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.”

Picture Perfect

            It was a humbling experience, to say the least.  “Tilt your head just a little to the right.”  “Chin up just a touch.”  “Smile.”  Then “click, click, click,” and we were finished; well, almost.  Next came the really painful part:  the photographer held the camera up for a few seconds so that I could preview the prints, and I was mortified!  “My hair is a mess on top.  Why didn’t you tell me that there’s a big bump in the top of my hair?!”  The photographer was obviously accustomed to dealing with women’s responses to their own pictures because he just sort of grinned, nodded his head toward his desk, and said, “Come on.  Let me show you something.”  All the while, I was thinking, “I can not send that picture out with a resume’ or put it on a business card; what was this man thinking?”

            But I did as he directed and sat down by him at his desk while he worked at his laptop.  Then, as if I weren’t distressed enough, he popped my picture up, and it filled the screen; there I was—up close and personal.  But I must admit—I was no longer concerned about the bump of hair on my head because by then, the picture was so large that the hair was the least of my concerns because I could see every wrinkle, every line, every imperfection on my 63-year-old face.  I had come into the studio thinking I looked okay; I had thought I was ready for the camera.  Then to realize that my eyebrows were lopsided, I had dark circles under my eyes (despite liberal use of concealer), and the lines around my eyes made my face look like a well-worn city map—well, it was just too much!  Had I actually been going around in my daily life looking like that, thinking that I looked at least presentable?!

            Then the master photographer began to work his miracles.  It was my most unrealistic dream coming true—right there before my very eyes!  As I watched my photographed face, I could not believe the changes that I was seeing.  First, the photographer fixed my hair! Yea!  Then slowly, the marks of time on my face began to fade:  the crow’s feet around my eyes were disappearing, the dark areas under my eyes were beginning to lighten, the jowl lines around my mouth were softened and shortened as if I were 33 again.  He even balanced my eyebrows (I could have saved the money that I spent to have them waxed); he highlighted my hair and whitened my teeth.  Yes, my teeth!  It was amazing!  This man was an absolute miracle worker with his computer program.  In no time at all, I looked 33 again (at least in the picture.)  And it was simple, fast, and painless!  I did not want him to stop; I wanted all my blemishes and problem areas corrected.  Oh, that he could work that magic on my hips!

            Later, as I thought about the incident, it dawned on me that there is an even more powerful, more loving, more important “Master” in our lives, and He really does do miracles.  Unlike the photographer, however, the real Master’s ways of changing us are not always simple; they are (in my experience) rarely fast; and they definitely are not painless!  However, they might be if we would cooperate with Him when He tries to grow us up, but so often we refuse to do that.  Instead, we dig our heels in, come up with our own plans, proceed to put them into action, and expect Him to put His stamp of approval on them.  We would all probably allow the photographer to continue to make improvements forever with no resistance from us.  So why is it that we often fight the Father when all He is trying to do is improve us?   

Sometimes our Father allows us to continue on our stubborn way, but occasionally, He does as the photographer did:  He shows us an up-close-and-personal view of ourselves, and it is not a pretty picture!  Just as I saw every wrinkle, every line, and every mark of time on my face, we are often forced to see ourselves as His willful, disobedient, envious, greedy, and unkind children.

            If He were like some earthly parents, He would probably give up on us.  But being the loving Father that He is, He refuses to let us continue in our un-Godly ways.  He wants to do true miracles for us—remove self-centered areas, shorten and soften those bad attitudes, highlight and brighten our behavior.  Then, when others see us, they would, indeed, see a perfect picture—they would see Him.

Some Assembly Required

There are three little words that will strike fear in the hearts of most adults.  Even the strongest, bravest, most adventurous adult trembles when he/she reads those three little, seemingly-innocent words—Some Assembly Required.             

Grown men have been known to leave the WalMart toy department, empty-handed, in fear and trembling after seeing those words printed on the box of some greatly desired toy.  I, myself, have seen a man and woman (husband and wife, I presumed) leave Office Depot with the wife begging for the beautiful bookcase that she had just found.  The man is marching determinedly toward the front door of the store, shaking his head from side to side, muttering something about …some assembly required. 

When our girls were little, they requested a swing set one Christmas.  You know how it is:  every year, parents end up being Santa’s helpers, much to their own dismay sometimes.  The swing set was to be my husband’s responsibility, and, as it sometimes happened with him back then, he didn’t do a lot of planning (Okay— he did no planning!) about when, how, where to take the sixteen boxes containing the pieces of the swing set to put it together.  As was his usual MO (mode of operation), he left this nifty little piece of construction until Christmas Eve night; he would have “plenty of time.”  After all, it would be just a matter of putting the poles together, hanging the swings from the top pole, building the slide, and connecting it to the structure.   No problem!  (Are you grinning yet?)

Not far behind our house was a large storage building—a very nicely-built structure of probably 20’x40’—on a concrete slab. It would be plenty large enough to hide the big Christmas surprise.  That was the logical place for this enormous project.  One small problem there that he didn’t realize until after he had unloaded all those boxes of swing set pieces:  there was no electricity in the building!  (As I said, thinking ahead was not his forte when he was younger.)   Not only did that mean no light, but there would be no heat—sitting on that concrete floor (that cold concrete floor)—in one of the coldest Decembers we had had in years.  One of my favorite snapshots (which has been lost) of all time  is of Earl sitting in that building on the floor, surrounded by—yes, many, many, many candles—trying to assemble that swing set! I’ve thought of that scene often—Earl sitting on that cold, hard floor, trying to read the instructions, deal with hundreds of pieces needed for a swing set—all by candle light.  Following instructions was not always easy for him, so he often had to stop, undo what he had done, and start all over again.  But he finally got it done, and our girls played on that swing set for many years!

Over the years, I’ve thought of that Christmas assembly project of Earl’s often and have realized that it could be likened, in so many ways, to our lives as we try to become the Christian God wants us to be.  That spiritual maturation process is all about making decisions, stopping and starting, getting things all wrong and having to go back to the very beginning to start all over again.  I have realized that growing into a mature Christian is a process that continues all our lives until we become perfect.  Of course, that perfection is attained only when we enter Heaven. 

So that’s what this blog will be about—that process of “becoming.”    I thought of the song that little children used to sing, “He’s still working on me” and remembered a scripture that went along with that song:  Philippians 1:6 became the foundation for this blog.  (NKJV) Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.