Whats Love Got to Do With It?

I had a great talk with Jimmy yesterday.  I love it when he has a moment to actually get to the point that he is able to share about him.  Life has its challenges for that little family, and its rare that Jimmy will speak about it.  I understand that, as it is difficult just living it some days and then having to talk about it is just too much.  But, this day he opened up a little bit.  When he does it gives me a better glimpse into their trials and their accomplishments, and I have a better clearer understanding of him.

James has many disabilities, and for the most part they are obvious.  There is one that is not and that is a sensory disability.  James has difficulties with sensory overload.  You can't see that, and you would have no idea he struggled with that if you weren't told.  For James, the sound of a dog barking is difficult.  One bark startles him, but a second bark is the same as the first and the last bark is the same as the first and his brain can't stop the stimulation.  When something excites him they have to be careful not to let it "overload" or the brain can't stop the stimulation.  Flashing lights in the window do the same thing.  Loud noises such as clapping or dishes clanging or whistles or sirens - too much.  Sounds don't happen in the back ground for him.  It is similar to talking to someone on a cell phone where the background noise is as loud as the voice your listening to and sometimes its even difficult to hear the voice over the background noise.  That is his world.  It is painful for him.  You can't tell by looking at him, but his parents can.  He raises his eyes just so over his glasses and squints just a bit.  That is how they know he's overloading.  Praise God for giving James parents that are so keenly aware of his simple almost hidden clues.

In speaking with Jimmy I likened the excitement overload to a child being tickled.  Often times people will tickle a child because they love the sound of laughter.  If the tickle is light and short lived the child doesn't seem to mind.  If the tickle is deeper and longer the child laughs because that is the bodies reaction and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs because they can't do anything else until it stops.  Sometimes, oftentimes, the laugh is accompanied by a cry, but the tickler doesn't see that because they are simply enjoying the sound of the child's laughter.  The child can't get away, they are held prisoner, and its painful BUT it doesn't sound that way.  That is how James is with sensory overload.  

Pushing 4, the agencies involved in his life want him to start school.  Jimmy and his wife are in a position now to determine is that best for James.  The bells, the whistles, the constant moving of other children around him; would that lock him in a world of constant discomfort?  Would that take this child that is one of the happiest little people I've ever laid eyes on, and destroy that beautiful spirit?  These are things they are going to have to make decisions on and its not easy.  They will have to go up against the most educated and plead their case for James.

There is a mentality that says - well expose him to it more and he will get used to it.  Oh how wonderful would life be if that were the case.  In a disability like James, that doesn't go away and you can't make it.  No amount of exposure to it will make it less difficult the next time.  Their life has been greatly affected by it.  Going out to dinner at night is out of the question.  The constant movement of people, the voices, the clanging of the dishes - its too much.

Yet, thru it all they rise above.  They understand that unlike most children with sensory issues, James can't cover his ears when the sound is too much.  James can't cover his eyes when there is too much movement.  James can't tell them when the excitement is too much, nor when its at a point that is something he doesn't like.  They are his voice, they are his only voice.  They are his only advocates, they know this, and they don't take it lightly.  Kristal is a soft spoken, gentle, and kind young woman.  She exudes life to the full.  Yet, when it comes to her son, watch out.  She is a force to be reckoned with and she will fight with every ounce of her being to be the advocate for James as God has entrusted her.  She knows him so well and has taken the time to study him and pay such close attention to him that she knows the little movements, and the little things that give her insight to the difference between pain and pleasure.  She knows by those things that a particular cartoon is out of the question because he couldn't handle it.  She knows when he needs to be removed from a situation because of the effect it will have on him long term - like for the next 24 hours if she doesn't do something.  She is simply amazing, and she has taken the time to teach it to Jimmy.  She communicates the simplest details so that Jimmy is as keenly aware, and they watch over James as if their life depended upon it - James does.  

There is a line between over protective and - protection.  I love how the two of them understand that and they push James to his limits.  I love how they enjoy him, and how they laugh with him.  They both have quirky personalities, and he has picked up on that and carried on the trait.  He entertains them, and them - he.  He is a joy.

This is only one of his many disabilities, but this is the one that is silent and unnoticable.  This is the one that people challenge them on.  This is the one that is most crucial to James either loving life or hating it.  I can't help but think what it is like in his brain when this sensory stuff begins overload.  It makes me wonder if its like the person who is claustrophobic and is put in an MRI machine and can't move for an hour.  The torture that can't be seen, the inability to do anything about it.  Either way, it makes me understand why their world is so quiet and home based.

Our little James has to be one of the most fortunate little children on the face of the earth.  He struggles just to see every new day, and life is difficult for him; there is no getting around it.  Yet, all that boy knows is love.  His ability to enjoy pleasures that 3 year olds enjoy is not there, yet his ability to enjoy life is, and his parents see to it on a daily basis that he lives that day like its his last.  There are frustrations and difficulties and pain and sadness but none overshadow the love nor the appreciation for what they do have.

There are so many things that come to mind.  What would my life look like if I actually spent the time enjoying every minute and living it to the full?  What would my relationships look like if I spent the energy to grow them and know those people so that even their simplest movements or troubles were evident to me and I could know how to so carefully protect them?  What would my day look like if I spent it paying attention to small details of my loved ones, and taking the initiative to grow and foster the relationships of those I love?  I can't even imagine.

James is blessed.  His parents are blessed.  I'm blessed - blessed to be able to sit back and see what it looks like to love so sacrificially that another human beings life is safer, happier, and God's character is revealed more because of it.

True sacrificial love - putting the needs and well being of another before gratification for self - is rare.  God chose James to be the recipient of it.  God chose his mom and dad to be the givers of it.  God chose that family to be the example to many of how to display it and live in it, and the fruit that comes from it.  The sad part is what they are doing isn't so special.   All are called to it - few heed that calling.  I hope and pray God grows in me a sensitivity to this kind of love and helps me with a willingness to display it for His glory

Whats love got to do with it?  Everything.  

Blood, Gas, and a Fridg . . . . . .

Your not gonna believe this!  I am nearing my golden years, and had my first ever - never had before .  .  .  . bloody nose.  What in the world?  Yes, a bloody nose.  I thought I felt like I needed to sniff as if my nose was a little runny.  So, I did and it felt drippy.  So I touched it with my napkin from lunch, and it was blood.  How in the world?

Last Friday I had another incident.  Chalk it up to being laid up, or irresponsible whichever, it was a sight to behold.  I had driven to the cracker to have an adjustment, and then I went home, and then Jim and I went to his work to get his paperwork for disability.  I knew I was low on gas, but had no idea it was on fumes.  You see, there is a little gauge that tells me how many miles there are to empty.  It lied.   It said I had 14 miles to empty, but I was on the freeway when it started cutting out.  I told Jim I thought I was running out of gas, he shook his head at me as he so lovingly does, and told me to get over to the far right lane and DON'T put on the brake.  From that moment on I felt like a nascar driver, or a pilot bringing in a broken down plane and taking anxious instruction from the towers.

Jim tells me, pull over into the next lane ok. Now, put it in neutral and let it coast.  Now get in the lane to take the off ramp.  Look look look.  Don't put on the brake!!  Ok Jim I gotcha!  Ok, now as we go down the off ramp to the street DON'T put on the brake.  Ok ok ok, looks good, now move over again to the far right.  HURRY HURRY HURRY (he says this knowing that I can't make it go any faster).  Over to the far lane I went.  The car is now just coasting, it has died, and the steering doesn't like me very much.  I'm now down to the stop light.  Don't stop he yells at me and don't put on the brake as you take this corner.  RIGHT - I'm still going 40.  I did put on the brake for just a second, and then turned the corner.  Immediately to our right was a gas station.  I grabbed hold of the wheel and quickly  turned into the gas station and forced the turn of the wheel to line up with the pump.  We made it.  It was almost exciting.  I was somewhat exhilerated and somewhat scared.  I thought Jim was going to chew me out but good.  Instead, we sat at the pump somewhat drained and laughed our butts off.  He accused me of living on the edge.  I accused him of not loving me enough to make sure I didn't have to pump gas!!!  Here we were, two cripples and a car out of gas.  My bad.

Our patio refridgerator quit working.  Yes, in the desert we keep a fridg on the patio and run it year round.  We keep soda and beer in there, and its nice when your sitting on the patio or taking a swim to have the cold beverages outside.  Well.  We received a little fridg for out there a couple years ago and it never kept the stuff quite as cold as we would prefer.  After we moved to this house we noticed that it was not keeping it cold at all.  We were putting a jug of frozen water in there to keep it cold, and that worked for a while.  Finally we just unplugged it and decided since it came from Sams Club we would return it one day.

Today our house refrig quit working.  Everything in the freezer thawed and the fridg is not keeping things cold enough to stop bacteria growing.  Time to take back the patio fridg, as the repairman can't make it til Thursday.  Between the two of us cripples we got the thing loaded up in the jeep and headed to Sams.

Now if you didn't know, Sams HAD a great return policy.  It didn't matter how long you owned the thing, if you had a receipt they would take it back and you could get it replaced or something different. If you didn't have the receipt they kept it in their systems for 2 years and you could exchange or return for that amount of time.  Notices the caps on had.

Jim didn't think that I could exchange the thing.  I was determined.  I walked in and talked to the lady.  My back was hurting and I probably looked like I was in pain and a force to be reckoned with.   She then informed me that their return policy has changed to 90 days.  I stood firm and told her that the only reason we didn't go to Costco with more selection was because of the return policy.  She then got a manager, who agreed to exchange the frig.  I went out and got Jim and told him it was a go.  He brought the frig in only to find out it was nothing shy of a wine cooler.  HA!  No wonder it didn't get cold.  I tried my hardest to argue with the clerk - I tried to explain to her that there weren't any dips in the racks for the bottles - she didn't care.  She said it was a wine cooler.  We accepted that, and the manager made the swap.  Jim is still laughing!

Bloody noses, running out of gas, swapping out fridg's that are two years old.  Just a day in the life of me!  My nose isn't bleeding anymore.  My car has gas (I would rather scrub 200 toilets than put gas in a car).  And we have a new fridg to keep our perishables from rotting.

Tomorrow is another day.  Because of the thawing of the freezer, my bags of rasberries we picked are liquid. That means tomorrow is jelly day.  Black Rasberry Jelly.  Yum Yum Yum.  Know what else happens tomorrow?  God' mercies are new.  But not just tomorrow - they are new every day!  Each day brings about its joys and it challenges, but one thing I can count on - and so can you - is God's mercies are new every day.  What a Savior we have!!!!!

Lamentations 3
22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; [1]
his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

Sweet Sixteen . . . . what a joke.

I'm still mad.  Its been since 1974, and I'm still mad.  I didn't have any idea I was still mad, until today.

As a young girl, my parents raised me to be responsible, and hard working.  When i grew old enough to earn money, they had helped me find ways to do that.  I was a terrible scaredy cat and didn't like being home without an adult, so to teach me that I was safe and ok being alone, they would leave me alone with my two siblings (I'm the oldest) and go next door to visit for the evening.  They would give me my dad's watch and I would keep looking at it until either i fell asleep, or they came home.  My eyes were glued to that thing, and the darkened outside filled me with fear.  Before long I became more comfortable with it, never liking it, but adjusting.  My mom let me know when she thought I was ready to babysit away from home.

Our neighbors had three little kids, youngest being two.  They were clean freaks and everything in their house was spic and span.  I had never seen bedrooms look like that - and the furniture was beautiful.  The oldest girl had a canopy bed - every girls dream and I must say I was jealous.  The house always smelled like the original scented Pledge.  They must have dusted every day, or the mom wore it as perfume!  Even today some 30 plus years later, when I smell that smell, it takes me back to those days standing in their kitchen.  I earned a total of 50 cents an hour.  I wasn't very responsible with my earnings.  Doritos had  just come into popularity and the taco flavor was to die for.  My neighbor and I would walk to the grocery store, after I had been paid, and I would buy me a bag of Doritos.  We would eat half of them on the walk home, and then I would try to hide the rest of them from my sister.  Silly me.  She had a nose for food like a hound dog.  She would find them when i wasn't home and eat all but a few and put the bag back like it hadn't been touched.  It didn't matter where I put them, she found them!

I had all sorts of babysitting jobs, some were fun - some were just not.  Some of the places I went to were down right scary, and some felt like I lived there with them.  I did Christmas wrapping for extra money, and I would help clean for some elderly people off and on.  That was before i was sixteen.

During the months prior to my sixteenth birthday, my parents made me apply for jobs.  They had given me a 1965 green volkswagen bug to drive (more posts about this later on), and it was going to be up to me to put gas in it.  I had been given parameters to follow for this job search, and was pretty anxious to have a job and earn my own money that I could spend however, whenever I wanted.

For my birthday, a few of my friends and I had purchased tickets to the Peter Frampton Concert being held at the fairgrounds just north of our house.  I was so stinkin excited to go to this concert, and it was ON my birthday!  The day was planned, the weather was supposed to be beautiful, and I was gonna be sweet sixteen.

OR NOT.

Three days before the blessed event I received a call from Ben Franklin Store.  They wanted me to come in for an interview.  I was so excited.  My mom drove me up there as I wasn't sixteen yet and legal to drive.  I had my interview and it went well.  I was so hoping to get that job.  It paid a whopping $1.62 an hour and it was close to home and I would always be off by 7 at night.  I was anxious to hear from them.

My sixteenth birthday was on a Saturday that year.  The concert was at 2:00 in the outdoor stadium at the Fairgrounds.  It was going to be an afternoon of sun and fun and great music.   

It is Friday the day before Peter Frampton steps on the stage.  Early in the afternoon my mom tells me that I had received a phone call in the morning from Ben Franklin's.  They were offering me the job, and my mom had accepted it for me.  I got really excited - almost jumped for joy.  But then . . . . then she tells me the rest of the story;

"You have to work tomorrow from 10-5", she said, "I know it is your birthday, but they said if you didn't work tomorrow they would have to give the job to someone else.  Since you don't have another job, I told them that would be fine and you would be there by 10."

I wanted to kill her.  I wanted to set fire to Ben Franklin.  I wanted to call in sick my very first day - or just not go in at all, after all I didn't accept the job - she did for me!  I didn't do any of those things.  I did the next right thing.  I went to bed early on the night before my sweet sixteen.  I got up on that morning  -  not even wanting to hear Happy Birthday - and prepared for my first ever real job that was i was excited to get but didn't want to go to.  (That was a long un-punctuated sentence on purpose - for you to get the feel of how it is read).  AND, there was one more thing that I didn't put into the equation.  I knew I wasn't going to be able to attend the concert and had to give my birthday ticket away for someone else to enjoy.  Thats not the left out piece.  Its worse than that.

Ben Franklin was across the street from the Fairgrounds.  The very Fairgrounds where the concert was going to be.  The very concert I was missing because of Ben Franklin.  Can you say salt in the wound?  Worse than that, the whole reason they needed me to start that day was because they were anticipating a lot of traffic in the store to meet the needs of the concert goers.  Yes.  I had to wait on - help and check out those lucky ducks going to the concert on MY birthday.  Concert goers came in  buying styrofoam coolers, and personal paper fans, and soda, and candy, and bandanas, and so on and so on and so on.  Each person I checked out my resentment deepened.

At noon, my friend I was going to the concert with came to go to birthday lunch with me at the diner next door.   She almost felt guilty, but tried to buffer it with the fact that she didn't have a job and it was going to be so good that I will have that extra money.  Yeah yeah yeah.  Whatever.

It got worse.

As the day went on, and my resentments grew, and customers came in and out of the store, the Fairgrounds parking lot filled up to the brim.  The sidewalks were full of people, and for the small midwest town, it was crazy.   But then it happened.  

I had to listen to the band play while I worked.  Yes.  The doors to the store were opened, and the concert was outdoors, so the music flooded the store as if it was part of the air molecules.  It was one more grain of salt in the open gaping wound and it was getting ground in bit by bit by bit.  Happy Birthday to me.

Somehow I made it thru that day and lived in spite of it.  I never listened to Peter Frampton again, other than what was on the radio, as it caused my blood to boil all over again.  So, you say what prompts this post?

Today after returning from the doctor with Jim I needed to lay down.  There was nothing on the television and so I was left with few options.  Oprah was on and I never ever watch that show - but thought what the heck.  Shaun Cassidy was on and he performed his old songs.  Then came the Backstreet Boys (whoever they are) and tigerbeat magazine.  But then.  Then came this ole gray haired hot guy - introduced as none other . . . Peter Frampton.  YES!  He was singing all of his old songs - the ones that he sang at the concert in 1974 at the Fairgrounds in Davenport Iowa.  Those songs.  The ones that I chose to not listen to anymore because of the emotion they stirred.  Yeah that emotion - the emotion I was beginning to feel at that precise moment.

I'm still resentful.  I think I need to do something about this.  Peter Frampton sang to one of the women in the audience that was wild crazy about him and went to ALL his concerts.  I bet her mom didn't offer an employer her services on her birthday on the day of his concert now did she?  I think Peter Frampton needs to sing to me.  He needs to make it all better.  He needs to know how loyal and hurt I was, and how my parents chose to make me being a responsible accountable productive member of society over attending one of his concerts.  How dare they?  I'm sure he would see this as big of a problem as me - after all . . . 

See if I ever watch Oprah again.

She's gone.

She's gone.  I can't believe a month has passed and she's gone.  I thought she was here another week, or at least through this week, but no. . . she's gone.

She's gone to a good place, nothing bad.  Not death, nor hospital,nor anything like that, she's just not here.  I saw her once and thought for sure I'd see her again, but nope - life got away from us both.  She's gone.

Who is she?  She is a force to be reckoned with.  She is my friend, but its strange.  She's my friend, but not in a friend way.  We are much different but very much the same.  She is in her 20's and I - well - I'm not.  She's single, I'm not.  She's a student, I'm not.  Yet, somehow we have connected - like a soulmate.  I get her.  She gets me.  Sometimes without saying a word.

I worked with her at my current job.  I joined the team we were on and she seemed to be the one with the voice.  She was knowledgeable and willing to help.  She seemed magnetic, people were drawn to her.  Her smile and laughter were contagious.  I remember the day we connected.  I mentioned to her that I was from Iowa.  She then told me that her aunt lived in the same town I was raised in.  Listening to her description, I was able to identify exactly where her aunt lived.  Connection made!  How strange is it that something like that one little thing in common made a connection.  It was from there that we began this what we call a friendship.

Her dad passed away a few years ago, and he was her hero.  Her conversations proved that, her motivations the same.  She was crazy about him, and he instilled in her a knowing that she could accomplish anything she set her mind to.  Her mom is a hard worker, and stepped up to provide for my friend and her brother.  Her mom stepped into the dad role as well with two kids in college, grieving and lost and empty, and feeling the same herself.  

Her dream was to be a doctor.  Her dad was so excited about that, and it became his dream for her as well.  Just before her testing for med school her dad passed away.  Her grief caused her scoring to be too low for entrance.  She was devastated, and felt she let him down.  But just as she always does, she picked herself back up and began studying again to retake the test.  Of course, this was all before I knew her. 

For a while she almost gave up on that dream.  She teetered between other occupations, walked thru her grief held her mom's hand as she walked thru her grief, and somehow managed to live life.  I remember the day she broke down at work.  People are rude, especially where their money is concerned.  It was early on a Saturday and a client began accosting her, calling her names - telling her how stupid she was - and she lost it. She took off to the bathroom, and I was summoned to go check on her.  We stood in the bathroom, not really saying anything, just two bodies understanding, not alone.  I put my arms around her for a minute.  She gathered herself up, and back to work we went.  Growing up and maturing into a adult is not for cissys.  

She was prepared to take her test again.  She had studied like a crazy person and had taken quite a bit of grief from her peers for not doing the things that 20-somethings do, but she was committed.  The night before her test, she left work only to go home and find that her house had been robbed.  Her computer, her camera, her jewelry - all sorts of things . . . gone.  More than the things, she felt violated.  The night before her test, when she needed to revisit her notes, and have a good meal, and get a good nights sleep.  Not happening.  She took her test and then fell apart.  She waited and waited and waited for her results.  Needless to say her scores were not what she was wanting, and her applications to colleges were one rejection after another.

She never gave up.  She was so excited when she received her acceptance letter from a medical school in the Carribean.  She did the necessary prep work, and prepared for med school outside of the United States.  It has been a challenge for her.  Her concern for her mom and her brother can't be met due to the distance and she has to rely on skype, mail, and internet to keep connected with them.  The life on the island is nothing shy of jungle like!  The goats run free, and they can't drink the water.  The entire island is on a hill and the physical demands are crazy.  They don't get regular food, and laundry is a big issue.  The humidity and the rain and the hurricanes have been a shock to the desert girl . . .. and the bugs and the mold . . . . shock.  Roommates are hard, and priorities are different.  Home seems like a lifetime away.  

But she's there.  She's doing what she has to do to achieve her dream, and to honor her father.  She sends me lengthy emails somewhat like a journal and when i read them I feel like I'm in the room with her.  They are filled with pain, and discomfort, and stretching, and growth.  A longing to be near what is familiar and comfortable, and loved ones.  Lonely.

I can honestly say that this girl and I have probably only spent as many times together as what I can count on one hand outside of work.  When she comes back during breaks she has so many things to do.  Shopping for the next semester, time with friends, bonding with her mom as the healing continues, and rest - much needed rest.  I love it when I get to spend a few hours with her, looking at her and seeing the young woman she is transforming into.  I got to spend an entire day with her this time - it was so fun.  We baked and talked and ate, and watched Modern Family together, and laughed and laughed and laughed.  

What a doctor she will be.  There is something to be said about being away from any and all creature comforts.  It causes you to draw from deep in your bones and persevere.  Many give up, many don't have the moxy to carry thru.  Many become callous, many resort to substances to fill those voided areas of their life.  But she.  She is standing the test of time.  She is allowing herself to feel the pain of emptiness, and dealing with it head on.  She is putting her nose to the grindstone and giving it her all.  She is living in sub human conditions to do what she believes she is called to and what will bring honor to her parents name.  Its those things that will make her a good doctor.  Its those things that will give her an understanding of the heart of her patient, rather than treating symptoms and conditions.  She's down three semesters, and has a long way to go.  But she's doing it, and each semester she comes back stronger and more mature and more humble.  

She's gone.  She left last night and I'm sad.  This girl who I don't know what to call, my friend - my nonbirth daughter - my soulmate - she's just mine.   And while I haven't spent much face to face time with her, I miss her like mess when she's away.  I wait and wait for her emails, and look for her on skype just to see her face and know she's ok.  A connection.  We are connected and there is no explanation as to how or why.

What has she taught me?  She has taught me to never ever miss an opportunity to connect.  She has taught me what it looks like to chase your dream regardless of the cost.  She has taught me what it looks like to grieve but grieve by moving forward.  She has experienced things I haven't even with the difference in our age.  I've never lost a parent.  I've never been robbed.  I've never lived outside of the US.  I've never went to college.  I've never chased a dream.  I have alot to learn from her.  

Thank you Gauri, for being in my life.  Thank you for taking the interest in me and my life so that we could connect by a very simple thing like a street in Iowa.  Thank you for being you, and investing in this relationship of ours that really can't be identified.  Thank you.

Thank you, for being . . . you.