THE NIGHT I RAN

After reading the blog that I wrote about our 45^th wedding anniversary Saturday, Earl, my husband, said that he also had a few things to say about our “younger years,” so today I have a Guest Blogger—my sweetie, the one and only William Earl Timmons.

            It is truly a miracle that we have celebrated our 45^th wedding anniversary--as Sandra and others have stated.  (And, yes, I am truly convinced that God DOES have a sense of humor.)  I believe that the Bible verse goes something like:  “Blessed are they who wait upon the Lord.”  In my awkward (among many other words I could use) way, I have waited and have been truly blessed with a sweet marriage, a wonderful lady to call my wife, lover, and best friend.  She has been my wife and lover for 45 years and has become my best friend.  I have also been blessed with a great family—two daughters that I dearly love who are both Godly women and great mothers of our four cherished grandchildren; two great sons-in-law; and a dog.  I really came to realize the fullness of my being blessed after Sandra was diagnosed with cancer.  I thank God regularly for the sweet marriage and relationship that my sweetheart and I now have.

            Now—how about THE NIGHT I RAN?  When Sandra and I were still working out being newlyweds, having the rough edges knocked off so that we could one day enjoy 45 years, we lived in Lake Charles, LA, and I was teaching school.  One night during that time, Sandra and I were having one of many spats, and I got tired of the fussing, verbal fighting, and decided that I had had enough.  I WALKED OUT one night!  Literally!  I WAS LEAVING, AND I DID!  After all, I was a college graduate, knocking down college-graduate money (teaching school in La!)  As a single college graduate, I could have a lot of females literally chasing  me.  I would not have to be fussing and fighting all the time.  I could live in the fast lane.  I could be my own man!  YEAH!  Well, just as I was thinking that, it didn’t take long:  I had my first female chasing me, and I was only a few blocks from the house, and it was at night!  Just as I had pictured it!  However, that female was a female SKUNK with babies.  I can assure you that she did not have love on her mind!  She was, without a doubt, chasing me, but I was running away. 

            After  my first female had stopped chasing me, I realized that I was a number of blocks away from our house—on foot!  I was leaving ON FOOT!  I realized that being on foot was not the best way to find women, and with the salary that I was making, I definitely could not move into a cool bachelor’s pad, nor could I afford a car note.  Even if I were to end up with the car that we had, it was not exactly a suave bachelor’s ride.  It was a tan, four-door sedan NASH  RAMBLER!  Not even a HARDTOP!

            Well, I came to my senses and WALKED back home, tired and sweaty.  I did what I should have done before I left (and had my first female chase me).  I came back to my bride, apologized, and hoped that she would again start being my sweetheart--Nash Rambler, and all.  I am so grateful; she did just that then and many, many more times.  I guess it just goes to prove that if God put us together, He can give us 45 years and, hopefully, many more that will continue to be even sweeter than the past 45 years.

The Blessed Skunk Runner

           

PROOF OF GOD'S SENSE OF HUMOR

            Forty-five years ago today, August 27, 1966, God began working a miracle that would someday prove what a sense of humor God has.  You could not find two people who were more opposite in every way than Sandra Groves and Earl Timmons, yet God brought them together to be married on that day.  He must have been looking down from Heaven chuckling, knowing how naïve we both were about all we would have to battle because of our differences.  In fact, we were so different that as we stood in the receiving line after the wedding, a family friend of many years came by to congratulate us; he looked at us, shook his head, and said (and I quote!), “It will never last.”  He knew us well!  Needless to say, we called him on our 25^th anniversary to inform him that, so far, he was wrong!

People often are curious about how I ended up marrying Earl, and I tell them that I was just “young and dumb.”  In fact, we were both too young and dumb to be getting married, especially by today’s standards:  I was 19 ½ , and he was an “older guy”—21 ½ .  Very often, we have been asked how we have made it work, and while I would love to give a deeply spiritual answer, the only honest thing that I can say is that we were both too stubborn to admit defeat. 

Besides, my dad, even though he loved me, told me that once I was married, I wouldn’t be living at his house again:  when there were differences between Earl and me, we were to work them out.  And we have!  I now understand why numerous people gave us the Scripture Ephesians 4:26 as advice on how to keep a marriage going.  …let not the sun go down upon your wrath.  Earl likes to tell people that sometimes we have stayed up for days without sleep just to keep that Scripture true.

I would love to say that it has been a wonderful 45-year run with no problems.  First of all, you would know that I was lying, and, second, I would be denying the many miracles God has done for us and through us.  There have been some tough times—some really tough times;  but we have hung on and survived.   Many years later in retrospect, I know that if we had realized 45 years ago that we had so many things going against us, we probably wouldn’t have gotten married.   What a horrible thought!  Thank you, God, for my ignorance at that age.   I can’t imagine my life without William Earl Timmons!  I am a very blessed woman! 

EAT CONCRETE?!

            Not that it’s a tasty temptation, but have you ever felt as if you could eat concrete?  Okay—this is where I’m coming from:  what kind of eater are you?  Authorities tell us that the reason some of us constantly fight an extra 10-20 pounds is that we are emotional eaters.   Some of us eat when we’re sad (or happy); others eat when we’re hungry (or not hungry); some eat when we’re angry (or at peace); some eat when we just see food (or if we have to go looking for it).  I consider myself an “equal opportunities eater”; I eat for ALL the above reasons.   Understand?  I’ve always known that I can be an emotional eater—to a certain extent; it’s never been a huge deal with me.  Even those times that I might splurge in the eating department, it was always in the back of my mind that I would have to fast for a day or two afterward to make up for the splurge. 

            However, I had an experience recently in which I saw myself in a totally different light.  It had been a very stressful few weeks around our house; Earl and I had both had things going on that were driving us both a little bonkers.  Then one Friday morning when Earl didn’t have to go to the office, it all came to a head, and we knew that we had to spend a few hours away from each other.  We weren’t angry at each other—just tired of the stress and frustration.  So he took off for one of his famous (infamous?) “ride-abouts.”  And I headed for the grocery store (Just a word to the wise—don’t go to the grocery store when you’re really stressed).  But I had a group of women coming to the house the next day for a work-retreat, and I needed to buy food for that.  Hence, the trip to the store!

            I’ve been stressed before in my life (more than once!), but this was the grandmother of them all!  I was so stressed that I was jittery, and by the time I got into the store, I truly felt as if I could chew a chunk of concrete!!  I just needed to eat—not fruit or the good stuff; I wanted JUNK!!  Unfortunately (Fortunately ?), I had to go down the cookie aisle, and that’s when I saw it:  that beautiful, round can from Pepperidge Farm.  Have you ever eaten their Crème Filled Pirouette Rolled Wafers with chocolate hazelnut?!!  Oh—my—goodness!  So decadent!  I buy them maybe twice a year because: (a) they’re pure sugar  (b) they’re so expensive.  But I couldn’t help myself; after all, I had women coming to my house the next day, and we would need a little something sweet, wouldn’t we?  That beautiful, round can just hopped right into my basket, and it was truly all I could do not to rip the top off and shove two or three of those cute, little pirouettes into my mouth!  (I know you’ve never felt like that!)   My next sin came on the ice cream aisle.  My husband is diabetic, so we rarely splurge on ice cream, but we had had such a rough couple of weeks that we really deserved a treat, didn’t we?  After all, he could be careful in other areas of his diet for  a few days to make up for the ice cream; so I bought each of us a pint of our favorite Blue Bell—Moollenium for him and Cookies and Cream for me. 

            As I raced to the front of the store to check out, thoughts of what to have for lunch were zipping through my mind.  Earl wouldn’t be home for lunch as he usually is, so I would be eating alone.  Aha!  Hamburger and French fries.  I could practically hear them calling my name!  Back in the car and headed for home with a slight detour to visit my favorite hamburger joint, I was almost salivating!  And the strangest thing happened:  the minute that big, pointed, orange and white striped roof of my favorite hamburger place came into view, I could actually feel myself calm down just a bit.  That’s when I started to realize how I was behaving and to feel a little ashamed of myself---but not ashamed enough to change my plans.  I got my order, nibbled on the fries all the way home, and when I got there, I immediately began eating.  Oh, my goodness—it tasted SO good!  Then, to top off the entrée, I scarfed down the entire pint of ice cream that I had bought for myself.  Wow! 

            Later in the day as I thought about my morning’s misadventures, it hit me:  when (if ever) had I been that hungry for God?  I think that question came to me because I had just gotten the book Just Give Me Jesus by Anne Graham Lotz and was convicted that I have too much “stuff,”  too much activity in my life and not nearly enough Jesus.  As I have “matured” (in age), I have noticed that I desire more than ever to know God better so that others can see something in me that would point them to Him.  But have I ever been as hungry for God as I was for food that morning?  Hmm.  I don’t think so.  Shame on me! 

Matthew 5:6—(part of  the Sermon on the Mount when Jesus was teaching His disciples)—Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be filled. 

Luke 6:21a—(part of the Beatitudes when Jesus was teaching His disciples)—Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.

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.”) 

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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. 

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            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! 

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            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. 

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            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!   

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            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.    

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            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!