Straight From Hell, Beelzebug Flew Into My House. A True Story

Lately I've come up with about 7 or 8 different ideas to write about.  All of them I'm working on but none of them have I been able to finish.  I'm hoping to knock one out tonight ... hopefully!  And so, in the meantime, I thought I'd post up a true story about the time a bug flew into my house!  I haven't been the same since...

I'm not a great big fan of bugs. If I see one I don't generally scream like a little girl and run away flapping my hands wildly over my head but in general, I don't like them. That's for sure. When it got dark outside tonight I turned the porch light on so the little neighbor girl could see to walk home. The light's been on a good hour and that's plenty of time for all the winged insects to draw near. What is it with the bugs and the lights? You can hear them banging into the glass of our front door, colliding into each other as they dive-bomb the light fixture. I remember when I was a kid one of our friends had a bug zapper. You'd hear the thing fry bugs all night long. In the morning you could look on the ground below the glowing deliverer of death to any bug that dared answer its gleaming call and see hundreds, if not thousands of sizzled and lifeless bug carcasses heaped in a pile. To put it simply, that was just gross. Oh, so back to tonight...

It's an unfortunate placement, a porch light is, right next to the front door. You need it to see who's knocking or to allow whoever's leaving your home to see the stairs so as not to fall and break a bone or twist an ankle. But after an hour or so of the light being on there seems to be a party of flying insects swarming just above head level and right at the main entrance of your house.

So Matthew's little friend had been gone for a bit and he needed to go out to the car to get something. He opened the door and I assume the back draft (or whatever it's called when you open the door and it sort of sucks air from the outside into the inside) created a vacuum and with that flew in the largest, gnarliest, most heinous winged spawn of Satan I have ever seen. It probably weighed 4 pounds and it's thick and brown exoskeleton seemed to be some sort of armor. I can't be for sure if it was intentional but it swooped down just over Matthew's head, it's flapping wings buzzing his precious blonde hair. Matthew let out a yell and dived into the floor covering his head with his little arms. I was caught off guard but as soon as I gained a little composure tried to devise some sort of plan. Matthew screamed at me to "GET HIM! GET HIM" which only made me anxious. "Stop screaming, Matthew!" I said. "I'll get him!" 

My original and poorly, albeit quickly thought up plan was to hit the bug with something, perhaps stun him enough to get him out of the house. I grabbed the first thing I could find - a lint roller - and I stood there trying to decipher his flight pattern armed with my sticky weapon. The nasty bug just banged himself against my ceiling and he was so quick motioned there was no way I would be able to get close enough to club him with (or stick him to) my lent roller. Realizing Matthew was still in a fetal position on the floor, I got him up and sent him onto his room. "Turn your TV on the Disney Channel and shut the door", I said. "Don't come out till I tell you... Mama's got this". And he hurried down the hall and slammed his door.

So back to the first bug that I thought might have a real shot at killing me, I surveyed my surroundings. I tried to shoo him with a dish towel to which he scoffed (if bugs do that). I was going to bash him over the head with my broom but figured I'd tear the house down trying to connect. The thing just erratically flew all over my living room periodically coming straight at me, causing me to let out screams and thrash about and dust myself off just in case he was somehow attached to me. Occasionally I'd open the front door and just hope he had the capacity to understand the way to save himself would be to fly out the opened door.  No luck.  Eventually, the death-beetle landed on the corner of my prized Velvet Elvis painting which was clearly crossing the line. No bug was going to lyte on my dear Elvis Presley hand painted on smooth, black velvet and get away with it.  So I grabbed a cup and a piece of paper. My plan was to put the cup over him, gently slide the piece of paper under him and trap him in the cup. And it worked - or at least I thought it did. I headed for the door with my captured creature planning to throw the cup and all out into the yard and slam the door behind me. But then I heard the buzzing. It wasn't coming from the cup at all but from the shirt I was wearing. I let out a blood-curdling, primal screech and lost my religion there for a minute as I did what only can be described as some sort of Tribal Ritual looking dance around my living room just trying to get the thing off me. Matthew yelled from his room "Are you ok?" and then I heard his door lock.

Mommy was not ok. This flying beast commissioned by the Dark One himself had just molested me. I felt like I needed a bath and a nerve pill to get the feeling of his his jagged little legs off my body. I had had it with this bleeping bug. I was trying to somehow just deliver him back into the outside world but no. He wanted to set up shop on my Velvet Elvis and hurl himself into my body with his full force? Well it was on. I called Mike (my vicious killing machine of a cat) into the house. He wanted to play rough? Well let's see how he would like to have his wings ripped off and then be batted around like a toy. And I was going to gladly watch the infliction of torturous  doom. It only took a second for Mike to notice the hellish invader. His eyes fixed on him when the bug finally landed in the blinds. Mike slowly and quietly climbed the couch and got into stealth mode, poised to pounce. A little flick of his puffed up tail and suddenly Mike let out a little chatter of a battle cry and hurled himself into the blinds with a force that nearly pulled the shades out of the windows. And the bug flew away again casually banging himself against the ceiling. Mike got himself untangled from the bent and crooked blinds and decided he'd rather go outside to play. He stood at the door and waited on me to open it. Another great idea flew right out the window. Too bad it didn't take the bug with it.

So that was the end of the messing around. I had to get this thing out of the house or there would be no sleep for me. Eventually the bug seemed to become confused (I'm assuming) and maybe a little tired.  He decided to take a bit of a rest on the ceiling. He parked it and hung out there for a few minutes. I figured if I was going to get him it was going to be now. Against my better judgement I picked up my broom again and stood there like a ninja for a minute just trying to get up my nerve. I figured I had one good shot to kill him. Anything less than perfect was just going to piss him off. I took a big breath and with a mighty swing gave it my all and whacked that bug as hard as I could wield a broom against the ceiling! And he started to fly. Mercifully he was flying all dazed and crooked. He landed on the floor and I must have beat that bug 20 times with my broom. I never did kill him but I took away his ability to go somewhere. There was nothing left but the matter of scooping up Beelzebug and sending him back through the portal from which he must've come. I was still scared. I've watched about 1 too many scary movies where the monster gets completely killed about 8 different times and just when you think the movie's over he leaps up swinging a blood-covered butcher knife and scares the living poo out of you. I grabbed my power bill and my cable bill and I figured I'd use one piece of mail to sort of push him onto the other piece of mail to carry him outside. I've got to give the bug some credit. Even after being beaten 27 times with a broom not only was he still alive but he had enough strength to cling to my carpet.  Not even the really thick Duke Power bill was strong enough to pry him off my floor. But my Bissell 12-Amp Power Force Vacuum Cleaner was. And with that the bug was gone. (After I removed the only half full vacuum cleaner bag from my vacuum, tied it up in a grocery bag that I threw into a large garbage bag and then threw into the trash can outside).

So my point is this... If you ever want to come over here for a visit at night, you're more than welcomed to come. But you might want to bring a flash light to navigate my steps. Because unlike Motel 6, I WILL NOT leave the light on for you!

Matthew and I Ride The Nighthawk - A True Story, 2011

Someone said to me today ... everything you write makes me cry! I guess that's true. I love my tear-jerkers. Sometimes I even make my own self cry writing them! But I'm just emotional that way. Anyway, I wrote this thing a couple of years ago... It's a true story about the first time I rode a pretty scary roller coaster at Carowinds Amusement Park. Not a sad story at all and you won't cry - unless you feel really sorry for me! Written in the Spring of 2011 - it's called Matthew and I ride the Nighthawk.

This year Matthew is just tall enough to ride everything in our local amusement park. Up until now our thrill rides have been minimal (which has been ok with me!) but this year I’ve had to muster up enough nerve to ride it all! I rode the roller coaster called the Night Hawk (used to be the Borg Assimilator… don’t know if you’re familiar) for the first time ever. And I thought for sure I was going to DIE! We had to stand in line for a while – all the while getting more and more anxious. It’s painted all cheery blue and yellow but despite its happy colors the thing just looks so ominous, twisted and just scary. So we finally made it to the top of the stairs and into the train station. The butterflies in my stomach had become full-on nausea. I didn’t think I was going to be able to do it. My knees were shaking as I asked Matthew “are you sure you wanna do this, son?” Well of course he did. When he grew an inch over the winter time he must’ve also grown fearless. He couldn’t equate a fun amusement park ride with plunging to your death like I could! He was just excited! And I, being the good mother I am, was not going to drag him off the thing kicking and screaming in front of all the other riders so we entered the line queue and finally boarded the ‘train’.

It starts off ok, you just sit down in the thing and you get into the seatbelts – sort of like a 5 point racing harness. And then they come around and lower this bar thing down – one part across your waist and another part over like your shins – sort of locking you into the seat. But then the thing starts to move and suddenly you’re lying flat on your back. Imagine being tied to a chair and then the whole chair tips over and you’re on your back – that’s how you’re supposed to ride this thing. Reality hit me – we were moving and I forgot to pee. It was going to be a miracle if I got through this thing and stayed dry! OH MY LORD WHAT HAVE I DONE?! I’ve strapped myself and my precious baby into this killing machine and we were slowly making our way to the top of the hill. Of course lying flat on your back and going up the hill head first – you couldn’t see a thing but the blazing sun in your eyes. I had no idea when we might reach the top. So I took that time to figure out how I was going to hold on. I liked holding the bar across my waist – but then I wondered if that would be enough of a thing to hold. Then I crossed my arms over my chest and thought I’d hold onto the harnesses – but that didn’t seem “handle-ish” enough. I had just enough time to get my hands back down to the bar over my waist as I felt myself becoming head-down and tipping over. We were at the top – and there was no turning back.

We were still on our backs as we started going down. And for a split second there I thought “Ok, this isn’t so bad, I can probably do this”. But then as soon as the ‘train’ cleared the hill suddenly the thing flipped over. Now this whole time my back had been pressed firmly into the seat. I had the bars on me and the 5-point racing harness all over me and I thought I was in that seat as much as one could be in a seat. But when the thing turned upside down my back came off the seat probably no more than an inch or two. In the time it took me to spill off my seat and into my harness 2 inches away was probably a millisecond – but that was plenty enough time to think I was plunging to my death. I pried my fingers from the lap bar and squeezed my arms across the straps of my harness but that didn’t help. I was dangling in a contraption that had me putting my entire life in the hands of probably whoever bid the lowest to build the thing. At first my eyes were open and as I looked down I could see the tiny people standing safely on the ground. I took comfort in a net that was directly below us between me and the people (mostly for catching change, hats, anything not bolted down) but a second later even the ‘safety’ net was gone as we hurled down the hill – head first and facing the ground. What kind of twisted freak comes up with this sort of stuff?! My hands frantically back and forth from the lap bar to the harness, finally settling on one hand on the bar and one arm squeezing myself across the harness. Ultimately no way was a good way to hold on as the only comfort I was going to have was either when I died and found myself in Heaven or somebody got me off the thing.

So, down the hill we went – my eyes firmly shut. We “flew” over water (although I didn’t really know it because by then I wasn’t looking!) then we were flung into the air and mercifully back on our backs momentarily. It was but a passing moment as the thing flipped over again, the falling out feeling happened again, and we were flying again. Surely the ride was about to come to a stop? It had been going for what felt like an hour. Turns out the sadistic creator of The Night Hawk saved the ‘best’ for last as we came up on the corkscrew turns. On my back. Spilling out. On my back. Spilling out. Oh God, I cried! “Make it stop!” And mercifully, my savior heard my plea. The best thing I ever saw was the roof of that train station.

The ride was over and I had lived through it. OH! MATTHEW! I nearly forgot about him! The best I could hope for was that he was alive. I didn’t see him spill out on that first flip before I closed my eyes, so I felt certain he was at least still strapped into the thing. “Matthew?” I asked. “Are you ok?” I figured he’d be crying and ready to leave the park. I assumed we’d be working this one out in therapy at some point down the road – you know, the whole “my mom forced me to ride the Nighthawk and I’ve never been the same since therapy session”. “THAT WAS GREAT!!” He exclaimed! “WHOO!” I was happy to hear his voice. I was glad to know that his tiny little body didn’t work itself out of the restraints and onto pavement somewhere but I couldn’t believe that child had just ridden the same thing I had. Clearly, he’s got some sort of issue that blocks him from seeing the danger in things. I’m going to have to keep a better eye on him!

So, we made it back into the station, they raised our seats up, unbuckled us and we were free to go. I was happy to be back on the ground and I was happy that my bladder had held up under the circumstances. A lesser bladder would have given up at the first sign of spilling out of the thing! I was happy. Happy and dry and shaking. I had to sit down. I stumbled my way over to the first place to sit. I sat there trembling and sort of dazed. Blinking a few times and swallowing. I stared at the blue and yellow menace in front of me and I couldn’t believe I just allowed my precious son to be a victim of it. Matthew, meanwhile, was all jacked up and ready to go ride some more very scary things! “COME ON MOM!” he pleaded! “LET’S GOOO!!!” I answered his requests with “that was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life”. “I loved it!” he reminded me! “Didn’t you love it mom?” “No son, no I didn’t. I thought I was going to die” I quietly answered back. And my son, bless his heart – I know he loves me but I’m not so sure I’ll ever be able to count on him for any sort of comfort or understanding in a future time of need, says “Mom. You’re wrecking all my joy”. And then he was mad at me until I regained myself enough to walk over to the next thrill ride and start that process all over again!

I Got Baptised Today!

So, I was sitting in the church service this morning, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I jumped up from my pew and got myself baptised. I'll admit it wasn't the first time something like this has happened. But I'm certain it was the first time it happened directly after being overcome by the Holy Spirit!!

The first time I was baptised I was 15 years old. I was a sophmore at a small Christian School and we were on a beach trip that Spring. During one of the nightly times of fellowship Pastor Ray did the altar call. I remember becoming emotional and right there in front of all my teenaged friends I "accepted Christ as my Savior". Nothing was stopping me from getting baptised - there wasn't even time to think about it. Pastor Ray and I walked down into the ocean water, illuminated by an amazingly bright, full moon and he sent me under the waves. When I came up ... the only way I can describe how I felt was ... "Wet". And that was all. And then I went on about my business, living my life in a way that definitely did not reflect a "new creation" in Christ. Not that there was ever actual salvation as a result of going under the water - but even in its symbolism, I never felt like that one 'stuck' or even counted.

Fast-forward 25 or so years. There's been a lot of crazy-living between that spur-of-the-moment dunking and this day but I survived despite myself! It took awhile but I found my way to a Baptist church that I fit right into. I joined a Sunday School Class, became a member of the church, became an alto in the choir and started volunteering for our local mission projects. And of course, like any good Baptist would, I learned how to make an assortment of casseroles and crock pot food. For the most part - if the doors were open I was there. If there was a function - I didn't miss it. I knew Christ as my Savior and my Christianity was maturing by the day. I was finally living the life that more reflected Christ in me. The only thing I was disappointed about was that my Baptism had already been done - and it didn't mean anything to me then as it surely would now. I thought about it and thought about it over the last couple of years. I almost did it when my son was baptised but figured it was his day and I had already had my turn.

Our church recently went through a major renovation. We had to move out of there and meet somewhere else for 6 weeks. Over that six weeks time 10 different people had accepted Christ and decided to be baptised! So today was the day! The church was packed and you could feel that something special was coming up. The pastor walked down into the water and one after another our Christian brothers and sisters were symbolically washing their sins away in the beautifully renovated baptismal. A few teenagers, my friend's little boy, a lady from my Sunday School class and finally the little son of our Worship Pastor and the Pastor's little girl. It was so emotional and exciting that I'm sure no one in the building had a dry eye. It was beautiful and an awesome way to start the new year and in our beautiful new sanctuary!

It could have been over right then and we all could have walked away feeling happy and blessed for being a witness to a great morning. But then the pastor started bringing his message. He talked, I smiled, laughed, listened to him closely and I heard him loud and clear. It started to become apparent to me that I wasn't hearing what Pastor Jason would have me hear but what the Holy Spirit was pressing into me. At first he said "The water is still warm and I'll go right back up there if you need to go!" And then he said "Maybe you were young when you were baptised before and a lot has happened between then and now. Maybe you want to recommit yourself. The water is still in there!" He explained the act of baptism and why it was important. I put my hand up to my heart, I was breathing heavily and I was all but overcome with emotion. He recited Acts 8:36 saying, "And as they were going along the road they came to some water, and the eunuch said, “See, here is water! What prevents me from being baptized?” Then he said "NOTHING!" I believe he reiterated one more time that the water was still in there. My friend Jodi turned and looked at me, I said "I'm going" and she jumped up, grabbed my hands and said "OK!"

By then the Holy Spirit had completely consummed me. I was shaking uncontrollably, my teeth even chattered. I practically floated up the stairs to the next floor, kicked off my shoes and stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the cleansing water that awaited me. I stood in the stairway, raised my hands and praised God for convicting me in such away. He made it perfectly clear that I had to get in that water. That old me had to die under that water and I wasn't leaving that building without getting wet! Pastor Jason made his way back into the baptismal and called me down the stairs. I walked into the pool, church clothes and all. I felt every inch of the cool water as it raised higher and higher on me. It was as supernatural as it could be, feeling years of sin floating away from my body. I might as well have been in the middle of the River Jordan with John the Baptist himself. I was transported to a place that I've never been and my decision to be there wasn't mine at all. My actions this day were driven by my love for my precious Savior and the Holy Spirit convinced me to act on that love. Amazing Love was pounding in my chest and my whole body trembled. The pastor covered my face with a cloth, I held my breath and I was plunged under the water. It felt like slow motion and I could literally see sin, despair, grief, anxiety, worry, fear and eternal damnation peel off of me, layer by layer, and fall to the bottom of the pool. Pastor raised me up and I was washed clean!! Not just "all wet" but cleansed, renewed, Born Again! I finally felt like that "new creation" that I had been told I was. I've had a strange feeling on my skin all day, like the feeling you have when you get out of a really hot shower. And I'm exhausted. You don't encounter the Holy Spirit and walk away feeling no different.

This day was perfect. Any day that you hear God speaking to you is a great day!! I love my church, the people and the pastors. I love our mission for God's church to Go and Tell and Love others in our Actions. Pastor probably doesn't even realize how much I depend on his shepherding and his teaching. God does know though - and it was God who directed my path to take me through the doors of TBC. He knew this day was coming! It has always been God's intention to baptise me there, on this day and in front of those people. Praise God for his perfect plan! And praise Him for his cleansing power! I am redeemed - I've been redeemed for a long time. But today everyone else knows it too!

Happy New Year From Heaven!

Happy New Year from Heaven! I wanted to take a minute to stop by and say Hi! Things are great here – and how couldn’t they be?! You just can’t imagine how beautiful a place it is. I remember before taking my trip into eternity, I used to think about what Heaven would be like. And although I figured it was pretty amazing, I really had no idea! The awesome wonder of this place is more than I can put words too. I can’t wait for you to see for yourself the glorious splendor. That reminds me … If you don’t know the Way to get here, please get someone to introduce you to Jesus! Jesus said “I am the Way”! You can’t get here without Him. If you seek Him you will find Him. Read John 14 in your Bible. It’s almost like a map. Jesus is the Way. It’s true! I’ve seen Him for myself. And I can’t wait to see your faces when you see His face in person!

Speaking of Jesus, Heaven pales, simply pales in comparison to the shining Glory of my precious Lord, Jesus Christ! I know that you were sad when I left the earth but the day I met my sweet Jesus face to face can only be described as uncontainable elation. A euphoric joy unobtainable in our earthly state! I ran to Him as he called me into His presence and I threw myself face down on His feet. He was glowing and so beautiful, I felt too unworthy to even look at him. I hid my face. But He lifted me up into his robe-draped arms, turned my face to His and whispered, “Well done, thy good and faithful servant.” The angels shouted Hosannas in the highest! There was music and dancing and unending worship and praise. My cancer-ravaged body was gone and I was refreshed and renewed, dressed in fine linens and welcomed by bands of angels everywhere! What a glorious day it was! I hated to leave you all behind – but I promise when you get here you’ll understand! I sent you a rainbow to let you know I arrived ok. Did you see it?

One of the angels took me by the hand and led me into a room filled with treasures beyond your mind’s comprehension. In the middle of the room there was a table draped in purple silk and covered in crowns. They dazzled in the light of the Precious Lamb, finely crafted in casts of platinum, gold and covered in diamonds, rubies, emeralds and every kind of precious stone. They were more than priceless, I’m sure! I’m not bragging but they were all for me! I remembered hearing something about these crowns – sort of rewards for doing Jesus’ work on Earth. It was a nice gesture, it really was! But even those crowns and their astounding richness were mere trinkets compared to the Glory of the Most High God! I took those crowns and threw them at Jesus’ feet! I haven’t had that much fun in years! He laughed and He was pleased with me while I danced and shouted praises to His Name. The crowns crashed onto the floor, broke into pieces, sending shards of diamonds, precious stones and sparkling slivers of gold bouncing all around his Holy Feet. It was a priceless dust trail, dragged all the way to the throne by the hem of His robe. I’d never imagined such a sight, such a precious sight!

When I turned to leave His presence I was suddenly staring into the face of my beloved son Devan! How I had longed to hold my baby again! I fell into his embrace, kissed his face all over and held onto him for what felt like forever. My baby – so healthy and well in his restored body! And of course as handsome as he ever was. He was so very happy to see me too. He said they’d all been expecting me and had set a place at the table. They had fixed a heavenly meal for my arrival! I couldn’t wait to see everyone! Johnny walked up and took me by my hands. “It’s about time you got here!” He said! “Did you get lost on the way?!” You know Johnny, always the kidder! It was so great to be in the arms of my family again! We walked down the streets of gold together, holding hands and catching up with each other. They walked me home. Everyone was there! I was with my mom and dad, grandparents, sisters, friends and so much family!! All of these beautiful people that I had grieved so hard over were here and had come together just to welcome me! What a celebration!! Just so you know … I’ll be here for you when you make your own journey. It’s just how we do things here!

I know that my leaving has been very hard on some of you. Believe me, I miss you too. I’m not sad at all because we don’t hurt up here but I’m very much looking forward to seeing you as soon as you can get here! To my sweet grandchildren and great-grandchildren, please know that even though I’m not there in the physical world, I’m very much there in your hearts! I know when you talk to me and I’m watching you grow into the fine young men and women that you all have become! I’m still very much a doting grandmother and not a day goes by that I don’t nudge someone, point down to the earth where you are and say, “That’s my grandkid!” Laicee and Carl – what amazing parents you both are and raising precious, precious babies! Now if Heidi and Jason will just bring a few kids into the world it would make my heart proud! Your father says the same thing! He also thinks that one of you should name a baby “Great Dev-eny”? He sends his love, by the way and wants you to know that he’s fine and will see you when you get here.

Sweet Matthew, Nana loves you very much – please don’t cry for me anymore. I saw you when you were baptized. I want you to know that the angels sang when you came up from the water! Don’t you worry yourself about this anymore. Jesus knows your heart and he’s written your name in the Book of Life. Please believe that I’ll see you again – just not one minute before it’s time. Be a good boy for your mom and help her. I know how she’s struggled.

My darling daughter Jonna … I love you Toot. And I’m sorry that I had to leave you when I did. My body couldn’t take another breath. If you saw where I was you wouldn’t cry another teardrop for me. I’m in beautiful Heaven with all the family! You always cared about my happiness – and I’m so happy now. I love you so much! I’ve seen the way you’ve grieved for me, longed for me and cried yourself to sleep some nights. I promise you will see me again – you can believe it because you know the Way. So dry your eyes my precious baby girl and start living a good and purpose-filled life again! Serve others with a joyful heart and make sure that everything you do you do it for the Glory of the Lord. Now that I’m here I have seen the plans that He has for you. It’s more than you could ever dream of! There’s a reason you’re the last one. I can’t tell you now but it’ll all make sense one day, I promise. Raise your son to love God, be a good servant for Jesus and a light in the World. He’s going to be something grand someday – and he needs YOU there to guide him along the way. Just put every ounce of your faith and trust in Jesus and everything will be fine. I’m not there to help you anymore – but Jesus is. Don’t worry. And please, stop crying for me. Back in the Hospice House I heard you tell me it was ok for me to go. And now I’m telling you that it’s ok to stay! We’ll set a place for you at the table when it’s your time but until then enjoy your life on earth and make sure you tell people about Jesus!

It’s time for me to go now. Everyone sends their love. Have a safe and happy new year my Facebook friends and family! Treat people with kindness and mercy. Forgive people because you’ve been forgiven and love each other as yourself. You don’t have much time there on earth so make the best of it. And no matter what – always remember that Jesus loves you! Make sure you tell any lost soul that He loves them too!
Until we meet again,
Becky

PS – Toot, your daddy sends his love and says to look for the flowers we’ll be sending to you in the spring. He also wanted me to tell you that you and he were right! Elvis Presley did make it up here!

Grief Sucks

I was wrenched awake at 4 this morning by an incredibly vivid dream. I found myself in London, England about to fly back to the States. But right before I boarded the plane I realized that I would have to leave my car there. I couldn't figure out a way to get it home without someone to help me. I didn't have a plan but to just leave it there. I was running from place to place trying to ask strangers what I should do but no one responded. It was like they didn't care, or even hear me as I franticly searched for anyone to help me come up with a solution. I finally ran out of time and had to head for the plane. When I got back inside the airport suddenly my mom was there and I was so relieved. She didn't say anything at all but because she was there I knew that everything was going to be ok. I was happy and peaceful, I wasn't in a frenzy anymore and I felt calm. I climbed the stairs to my plane and made my way down the aisle. I thought mom was behind me but when I sat down in my seat she wasn't there. From the window I saw her leaving the airport. I ran for her, calling her, "Mom! Mom!" I shouted. "Mom?" It went dark and I couldn't see her anymore. She was gone and I was overcome with grief. And I woke up in tears and trying to catch my breath.

My dreams have become some cruel figments of my imagination lately. So real they seem, as they taunt me with vivid images of my mom or my family. I've heard my mother calling my name so clearly that I've jumped completely out of the bed, stood upright on the floor and actually searched for her down the hallway before I realized what I heard wasn't even real. Sometimes waking up is so disappointing, shoved back into a world that my mom is no longer in. Sometimes I just want to sleep, go back to dreamland where I can visit her, see her, hear her voice. The grief counselor says this is 'normal'.

So it was 4 in the morning and I was awake. I ached all over and just rolling over onto my other side was painful. Despite taking Advil and Excedrin Migrane medicine before bed my back was in knots. I had fallen asleep watching the Olympics with a cold washcloth on my forehead. Seems like I've been nursing a 'sick headache' since sometime last week. Just a dull, aching headache that won't go away. It makes my eyes see 'sparkles' and sometimes it makes my stomach roll so much I think I might throw up. I put my cold, damp washcloth back on my head, stiffly rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. I was miserable - but no more miserable than any other night.

I woke up a few hours later feeling like I had been in an accident. Sitting up in the bed sent a shock of pain down my spine, my neck was stiff and my head was throbbing again. Oh yes, another fresh day to face. Another 24 hours to get through. I was grateful to wake up but really not down for another day filled with all this grief, worry, sickness and pain. I made my way out of bed and tripped over a laundry basket that's been sitting right there for weeks. I knew it was there, I just didn't pick my foot up enough to get around it. I nearly fell down with that stupid move. The day was getting worse by the minute.

I don't look in the mirror much anymore but made the mistake this morning. I looked exhausted. There were bags under my eyes, the lines on my forehead have deepened, my cheeks were puffy and bloated and I was pale. I looked like absolute hell this morning. I've aged, my mouth is downturned and my eyes aren't sporting the 'laugh-lines' that I used to be proud of. No, the mirror is not my friend - in fact I hate it. I don't recognize that girl. Oh grief. You've robbed me of my laugh lines.

Next up was the daily gastro-intestinal problems. Despite the doctor presribing medication for these stress-induced GI problems that have plagued me over the last few months, my stomach stays torn up and the acid burns my throat. Breakfast was Tums and coffee that didn't satisfy. I figured if I couldn't find a little happiness in coffee then this day wasn't looking any better than any other day I've had lately. I climbed in the shower and prayed. I do a lot of praying in the shower, it's quite and comfortable in there. I used to sing 'church songs' and really get my worship going first thing in the morning and I loved it. But now I pray things like "help me get through the day", "thank you for the air I breathe", "please mend my broken heart" and "tell my family I said hi."

By the time I got Matthew up and off to his camp I was already exhausted. I had to get myself together enough to get to work and get my job done. By no means is my job at all physical. The most physical thing I do is stand on my feet. Today I noticed after about an hour of standing I hurt like I'd been beat up. My back ached, my ribs hurt, I felt like I had a knot the size of a softball between my shoulder blades and my head was aching again. Even my ankle was hurting where I had tripped over the laundry basket earlier. More Advil, more coffee, whatever it takes to make it to the end of the work day and back home again. Once I got home I got Matthew fed and cleaned up, I hit the couch and that was the end of it for me today. Except for writing this blog. I should probably get up and do some laundry or wash a few dishes but even the thought is overwhelming.

According to the 'grief experts', these physical problems that I've been having lately are all part of 'stage-two' of the grieving process and all perfectly normal. Changes in sleep patterns, exhaustion, GI problems, aches and pains and headaches are just par for the course. And so are things like loss of interest in things that used to be enjoyable, isolation, avoiding people and those sorts of things. If you 'google' grief symptoms - it turns out that I have a text-book case of it. My head swirls, my thoughts race and I'm bombarded with memories. Everything I see, do, smell, think of makes me think of mom, miss her, miss my family. I even grieve for my home, my old bedroom, mama's kitchen, daddy's little building. It's all gone. Somedays I just sit at dad's piano - now in my living room - and run my fingers over the keys or pull out the drawer of mom's hutch so it'll make that familiar squeak. The rest of my family home is crammed into a 10x15 storage building and my worry over what to do with it all or how to pay for the storage fee nearly induces an anxiety attack. I can't keep it all - but I can't bear the thoughts of parting with it. I don't know what to do or how to be. And I cry. A lot.

I see little old ladies and it upsets me that my mother didn't get to be one. I see children with their grandparents and I'm so disappointed that Matthew won't get to grow up with my parents. I'm envious of people spending 'family time' together and enjoying the company of loved ones. I miss having any family or someone who loves me like a mom loves her daughter. Everything feels monumental, I can't concentrate, I'm not functioning at 100% and sometimes I feel like I'm choking. I've forgotten to do things like pay the rent, I've missed turns on my usual routes, I lose track of time or forget what day it is. I'm desperately lonely and so incredibly sad. I'm worried that eventually the people around me will not want to be around me anymore because I always talk about it or I can't "snap out of it". I worry that my Christian brothers and sisters will doubt my faith because I've been unable to "cast my worries on Him". I feel guilty, mad and frustrated. Sometimes I think I'm losing it completely. And all perfectly normal according to the grief counselor. When I say things like "I can't wait to get back to normal", this is not what I meant.

I'm so thankful for my salvation, God's love for me and His promise to never leave me or forsake me. I believe that not because I see it but because I have felt it. It has coursed through my veins and it's the foundation of my whole life, my purpose and how I try to raise my son. I know that God has a plan for me and none of this has taken Him by surprise. I'm being refined in this season of grief and I'm certain I'll come out on the other side of this process as a stronger person and hopefully a testament to just how good God really is. In no way do I ever want to minimize the importance of God in my life. (I don't even want to say the word "but" here)... But. I'm grieving. As much as I believe that He's "got this" and I need to trust that, turn my eyes upon Jesus and carry on, I am physically struggling to put one foot in front of the other. I'm glad in that I don't "grieve like those who have no hope", according to the Apostle Paul in the Book of 1 Thessalonians. If I didn't at least have that, I don't think I would have made it out of bed this morning. I know I'll see my mom again - my whole sweet family who are all there together. And until then I'll be here... waking up on this side of the grass and trying to adjust to my new "normal".

I'm compelled to apologize to the people in my life. I'm sorry if I've dropped the ball or lost interest in stuff. I apologize for looking like hell, spending the last 3 months on my couch, avoiding everything, slumping my shoulders when I walk or crying at lunch. Bear with me as I muddle through this 'process' - according to the experts I have one more stage to go.

Broken Seashells

You might not know this - but Matthew and I go places for fun. It's just what we do. I started taking him on these little road trips since before he could walk. I believe I've taken a million pictures! Maybe more. We've been everywhere from the mountains to the sea, collecting little things and making memories. And filling up photo albums. Lots and lots of photo albums.

The first time we took Matthew to the beach he had just turned 3. He was so excited to play in the sand. Dressed in a red bathing suit, sweet little sandals and a plastic back pack filled with sand toys. He paused at the bottom step, unsure of the sand and if he should step on it. He finally jumped down - both feet firmly in the hot, soft sand and carefully tip-toed his way down to the water. It was cute - and of course I was there to take the picture...

As long as I've been taking pictures of Matthew on the beach, I've had in mind an arts-and-crafts project. I've wanted to collect seashells, glue them onto some kind of picture frame and then frame the best 'beach-picture' of Matthew I could take. Maybe I would then give the whole thing to mom or someone as a gift. Maybe if I ever did a beach-themed room in my house it would be the perfect, personalized decor. I got the idea from a very crafty ex-sister-in-law of mine who framed my niece's baby picture in this pink satin with pearly-looking beads and pink flowers she glued all around the edges. So that was my plan. And I wanted it to be perfect! (That ex-sister-in-law wasn't the only crafty one in the family!)

A day or two into our first beach trip, we grabbed Matthew's little sand pail and set off down the shore line in search of the perfect seashell. In my mind they had to be just the right size, smallish and thin, in order to properly stick to the picture frame. I wanted them to be that iconic shaped, scallop shell and preferrably sand-colored with the right grooves and edges. I didn't want any cracked shells, no chips and none with that little hole in the back of it. It was going to be a beautiful frame! I figured I'd break out my glue gun as soon as we got home. We just had to find the perfect shells.

We walked along combing the beach for the different seashells. I inspected each one I picked up for color, size, damage, perfection. Only the best of the best would go into the bucket. Matthew, on the other hand, would pick up dirty, broken shells, shells with holes in them or covered in barnacles. And his favorite ones seemed to be the ugly step-sisters of the shell world, the oyster shells. "Matthew, that one is an oyster shell, honey. Let's find some like these", I said as I showed him the sweet little shells that I had collected.

But he liked the oyster shells and the holey shells, chipped and broken and ugly shells. He continued to put them in the bucket while I secretly removed them. When he caught me tossing out his shells he got mad. Ultimately we came home from our first beach trip with a sack full of mixed shells. Ugly oyster shells and perfect, sweet scallop shells. Not enough of either kind to make a respectable beach-themed frame. My arts-and-crafts project would have to wait for another time...

From that time till the very last beach trip we took it's been the same thing. I set out to find the perfect seashells and Matthew invades my bucket with busted up, ugly shells. My project is still undone. I could have done the whole thing on my own but really I've always wanted him to help. I wanted him to search for the perfect shells with me and he and I could glue the shells to the frame together. Each year as he grew older I hoped that he was finally able to understand the importance of finding the flawless shells, so my - our - picture frame would be beautiful. Nope. Nothing but barnicle encrusted, broke down oyster shells.

A few weekends ago Matthew and I took a little trip down to Atlantic Beach. I had been there before and remembered the amounts of shells on the shoreline. The sand was covered with thousands of them, all different kinds of shells, sand dollars and sea rocks. You didn't have to look long before finding the perfect, little scallop shells in just the right size, shape and color. Maybe this time Matthew and I would collect a bucket-full of the little shells to finally finish the project.

So early that morning we picked up the sand bucket and headed down the beach on a seashell hunt. And then, just like I hoped he wouldn't, Matthew bent down and grabbed up the first broken shell he came to. "I knew you would pick that one, Matthew", I said smiling. "Why do you always pick up the broken shells?"

"They're still shells, even though some of them are broken. And I think this one is pretty", he answered, putting the damaged find into the bucket. He walked along, picking up one imperfect shell after another. He never overly-inspected a single one, he didn't scrutinize the seafood housing for a sratch or dent, didn't judge its color or size or shape. He just picked them up, liked them and kept them. And then I realized that what he was doing was one of the things I love most about him. He sees the best in people, why wouldn't he see the best in the shells as well? He doesn't judge, he doesn't discriminate, he doesn't pick and choose. He has a heart for the picked-on kids with no friends, homeless people and folks down on their luck. He loves people for the simple fact that we're called to love - even imperfect people ... and evidently he does the same with seashells. And because he's done this as long as he's been going to the beach - I know that's how his heart works. Not because he's supposed to, but because he can't help it! It's an overflow of God's love for him!

Tumbling along the sea bottom for miles and miles at the mercy of the tide until finally landing on the sand being washed ashore by a wave, it's a wonder any shells at all end up on the coastline whole. Then the shells are picked clean by seagulls, trampled over by the beach combers, picked up and discarded by people looking for just the right shape, size, color, perfection. It would be very hard to make the entire journey from once being the housing for some sea-creature to possibly becoming one in someone's collection of beach-trinkets without getting broken, discolored or growing barnicles. If I were a shell, I would be left behind.

Lucky for the actual seashells there are people like Matthew. Because Matthew overlooks flaws and imperfections, the broken shells and ugly oyster shells get a chance to go home in a sand pail and be apart of a kid's collection. And lucky for me there's Jesus. Jesus picked me out of a pile of broken and imperfect people and loved me despite my flaws. He picked me up, dusted the sand off of me and put me in his bucket - to take me home with Him to be a part of his collection! How lucky a shell I am! Despite my barnicles and brokeness, no matter what kind of rough, damaging seas I rode in on, He loved me anyway. And He saved me from being trampled and completely destroyed by the sunbathers and seagulls!

After that, I found myself looking for the "perfect broken shell", even taking pictures of the best of them. I don't guess I'll ever finish my beachy picture frame - and that's going to be ok. I learned a lesson that day while looking for the perfect seashells. No one's perfect - and Jesus loves us anyway. So I shouldn't expect to find perfection in others (shells included) and overlook what is not. Maybe I'll make that picture frame afterall. But I'll make it with broken, ugly oyster shells! Sounds perfect!

The Sand Pail and Malaria Adventure

Last weekend Matthew and I were down at Atlantic Beach, the southern-most part of North Carolina's Outer Banks in a place they call the Crystal Coast. Working within our budget, I booked us some pretty "old school", oceanfront accomodations with cinder block walls in the rooms and concrete patio furniture. The "Tropical Breakfast" was Fruit Loops and bananas - but it was by the ocean, and really more than we usually eat for breakfast so it was fine! Some 'resorts' have state-of-the-art gyms, water parks and gamerooms. Ours had shuffleboard and tetherball, half of a basketball court and some swings. The pool was nice and the lifeguards carried our chairs for us down to the beach. There was nothing at all modern about the place - it was a throw-back to a different time, simple, friendly and truly family-oriented. Exactly the kind of thing I look for when we head out to somewhere!

Actually, I found the whole town to have that same sort of flavor - not overly commercialized, it seemed under-developed and older. It wasn't crowded or loud with drunks. Being a little on the nostalgic side - I just loved the feel of the whole place. And what wasn't built up with retro-structures or diner-like restaurants was still wild with wind-blown trees, sea oats and grasses, marshes and narrow waterways. Everywhere you looked was interesting and different. I'm used to Myrtle Beach and all that goes with it - but I could really get used to Atlantic Beach and its quiet-ness! Matthew, on the other hand, appreciates something a little less 'quiet'. He wasn't exactly bored but I could tell he was getting in the mood for something a little more adventurous!

Absent from this beach-side town were any arcades, waterslides or go-carts. No amusement rides, henna tattoo shops or anything with "Ripley's" in the name. We were going to have to look a little harder for something to do other than hanging out in the surf. I jumped on the internet to find our next adventure. I wasn't long into my search before I realized we were very close to an island inhabited by herds of wild horses! Legend has it that these ponies are the descendants of ponies coming to America on Spanish ships as early as the 1500's. The ships wrecked off the coast and the horses swam for the shores. They made their way to this little Shackleford Island - and have been living there ever since! Looks like I found our adventure!



We drove down to Beaufort, NC to the Outer Banks Ferry Company. I didn't really know what to expect but I felt prepared. I had a bottled water, the sunscreen, my camera and some extra batteries - everything we should need for our sight-seeing island expedition! Matthew was dressed in his bathing suit and I was in a pink, flowery tank top, shorts and flip-flops. When I think "island" it's the attire that comes to mind. But while standing on the dock I started to feel a little underdressed and grossly unprepared. The other people waiting on the ferry looked more like they were about to hike the Appalachian Trail with their hiker-ish shoes, long sleeve shirts and fully-loaded backpacks. Oh well, we were the only ones with a sand pail for collecing shells. So who was going to be the sorry one, really?

The captain of our ferry lead us down the dock to our boat and directed us to our seats. He seemed like the real deal, this captain, with his leathery, sun-darkened skin, weathered-looking appearance and dressed in dockside casual. I imagine he spent much of the night before at some bar listening to Buffett songs on a jukebox, drinking rum and smoking too much. But here we were about to be taxied across the Atlantic Intercoastal Waterway by this unfriendly, possibly hungover guy. I just hoped he had enough time to sleep off his party. We slowly made our way through the "No Wake Zone" and then he hit the gas, speeding along the waves, bumping our butts on the seats with every white cap we jumped over. Water was coming up over the sides of our smallish boat, ocean spray showering us with every crash over a wave. Trying to not be scared, I was hoping he would slow down a little and tell us what we were looking at as we zoomed past sights on either side of us - you know, like a tour guide. No luck. He quietly stayed the course and none of us dared to ask.

And just when I was starting to second guess my breakfast, mercifully Captain NoNonsense slowed down the boat. Our island was just to the right of us! We made it! He navigated the boat along the shoreline. I assumed he was going around to the back side of the island towards the dock. I looked and looked but I couldn't see a dock at all; there was no dock. But that didn't stop the captain. He was heading straight for the land mass. And the next thing you know he drove the boat straight onto the sand. Our forward momentum was abruptly halted and we all lurched forward. No one seemed panicked about this so I figured this was part of the plan. It was almost like in the movies when the boat comes up to the shore. The passenger grabs his bag and easily jumps off the side, lightly landing in ankle-deep water and splashes up to the beach. Almost, but not quite. The gruff captain never left his perch. We lined up without his help and made our way off the boat one by one. I was the last to exit. I grabbed my pink backpack, stepped to the edge, jumped off the boat and onto the hard, compacted sand. I didn't splash, frolic or any other way of happily arriving. I hit the sand with a thud and it hurt. But anyway, we made it and I was ready to go find the famed Shackleford Ponies!





The two other parties that shared the ferry ride with us both set off in their own directions, the boat captain pulled away and left the island as quickly as he arrived and just like that Matthew and I were standing on the point of a deserted island alone. It was weird. Creepy even. Creepy, weird and HOT. With no shade to be found and the sun already starting to beat down on us, I slathered us up in the sunscreen. A hat would have been nice, I thought. Or an umbrella. Maybe the other explorers were on to something with their giant bags of gear. Didn't matter, we were on our island adventure and we were going to have fun! Matthew started picking up broken seashells right away. And I found some perfectly whole shells, enormous shells, all different shapes and sizes! It was a good thing I brought our bucket! We walked along the shore for a good while, never seeing another person. We just picked up shells and took in the view. It was peaceful and beautiful.



We found crabs, broken sand dollars and conch shells. Seaweed, sea rocks and sharks teeth. Then as we started to climb up over the dunes I noticed some fresh hoof-prints in the sand! This meant to me that we were about to find the ponies! I turned on my camera and peered in every direction. Nothing. We tip-toed along the trail of prints expecting to run right into a herd of horses at any moment. Still, nothing. The prints led inland towards the high grasses and trees. Along the trail we started to notice fresh piles of poop - the horse's "calling cards", inviting us to follow along. We felt for sure if we stayed on the path we were going to see the horses. The sand was getting farther and farther behind us. We walked along, deeper and deeper into the brush on the crushed grasses, watching our step as not to stumble into the poo-piles. We really were in the wild - and it was exciting!

And then I heard buzzing in my ear. I shooed the bug away from my head. And then I felt a sting on my arm and I brushed my arm. I heard more buzzing and I felt more stinging and I brushed my other arm. I looked down and both of my arms were covered in large, I mean GIANT mosquitoes! Mosquitoes as large as my head were diving into me, I could feel them landing on my neck, back, legs. They were everywhere! "I'm covered in mosquitoes!" I yelled to Matthew. "They're on me too!" he yelled back, frantically waving them away from himself as well. We were being attacked by a swarm of blood-sucking devils! Thousands of them relentlessly biting us from head to toe. And it didn't help that we both smelled like sweat and freshly applied 30 SPF Pina Colada Sunscreen. "RUN FOR IT!" I screamed to Matthew and he took off back the way we came. I ran along behind him as fast as my bedazzled flip flops could carry me shooing, swatting and fanning and dodging piles of poop all along our densely covered trail. We must've looked crazy tap-dancing around the dung and trying to ward off the hellish invaders of our personal space! Luckily there was no one around to see!

We burst out of the grassy trail and back onto the sand. My whole body shook and jerked and jumped, making sure I had rid myself from the nasty insects. I shook out my hair, slapped myself all over. My skin crawled at the thoughts! Matthew was dancing around too asking me to check him. I tossled his hair and dusted off his neck and looked him over as we quickly made our way to the sand dune. It was my plan to run straight from there and into the water to wash the buggers away! We rounded the corner and ran straight into a group of campers. It nearly scared me to death as they were the only humans we had seen since our boat left the island. Matthew, who isn't shy at all, loudly exclaimed to the group "We were eaten alive in there!!" With that the campers were also caught off guard.

"Are you ok?" one of them asked? "Fine", I said laughingly, trying not to sound stupid and be embarrassed. "He's talking about mosquitoes". The camper, dressed in a long sleeve shirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat, thick socks and hiking boots, told me all about the mosquitoes and how bad they were here on the island and how we shouldn't be in the grasses without bug spray, or dressed in tank tops and flip flops. That was nice to know. It would have been nicer coming from the people who sold me our tickets to get out to that God-forsaken island.

One of the campers reached into his 40 pound backpack and grabbed a bottle of bug spray. "We have extra. Take this", he said as he handed me the bottle. It was a little after the fact but I started spraying Matthew down with the spray. And then I sprayed myself. Another valuable lesson I learned that day is that spraying bug spray on sunburn burns. A lot. My good-feelings were quickly going away. Wild horses or no wild horses, I was ready to get off the island.

The boat came every hour on the hour but we weren't scheduled to leave for another hour and 10 minutes. I didn't care - we were going to run to the other side of the island and beg the mean captain to take us with him!! I could see the boat coming and we took off in a sprint. The boat landed in the sand and that gang of campers we had met earlier were piling their stuff onto the deck. Waving frantically I caught the attention of the captain. He threw up his hand - barely - at least acknowleging me. We made it to the sandbar just as the last of the campers were climbing aboard. Breathlessly I asked if we could squeeze in. I didn't care what his answer was - we were getting in that boat. I was hot, sun-burned, itching all over and swelling up from insect bites, dehydrated and dare I say possibly anemic. Matthew was already finding a seat on the ferry by the time the captain gave us permission to come aboard!

Happily speeding back to civilization we decided that despite nearly contracting Malaria we had fun! It wasn't an arcade, had no go-carts or interactive museum exhibits but it really was an adventure - at least unforgettable! We didn't get any pictures of the Shackleford Ponies but we did come away with a little more experience and a bucket full of broken seashells! (More on broken seashells in the next blogpost...)