

November and Thanksgiving is months away, the typical time of the year when thanks are garnered and verbally expressed. How atypical is it to initiate an awareness of gratitude when the new year has only just begun? I do march to the beat of my own drum.

The courtroom was empty except for those involved in the trial--the lawyers, defendant, witnesses, judge, and other officials. Empty, that is, except for me and the minister from the church in a small coastal town the defendant had attended as a youth. There were no other friends or family members in support of the one on trial. I had been the recipient of his one phone call when he was arrested.  

The evidence was overwhelming. There was no reason to believe he would not be found guilty and sentenced to serve time. The only question was where and how long.  

"Guilty" was the pronouncement. In my mind I heard, "In everything give thanks for this is the will of God." Unfamiliar with the words, I searched after getting back home and discovered its source in scripture. A new concept was planted that day. A young man was heading for a correctional institute, and the charge was to "give thanks." 

We stayed in touch during his time in correction, writing and visiting. He made a decision while there--that he would never be incarcerated ever again. And he hasn't been. He and his wife own their own truck, hauling all over the country. He is a successful businessman, an asset to society and his family. His life took a turn, a turn for the good, on that fateful day. Unseen though it was, it was a reason to be thankful.

The very nature of giving thanks is for there to be a recipient. So often, being thankful is not unlike blowing up a helium balloon, attaching a tag to it, and letting it go up into the sky where it eventually fades away. It is important that thanks be given to God, the person, the source of all things--one on one.  

And this is where the original thought enters in--I am to post a daily thanks, something I have expressed to God in my daily life and share it with you. Who will join me in this exercise? I am not asking you to comment but, rather, take the time in your own life at some point during each day, consider what you are thankful for, and give thanks to God.    

The caveat is "everything." It is quite easy to thank God for all of the "feel good" things in life; He is asking that I thank Him for and in everything. This much I know:  All things are at the hand of God, and in that I can give thanks. A young man, having been found guilty of a crime and sentenced to serve time in a correction facility, satisfies that requirement. 

And so the elephant in the room has been dealt with.  

We shall all watch and see where this leads.


"Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."  I Thessalonians 5:18



             

"On Injury, Healing, and Scars"

injury:  n.  Damage to the body of a human or animal.  The violation of a person's reputation, rights, property, or interests.  Injustice.

healing:  n.  The process where the cells in the body regenerate and repair themselves.  
The psychological process of dealing with a problem or problems.

scar:  n.  A permanent mark on the skin sometimes caused by the healing of a wound.  A permanent mark on the mind. 

Glancing at my ankle bone, my eyes caught the tiny scar.  I was no more than 4 years old when a stack of 2 x 4 s fell over, trapping my foot.  My brother had been assigned the task of piling the lumber so they would be ready for our father who was building a new house for the family.  Most certainly I was uninvited help, and the incident verified that.  I hadn't noticed the scar or thought about the occurrence in years.

Physical scars are often a personal record we carry on our bodies, marking periods of time and events in our lives, each one with its own unique story.  Over the years, mine has been evidenced with stitches.  There was a time in my life where an annual trip to the doctor was required--my poor mother.  Perhaps for others they are the result of a dreadful bicycle accident, a painful burn, a surgical procedure, scrapes from road rash, a stumble into unforgiving brick hearths or heavy, wooden coffee tables, ad infinitum.  I doubt there is a person on the face of this earth who does not possess a physical scar of some sort. 

There is the injury, then the healing.  And the scars remain--a reminder, sometimes gentle, other times stark, of where we were and what we were doing at an exact moment in our lives, perhaps including the suggestion of having been protected and spared from further harm. 

There are other types of injury as well, invisible to the naked eye.  These are the situations and circumstances which affect one emotionally, causing hurt, anger, dismay, great angst, and the potential for enveloping bitterness--an argument between spouses, friends, or co-workers where hurtful words are exchanged; an illness which takes over and consumes not only the patient but family and friends as well; a bitter end to a relationship where the children become the pawns, the victims; the death of a partner, a best friend; witnessing the self-destruction of a child; ad infinitum as well.

This kind of injury is not so readily healed as the physical.  Cell regeneration is not applicable.  Bandages, splints, stitches, and antibiotics are ineffective.  My personal confirmation, however, is that restoration is possible, the pain lessening as healing takes place. 

And make no mistake--all healing, whether physical or emotional, is of God.  The One who is the giver of life heals as well.

It is told that Christ appeared to his disciples after his crucifixion, death, and resurrection.  Filled with questions and doubts, he was not readily received.  "Put your finger here and see my hands.  Reach out your hand and put it in my side.  Do not doubt but believe," he told a doubting Thomas.  Having done that, noting the place where the sword had been thrust into his side and his palms had been nailed to the cross, Thomas' response was, "My Lord and my God."  *
       
Why does Christ still carry those scars?  Why didn't his body become "perfect" upon resurrection?  These are questions for which I have no answer.  

The experience of injury is one which is common to mankind.  It is said that time heals all wounds, and for many it does.  For others, however, healing is elusive, ever just out of reach.  May each of you know healing at the hand of God--in both the inner and the outer.  And may you "own" your scars with pride, having completed the process, the scar a period on the sentence.  The scars on Christ's body certainly are that, as he spoke from the cross:  "It is finished." *1     


"O Lord my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me."  Psalm 30:2
* John 20:27, *1 John 19:30




    

“On Falling and Blessings”

Awakening from a nap, the bad dream was a familiar one, that of my teeth falling out.  The first time it happened was when I was 5.  While playing chase on the merry-go-round, I had stumbled and crashed down on one of the steel bars.  A front, permanent tooth was broken and chipped, and I found myself spitting out bits and pieces of it into my hand.  The scene played out often over the years in dreams, reliving that moment.

Almost 70 years later, it was an encore, sans the merry-go-round.  No doubt that is why the bad dream reappeared.

An early family Christmas had been planned with most of the family going to Boise, Idaho. The weekend was filled with laughter and giggles as all five cousins were together, a rarity due to distance and circumstances.  Gingerbread houses, trampoline jumping in the dark, a fresh snowfall, a tour of Christmas lights in a limo, and a pajama party were just a few of the events which made the weekend memorable.  Tubing in the snow was a highlight, a first for me.  “This is so much fun,” I exclaimed—over and over again.

This family played together, laughed together, and we came together.  

The final activity of the weekend was a shopping trip downtown.  There were ten of us as we spread out in groups—five grandgirls, my three daughters, a son-in-law;  and myself. After a stop at a book store we headed on to a clothing store where I found the prize of all prizes—warm socks.  I was certain they were the capper to a perfect weekend.  

What I did not know was what awaited me within minutes of leaving that store.  

The crosswalk was not a smooth surface.  The signal said there were nine seconds left in which to cross, and so I hurriedly began.  I did not make it.  I remember seeing the raised, orange protrusion out of the corner of my eye as I went down.  Possibly having been placed for traction in icy conditions,  my thick-soled boots had caught on one, causing the fall.

The whole family was witness to the inglorious header.  My daughter said I went down as though I had been shot.  It felt that way.  It wasn’t a trip and stumble but a pummeling to the pavement.  I knew my face was heading squarely into the street.  

At the last nano-second, which I can confirm is infinitely briefer than a split second, my head was flipped up and back, and I landed on the underside of my chin, the impact forcing my lower jaw up and to the left.  Pulling myself up off the street, I spit a chunk of a broken crown into my hand, reminiscent of a 5-year-old little girl. 

It could have been, should have been so much worse.  A scratched upper lip which looked like a bad Botox job, an abrasion on the underside of my chin which barely bled and required no stitches, bruising on both knees, and one broken jaw.  Had I landed fully face first I would be dealing with issues for the rest of my life, never completely recovering. Having my jaw wired shut for six weeks while on a liquid diet is minor in comparison.

My blessings are many.  Not only was I spared from horrific injury, I have a family which has stood by me every step of the way, holding me up while I sobbed in their arms, willing me to breathe as shock was trying to take hold, housing me, caring for me, loving me.  Their humor never ceases to delight me.  The support and encouragement from friends and those who don’t even personally know me has been overwhelming 

There is a point and purpose to all things.  Do I see it?  Do I know what it is?  No, but I know it to be.  

We all stumble at times while walking, whether physically or figuratively.  Sometimes the fall is a slam to the pavement, other times it’s just enough to trip us up.  I’ve often said that these are the times we either turn to God, we turn on Him, or we turn away from Him.  

As for me, my advocacy is that of turning to Him, but that is all I can do—advocate.  The choice is individual.  It is yours to make.  



"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."   Psalm 46:1

“On Digging Deep”

to dig deep:  v.  To make a lot of effort with one’s resources

This—my Christmas message

When challenges present themselves, opportunity is given for personal and spiritual growth, the chance to become more.  It is in those times I experience God, His love and care for me, and see first-hand my own incapabilities.

While visiting family this past week-end, I did my version of “the rubber meeting the road” when I did a face-plant when I tripped over a protrusion while crossing the street.  The scenarios for possible injury were horrific.  Somehow, though, landing on the underside of my chin, a broken jaw was the single souvenir I had to deal with.  A swollen lip which looked like a bad Botox job and a small abrasion under my chin are minor.  

Today my mouth is going to be wired shut for six weeks in order to align and stabilize the jaw so it can heal.  There will be no walnuts to munch on, only that which can be sucked through a straw.  Fear visited me during the night.  “I’m terrified,” I cried out to God.  And I was—of being unable to speak, to communicate, of choking.  

Upon awakening, I am at peace.  

I am “digging deep.”  HE is my resource.  

Christmas 2017 will be a Christmas to remember.


“All things come from him.  All things are directed by him.  All things are for his praise.  May God be given the glory forever! Amen.”  Romans 11:36. NIRV

"On Hospitality and a Thanksgiving Invitation"

hospitality:  n.  The act or service of welcoming, receiving, hosting, or entertaining guests.

Thanksgiving 2017 is just around the corner.  Perhaps that is the reason the memory floated through my mind today, an incident I hadn’t thought about in years.

 

Pulp and paper mills operate 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, shutting down only periodically for repair and maintenance.  As Thanksgiving Day, 1966 approached, the prospects were dismal.  Having moved a distance away from our home town and families to be employed at a newly constructed mill, my husband was scheduled to work.

 

There would be no family dinner with a bounty of food and after-dinner traditions--no football games on television being watched by the men in the family while the women crowded in the small kitchen, chatting and doing the dishes.  There would be no chess games set up in the middle of the living room for my grandfather and the uncles while the children created their own forms of entertainment.  There would be no extended family. 

    

With a single family car, I would be staying home alone with our young 3-year-old son.  Living in the country, the neighbors were few and far between, amplifying the feeling of isolation and aloneness. 

Holidays are often viewed as sacrosanct, exclusively reserved for card-carrying family members only.  There are some who would never consider inviting one who isn’t a relative.  My own childhood has no memory of anyone other than family being included in holiday events, so when the invitation was given to share Thanksgiving dinner, I hesitated accepting it.

A young woman herself, my neighbor’s sincerity and warmth assured me I was welcomed.

What a picture we must have made, the two of us, as we trekked ¼ mile down that winding country road on what had to have been a chilly November day.  My little boy had no idea where we were going, or what we were going to do but was ever ready for an adventure.

I have no memory of the table setting, of the meal, of who was there.   I only remember being made to feel I had a place.

 

Hospitality isn’t about being proper, about reciprocation, or even being inclusive; it isn't about being the "hostess with the mostest," the linens, glassware, and dishes, or the elegant food.  It comes from within and is about being open and sharing self.  That is what I experienced and felt. 

I wonder if my hostess remembers that day.  I have never forgotten it, and a card is going to be sent this week, thanking her for her gracious hospitality and what it meant that Thanksgiving over 50 years ago—and what it still means today.

Thanksgiving 2017 will be spent at this same son's home.  Though I doubt he has any memory of that one from his early childhood, and I've never even shared it with him, he, too, has an "open-table" policy where any and all who have no family or place to go are invited, included, and welcomed.  

Kindness and hospitality.  The two go hand-in-hand, the results and effects impacting others far into the future.    

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers…”  Hebrews 13:2

  

   

        

      

  

"On Hikes, Chainsaws, and Limitations"

limitation:  n.  the act of limiting or the state of being limited; a restriction; a boundary, real or metaphorical, caused by some thing or some circumstance; an imperfection or shortcoming that limits something’s use or value.

In a blunder of sorts, I had inadvertently scheduled my flight out for early evening rather than early morning, giving me an extra day to spend with my family.  “Would you like to go for a hike?” my daughter asked.  “We have time.” 

“Sure.  I’d love it,” was my response.  It was a perfect fall day—not too hot, not too cold, and I had packed the proper shoes in anticipation of such an activity.

We headed out and, as we neared our destination, the foothills we were about to climb were pointed out.  If there was any question as to my inability to make the climb it was never mentioned.  Had the possibility been raised, a seed of doubt would have been planted in my mind, and I would have contemplated my own capability, considering how a stranded 72-year-old woman could be transported off a slope. 

Limitations are like that.  Doubt, coupled with fear, creates a virtual cage, a mental and emotional enclosure where we take up residence and live.  The barbed wire barrier of a prison isn’t even needed, as life is lived within the seeming comfort of the restrictions we place upon ourselves.  

Comfort, like an old, worn-out sweater or pair of shoes, is familiar but not necessarily ideal.  A first-hand experience reinforced that very point.  

Operating a chainsaw is far too dangerous and should be left to loggers of the male species.  At least that is what I had told myself repeatedly for as long as I can remember.  I not only believed it; I KNEW it.

A snow and ice storm had passed through, causing major tree damage.  Chainsaws were buzzing all over the place, though not in my hands.  That is, until an opportunity arose.

A client contacted me asking if I could clean her yard of fallen debris.  Some good-sized oak branches had come down and needed to be cut up and removed.  Heading over with my pruning saw and long-handled lopper in tow, it didn’t take long for me to realize the job would never get done with those tools, and it was time to bring out the electric chainsaw.

In my mind, using an electric chainsaw wasn't threatening whereas a gas-powered one terrified me.  Upon tackling the job I realized that a: I was not afraid, and b: An electric chainsaw which cuts through 4” diameter oak limbs is as dangerous as one which is gas-powered.

Pushed out of my comfort zone and zipping through the branches with my newly-found skill, I found myself thinking:  What other limitations have I placed on myself without even realizing it? I make statements and go about my daily life, living in a false perception.  

For example, “I don’t know how to swim, because I don’t like water,” when the truth is I have never learned.  “I can’t back a trailer,” so I make a point of never pulling one.  How hard would it be to take the time to master that skill?  “I don’t know how to dance,” therefore I don’t dance.  A pattern emerged—that of beginning with a negative, filing it in the mental box called my mind and continuing on with life, tacitly accepting it as a valid, unchanging, and absolute description of myself.

I was created to have an abundant life, not one that is marked by self-imposed limitations at every turn.  God is ever ready to provide opportunities for personal expansion and growth; it is in my hands to accept them or reject them.    

Hiking up hills, operating a chainsaw.  I won’t be climbing a mountainous peak or applying for a cutter’s job in my son-in-law’s logging company, but they are freeing experiences, breaking down the barriers of personal limitations where there are no boundaries.  

And the view is great.  

“I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”  John 10:10