Honors and Stitches

Most of you have seen, on facebook, that our 5 year old daughter had to get stitches. It was quite the night....

Josh, on the banjo. I, on my ukulele. We were filling the house with music of all sorts. Our offspring enjoying it with dancing through out the living room, swinging each other around, having the best time.... until big brother lets go and Eve crashes into the rocking chair. Right away, I went to Eve, holding her up into my arms, setting her on the couch to examine her. Josh asked me, "Where's it coming from?" I thought, where is what coming from? until I tilted her head up and blood was just dripping from her face. All over her clothes and the floor. Oh my ... head wounds... gotta love em.

Meema was able to come over to stay with the babies, so we could take her to the hospital. Isaiah felt so guilty, his countenance down completely, saying to everyone that he passed, "It's all my fault." We let him come with us and he said the same thing to all the doctors... poor thing. One nurse said, "It happens." Another nurse suggested he take him out and rough him up a bit for doing this. ;)

When we got to our room, Josh turned a shade of pale and had to sit down. I asked him what was wrong. He told me that his heart dropped because he was nervous they were going to put us in "that" room. What? What room? He looked at me, like I should know better. Then I realized it... and finally caught up with him... we were right across from the room that Sarah was brought to and pronounced dead. I was so consumed in Eve and supporting her that I completely didn't even think about where we were. We didn't tell the staff about it, but just tried to sort through all that to ourselves.

The Childlife specialist was great during the whole thing. Making Eve feel comfortable, giving her and Isaiah dolls to draw on and pretend that they are hurt, and then going through the motions of what to expect with the washing of the wound and the stitches. It was great. They had fun with it, and they were stealing the hearts of everyone that came in the room. They loved how protective Isaiah was of Eve.

The actual procedure went well. They had her all numbed up and after the instructional doll... she was busy playing a princess game on an IPOD during the stitching.. ignoring the doctors warnings about tugging, she was too busy picking shoes for her princess.

When that was done, it was time to leave, and when we walked outside the room, Josh made sure to point out the room to me. Within seconds, my head spun with keeping it from the kids, out of protection?, or telling them about it, out of honor? ... Honor won over. I stopped us and pointed the room out to Isaiah and Eve and said, "Look! That's the room that Sarah was in when she died." I explained other things like how people were there with us, and pointed another room out close to it where they had me sitting while we waited to be able to see her. I mapped it all out to them. It felt good and they were intrigued, taking it in, like it became more real to them, that she was, in fact, here.

Walking out of the ER, Eve exclaimed, "Well, that was fun!" I'm glad she thought so. We came home to our house, just the way we left it.... instruments on the table and music out. Josh and I looked at each other, embraced each other, and knew... things were ok.

Death and Banjos.

I look at her and weep for him
my jealousy has come again
As she lay there, begging for death
A promise made with a last breath
to hold him close, and think of me
and tell him of my love
As banjos, cameras, and people alike
remind me of what I'm missing
This very woman, she gave me him
now is passing back
Away from us, and toward him
now is passing back
O Heavenly Father, give her peace, and let her pass...


My mind has been in a whirlwind of emotions recently. It always seems that everything "heavy" always happens all at once. Like they were always meant to be connected. "When it rains, it pours" is a true statement for me, however... I love rain, especially when it pours. Shoot, I get out and dance in it, excited children following me, all for the splendor of one of my favorite creations, and then when we are good and wet, dry up and cuddling under blankets until we're warm again... I guess you have to be careful what you wish for.

I just received a banjo that belonged to my dad. The moment it was in my house, I opened the case, and couldn't help but touch the neck of it and imagine my dad's very fingers holding that very spot. He played when he was young, younger than I am now. Then he sold it to his brother in law shortly after he and mom got married to get much needed cash at the time. When Dad died, our uncle gave it back to us, and it's been with my brother ever since, until now that is   :) I have a friend, who eerily reminds me of Dad, also a banjo player, that's going to help me get Jimmy (the name given to the banjo) playing again. Having that banjo has brought me joy and grief, all at the same time. I can't wait to play him, I'm excited about it, excited to learn and do something my dad always wanted to do. But hunting down the history is disheartening... because in a perfect world... I shouldn't have to hunt. I should be able to just call Dad up and (after begging him to let me have his banjo) ask him about it and he tell me, gladly.

At the same time, I get a visit from my uncle (my dad's brother) who sat with us, counseling us about our current situation with me coming off of my depression and my husband coming off from all the stress that created these twitches... to which I loving refer to him as "Twitchy"...... :) My uncle also brought news that Grandma was dying. The very woman that brought Dad into this world, the very woman whose mental illness has been pretty entertaining, especially among us grandchildren, the very woman that I get all my humor, wit, spunky-ness, my art abilities from, all my Norse roots.... She is dying.

Unfortunately, I haven't been very close to her in these recent years. So visiting her yesterday in the hospital, before she was moved to hospice was hard for my heart. I went into her room to find that the nurses hadn't been taking the best care of her, so that was disturbing me. I walked up to her and held her hand, she asked, "Who are you?"
I answered, "It's Kailan."
She responded, "Oh" with a deep sigh "I thought that was you!"

Grandpa and Grandma Ruppert the day they were married. 

I sat with her and talked with her. Half of our conversation was about normal things.. how all the kids are, that kind of stuff. She asked about my brothers 3 times, called me my sister's name once, and kept saying to me, "that's a good girl, you've always been a good girl."

I ran my fingers though her thinned out hair, whirling my finger through her naturally curled bangs as they swooped upward like all those vintage styles you see. :) I felt her head and exclaimed, "My! Naomi does have your round head!" She smiled. I told her how much Naomi looked like her as I've always thought so, always proud of having my Norwegian baby... (finally!)... I told Grandma that Noami was the only one that really looked Norwegian and that the rest all have so much of my husband in them. She quickly responded, "So you only have one beautiful one then!" She smirked and I laughed, and said, "yeah, the rest are ok, but my, she's beautiful!" hahaha... oh Grandma.... always being arnry... (can't imagine where I get it from, can you?)
She consistently broke the conversations with her soft and genuine voice, saying, "I just want to go home. I just want to go home."
She had asked me at one point, "Do you miss your dad?"
After immediately bursting into tears, I said, "Desperately." I sat for a moment and continued, "I've been thinking about him even more lately. I just got his banjo and I'm gonna get it fixed up to play it."
She said with her weak voice and a smile on her face, "Oh good. I'll be sure to tell him about that when I see him soon." I wept bitterly after that as she rested her eyes and said, "I'll hold you to that!" totally joking, but she got it, of course, and gave another smile. I also, made her promise to give Sarah a kiss for me too, and she promised. I always make dying people promise me that.. can't help myself.
"I just want to go home now." she went on frowning.
"I know... you're always so eager in everything you do" got another smile...
A moment of silence fell in the room, just her and I, and I thought... I should sing to her. I racked my brain for a song, a song she would know, a song that spoke a Truth to her.... Ah! I had it... Just a Closer Walk With Thee. ( a song that was sung by an old chaplain to my Dad when he was in the hospital before he died)
I started singing with the chorus, and I could hear her humming in relief as I sang the words, "grant it Jesus, this my plea... daily walking close to Thee, let it be, dear Lord, let it be"
After I was done singing, she said, "thank you... always a good girl, always a good girl... I remember many times, when I was younger singing that song... always a good girl. I want to go home now. Just take me home."
I kept having flashbacks of my "great depression" within this last year, and begging God the same thing. I just wanted to go "home". With her eyes resting, I watched her with her pouting expression, and thought about how old I already feel and how much life I've already lived (with the circumstances) and how ultimately, we all want that same thing... to just go home.
After a while of sitting with her, going back and forth in conversation, she grew more tired, so I readied to leave so she could sleep.
I said loud, "Welp! I'll pray for you to die soon then!" She smirked and nodded her head in agreement, "Thank you so much!" I kissed her forehead probably half a dozen times, told her I loved her and that I'll see her later and meant it, either way.

On the drive back home, all these memories of her, of Dad.. kept flooding in. Such heaviness. Sometimes I pity myself about the heaviness I carry. But other times, I consider myself blessed. O the gifts I've been given to see things that not many see. O the burden that I bear because of it.

From Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam:27, 1850:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

I love this poem, in an earthly sense. However the greater Love that is Truer is never truly lost, more so, it continues to be found. I've learned that the more you experience this Love, the more torment you are able to feel on earth. How agonizing it can be to be so in love with a husband that I will lose someday. To love children that aren't truly mine to keep. But to seek out and fall in love with the Beloved, whom you can't truly be with until "the end", but only get closer to, until then. The world is cursed, but what a blessing it is to feel it more, just so you can feel His love that much more. What a paradox. Many may not understand this, but there are some, O melancholy brothers and sisters, that will. I don't know how to explain it better at this point. Maybe some day...

for now... rest well soon Grandma. And let the banjo playing commence!

Torn between Two Worlds

Torn between two worlds.
This earthly world, full of love and hurt, family, my children, and my husband      ~verses~
             A spiritual world, full of Love and Discipline, family, my siblings, and my Bridegroom

Which am I supposed to live? Do they co-exist? How? How do I place my value in the second, but live in the first?

It just seems that God's given us this window to look through, to get a glimpse of what it will be like when we finally get to be with Him. But there's a problem I've been struggling with.

It's just a window. This window is old, the glass is warped, the frame is cracked, and the paint on the frame is mostly worn off. This window is my Ketubah.

In Jewish culture, to my understanding, a ketubah is a marriage contract. In this contract it states the price of the bride, the right of the bride, and the promise of the groom. I find it most interesting that the life cycles of us human's traditions is how Jesus identifies with us and ultimately... how He steals our hearts away. Some would say that the Ketubah for us today, spiritually speaking, is our bible. I would agree. The picture I paint above with the window is my worn marked up earthly bible showing me spiritual Truths. Truths of who He is, Truth of who I am, and Truth of His promise to me when we are finally able to be together. The very pages made of paper from my bible suffer as much wear as I do, just from age alone.

It's no secret here, that I've seen very dark days these passed several months. I think it's safe for me to say that I've been oppressed for about a year. I was suffering. My kids were healthy, my husband was working a job where he is very loved, and I was suffering greatly, inside myself. Guilt gripped me for this. I would look at other's situations and try and find that thankfulness that it wasn't me in those situations. (God knows I've had my share of it)

When there is internal grief, it comes with a promise that it will surface, and will surprise you as to how it surfaces.

I was in my own little world, my own cage of oppression feeling so worthless, unvalued, and I couldn't understand why. I starting failing at almost everything I attempted to do, or so it seemed, but I couldn't shake it. Why?

It wasn't until I saw the outward effects of my husband failing, that I opened my eyes. I was spiritually, mentally asleep and I felt hands on both my shoulders, violently shaking me awake. My first impulse, like anyone being awakened in this manner, is either to scream or to punch.... I punched. I woke up angry and ready to fight. Much to my shame, my poor husband could not dodge my fighting either. I was angry. I was angry at his depression because of what it was doing to the whole household and he wasn't getting the help he needed. My only act of kindness to him was setting him up with people I trusted to take care of him. I'm not proud of how I was acting and I was still catching my breath from being woken like that. (and to be honest... still learning how to breathe again)

As time passed.... (a week?) a started to calm down. As I calmed down, things became clear to me.
My husband's depression took him from me. I would talk to him about my depression and he would listen, but didn't know how to respond to me. (him being a natural counselor, this was out of his character) Because he shut the world off, and in consequence, shut me off.... I instantly felt that he didn't love me, value me, hold me as precious.. none of these things. My corner (my cage of oppression) was created because of these very emotions. I had put so much stock into how he saw me or how he held me that if I felt he didn't love me, I instantly felt I was sure I was unloved. (not just by him, but by everyone, including God Himself)

I couldn't understand why God has us go through these motions... of getting married, being one with another human being, birthing babies, and having those babies walk around the earth with a piece of our hearts... when nothing of this world is permanent. When I die, I'm not going to be married, or a mother.... and yet, I'm giving my life for such things, and am commanded to do so. For what?!

I would hold my Ketubah and see only the frame.... and thought... 'If only I could break the frame, will this world go away? and let me be permanently on the other side?'

Then my Bridegroom whispered in my ear.... 'you must find your value in Me alone.'

I have been learning things about myself. I'm obsessed with my husband. :) Partly in a good way, but I take it to the extreme. I hang on his thoughts and feelings of me. I know he loves me very much, and I know he'd die for me and this family we've created together. But I can not hang my value on his value of me. Because ultimately, I'm not his bride. I am his earthly bride, but in the end, the Beloved that waits for me is not him.

I MUST find my value in my Beloved. God has commanded me to be wife to this man, and mother to these children, but I must find my value in Him.

I'm also learning what my Beloved's love looks like here on earth. When my husband loves me, or my children, that is His love shown to me. For another example, my singing... I use it for Him, but He is the true Giver of my voice in the first place, it was His gift to me, that is His love shown. I'm seeing so much more clearly now...

I'm still learning my value in Him, and I think that may even be a life long process. I need to read my Ketubah with an accepting heart that these promises, this sacrifice was for me, as well as the world. And that even though my husband may not always see me...... my Beloved, faithfully, always will.

Maybe for you it's also a spouse, maybe not. Maybe it's a father, or a mother that has made claim to your value in this world.

My husband is still learning the roots of his own depression, and his eyes have lifted as well. He sees me and that makes my heart swell and that burned my "corner" to the ground. I know I must tread carefully, because he won't always be there to do that. We are working on "us" again, bringing us back towards each other.

photo taken by Aimee Wells


.

May you learn with me our true value, that there is a Beloved waiting for us, preparing for us, who has created us, and died for us. A Beloved that is not done with us, who perfects us with discipline, and loves us with fellowship. And that it is He who has already defined us as His bride.

O Christmas Tree

It's been a tough couple of weeks. Lots has happened and I can't wait to share it with you. However, I'm still trying to find the words to explain myself... which can be very difficult at times... If only you could get inside my head.... you'd probably go crazy. heh.... anywho.

Before I post my story of my new-found wide-eyed-ness, I feel I need to let some time pass, namely, >Get this week over< because it's been one emotional roller coaster with it being Sarah's anniversary of her death. It has been 6 years now on December 17th. And Christmas hasn't necessarily gotten brighter for me. So... to give you my latest work....here's a poem, not in song form, but a poem from my sore heart. 

O Christmas Tree   

O Christmas tree

Why my memory

Faithfully reminds me

Of her

My sadness sweeps

My mind it sleeps

As I lie on my back

And stare

Tell me why

I can not die

Be it the most seemingly

Of graces?

For as long as there’s breath

Must I fight for my death?

O Christmas tree

O how you sting

How I long for the Savior

Shall I shame my behavior

Of longing for Him to

Return?

I love you, says He

Wait for Me, says He

But I can hardly breathe

Say I

Say He, you stubborn woman

I made you better than this

I know what you've done

To Me

But I want you close

I won’t give up hope

That you’ll come for My hand

In the end. 

                        ~kailan

Claiming Church and Miracles~

I wanted to give an update about my Uncle and how he's doing.

He is doing great!

By the grace and mercy and healing of God, he is doing well.

The doctors took several different tests as he sat in the ICU (for 3 days), and they all would come back negative with nothing wrong.

The nurses told him that patients aren't ever able to just walk out of the ICU to go home. ... and he did.

My uncle nearly lost his life a couple times that Saturday day. He wasn't able to stay conscious. He would stop breathing. His body temperature got very low. He was hardly able to walk when he was conscious.

I was preparing to lose him that day. and I didn't.

How?

Uncle's words exactly: "God is so good. Praise God I was healed. My faith has grown more than I thought it could. Praise Jesus."


A few months ago, some friends and I were doing a study on Acts and it would talk about healings, and we would be slightly stumped. We knew it was true, but we wondered why we didn't really see it today. Was it our unbelief?

I, personally, have watched so many of my close loved ones die. People that did believe in miracles, but God must have had different plans for them. After all, my father being one of them, died well, making an even bigger proclamation of God's existence and His power, even in the face of death. However, talking about miracles was a bit of a sore subject for me, having lost my father and then my daughter.

" a time to give birth and time to die." (Ecclesiastes 3)

I am claiming this miracle with my Uncle. There were so many witnesses to this, that you can't deny it. People saw him when he was apparently dying. People saw him in transition. People see him now, living to tell to the tale.

The very people that first found him, face down on the ground, also witnessed him standing at their door, just days later;  living, breathing, saying "thank you" for their love, prayers, and service.

There were so many people involved from different places. Different denominations. Different church buildings. Different families. Different upbringings. Different towns. Different living situations. with their own different gifts, with their own different weaknesses.

Those differences are exactly my point. When those differences collide into one mind, into one prayer, into one praise.... true church happens.

I feel so blessed to have been able to witness this, and, the truth be told, I witness it every single time the dread of a trial comes to our family. Because what happens is; one mind, one prayer, one praise.

Acts 2:46-47a "And day by day continuing with one mind in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they were taking their meals together with gladness and sincerity of heart, praising God, and having favor with all the people."

True church, people.

Not only did Uncle receive healing physically, but he is being healed emotionally. As well as others, like myself, that are receiving healing from this event. Sorry, you had to take the bullet Uncle.... but thank you :)



May you find the true church whenever your family and friends are together, in the name of Jesus. May you find the love of Jesus, in the arms of people that love you, in the service of people that are sincere, in the little hands that reach to you to pick them up, in the "voices of old" teaching wisdom, in the laughter of gladness and silly-ness, all the way to the tears of pain and grief. May you open your eyes to the church that is living and breathing around you, day after day.

Praise be to God!

An Element of Healing

I received a call from a friend that I've known since I was little. Her phone call caught me by surprise. It was dinner hour on a saturday night, Josh and I were getting ready for a wedding, as the kids excitedly bounced around the house because they were going to Grandma's house soon.

My friend was explaining to me that they found my uncle face down in the cemetery, next to his daughter's grave, which was close to my daughter's and Dad's grave.

They had all just gotten home and her family's house was right next to the cemetery, overlooking it all. I've known this family to make it their ministry to keep a loving watch on the place, giving people their privacy, but lending water and support for those seem to be struggling for long periods of time.

My friend was telling me that my uncle became conscious as her dad came to him trying to wake him, he yelled to her to bring a chair, and so she did. Studying to be a nurse, she was able to check his heart rate, and even was able to check his blood sugar which all seemed oddly fine. My uncle, although his head hurt badly, refused them calling the ambulance, (big surprise.. not) and so they insisted he call someone to come get him. He got ahold of his 17 year old grandson, who he's raised as a son (along with his 2 brothers) ever since his daughter died, 7 years ago. Along with his cousin, his grandson (my cousin) drove him, heading towards the hospital with strict instructions to do so.

After this phone conversation, I was so thankful that she called, and I burst into tears while Josh held me. My uncle has been unhealthy and it was a miracle he was still living as long as he was. I called my mom right away (for it was her brother), who had just heard about it too, from both this family that found him and my sister, who is the wife of a police man that was working and heard about it. It was unanimous that I was going to the hospital, and not to a wedding.

Later, as we were putting puzzle pieces together, we found that when my cousin drove my uncle toward the hospital, my uncle stopped breathing again and went unconscious. My cousin got off the interstate, pulled over. He (and a cousin who was with him) pulled my uncle out of the car, and he started CPR. They called 911 and the paramedics intubated him and took him to the hospital, where we were all waiting impatiently for him to arrive.

When we first arrived to the hospital, I gave another uncle of mine a huge hug. He looked so good for having had a stroke not even a week ago. I squeezed him, taking his warmth in, not knowing what to think about these events. (my mother is one of 5 children in her family) Memories were flooding my head of my childhood, of my uncle who was now fighting for his life, of when he was in his prime, charismatic-ly singing his praise songs, always joking around, bringing a zest to the room with his presence.

We were able to finally see my uncle waiting in triage. He was laying flat, sedated, on a respirator, covered in a heating blanket because his body temperature was low. The body temperature thing actually made me feel a little better for I know that if there's an internal issue, your temperature will spike before you die. If you die, once you are cold because the life is out of you, there is no bringing you back. And my uncle was still alive. The question was... is he going to get better or worse... tonight? tomorrow? No one knew anything.

The nurse told us there was a great possibility that he could hear us, even though he couldn't respond. Several family members were there and we decided to pray over him. As we prayed, he gave us his first response by squeezing his wife's hand, although it was weak, it was encouraging.

As the room of family kept conversation, I would find myself back over to him, standing there, staring at his face, afraid to touch him. I kept hearing a whisper in my head, "sing to him. sing to him." My hesitation put this weight on my chest. But there was a moment when everyone stepped outside the room, out into the waiting area to call people, or get drinks. That left my niece and I alone with him. God paved a moment for me to sing to him in peace.

When my dad was very sick and close to the end, with his weak dying breaths we once sang, "Purify My Heart". I could hear my dad's voice, that song came to my mind, so I started singing. I sang a few songs to him at that moment, being left in peace. I came to a certain song that sang,

"Bless the Lord, oh my soul, oh my soul, worship His holy name. Sing like never before, oh my soul, worship His holy name."

As I sang that song, my uncle's head tilted towards me, ever so slightly. It made me smile, knowing that he could hear me.

I finished singing the last song as everyone was starting to pile back into the room. When the doctor came into the room, he yelled his name, rustling my uncle up a bit, and he responded very well, wiggling fingers and toes, looking up at him for a second. A sigh of relief went through the room. I said, "He obeyed! That's good on 2 different levels! He's responding, and he obeyed instructions!" the truth of that joke was all too funny.

Waiting longer, the doctors finally moved my uncle to a room in the ICU. With tests all coming back normal, we were at a loss at to what to expect.

It was getting later and later into the night, family was going home to rest, leaving my aunt (his wife), my mom, my cousin, and me. The nurses decided it was time to see if he'd be able to breath on his own, so they brought him out of the sedation, and lowered the power of the ventilator. My cousin and my mom were at either side, holding his hands. I was standing close to the foot of his bed, and he was looking around with weak tired eyes as we all waited for him to breathe. Mom suggested I sing to him again, my cousin agreed, so I started singing "Purify my Heart" again. (just in case he missed it the first time) With my mom and cousin's eyes on him, my eyes were on his breathing monitor. We needed that number to be between 12 and 30 for normal. So as I sang the first song, his breathing went up to 20, but it was sporadic so I slowed my singing in hopes to calm him a little, but was glad that he was doing so well. When the song was done, his number went down to a 12. (which was still ok) Then I started singing "Amazing Grace" per request of my mother. I started singing and it relaxed him so much. I watched that number 12 as I sang those soft verses, move..... 12... 13... 12... 11... 10... 9... 8...   I stopped singing, and told him to breathe, he did and I saw that number 12 again and so I hesitantly started singing again.... and again... 12... 11... 10... 9... 8... 6... I stopped singing, and told him, "I'm not going to continue singing if you don't breathe, now breathe!" He looked at me, and started breathing again.... with even more hesitation, I didn't want to continue singing at this point... It felt like I was singing him to his death. Before I started singing again, he started to gag on his tube, and his body started to panic. We all tried to get him to calm down, but our efforts only could do so much. He wanted to talk to us, but couldn't. The nurse suggested we leave the room to let him concentrate on his own, we painfully obeyed this instruction and started to leave the room. I kissed him on his forehead and held his hand, telling him "I'll finish the song later. I love you." He gripped on to my hand, and gave me panicked eyes. I knew he didn't want us to leave. My mom said "see you later, buddy" and motioned me to follow her. I couldn't.. I literally couldn't... his grip on me was so tight, I literally could not get out of his grasp. I had to her come to me and told her about what he was doing.

"Let her go, buddy. You have to let her go. We'll be right back." He was panicking, trying to talk with no sound coming out of his mouth. Mom could see I was making little progress with getting my hand out of his. "Don't do this, buddy, you need to let her go. We'll be right back, we promise." My aunt came to the bed, trying to help the effort, but my uncle was relentless. His grip was incredibly, surprisingly strong.

Finally, slowly, but surely, I was able to free my hand. My aunt took over as I left the room quickly, and I broke down. To leave someone who is silently shouting to you to stay, took all of my self control to know that the nurse may be right to have us leave. He needed to do this on his own.

After failing that test, they sedated him again to let him sleep. He wasn't breathing on his own, and had 4 apnea episodes during that short time, it wasn't safe to take him off the ventilator just yet. We all decided to go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning.

Late in the morning, I arrived to find my cousin sitting next to him. My other uncle had been there and gone, and my mom was coming soon. Uncle was asleep and calm, and my cousin was telling me that he failed another breathing test earlier that morning. I sat next to Uncle and I noticed a chain bracelet on his arm. I gently examined it, trying not to wake him, and before I knew it, his eyes opened and he caught me. Uncle automatically was trying to say something to me, but I couldn't make it out. He started gagging, trying to cough. His wrists were strapped to the bed. I was holding his hand, watching helplessly. I looked to my cousin and he started trying to calm him down. I found myself praying out loud for him to be calmed. I noticed phlegm coming out of his mouth so my cousin ran to the nurse. She came in to suction him out and that was painful to watch as he writhed in pain and panic. He lipped the words, ' I can't breathe'. I relayed that to the nurse, and she explained to him that she's essentially sucking the air out of his lungs when she sucks any fluid out. When she was done, he calmed down.

He remained awake though, as we sat on either side of him. He motioned he wanted to write. Genius! I, being the writer I am, had plenty of paper and pens in my purse, so I quickly got them out and held them to him and he wrote messages to us. "What is today?" "Fountain of Life" (his church) "Pastor" "in my phone" "he needs to be here now!" "tube is hurting BAD" I explained to him why he needed it in right now.   "take out, hurry" "how is (grandson)"

Totally relieved to be able to help him more, mom came, and we tried to hunt down his pastor. Uncle kept gagging and panicking and it was torture to watch this grown man being tortured as we waited for the doctors to help him. The nurse told us to stop letting him write and to have him rest. As we were preparing to leave him for a little bit to let him rest, he once again, with all his might, wanted us to stay. This time he was clenched to my cousin. I left the room, and found my mother soon after me, breaking down into helpless tears.

After some settling, I get a call from my Uncle Ed (my dad's brother). He has impeccable timing. He didn't know about any of this, so as the story unfolded, his encouragement was the water I needed to continue.

After that phone call, I ran into an old highschool friend who was visiting his dad who was dying of cancer. He was there, to say good-bye. I was able to relate to him, and his pain. Coincidence? .... No ...  God was using me and placing me right where he wanted me.

After that, I went to check on Uncle again, finding my cousin still sitting quietly with him, Uncle was sedated slightly again and calm. When he opened his eyes, starting to gag again, I told him quickly that his pastor was on his way. (I had finally found him) Uncle was able to calm down and the waiting game continued as we watched him sleep, then gag, then sleep... and so on. He failed another painful breathing test, and had little hope of what was to happen. He wrote the message, "I CAN" "I can"

My aunt showed up with the pastor beside her. The pastor held his hand and after a few minutes of watching him, began to pray. He laid his hands on him, claiming the healing power of God, he claimed God's breath of life as he laid his full hand on his chest. He would repeat, "in Jesus name, in Jesus name, in Jesus name" You could see that Uncle was praying with him.

The doctor came in and said, "I think he's strong enough to breathe." He went on explaining more, but after that news, we all had smiles on our faces, and Uncle's eyes, for the first time, were relieved, and he gave a thumbs up. He signed the numbers, "6... 3... 0..." I said them out loud while he was doing it, and the pastor interpreted... "6:30 service tonight! Alright!" Uncle gave another thumbs up, and we left the room while the doctors took the tubes out.

Entering in that room again, with Uncle's smile as big as an old man's tired smile could be, he told us all he could remember. He was mad that the nurse didn't let me continue singing the night before, he told us of the "nice family that brought a chair for him in the cemetery and water, and they were sooo kind. God bless them." He showed his gladness for me to be able to "read him" as well as I had. He was so grateful for all the faithful family that was there and for all the prayers that we sent his way.

Now that he had his voice, we all felt better to let him rest. I sat in the waiting area, finally relieved for him, and another cousin sat beside me and asked how I was doing. I told her that a part of me wants to know when this constant trial of events for our family will end, but that the other part of me felt like I was once again, "in my element." and it felt good.

I felt free of my depression at that moment, and I felt useful again. In a confidence, because of my own trauma, I was useful in another's trauma. This is my family, whom I love, and I was doing God's work by "being with them".

I've said it before in this blog and I'll say it again.

Serving in the way that you were created to serve is a powerful element of healing. 

2 Corinthians 1: 3-7
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ. But if we are afflicted, it is for our comfort and salvation; or if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which is effective in the patient enduring of the same suffering which we also suffer; and our hope for you is firmly grounded, knowing that as you are sharers of our sufferings, so also you are sharers of our comfort."

To Whither Waves

wow... I haven't written in a while. I guess, I've gone longer before. I'm sure a slim few of you are wondering why I haven't written in a while... well... there's 2 reasons....

1. I'm gonna tell you a secret... I'm writing elsewhere.... :) I'm not very far into it, but I'm finally starting to write a book. a life long dream of mine, coming into reality as I type away about my life. I'm taking my experiences of all my trials and triumphs and putting them into a possibly 3 part book, "making the intangible tangible" (my interesting key phrase there). I don't know when it'll be done, but as I write into that book, it takes away from this blog, so forgive me, and thanks for your patience.

2. Aside of the fact that I'm writing elsewhere, there's a reason I'm not that far into it. I can't write about past experiences when I'm in my corner of depression, which has been coming in huge periodic waves the last few months. My corner leaves no room for concentration, which is vital for book writing.

It seems I have forgotten how to cope with stress. Stress has been a part of my life for a long time. (as you know, if you know me or have read through my blog) There are stressors I'm dealing with, insecurities that torment me, and my corner won't quit beckoning me. A friend pointed out to me that my corner is more like a cage, and I feel like I can't get out, even though the door is open. He is right.

My corner has a demon that lies to me, telling me my friends do not love me. It tells me how worthless I am, how useless I am. It makes me feel as if God has turned His back from me. I hate my corner even though I run to it. It comforts by torture, like begging to be whipped so it can end your guilt. But it never goes away.

I still feel the Spirit at work in me, giving me warnings, using me to help others, but then still.....
Just like the Jews in the old testament kept forgetting about God and worshiping idols, so I forget and run to my corner, my cage, ...listening to the lies.

I do not write these things to boast for some twisted entertainment,  I am quite ashamed of this. This is not me. This cage is not something of old, but has slyly shaped it's way into my quiet, isolated, introverted alone time that was meant for me to be with my King. It was meant to be my retreat, the place I go to rest and know that I am His. I know this angers Him more than it angers me. I'm being stolen and consenting to it.

I am in the middle of a battle ground.

I have a Sword. I have forgotten how to use it in these times. Why can't I remember to use it? Why am I forgetting?

As I have "played therapist" on myself..... I come to these conclusions. (huge thanks to my close friends that have put up with me through all this and have faithfully counseled me in love and great patience)

1. I'm crazy.....
   solution= (while patting myself on the head...) "That's ok. Everyone has a dose of crazy."
2. I'm being oppressed.... (observation from myself, however confirmed by some friends)
   solution= "use my God-given voice to speak out Truth, making any demon flee, keeping my focus on my Beloved, who is my real target."
3. I've noticed that when I started writing my book, writing more songs and continue to experience certain spiritual gifts that have been given me, the more I've been attacked.
   solution= "normal, to be expected... but not accepted." (I'll reiterate that now) I need to expect it, but not accept it. Why have I owned this dark corner? It was not made by someone who loves me, but by someone who wants to devour me. My Love did not shape this place for me, nor prepare it for me. I have been unfaithful. I have been seeking shelter underneath tissue paper. I have been holding the hand of a liar. I have been finding comfort in fire. I have been finding rest in the dragon's lair, as he waits for the right moment to bite. sounds a little like hell, doesn't it?

This trend needs to end. I need to find a way to calm these waves that send me running to my corner. I need to get back what was stolen. It will not be easy. It will be hard. very hard. I will need discipline. I will need prayer.

But most of all, I need to understand and embrace the Truth that God will not let me go. He will not give up on His bride. He is whispering my name and I hear His voice. Because He waits for me, I wait for Him. I am precious to Him and always will be, no matter what. I need to remember these things.

God, help me.


John 16:33 "These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world."