You, Too, Can Be A Mylar Balloon!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011, is a day that many Shreveporters (including Yours Truly) will remember for quite some time.  We were on about day 20 of a string of days over 100 degrees.  Add to that the infamous humidity of Louisiana, and you have some miserable folks!  However, as long as there was air conditioning, we were in good shape!  That all changed around 2:30pm when 8900 electrical customers suddenly lost power—cool air and all!  At around 10:30pm that night, that number had grown to 17,000 hot, sweaty, cranky customers.  We were all pondering the possible reasons for this problem:  there had been no storm, no lightning, no thunder. Hmmm!  What could have possibly caused such havoc in the electrical system? We found out the next day that, much to our surprise, one small, shiny mylar balloon had come into contact with some power lines.  Imagine that—one little, bitty balloon having such an unbelievable impact on so many people’s lives.   

At that time, I was already working on a blog about the many opportunities that we are given to impact someone else’s life for the good.  Sometimes, we forego that opportunity, thinking that the one little, bitty thing that we might do would never amount to much.  I think that we underestimate what God can do with the little that we give Him:  we give him our little effort, and He produces something similar to a mylar balloon that can impact many—but in a good way! 

(This is a continuation of my last blog which was entitled

“People Who, Unknowingly, Made My Day.”) 

******

Anyone who has had chemo or ever had to go for cancer lab work (especially if using a port) knows that you dress for comfort and so that the port can be easily accessed.  You really don’t worry a lot about how you look, especially if you know you’re going to be there for several hours.  My uniform for chemo days was a knit-like fabric—a jogging suit—stretchy, in other words.  Since my port is up near my right collar bone, I had one particular kind of shirt that I always wore (which just happened to be white), and I usually wore the same white scarf on my bald head because it was easy.  It didn’t require a lot of effort which was another requirement for what I wore.  Kristy, one of our daughters, had commented a time or two (or twelve!) that I needed to wear a scarf with some color in it to give my face some “life” because, obviously, there was no hair there to add any color.  Honestly, having a colorful face was way down my list of priorities at the time.     

One day when Earl and I were out and about, a very kind lady made my day by commenting on my looks.  He and I had gone to the cancer center for an in-between-treatments check-up.  It was one of those rare days when not only was I feeling somewhat close to human, but we had gotten into and out of the lab as well as my oncologist’s office in a timely manner.   

As we were leaving the clinic, I asked if we could go to Julie Anne’s for lunch, and since I hadn’t felt like going anywhere (especially to eat!) in months, Earl was thrilled.  Julie Anne’s is one of my favorite places to eat—a small bakery with wonderful food.  Chemo often leaves a metallic taste in the mouth which makes eating not very interesting; I usually ate only because I knew I had to to stay out of the hospital.  That day, even with the metallic taste, Julie Anne’s Turkey Walnut Wrap had never tasted better; I think it was just the idea that I felt sort of normal.  

After we ate, we got up to leave, and at the small table behind me was an older woman (older than me; not old).  She was a classy looking lady, not flashy or gaudy but very well put-together—had a sweet, beautiful smile.  As I stood for Earl to push my chair under the table, I glanced her way, and we made eye contact.  She said, “Honey, you look beautiful in white.  Not many people can pull that off.”  I was so shocked that it took me a few seconds to realize what she had said, but I thanked her.  I also told her, laughingly, about Kristy’s prompting me to wear color, and I assured that kind woman  that I would share her comment with Kristy. 

That woman had no idea how good she made me feel that day.  But, then again—maybe she did.  Maybe she had been in my shoes at one time and remembered what it felt like.  Whatever her reason for speaking to me, God bless her for having the wisdom and the courage to say just the right thing to me and absolutely make my day. 

******

            When I was going through chemo treatments, my sister, who lives in Texas, made arrangements with my local florist for me to receive fresh flowers every Thursday around noon.  This was to go on for the duration of chemo, so I always had fresh flowers—often, two arrangements if the arrangement from the previous week was still healthy.  What a neat thing—something to look forward to every week! 

            The person who usually made the deliveries was a man, probably around my age or a little older.  He was very kind and always took a few minutes to chat, asking how I was doing, etc.  Since I almost never wore a scarf when I was home, he knew from day one what my bald head looked like.  One Thursday, it was a cool day, so I was wearing a scarf.  The doorbell rang; I went to answer it, and there stood my favorite delivery man with my flowers.  We did our usual little chit-chat, and he started to leave, but he turned back around to face me before he stepped off the porch and said, “By the way, you look much better without that scarf.”  What a precious thing to say!  I don’t know what made him say that, but needless to say, he made my day! 

****** 

            I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but life can be tough sometimes!  Just getting up and dealing with another day can be a huge challenge for folks going through a valley of some kind.   Maybe you know someone who is dealing with financial issues, family problems, lack of employment, a devastating illness or maybe it’s just a smaller, temporary problem like dealing with a cranky co-worker or locking her keys in her car.  No matter what the case, we all have people around us daily who need us to take a few minutes to check on them, call them, send them a card, share a smile.  If we all did that consistently every day, can you imagine the impact that we would have?  We could be like that one, little bitty mylar balloon that impacts many lives---but in a good way!

People Who, Unknowingly, Made My Day

            Have you ever just known (“Is that you, God?”) that you were supposed to do something specific for someone—make a telephone call to check on her, speak to someone that you don’t know as you pass her in the store, mail a card, help a mom with little ones carry groceries to her car, or just give someone an eye-to-eye smile—yet, for whatever reason, you didn’t do it?  Has it ever crossed your mind what that little “something” might have meant to that person?  (See previous blog, A Most Unusual Funeral)  Believe it or not, we are often meant to be “players” in other people’s lives even if we don’t know them.  I was truly blessed by my family and friends during the year that I had cancer, and I’ll talk about them later.  But for the next couple of blogs, I want to introduce you to some other people who truly “made my day” the year I had cancer. 

****** 

            I am very accustomed to wearing makeup; it’s a daily habit.  I consider it a public service to my fellow Shreveporters—you know, “paint the barn,” “cover the ugly,” etc.  I get up and before I start every day, I go through the same routine to decorate my face; it just makes me feel better.  Besides, when you’re a woman and you’ve got a bald head, you need all the help you can get!   

            The American Cancer Society has a program for women who are in treatment of cancer.  It’s called Look Good—Feel Better.  One of the things that they do during this session is to give the women beauty products and teach them how to use them so that they leave the class feeling as if they have had something of a makeover.  I had attended one of those classes on a Monday.  On Wednesday, my husband suggested that since I was having some “good days,” perhaps we could get out of town overnight in order to be back for chemo early Friday morning.  We hadn’t done that in ages, so we threw some things together, got in the car, and headed to Longview, TX.  No big plan—eat out, maybe do a little shopping; mainly, we would just have a different set of four walls to look at. 

            By the time we were on our way, it was lunch time, so we stopped at a fried fish restaurant (a staple in TX and LA) on the way.  We had a very perky, sociable young woman who took our orders, but before she ever took care of our food, she looked at me and said, You have beautiful skin—just like porcelain!  Absolutely beautiful!  I don’t know if it was noticeable or not, but I’m sure I sat and stood a little taller after that.  That woman did not know me; she could have simply done her job of taking our order and walked away, but she followed that instinct, and I’m so grateful she did because she really made my day!   

****** 

            When you’re having cancer treatments and go to the cancer center with any regularity, you eventually get accustomed to seeing people around you wearing wigs, hats, scarves and, occasionally, nothing at all on their heads.  But I must admit that it takes a little getting used to; that happened to me very early on. 

            I had had probably just one chemo treatment which wasn’t enough for me to start losing my hair, but the thought of that loss was never far from my mind.  As I walked in the front door of the Cancer Center, there was a group of perhaps 10-12 people, entering and exiting.  But one woman in particular stood out to me; she had to have been 6’2” tall at least, maybe more.  She was, literally, head and shoulders above everyone else in the group, and she carried herself like a beauty queen.  She would have stood out in a crowd no matter what the situation because she was a tall, big-boned woman.  Not overweight, not even plump, not even what our daughters (as children) would have called “fluffy”—just a large woman—very attractive, and she had a beautiful smile that she shared freely with those around her.    

She was what I would have called stunning.  She seemed calm, peaceful, and in love with life.  But to me, the most striking thing about her was her totally bald head—no scarf, no wig, no hat, no cap—just that beautiful, bald head.  I was so amazed at her demeanor and the way she carried herself that I immediately felt a peace come over me that I had not experienced since the whole cancer thing had begun.  Not only had this woman made my day, but, without knowing it, she had had an effect on me that lasted the entire span of my treatments.    

****** 

            B.C. (Before cancer), I was a little introverted, not always feeling comfortable speaking to or making eye contact with people I didn’t know.  Cancer taught me a lot of things, and one of those things is that deep-down, we’re all alike—whether we want to admit it or not.  We all want to be loved and accepted, and, at one time or another, we all go through things when we need a little extra attention even if it’s from a total stranger.  Since people are so good at wearing that “everything’s-okay-with-me” façade, I have no way of knowing who is experiencing one of those times when she needs some extra attention, so I’ve started trying to connect with everyone I see.  I came to realize that I may be the only smile someone will receive that day, and I would hate for her to miss it.  Those little things cost nothing, not even a lot of time, but they are invaluable to the recipient.

           

           

A Most Unusual Funeral

I was out of town the day of Bo Henderson’s funeral , but I was told by many people who did attend that the funeral was, shall we say, just a little unusual—mainly because Bo Henderson (the deceased) delivered the eulogy! What you have to know is that Bo Henderson was a preacher; he’s probably preaching in Heaven now. In his years as a pastor, he had preached a sermon on the topic of something like “Don’t Wait Until I Die to Give Me Flowers” (Of course, his casket was surrounded by flowers.) One point of the sermon was that we should be sure to give “flowers” every day to those around us. It might be real flowers, or it could be a phone call, a card in the mail, a meal, a “thank you,” or an errand that someone needs to have done—things we’ve all at some time thought about doing for someone, but we got busy and just never quite got around to it. That’s the kind of thing that Bo wanted us to get into the habit of doing when he first preached that sermon.

Bo had a rather dry sense of humor, so I’m sure as he looked down from Heaven on the gathering that day, he loved the humor and irony planned into his funeral; I can see him in my mind’s eye as he chuckles, looks toward the ground, and sort of nods his head. The service probably started very sadly because his death had come as a huge shock to all of us who knew him because he was a fitness buff—looked great and was in tip-top physical condition. But he went to bed one night and at some point in time before morning, he was walking around Heaven, checking out those streets of gold. The humorous part of the service was that a recording was played from the day that he had preached the sermon “Don’t Wait Until I Die to Give Me Flowers.” I was told by some attendees that hearing his voice and knowing that he was in the casket at the front of the church was a little strange, but hearing the sermon topic added a little much-needed levity to the somber mood of the day. I think he would have approved!

One thing that I realized during the year that I had cancer was just how important those “flowers” are! There were times when those “flowers” helped me realize just how loved I was and how many people were thinking of and praying for me; that realization got me through many extremely difficult days when I really wanted nothing more than just to go to bed and give up. By the end of that year, I had received almost a thousand cards in the mail, weekly (real) flowers from my sister in Texas, countless e-mails, an unbelievable number of meals (many from a former student and his wife), and the countless number of things that my family did for me (including special surprises from our two daughters every time that I had chemo). All of this brought me face to face with the fact that I had failed miserably at giving out those “flowers” before my illness. But I’m working on improving that because I now know what those “flowers” can mean to the one who receives them.

And I wonder how many people had meant at some time to say something special to Bo. Maybe it was, Thanks for visiting me in the hospital. Or maybe it was, Thanks for praying for me when I really needed it. Perhaps it was simply a delayed, I love you. They really had meant to do that—for a long time! But, like all of us, they had gotten busy and “never got around to it.” Then they heard the news that they would never again have the opportunity to tell him those things that would have meant so much to him.

BELLYBUTTONS!

Several of you have reminded me that I'm past due in getting a blog out to you. I want you to know that I am aware of that, but I've been having trouble with my blogsite and still don't know for sure that it's going to work, but I'll try. If this works, I'll have a "real" blog out to you soon.

Oh---the title--"Bellybuttons!"--you want to know what that means, right? When our girls were little, and they were trying to wiggle out of responsibility for something they had done (or NOT done, as the case might be!), their daddy would always says, "Excuses are like bellybuttons: everybody's got one!" So the "blogsite not working" is my "bellybutton." See you soon!

Blessed By Cancer

It was June of 2010, and I had just read a devotional written by a friend in which she explained how she had been “blessed by the fire” that had burned her house to the ground. That reminded me of something that I had recently said to my daughter’s Sunday School class. It was something that had been tumbling around in my head for a while, but I had never actually verbalized the thought. And if you had told me even a short time before the revelation to the women in that class that I would ever actually say those words aloud, I would have said that you were crazy.

I have a very close circle of friends with whom I share everything, and we had not all been together for a while, so I hadn’t even told them what was in my head and my heart. A couple of weeks after I shared my thoughts with the Sunday School women, my group of friends went on our annual retreat, and it wasn’t until then that I shared this very personal thought with them. I’m still very cautious about saying these words because most people will not understand, but I have to say them anyway and trust that God will use the words wherever they need to be read or heard.

“I’m grateful I had cancer.”

There! I’ve said it again! It took me only three years to say that aloud the first time. Do I want to do the cancer thing again? A resounding NO! I didn’t want to do it the first time, and I certainly don’t want to do it again! God and I have had that discussion—more than once! I pray daily that I never repeat that experience, especially for my family’s sake. However, I have arrived at the point in life that I can truly say that if that is how He chooses to use my life, then so be it.

2007 was without a doubt the worst year of my family’s life. I was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer (lymph node involvement) in late March and was finished with surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation on December 21, 2007. There is so much I could say about that year—very little of it good. Then how, you may ask, can I be “grateful I had cancer”? Because God was involved, and He did many, many wonderful, loving compassionate things for us that year, and, to me, the greatest thing He did was to change me. For that, I am eternally grateful! I am a much better person now than I was b.c. (before cancer), and I like the new me much more.

I have a clearer picture of so many things now—what my priorities need to be, how blessed I am in everyday life, the reality of what God wants me to do and be while I’m here on this earth. The most important “clearer picture” that I received is that I got to know—really know—God so much better. For that especially, I am grateful! Have I arrived in my relationship with God? Absolutely not, but I am so much farther along than I was, and I do not want to go back to being the person I was b.c. Thank you, God, for teaching me, for changing me, for allowing me to learn so many things—even if it took cancer to do it!

If you will remember, the name of this blogsite is “Some Assembly Required.” (See very first blog for explanation.) This refers to the fact that none of us is the Christian that we should be, and just as I constantly reminded (nagged ?) our daughters to clean their rooms when they were young, God will continue to work on us through whatever methods He deems necessary to help us grow. One of those methods in my life is cancer; He used that to change me and grow me up in so many ways. As awful as the cancer and its treatments were, God has taken that terrible year and turned it into good for not only me but for others as well. Romans 8:28 (NIV)—And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him who have been called according to His purpose.

Do I understand any of this? Not really---except for the fact that God is God, and I, obviously, am not. I just have to trust Him. Isaiah 55:8-9 (NIV)—For My (God) thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.

A Real Courtesy Clerk

It wasn’t until it was over that I realized how it all must have looked to someone who didn’t know me! Hopefully, those who know me would know that what had seemed to happen didn’t really happen at all. My mother wouldn’t have believed it unless I was the one who told her, and then she would have said, “ You did what?! Well, Sandra!” If my daughters had seen what was going on, they would have been mortified! Then they would have laughed hysterically, relieved that I was out of town where no one would have known me (or whose Mother I am).

In retrospect, I have to admit it; let’s call it what it was—I was a “dumpster diver.” I’ve heard of people who do this, sometimes just to put food on the table or to put clothes on their back. And I’ve heard of people who do this, hoping to rescue something of value which might could be sold for cash or perhaps even cleaned up, re-done, re-purposed and then sold.

If you know me, you would know how unlikely that is: I don’t like to get stuff/junk under my nails or on my hands; I don’t particularly like to sweat; I can not stand foul odors, so becoming a dumpster diving diva is not to be expected of me, but it happened! Of course, it wasn’t really a dumpster—just a large trash can in front of Kroger’s in Hot Springs, AR. And I didn’t really “dive” into it—just sort of picked around in it. But it may as well have been a dumpster because it seemed huge at the time, and it was located front and center of the store in a very busy shopping area. If it hadn’t been for Dinah though, I would have had to do some heavy-duty digging through that garbage.

Back up a few hours. Earl (my husband), Daisy (his dog), and I were headed to the Ouachita State Park in Arkansas, pulling our small travel trailer for a few days R&R. We decided that to simplify (HA!) our trip, we would stop at the Kroger grocery store in Hot Springs to buy groceries before heading out to the park; that would eliminate the need for a return trip several hours later after having reached the park and set up the trailer. It was a good, simple plan—going to save us time and energy (Right!). And it was doing just that—until 15 minutes after leaving Kroger, when I realized that my glasses were missing, case and all. I had to have dropped them right in front of Kroger as we were loading groceries into the truck. But surely I would have heard them hit the concrete, wouldn’t I?

Then a horrible thought hit: the only other place they could be was--oh, no, please--not there! But it was a real possibility because just before I had gotten into the truck, I had taken a brown, paper grocery bag, wadded it up, and, yes, thrown it into the public trash can. My mind did not want to go there, and my hands definitely did not!

I explained the situation to my husband who, very patiently, volunteered to turn around and return to Kroger. Please remember that by that time, we were on a four-lane interstate highway on which the two lanes headed our way had been whittled down to one lane because of those infamous orange barrels (with no obvious work going on). And, oh, yes, it was 4:30pm—getting-off time; the traffic had slowed to a crawl. I could only imagine that the people headed home after a hard day’s work were not likely to be thrilled to let a truck pulling a travel trailer ease up to get off the next exit ramp which was probably a half mile away. So all the while berating myself for being such a dummy, I told my husband not to worry about it, and we continued on to the park.

As fate would have it and since the day was going so well anyway (Not!), we later ended up having to go back into town anyway to buy a water hose for the travel trailer. We figured that would be the perfect opportunity to re-visit Kroger. Just as I feared, there was no sign of the glasses case in front of the store where we had loaded groceries. I then went inside to the courtesy desk and explained my dilemma to Dinah (who turned out to be a real courtesy clerk) who scoured the office, to no avail. Hesitantly, I explained to her about the only other place that the glasses could be and asked if it would be okay for me to remove the garbage bag from the can and take it with me to be examined later—in a more private setting.

“Absolutely not!” she replied but in a compassionate voice. “I’ll do it.” With that, she told her co-worker that she would be back shortly and headed off to the “dumpster,” and before I could even get there, Dinah was bent over the trash can, digging as if for gold. I raced over to help and immediately saw the wadded up, brown, paper grocery bag I had deposited several hours earlier. I pulled it out and handed it to my husband. By this time, all I could see of Dinah was her back and the back of her head as she leaned farther into the smelly can. She was still digging, and just as she was pulling out the second bag to hand to me, my husband had the first one uncrumpled and, upon looking inside it, Eureka, found my glasses!

I was greatly relieved! I thanked Dinah profusely and apologized to her that my carelessness had caused her to have to dig around in the public trash. She very kindly smiled, said that it wasn’t the first time (Right!!) and then went back to her job as a real courtesy clerk.

I was reminded of several things that day: 1) That thing about, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”—(Matt. 7:12)—it still works! 2) Everything I do should be done to the best of my ability--even if it comes under the heading of “less-than-desirable.” (Colossians 3:23) 3) Going the extra mile is the right thing to do. Remember that guy, the good Samaritan? (Luke 10:30-35) 4) Not helping someone in need is not even an option; it is my responsibility. (Proverbs 3:27 ) 5) A good attitude while working costs me nothing but may be invaluable to those around me.—(Philippians 2:14)

So—if you ever happen to be on Hwy. 7N, going into Hot Springs, AR, and need to pick up some groceries, drop in at Kroger and ask for Dinah—a real courtesy clerk!

Hip Pocket!

     Kristy, one of our daughters, and her husband Patrick have two children:  Erin--easy-going, obedient, fun; Pearce—boy—enough said?   Erin was such an easy baby, and then came—“the boy” as his mother refers to him when he is in trouble or is perilously close to trouble.  We weren’t accustomed to little boys and their curious nature or their constant motion.  We had not had a male child born into our family in 32 years when Pearce came along.  What a surprise!  Erin was around 3 ½ when Pearce was born, so Kristy had her hands full especially when she would go somewhere with the two of them without the help of another adult.  Even when Pearce was just a few months old, he was very difficult to hold because, after all, he is a boy and was always twisting and turning and reaching and grabbing.

     In order to handle him, Kristy had to develop a method for keeping up with both of them when it was time to go anywhere.   When they would head into a grocery store or mall or whatever, Kristy would look at Erin and say to her, “Erin, hip pocket.”  Erin knew at that point she was supposed to reach up and put her little hand into her mom’s hip pocket.  If there were no hip pocket, she would simply grab her mother’s shirt tail or skirt or whatever.  This allowed Kristy to focus on keeping Pearce’s hands out of trouble and at the same time know that Erin was safe. 

     Every once in a while, Erin, being just a little thing, would forget and let her hand drop.  Kristy’s motherly instinct would know immediately that Erin wasn’t where she was supposed to be.  She would stop and say, “Erin, hip pocket.  Pay attention now.  Stay close.”  Erin would comply, and they would go about their business.  Sometimes it would happen again and maybe even again in the same outing.  Each time, the same routine would bring Erin back to her mom and keep her close until---the next time.

     I have thought about that little routine often and have been so impressed with the simplicity of it.  Of course, part of the success of the routine was that at that age, Erin was usually very compliant, and there was no squabble about whether she was going to cooperate or not.  It would have been an entirely different story if Erin had been a rebellious or strong-willed child.  

     Food for thought:  How often does God have to look at you and remind you, “Hip pocket.  Stay close.  Pay attention now”?   Back in the late 1980’s, perhaps early 1990’s, there was a popular song that church choirs across the country sang entitled “Who Moved?”   The essence of the song is that if you find that you are not as close to God as you once were, “Who Moved?”  Obviously, it is not God.  Hebrews 13:8 reminds us that, “Jesus Christ, the same yesterday and today and forever.”  It is, therefore, our responsibility to move—back to a close relationship with Him. 
     It is our choice:  be an obedient, compliant child who moves closer to God or be a rebellious, strong-willed child who moves in the opposite direction to do our own thing.  That’s when, as a child of God, we might hear our Father say, “Hip pocket.  Pay attention now.  Stay close.”