Just Call Me Sista Melanie!!!

After the audition the other night, I walked out chalking it up to "oh, well...at least it was a great experience." I knew I was totally out of my league with some of these "ringers" who showed up. There were about 20 or more women who got the "call back"; all scrambling for one of three lead nuns. You should have heard these voices...good grief!!! When I was handed sheet music and told "That's your part" of a 4 part harmony...geesh...I know my place and it wasn't there :):) I can sing harmony, but totally from what I hear...in other words, I can't read a note! :)

I was so sure that there was no way on this earth, I'd already made plans to once again, produce my own play for Christmas. In fact, all the excitement of "The Sound of Music" had given me the motivation for all the work it takes to put it together. HOWEVER...

Going back to life as usual, I was putting groceries away when my son came home from work early...

Nick: So you don't think they're going to call.

Me: (laugh) I'm positive...there is no way.

Nick: How do you know?

Me: Trust me.

This is the honest truth...right here, the phone rings...Nick picks it up and looks at Caller ID

Nick: It's Riverside!

Me: Very funny!

Nick: No, I'm serious!

Me: No way, get outta here.

Nick: Mom!!!!! I'm serious...it's Riverside...

Me: Hello?

Man on phone: Hi, this is "Bob" from Riverside. How are you? Did you have fun last night?

Me: I learned alot. :)

"Bob": Well, I'm calling to offer you the role of one of the nuns. An exta "singing nun"

Me: Are you kidding? I'm not sure...can I call you back?

Bob: What??? Well...uh...I really need to know.

Me: I will, I'll call you right back.


I called Frank because by then, I'd already begun thinking about this big Christmas production. "Are you crazy? You can see this through, then do the production. Just push it back a few months."

So, all that to say...I'm a "Singing nun" Sister No Name! I was just thinking about how incredible it is to know the Lord. I could have never dreamed to have part of the opportunities that He's given. Now, I'm not saying that getting a part in the "Sound of Music" is a direct "blessing" from God, because to tell the truth, I know it could be a complete nightmare and something I'll never do again. What I am saying though, is that it's confidence in God rather than myself that I would even attempt stuff like this. When I think of the talent that was there, there's not a doubt in my mind that confidence in the reality of God kept me from curling up in a ball or something. Taking chances with a sort of "wreckless" abandon that isn't crippled by intimidation or fear of embarassment is such a freedom...it's one of His many gifts.

2Corinthians 3:17...."where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom"

Anyway, rehearsals start this Sunday for the nuns...I have to learn 2nd Alto Harmony for the "Morning Hymn"...in (gulp)Latin...so, here we go!!!

The Hills Are Alive!!!!!

Ok...is it some kind of middle age crisis? or...maybe I AM just crazy! We went to a dinner theatre the other night for my daughter Julie's birthday. It was so much fun, I thought..."hey, I'd like to try that!" I found out they were having try-outs Sunday and Monday for the "The Sound of Music!" Yep, you guessed it!!! Yesterday, this went on all day,

Frank: you know you want to...

Me: It's nuts! I can't

Frank: But, you know you want to

Me: No, really, that's insane!

Frank: So, what time are you going?

Me: Try-outs are at 7, so guess I should leave around 6



I've written, directed and produced about 5 or 6 of my own plays. Acted in them too...although that's really not fair, since I wrote my own part.:) All for churches. However, I've never seen the whole process from this end. So, I'm thinking it will help to have this experience...yeah, that's it...ri-i-ight....it's training for my playwriting. :):)

You know, I really did have this secret passion to be in "drama" in high school, even when I was hooking, etc,.etc., Actually, now that I think about it, it seemed crazy then too...
Anyway, I got the "call-back" this morning, so I could possibly be a "Singing Nun" in the Sound of Music :) It's off to try-outs again!

Also, I'll be doing a concert this Saturday night, so keep me in your prayers! Wow! considering my last few posts...ain't it amazing? the difference a few years can make?

Out of the Ashes - Part 2

This is the cover for a book I've written, and rewritten and rewritten. It's never been published, so as much as I know you'd love to have it, it's not available. :) This experience is just one of the many included in the journey of knowing that even though I'm so familiar with the words to Psam 23, "The Lord is my Shepherd" the statement "I shall not want" when actually put to the test, is a whole different matter...


Just when I thought the dark couldn't get any darker...it did!
As the treatments for the Hepatitis wore on, I found the very foundations of my faith snapped out from under me once again. Sporadic prayers tumbled into a bottomless pit of constant pain and difficult days. Trivial tasks I'd once taken for granted, like cooking, making the bed, driving the kids to school, suddenly proved monumental. I remember envying other drivers who seemed to do it effortlessly. Life "went on" for those around me and I couldn’t keep up. Defensive and insecure, I was reduced to this stranger who wanted to hide from the world. Each day I grew weaker, my life moved further into this wierd place. I developed an acute sensitivity I hadn't experienced since God had changed my life so drastically. Withdrawing wasn’t easy for the ‘people person’ that I’d always been. In fact, up to that point, my life was an open book. The fact that God had changed my life in a such a powerful way just a few short years earlier, compelled me to share what He'd done with anyone who'd listen. Honestly, my confidence in the power of the Gospel had given me the desire to be sincerely available for anyone who needed someone to talk to. But had it really been sincere? Dang, I was barely able to tolerate talking to them, let alone listen to problems. Suffering made me irritable. All I wanted to be was...alone! Gripped with self pity, miserable with no end in sight, there seemed no words to speak to God, only tears to cry before Him. Why couldn’t someone understand? Couldn’t someone feel what I feel?

Even my children, who love me more than anything, grew frustrated and began displaying annoyance with the fact that mom “never feels well”. Probably one of my most heart wrenching memories during the ordeal was holding one of my sons, sobbing.

“Why does this have to happen to you?”

“I’m sure God has a reason”, I answered. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t see it.


And no wonder isolation was bliss! While I’m absolutely certain loved ones and friends never intended to wound, in this vulnerable state, their inuendos seemed to dictate life itself. Advice such as “you need to exercise! You don’t look like you feel bad! You probably need to focus on other things," I'm sure was meant for my comfort had exactly the opposite effect. And to make things worse, being in the beauty business for years left me with this annoying habit that didn't help the situation one little bit. Every day since entering beauty school at age 17, I'd faithfully applied make-up and styled my hair; through surgeries, hospital stays, pregnancies...no matter what or how bad I felt. I could do it with my eyes closed. I could do it if I was dying. It was not, however, a habit that would attract much sympathy from doctors, friends or family. It was a doggone curse, I tell you...to look so good and feel so bad!

I learned a lot during those days though; always quick to give answers and comfort, I could find none myself; so many times I’d boldly told people that Jesus is the answer to all things, yet as I grew weaker and weaker, despair just came creeping in. Thoughts of times I'd met others in crisis with not only prayers, but, quick advice and relative scriptures, now seemed almost trite. Though I'd meant well...some of my very own words offered in the pain of suffering friends , suddenly seemed...well...almost callous.

"Alice in Wonderland" (by Susan Ashton) a song that played over & over in my shop took on a new meaning;

When Alice has an answer it's a common rationality
She measures her phrases, tipping the scales of reality
But does she know that it's cold to sing songs to a troubled heart
Tho' her aim is sincere she's missing the mark

I said - Alice look around you, people are falling to pieces
Yea, even the faithful, the ones who still believe in Jesus
But that doesn't mean they've fallen from grace
But in her landscape, their heartache is so out of place


“Is your church praying for you?” What??? I feebly smiled at one woman’s remark, but fought a rising temper..and to be honest, a temptation to hit her or at least, pinch her nose....really hard. She and I both knew what she really meant; that the horror of what was happenening and this growing weakness was some sort of sign of unfaithfulness or lack of spirituality. On more than one occasion, well-meaning brothers and sisters in Christ would refer to this illness that was destroying life as I knew it, as some consequence of sin or lack of faith. In the midst of this hideous never-ending trial, I felt more incredibly alone than I’d ever been in my life.

So many times I’d paraphrased 2 Corinthians 12:9, saying, “the Lord’s strength is perfected in my weakness”, yet I despised this weakness taking over my own body. I wanted my old life back! I just wanted to go back to the way things were! I know this might be difficult to understand, but, what I'd come to learn is that God loved me too much for that!

You know what I'm talking about when I say that some of us would rather gnaw our own arm off than admit we need help? That was me! However, at the beginning, when my 'control-freak' self finally conceded to the doctor's diagnosis of "depression," I gave in and saw a psychiatrist. Honestly, I was so desperate to shake the suffocating sense of darkness with no end, I was willing to do just about anything; even run in the opposite direction from what I'd come to believe.

Dr. Brill was about eighty years old. He limped into our first meeting with a huge cast on his foot. A no-nonsense type, loaded with cynical, sarcastic remarks, he was pretty intimidating. It was pretty obvious immediately, he was a very wise man...at least in his own mind. Fluffing off any suggestion on my part of what I thought the problem was, he stayed adamant about bringing up my childhood memories. He dismissed my insistence that my past had nothing to do with not feeling well. I quickly learned that he was not at all interested in talking or hearing about the most important thing in my life; my faith in God! Dr. Brill wanted to focus more on relationships he felt were making me codependent and miserable. He prided himself that he had the knowledge to "fix" them. Two whole half-hour sessions and he'd figured it out...my problem? Frank! He felt that my marriage was, let’s just say, not beneficial for my health and suggested that we both come the next time. Frank refused to go back after the doc called him a 'smart$#%*" In fact, I only saw him a few more times because my strength began to return somewhere after my third or fourth week. Maybe it was a reprieve from the disease, I don’t know, but along with renewed energy came my old passion for life. I called it enthusiasm. Dr. Brill called it "manic depression" or "Bi-polar disease". I don't think I've ever felt as broken as the day he sent me for liver tests to put me on the drug Lithium. Now, this is just my own story...I'm not dismissing the reality of "BiPolar or Manic Depression" I'm just telling you that suddenly, something snapped and I walked out of his office one day, suddenly feeling I’d wasted time and money when the Lord had the answers. Back when I'd seen Dr. Brill, there was one of his suggestions, however that just kept haunting me; the one about my marriage. Particularly when the worst was yet to come.

Somehow I’d built some kind of fantasy that this crisis would cultivate stuff in our marriage like closeness, nurturing and protectiveness. Boy, was I disappointed! There was no stopping the building resentment. Frantically, I had looked to the medical field with desperation. However, in a very practical sense, God knew what our family needed. I had been the center of our home for far too long. One of the most frustrating things for me to do is ‘nothing’. For me, that sense of uselessness and weakness was absolutely repulsive. Allowing others to do anything for me was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to ‘learn’. Though a tough lesson, it was during that stressful time that I found God does as much in our lives when we are quietly before Him as when we are busily serving Him. Some of us do that automatically; some of us need to be forced. I’d read for years that the man or husband is supposed to be the Spiritual head of the house. I had no idea what that meant. Actually, sounded kind of frightening to me. Demanding or maybe even violent. Then again, since he'd been more than happy to let me run everything, I’d always assumed my husband didn’t want that role. Truth is, I had never let him. All my life, I’d taken care of myself...and everyone else within range. My way. Proud of the fact that I didn’t need anyone, that sense permeated our marriage. Now I did, I needed him and I have to tell you, I resented it deeply. And to tell you the truth, I think he found my needing him a little frightening and strange. My expectations for him now were so great, he couldn’t meet them if he tried. If I now agreed that my husband should be the man that I could lean on, I had no idea where or how to start.

When I became ill, he had to assume a different role. It was, and continues to be, a slow and painful process...for both of us. It is not an easy thing...to trust God over disappointment with each other. Learning to release strengths we’ve always relied on. Sometimes those things we hold onto need to be destroyed before attempting to build healthy relationships. Neither of us knew how to really committ to one another in "sickness and in health, for better or worse" until we each individually understood how much we were loved by God.


And that's the thing...how could you go through something like this and know you were loved by God at all, let alone how much? However, teachings I'd heard in the early days of my faith kept coming up. There were so many things relative to what I was going through. Yep, even those heroes of the faith dealt with depression, despair. Even though I found it difficult to read or study, I remembered different teachings. One Psalm in particular, the writer ends a very descriptive litany of anguish, one which I could now relate, remembering what God had done in his past. This was the hope he was able to cling to when doubt mocked everything else.

I found it interesting to learn that King David, while still a shepherd, penned the 23rd Psalm when he was penned in, trapped on every side with the army of his enemy King Saul in hot pursuit. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me”. I don't know if it was because I thought I would die, or what, but that verse kept popping in my head. Exhausted from the struggle, I think it was then I realized that I'd looked to every single arm of comfort but HIS. Yet, now there seemed something so peaceful, so patient and loving in the Psalm that, until then, I'd only heard recited at funerals. I think it's that "want it right now" mentality we all have today, that sent me looking into every promise of reprieve, but I was definately finally reaching a point, with nowhere else to turn, of pure eshaustion or brokenness. Finally, I prayed...really prayed. However, His words for me were not exactly what I expected to hear.

He spoke to me through the book of Isaiah that seemed to pop off the page; ”My eyes grew weak as I looked to the heavens. I am troubled, O Lord, come to my aid… But what can I say? He has spoken to me and he himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish of my soul. Lord, by such things men live; and my spirit finds life in them too. Surely, it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish.” (Isaiah 38:14-17)

Why in the world, you ask, would this prayer of King Hezekiah during his own awful illness bring comfort? I guess it was comforting to me to know that God had not turned away. This was not some punishment for something I'd done wrong, nor a lack of faith. It simply was. It was also comforting for me to know that I had not for one moment, slipped from His knowledge or His love. It was transforming to realize that this trial, as painful as it was, seemed suddenly a loving vehicle of precious intimacy, providing a deeper relationship with the One who created me. From the other side of this "crisis" I would view life and faith from a whole new perspective that I could never know any other way.

Out of the Ashes

Yesterday, and last week in Indiana, it occurred to me, during the worship time, what incredible things God has done. I mean, it's unbelievable sometimes that we've made it together, let alone...sharing in something so intimate and beautiful as Leading Worship??? Well...let me tell you, it wasn't always that way. Not even close! Yesterday, I was sharing our story with a woman at church and it just fell out of my mouth...as things seem to do often, especially when I'm excited...

Her: Were you guys in a band or something.

me: no I didn't even sing before God changed my life.

Her; Wow! That's incredible!

me: Oh, you don't know the half of it. I mean, if God could change a "Jerry Springer Person" like myself, He can do anything!"

Now let me explain and please don't send me hate mail or anything. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with people who appear on the Jerry Springer show. All I'm saying is that, in the mindset of my pre-Christ years, you could have easily found me comfortably on his or any talk show selling out my family or fighting and defending myself. I mean who wouldn't find satisfaction temporarily, anyway, to have a whole audience agreeing with your opinion and YOUR side of an argument?

Anyway, I was thinking this morning about how it all did start. Sharing our lives and our faith in this way.

and I guess, next to becoming Christians, the biggest change in this direction actually came from what seemed at the time to be a horrible crisis. But, then again I think somewhere in the meaning of the word crisis, it means to 'turn-around'. A crisis brings change...one way or another. Good or bad, I guess it's the way you look at it. Anyway, I thought I'd share ours...

Part 1

“You can rise!
Out of the ash you can rise!
When the morning will break in your life,
And what looked like your heart's demise
Turned out to be a blessing in disguise!”

words from song “Blessing in Disguise” – Margaret Becker

Yep, me and Naomi Judd…we got the dreaded…Hep C. At least that’s what I thought. Of course, now I know that I'm merely one of millions who've been infected with the Hepatitis C virus. Though I'm perfectly aware that I've probably dabbled with every less noble way to get infected, it would seem that a likely cause is the couple of transfusions, on two separate occasions, I was given in the 80’s. They've since found that some of the blood they handed out back then was not so clean as they thought. But, the way I figure it, at the time, I needed the blood to get through the immediate crisis. So, who knows which is worse?

My dream of owning my own hair salon had come true. It was a precious little dollhouse-looking place, which only a year before had been a run down sort of shed or garage structure where locals in our tiny beach-town hung out. "The Bass Hole" sold worms and fish hooks. Now it sold hairspray and shampoo, had cute little turquoise shutters, a white french door, beautiful peach tile floors, mirrors and plumbling. "The BeachComber" was an unexpected and growing success, even with its horrible location of fifteen miles from anywhere. I loved it...not once did anyone complain about the Christian music playing softly in the background, at least to my face. My clients became more friends than customers and we enjoyed some deep and personal conversations. God had given me the gift of hairdressing. I was using it for Him. Seemed to me, that this would/could/should go on forever. However, I'd soon find out that God's ways are not even close to our ways.

At some point, it occurred to me, that, in complete contrast to my usual energy and enthusiasm, I began to experience extreme, and crushing..almost nauseating fatigue. Honestly, things became increasingly more desperate each day as I soon found it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. Seeking medical help began a journey of frustrating appointments and tests and discouragements, that to me, made dealing with the actual disease somehow more appealing. Test after test, showing nothing, led to one of the most despairing times of my life…and this after knowing joy and purpose like I’ve never known since becoming a Christian just a few short years earlier. With the vague "fatigue" syptoms and no sign of anything specific and textbook, doctors eventually concluded that it was ‘clinical depression.' (Is there a difference between ‘clinical’ and regular depression btw?) Angry and finding their diagnosis humiliating, I refused to believe it.
“I’m the least depressed person I know”, I argued with our regular family physician. “If I’m depressed, it’s because I don’t feel well”, I appealed. The negative results of blood tests seemed to confirm his findings and added to my frustration. It was so frustrating to communicate to him how this non-specific thing was devestating my life and only made him seem more satisfied with his diagnosis. Growing wearier each day, despair and dread loomed larger than life itself. The energy and motivation I once took for granted had disappeared and in its place was a self-absorbed whiny baby who just wanted somebody, somewhere to understand what was happening to my life.

Never had I felt so alone. I have to say though, the worst thing about this horrible experience was that the very faith that I had professed to every client who sat in my chair was now ringing empty down in my own soul. Prayers seemed to echo in a blasted deafening silence. My husband and children were losing their patience with me. They wanted the old me back, but every day, that person sunk further from reach. Desperately seeking understanding and finding none, I finally resigned myself to the facts. It felt as if I'd been pushed to a breaking point I didn't think possible "ok, OK...uncle..." I felt like crying. Like it or not, I was depressed. It was absolutely depressing.

Yup, I was THAT desparate for help that I paid some stranger to listen and after struggling through psychiatric treatment, anti-depressants, and more bouts with extreme fatigue, I mercifully began to have some gastro-intestinal problems. I say ‘mercifully’ because it was with those problems that it was discovered, through routine blood work that I had Hepatitis C. A liver biopsy, revealed that the disease was Chronic-active. What does that mean? That the Hepatitis C virus, which had invaded my blood, possibly through one of those transfusions, was aggressively attacking my liver. It had caused some pretty impressive damage and left untreated, would probably lead to Cirrhosis and the eventual need of a liver transplant. Relief that I was not some middle aged pre-menopausal, crazy woman was short-lived when I realized the treatment for Hepatitis C. (don't let this scare you, though...I hear it's much better now)

But, at the time, the treatment was three self-administered injections of Intron-A Interferon per week, for six months was the standard protocol. The side effects of Interferon consisted of two pages of possibilities. From redness and swelling at the injection site to severe flu-like symptoms to of course, death. I figured I’d probably fall somewhere in between, so I was willing to take the chance and began to dream of regaining my old life. This was it! God would restore my old life and my . It made perfect sense.

Meanwhile, a group from church meeting in our home on Friday evenings and from that I was asked to join the worship team. Maybe they just felt sorry for me, but, however it came about, I found joy in that like you would not believe. Little did I know at the time that leading praise and worship would be just one of the first sweet gifts (and begin one of the major changes) that would help sustain me in one of the very darkest times in my life. God would begin to change life as I knew it in a way I had never imagined possible, through a circumstance that I would have never suspected.

The first injection was a nightmare! Violent chills, extremely high fever and the horrible splitting headache. Even my skin hurt to touch it, but within twenty-four hours, I began to feel better...just in time to re-inject. The side effects were diminishing, but fearing a reoccurrence, I contacted a doctor, just to alleviate some of my apprehension and was assured that it would be much milder, if anything the next time. It was true. The next time wasn’t as bad, and after taking off of work for the weekend, I returned to my salon. Two months in, however, I'd lost weight, grown very weak and deathly ill. It was becoming more and more impossible to maintain treatments along with working. I quit the treatments after the second horrible headache that lasted whole agonizing week and almost immediately regained my old stamina and energy. I felt like myself for the first time in years and nothing could keep me down. I totally ignored thoughts that there may be consequences of stopping treatment, and went forward, full steam ahead into new marketing strategies for my salon, and new ideas for reaching the lost. A few months later, as I tackled a rugged camping trip, volunteering for Compassion International, the bottom of my energy dropped out once again. This time, though, I knew something was terribly wrong. Returning home, I was discouraged with the terrible results of medical tests. They showed an aggressive relapse in the virus, which had probably been due to cutting the treatment short. I was forced to face the situation more realistically.

At this point, treatments were no longer optional. My immediate future now included a much higher strength of Interferon for a greater length of time. To say I was discouraged was an understatement. There was no getting around it, if I was going to fight this new attack on my liver, I would have to readjust my life. Knowing what I’d experienced the first time, it would be impossible to keep the salon. As I sat packing everything everything I'd dreamed of, I began to prepare for the second round.

Besides the obvious suffering a disease and its treatment can cause personally, the effects on the family can be devesating. This would begin some of the most powerful changes in my relationships with my husband and children than I could ever imagine. Strength was my greatest asset. I had always prided myself on my ability to manage everything. Frank would be the first to admit that he had very little input on what it took to run our home. That was my department. How would they deal with the journey we were about to embark, with mom displaying a weakness they’d never seen? With mom needing them? God had brought our marriage miraculously to this point; I could count on my husband being the strength in our family, right? Of course they’d come through, I was sure. After all, I’d done everything for them all these years. Of course they'd magically acquire all the caretaking tools they'd need. However, while I still could, with all my control freak gifts and abilities intact...I had everything in order. Planning it perfectly around chores and every other thing they could need me for, I injected my first round of Interferon on a Sunday afternoon. That way, free from the daily routine, I knew if I needed help, they’d be there. Three hours later, however, I realized my plans weren’t as perfect as I’d initially thought; the first staggering signs of side effects of Intron Interferon would interfere all right, right smack in the middle of the very first game of professional football season!

That’s right, as my body was beginning to scream from chills and nausea, my Frank was screaming at the Redskins fumbling and passing. Experience told me, this would be a long night. I groped my way up the stairs desperate for a bed and to be perfectly honest, maybe a little sympathy. Maybe a little consoling?

My head throbbed and Frank’s enthusiasm over cheering crowds grew louder. I stood in the doorway, wanting him to notice the agony that was beginning to rage in my body.

He noticed. “Oh, hey, hon. Come on in,” he patted the bed beside him.

“This is a great game!” He emphasized. “Redskins are winning! Come watch it with me.”

Now, I have to tell you, I am not a huge football fan...even when I’m not feeling like death is around the corner.

My teeth chattered and I began to tremble, “Would you mind getting me some Tylenol and maybe a drink?”

“Sure,” he said, distracted, but polite. With his eyes glued to the television, he disappeared from the room. Back in a jiffy, he again became mesmerized, mechanically handing me water and some aspirin.

Settling back to the thrill of the game, his response was, let’s just say, a little less polite when I interupted once again.

“I’m freezing, Frank” I said. (Ok, I whined) through violent chills. “Could you please get me the heating pad out of the closet?”

It was only after the nerve of my third request that my husband actually resorted to rolling his eyes with a heavy sigh of total disgust. Minutes later, I began to be alarmed at the increasing and unrelenting side effects. And can you believe it? With total lack of respect for the Redskins, I asked if he would get the instructions out of the box of interferon. “Would you take a look at the list of side effects. I’m wondering if I should call the doctor?” I asked him to read which ones were considered severe.

Obviously at the end of his rope with me, Frank snapped the paper open. “Let’s see,” he began reading sarcastically, unable to hide his annoyance. “How about suicidal? That’s what the directions call severe. Are you feeling suicidal”?

Now I’d had it with his impatience and unmerciful attitude.

“No,” I snapped back. “But how about homicidal, is that on the list? Cause, that’s what I’m feeling right now,” I said, glaring back at him. “Very homicidal!”

In our early years of Christianity, Frank used to say "I'm praying for compassion."

"What??? You think God is gonna just dump compassion in your lap?" I'd answer flippantly. "Any fool knows you only gain compassion by feeling another's pain."

Obviously, those prayers hadn't been answered yet, and if he was going to ever feel some sort of compassion for what I was going through, that was certainly not the way to do it. My wisecracks only served to satisfy his own opinion; I was totally competent to care for myself. But, I wasn't. I've never needed him so desperately! We were certainly one huge dissapointment to each other.

So, there we were, off in the struggle to get through this together, with the tools that we had, and with the baggage that we brought. It was ugly.

On Pins & Needles

I have to share this with someone. I thought these kind of things only happen to me. Obviously not! My friend, Donna, goes to this same doctor as my son to get accupuncture treatments for allergies. We have no clue why this seems to work...it just does. (it really does) She suffers terribly with allergies, but she almost canceled due to finances. Or lets say..the lack of. Anyway, appointments are difficult to get and all the way there, in her mind, she's praying and grappling with the fact that she really didn't have the money, but she's desperate.

So, half hour later with pins sticking in all of her "pressure points" or whatever, she's relaxing to "Purpose Driven Life" cds in a walkman. Donna's got two little kids, so you can imagine, she's enjoying the quiet...for an hour, then 1 1/2 and then suddenly, it's a little too quiet. Hmmm...she's been hooked to some machine and had these little pins in her for almost two hours when not really knowing what to do, decides to unhook herself, and opens the door. No One. Now this doc is in a suite in an office building and my friend finally finds some man who has an accounting business down the hall. With little pins, like a porcupine all over her, she says "Excuse me. Excuse me, sir. Have you seen anyone from the allergists office?"

He just stares at her and says "Yeah, but, they've all gone home for the evening."
Silence. Her with her pins. Him with his accounts.
"Whew! And I thought they were using me for some kind of case study" she told him.

It winds up that he's had lots of these treatments too and offers to take the pins out. He did a really good job for an accountant, too, she says. Meanwhile, he called the doctor on her cell and come to find out, the receptionist had to unexpectedly pick up her son at the babysitters, and in the rush to leave, FORGOT my friend was all wired up in that room.

She chalked it up to God's answer to prayer, not to mention His sense of humor...cause the best part...they were so mortified...it was FREE!

Meeting JoJo

Who'da thunk that I'd get a chance to meet someone I've only chatted with on the internet? For just a few months? Who lives 700 miles away? I mean, there's relatives I've never met. But, I can only believe that God had a plan! It was a weekend I won't soon forget. Nor will my husband, Frank. In fact, for the first time ever, he's showing a little interest in blogging. Well, at least he wanted to check out JoJo's blog!