Leprosy is mentioned many times in Scripture. I have never once seen a reference to an armadillo.
There must be some deep meaning in all of this.
Actually. No. I am simply suffering from information overload. I know this, you see, because I read it on the internet. I did not check and re-check this factoid. I will leave that for you to do.
Chipmunks, squirrels, prairie dogs and other rodents carry some form of plague. Scientists have been trying to control it by enticing the critters into a tube filled with something to kill fleas that transmit the disease to humans.
Most animals can become rabid if they are bitten by an infected animal or eat the raw meat of an infected animal.
HIV originated with some type of monkey. There are some people who eat the brains of live monkeys. Yuck!! but true.
My mother told me that gonorrhea originally came from sheep. Yuck!! again. Maybe it was syphilis. Either way. Yuck!! again.
Mad Cow disease comes from sheep. Why would anyone feed sheep meat to cows anyway? Do they not know cows are herbivores? That is what comes from teaching political correctness and no biology.
Lyme Disease can be transmitted across many species by way of a certain species of tick.
While lying did not originate in Washington DC, the spread of lying is at record highs across the nation. It seems that once one has been exposed to it, the contagion is carried back to the politicians home state rather quickly and it is now an epidemic across the United States.
A lie spreads faster than the truth ever could. A lie is believed long before the truth ever is. A liar can prove he was not somewhere that he was while a truthful man cannot prove he was somewhere he actually was if he was alone.
Humans prefer to believe that aliens planted the human race upon this planet but laugh at the truth of GOD creating everything for us to live here.
Humans prefer to believe that rogue aliens will come to destroy the earth and we will be saved by a lone fighter for truth, justice and the American way; but they refuse to believe that GOD sent HIS only SON to earth to die for their sins. HE will be back.
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
Friday, April 29, 2011
"And we'll have fun, fun, fun 'til Daddy takes her T-bird away-yay..."
Anyone who is at least as old as I am might remember those words to a popular late 1960's song. That was forty plus years ago. My how time flies when you think you have all the time in the world.
When I was seventeen, most days I thought I had all the time in the world. The death of a classmate from cancer kind of gave me an idea that life just might be uncertain. No one in my family even knew that I had thoughts of death except my mother.
When I was fifteen, I had a diary. It was pink (of course) and had one of those dinky locks designed to give a child a false sense of security. I wrote my most private thoughts in there. I had the typical younger brother who was always trying to read it and I tried to keep it hidden. I learned too late that hiding something under a mattress or under my pillow was not really a hiding place when your mother washes clothes and bed linens once a week.
At fifteen with hormones raging, body changing and interests wandering seriously toward boys it was inevitable that I would put in writing my deepest, darkest thoughts. I had a summer romance which consisted of meeting this boy at the public pool almost everyday. We never went anywhere. He never bought me anything, not even a soda. We talked and we swam. A week before school started, he asked me to go steady. I was elated. We never even shared a kiss. We barely held hands and I was overjoyed.
School started and that first day was great! I had a steady boyfriend and my classes were great. Before lunch he came up to me and asked for his ring. He said he wanted to get it cleaned. Of course I handed it right over to him. He barely got out of sight when I saw him hand it to another girl who had that same foolish grin that I had just seconds before.
Of course when I got home, I wrote in my diary how devastated I was and how life was not worth living. Several days later, my mind on other things, my mother confronts me. She actually burst into my room after I had gone to sleep.
She yells at me that I am stupid and have no idea what life is all about. At that moment, I had no clue as to what she was referencing. She kept telling me I was stupid and asking me how I could write something like that and all the time she is haranguing me I am wondering what her problem is. Somewhere between the screaming of the fifteenth and the twentieth stupid it occurred to me that she had read my diary.
She informed me that there was nothing private in the house and she would read whatever whenever she chose. So, I did what any teenage girl would do under the circumstances. I burned my diary and never started another while I lived at home.
At my age, I have started another diary of sorts. This blog is probably the closest I have come to having a diary or journal in awhile. It is not so much a recounting of the days events as much as it is a look back. More than anything it is an autobiography with some embellishments here and there when I write my stories which I post on another blog.
If there is anything that I can tell a mother who finds their child's journal it is this. Do not scream and yell at them about the contents. Keep your mouth shut. Watch them. Give them a chance to come to you.
You scream. You yell. You accuse. You drive them away. I believe that it is okay for parents to be nosy and read those private thoughts. Just keep them to yourself and remember those things so you can use opportunities to instruct them; to guide them in the right direction. It might just keep you and them out of trouble. You may learn what your child really thinks and it may not be as bad as you think. There is always the chance that it is worse, but then you are armed with information not ammunition.
Do not forget that what you read may only be feelings but to your child they can seem like life and death, and those feelings may just need to be written not necessarily broadcast.
I do not care what anyone says. Being a child in today's world is much more difficult than it was when I was a child. There are many more opportunities for disaster today. They have the internet, cell phones and all manner of incorrect information coming at them from every direction.
Be a parent all the time, not just at your convenience or when your job allows. Do not wait until they are teenagers to get involved. Know who your child is. Listen to them. Do not just try bullying them into submission. That only works for most 2-year-olds and younger.
Teach them at home from the BIBLE. When they start school, help them with their homework. Know what they are being taught. Know their friends. Keep the lines of communication open.
I would like to think that I did some of the above with my own child, but one can never be sure. We never really know what kind of parent we have been until... Well, I am not sure that we ever truly know. Good parents can have bad children and bad parents can have good children. But do not take what I just wrote as a license to be a bad parent. Always do the best job you can.
Rely on GOD for HIS Wisdom. After all, HIS SON gave everything HE had for a bunch of sinners and ingrates. Do not compare yourself to others. Look to HIM for HIS advise.
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
When I was seventeen, most days I thought I had all the time in the world. The death of a classmate from cancer kind of gave me an idea that life just might be uncertain. No one in my family even knew that I had thoughts of death except my mother.
When I was fifteen, I had a diary. It was pink (of course) and had one of those dinky locks designed to give a child a false sense of security. I wrote my most private thoughts in there. I had the typical younger brother who was always trying to read it and I tried to keep it hidden. I learned too late that hiding something under a mattress or under my pillow was not really a hiding place when your mother washes clothes and bed linens once a week.
At fifteen with hormones raging, body changing and interests wandering seriously toward boys it was inevitable that I would put in writing my deepest, darkest thoughts. I had a summer romance which consisted of meeting this boy at the public pool almost everyday. We never went anywhere. He never bought me anything, not even a soda. We talked and we swam. A week before school started, he asked me to go steady. I was elated. We never even shared a kiss. We barely held hands and I was overjoyed.
School started and that first day was great! I had a steady boyfriend and my classes were great. Before lunch he came up to me and asked for his ring. He said he wanted to get it cleaned. Of course I handed it right over to him. He barely got out of sight when I saw him hand it to another girl who had that same foolish grin that I had just seconds before.
Of course when I got home, I wrote in my diary how devastated I was and how life was not worth living. Several days later, my mind on other things, my mother confronts me. She actually burst into my room after I had gone to sleep.
She yells at me that I am stupid and have no idea what life is all about. At that moment, I had no clue as to what she was referencing. She kept telling me I was stupid and asking me how I could write something like that and all the time she is haranguing me I am wondering what her problem is. Somewhere between the screaming of the fifteenth and the twentieth stupid it occurred to me that she had read my diary.
She informed me that there was nothing private in the house and she would read whatever whenever she chose. So, I did what any teenage girl would do under the circumstances. I burned my diary and never started another while I lived at home.
At my age, I have started another diary of sorts. This blog is probably the closest I have come to having a diary or journal in awhile. It is not so much a recounting of the days events as much as it is a look back. More than anything it is an autobiography with some embellishments here and there when I write my stories which I post on another blog.
If there is anything that I can tell a mother who finds their child's journal it is this. Do not scream and yell at them about the contents. Keep your mouth shut. Watch them. Give them a chance to come to you.
You scream. You yell. You accuse. You drive them away. I believe that it is okay for parents to be nosy and read those private thoughts. Just keep them to yourself and remember those things so you can use opportunities to instruct them; to guide them in the right direction. It might just keep you and them out of trouble. You may learn what your child really thinks and it may not be as bad as you think. There is always the chance that it is worse, but then you are armed with information not ammunition.
Do not forget that what you read may only be feelings but to your child they can seem like life and death, and those feelings may just need to be written not necessarily broadcast.
I do not care what anyone says. Being a child in today's world is much more difficult than it was when I was a child. There are many more opportunities for disaster today. They have the internet, cell phones and all manner of incorrect information coming at them from every direction.
Be a parent all the time, not just at your convenience or when your job allows. Do not wait until they are teenagers to get involved. Know who your child is. Listen to them. Do not just try bullying them into submission. That only works for most 2-year-olds and younger.
Teach them at home from the BIBLE. When they start school, help them with their homework. Know what they are being taught. Know their friends. Keep the lines of communication open.
I would like to think that I did some of the above with my own child, but one can never be sure. We never really know what kind of parent we have been until... Well, I am not sure that we ever truly know. Good parents can have bad children and bad parents can have good children. But do not take what I just wrote as a license to be a bad parent. Always do the best job you can.
Rely on GOD for HIS Wisdom. After all, HIS SON gave everything HE had for a bunch of sinners and ingrates. Do not compare yourself to others. Look to HIM for HIS advise.
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Reality - What Is It Really?
There is much confusion these days about what truth is. There was even a President in the United States who was confused about the meaning of the word "is." Only history will tell whether it was his escapades or his lack of ability that he will be known for.
There are those who believe that truth is whatever you want it to be. That is simply insane. If that were true there is no need for mental hospitals, nor psychiatrists, nor the drugs that help people to focus on the real world.
As I sit day after day watching the blather that marches across the liquid crystal display, it occurs to me that there truly could be a misinterpretation of reality. The shows have been transformed from basic pure fictional half-hour to hour to 2 hour long Reality Shows. Are they truly real? Just how real can it be to have cameramen follow you around and have cameras in every room of the house? Do you finally forget that they are there?
But how real is reality anyway? We have someone who follows us around where no camera can go. How do we act? Do we act as though no one sees? Do we go through our daily routine without a thought for those who watch us? Is what we are experiencing real or are we simply lying in a coma in some room playing out a dream or a nightmare of reality?
Sometimes I wonder. As a child, I read science fiction and lost myself among the space travelers on far away worlds. I escaped with "Stranger in a Strange Land" because the real world was full of despair, molestation, vulgarity, profanity, verbal fights, alcoholism, divorce, fist fights and all manner of violent behavior. I escaped with "Methuselah's Children." There was time to correct bad behavior and that was what I needed. I needed to believe that there was a way to correct all the violent behavior and those peculiar idiosyncrasies that caused perceptions to become blurred and right, wrong, real and imagined became meshed together where there were no boundaries.
Church and preaching had become just another way for Satan to do his dirty work. There was no way that I was going to believe some preacher. He was just another man talking about things he had no heart for and did not believe.
I knew preachers that spoke of fire and brimstone and listened to them talk about the love of God, a God they did not even appear to know nor care about. I even walked past one who called me a whore (using an old Biblical term) and mentioned that I was one of those women to be avoided.
The reality of the Scriptures had been twisted. Half truths were told and embellished to suit the desires of the one doing the preaching. I was 42 when I finally got the TRUTH. I finally got it. I finally understood that it was not what some man was saying, but it was right from the mouth of GOD.
I finally knew the TRUTH and it did indeed set me free!
The reality is that this earth is in meltdown mode. Right is wrong. Wrong is right. Evil is good. Good is evil. It is everyone for himself. The love of many is waning. The sick, the old, and the handicapped are being discarded like empty soda cans. The love of GOD has its place in the church and only the church, if even there. Governments promote their own agenda without much thought for the true welfare of the people. Politicians are in it for their own power struggles and fame and fortune. The welfare of the people and the furtherance of virtue is far from their mind.
I know one thing for sure and for certain. GOD is love. GOD is Truth. GOD is in charge. GOD's Will be done. It (whatever it may be) will go as GOD wills it. Evil will not prevail. Jesus of Nazareth was a real person. HE was the Son of GOD. HE was born and HE died for my sins. HE rose from the grave. HE sits at the right hand of GOD. Yes, I said one thing but all of these things are from One Source. They all come from GOD ALMIGHTY and they are all TRUE.
The reality is that there is ONE GOD and only ONE way to GOD. Read the Bible.
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
There are those who believe that truth is whatever you want it to be. That is simply insane. If that were true there is no need for mental hospitals, nor psychiatrists, nor the drugs that help people to focus on the real world.
As I sit day after day watching the blather that marches across the liquid crystal display, it occurs to me that there truly could be a misinterpretation of reality. The shows have been transformed from basic pure fictional half-hour to hour to 2 hour long Reality Shows. Are they truly real? Just how real can it be to have cameramen follow you around and have cameras in every room of the house? Do you finally forget that they are there?
But how real is reality anyway? We have someone who follows us around where no camera can go. How do we act? Do we act as though no one sees? Do we go through our daily routine without a thought for those who watch us? Is what we are experiencing real or are we simply lying in a coma in some room playing out a dream or a nightmare of reality?
Sometimes I wonder. As a child, I read science fiction and lost myself among the space travelers on far away worlds. I escaped with "Stranger in a Strange Land" because the real world was full of despair, molestation, vulgarity, profanity, verbal fights, alcoholism, divorce, fist fights and all manner of violent behavior. I escaped with "Methuselah's Children." There was time to correct bad behavior and that was what I needed. I needed to believe that there was a way to correct all the violent behavior and those peculiar idiosyncrasies that caused perceptions to become blurred and right, wrong, real and imagined became meshed together where there were no boundaries.
Church and preaching had become just another way for Satan to do his dirty work. There was no way that I was going to believe some preacher. He was just another man talking about things he had no heart for and did not believe.
I knew preachers that spoke of fire and brimstone and listened to them talk about the love of God, a God they did not even appear to know nor care about. I even walked past one who called me a whore (using an old Biblical term) and mentioned that I was one of those women to be avoided.
The reality of the Scriptures had been twisted. Half truths were told and embellished to suit the desires of the one doing the preaching. I was 42 when I finally got the TRUTH. I finally got it. I finally understood that it was not what some man was saying, but it was right from the mouth of GOD.
I finally knew the TRUTH and it did indeed set me free!
The reality is that this earth is in meltdown mode. Right is wrong. Wrong is right. Evil is good. Good is evil. It is everyone for himself. The love of many is waning. The sick, the old, and the handicapped are being discarded like empty soda cans. The love of GOD has its place in the church and only the church, if even there. Governments promote their own agenda without much thought for the true welfare of the people. Politicians are in it for their own power struggles and fame and fortune. The welfare of the people and the furtherance of virtue is far from their mind.
I know one thing for sure and for certain. GOD is love. GOD is Truth. GOD is in charge. GOD's Will be done. It (whatever it may be) will go as GOD wills it. Evil will not prevail. Jesus of Nazareth was a real person. HE was the Son of GOD. HE was born and HE died for my sins. HE rose from the grave. HE sits at the right hand of GOD. Yes, I said one thing but all of these things are from One Source. They all come from GOD ALMIGHTY and they are all TRUE.
The reality is that there is ONE GOD and only ONE way to GOD. Read the Bible.
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
A Love Story
It was 1968. She was young and lived with wild abandon and had no sense of consequences. Her memory was unclear. There was much that happened during that time that was hazy, but one thing was clear, she met someone who melded with her heart.
The circumstances of their meeting were unclear. She simply remembered him. And then he was gone. It was a fleeting meeting, a spontaneous moment that evaporated as quickly as it happened.
Several years passed. There had been many spontaneous moments two of which ended in divorce. The sparkle of spontaneity had dulled considerably and consequences had taken their toll. The pieces that she had so willingly given were never to be recovered. Her heart had become riddled with holes and while it had not been broken beyond repair, the walls were being built.
This day had come and almost gone like so many others. A friend was with her as she drove into the service station. She saw him. She tried to not give the moment too much consideration, but that feeling started crawling out of the pit. Their eyes met and she knew he remembered.
He filled her gas tank and when she left, she knew she would be returning before his shift ended.
Time flew by in a sea of love and lust of youth. Soon they were living together. His mother thought that she was wrong for her baby boy. She wanted him to move back to her home. His mother cried when he moved out and she carried his boxes back into the house and tried to hide them. He moved anyway. This new woman had something to give to him that he had never had before. She believed in him and thought he could conquer the world. For her he just might.
There were arguments and tempestuous forgiveness and the cycle started. They decided to marry. The third time was to be the charm for her. This was to be the last time. There would be no more marriages. They would live happily ever after.
They eloped. They told no one. While on a trip to a drag race competition, they found a little town called Eden and there they forged the legal and emotional bond. Their wedding night was spent in celebration of that union.
Upon their return home, they still told no one. Assumptions were made. Efforts were made to part the young lovers, but to no avail.
More than a year passed. During that time they moved from the small apartment into a hovel on the wrong side of the tracks. It was a two-story dwelling that had no insulation, no central heat and wind blew through the window frames, but it was their first place. His mother was appalled that he could live in a place like that, but that was what $80.00 a month would buy. It was in an industrial area, but his wife knew it as home. She felt safe there. She would put plastic over the windows to keep out the cold and the wind. The landlord blew insulation into the walls and it was home.
His job as a mechanic did not pay much and she went to work as a receptionist at a local factory. The home was clean and sparsely furnished with second-hand furniture and un-packed boxes.
It was 1977. One morning she woke and made the comment, "I hope you like being called Daddy. I think I'm pregnant."
It was about a week later when the vomiting increased and she had no choice but to go to the emergency room. She told the doctor on call that thought she was pregnant. The doctor insisted that she had gall bladder problems and scheduled a gall bladder series for the next morning. He insisted that she take the medication for the series while he stood and watched. It was not something she wanted to do because of the danger of the x-rays to the baby, but the doctor insisted that she could not know that she was pregnant.
They left the hospital and drove straight home. As they pulled up to the house a wave of nausea engulfed her and as soon as the car door was opened, the contents of her stomach were on the ground. She would not be having any x-rays.
The morning sickness increased. It was 1977 and pregnancy tests were still done by doctors. She dropped the urine sample off at the doctor's office. She talked to the doctor later that morning and he said, "I guess congratulations are in order. You're pregnant."
It was time to tell the family that they were married and pregnant.
His mother was heartbroken. Even when she saw the marriage certificate, she tried to deny it's existence. She did not want to believe that he had married and actually gotten that woman pregnant.
Her family was non-nonchalant about the whole thing, but excited about a first grand-child.
His mother finally warmed to the idea of a grand-child and made efforts to become part of their lives. Everything was an effort but worth the price paid to gain control of some bit of the son she had lost to her.
She knew she was not what the woman would have chosen for her son, but there was only the future to look at. She was determined to make this work.
The pregnancy was wonderful after the initial month of morning sickness. The doctor prescribed Bendectin and the nausea subsided. It was not until after the pregnancy that it was broadcast that Bendectin caused birth defects and should not be taken by pregnant women.
She was healthier than she had been in years. Weight gain was within reason and that glow that expectant mothers have seemed especially bright. The child that grew within her she just knew was a boy. It was never a consideration for her that she would have anything but a boy child. She only wondered what he would be like and if she could be a good mother to him.
She wondered about her mothering skills. Books had been her main source of information and what she read had her on edge. There were many philosophies and some were quite confusing; nearly all contradicted the others at one point. The "Leave It To Beaver" family was a dream she had as a child, but it was only a fantasy that never had a hope of reality. Her own family had been the epitome of dysfunction. The fights, the screaming, the drinking, the profanity and vulgar language were the visible signs. The constant degradation and lack of appreciation between the adults was transferred to every child. If the cycle was to be broken, there would have to be a miracle, a rebirth. It would have to be a total change of heart. There was no sign of that happening.
The other side of the family seemed to be better, but upon closer examination it was dysfunctional lite. The symptoms were just not as vocal and there were no fist fights. There was only the continuously pleading voice. The children had lived in a home with a closet hoarder with her heart deeply embedded in the keepsakes of the past and a peculiar attachment to the children living at home.
Somewhere in between or even outside of the box, there had to be reason. There had to be understanding and love and reason. With no visible model it was going to be a difficult road, but there had to be a better way. Someone out there had to have an answer, a direction upward; a better way of living life.
The pregnancy was wonderful, but what about life after? Would she be able to nurture this new life, this new son, properly?
The physical side was never in question. It had snowed and she was in the end of the eighth month. So she got the snow shovel and started shoveling the snow off her in-law's driveway. She felt wonderful and alive.
As she shoveled she thought of events that happened during the pregnancy.
They were in the grocery store and needed milk. The milk was on the bottom shelf and was almost sold out. She stooped down and reached for a gallon at the back of the shelf and lost her footing. As she rolled across the floor, she laughed at the comedy of it all. Her husband saw her and together they shared that moment.
The three of them were at a community concert and as the music played, the child within her started keeping time to the music. He was having his own personal party and it was wonderful.
She never felt fat. It was an emotional, hormonal time, but it was a time of feeling womanly and wonderful. She did not want it to end but knew that it would end soon. It had too. But as the time drew near, the fear within grew. It was a fear that she would fail as a parent; she would fail to be a good mother.
She was not aware of just how short the time was. They were driving to a friend's home in Dooms. His father was a frequent visitor because the husband had a garage. It is late, but there were still several cars there. She elected to stay in the car because she was tired and not looking forward to the walk up the hill to the garage.
She sat there waiting. Her husband had not been gone that long, but she started getting a sense of urgency. It was a 1966 Chevrolet and the front seat was quite large and she laid down trying to be patient. Since that was not working, she sat up. The feeling was sudden and instantly she realized that time was very short. The amniotic fluid washed over her and she sat there waiting and trying not to get anxious.
A short amount of time passed, but it seemed like an hour. She got out of the car and headed up the hill. Walking toward the door, she started feeling a twinge. As she opened the door, she heard his voice and several others. The conversation was animated.
"Sweetheart, it's time to go."
"Yeah, I won't be long."
"No, we need to go now."
You could see the awareness grow as the men, one by one, realized that we really had go and go now! The laughter started as they kidded him about going. You could see the pronounced change on his face as he suddenly became aware of the fact of the moment. The baby was coming.
He jumped up suddenly, confused and concerned and excited, all at the same time. They drove home to pick up that bag of essential things that every newly expectant couple packs. As the contractions grew, she fixed a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. She remembered the stories of fathers who had passed out due to low blood sugar and she was determined that would not happen.
The calm remained with her until hours after the birth of her son. It was then that she realized that the next 18 years would be a time of growing and a time of pulling away and of finding his own way.
That was the beginning of a life-long journey for the young couple. Neither of them knew that in a few short years their lives would change forever and there would be no turning back. The contractions were getting closer and harder, but she had been trained in the Lamaze classes and knew what to expect, but it was still a new experience. She was calm with anticipation. She knew it was going to be intense and she knew she would never remember it as pain. It was a process that had to be. It was necessary and it would happen and it would be without drugs and forceps. She was determined that it would be a natural birth. the child would be born when the child was ready, when the body was right.
As she focused on the tiny blue and white bear, a woman was wheeled in to occupy the bed next to hers. It was a classmate from the Lamaze class. Her hair was in place and she had on her makeup. When the contraction hit, she started screaming. Instead of listening to her husband, her coach, she allowed the pain to become over-powering. When the next contraction hit, her husband walked out.
The screaming was loud and annoying, but it was breaking her concentration. She buzzed for the nurse. When the nurse came in she asked her to move Mrs. Screamer to another room before she smothered her with a pillow. The nurses moved her bed to the room farthest from the nurses station. When that proved to be insufficient, they closed her door.
Thirteen hours into the labor, they started talking about taking the baby. She had not gotten that far to give in to their desire to fill her and her unborn child with drugs or numb her lower body so she could not feel the actual birth of her son. It was time. She could feel it. Regardless of what they said, it was time to push.
They grew frantic and told her not to push. They insisted that she wait until they got her from the labor room to the delivery room. She told them she was not waiting and they better hurry because it was time.
She felt the pressure and the wonderful release of new life. He did not cry nor scream. He gave out a little "aach!" opened his eyes and looked around. His head was formed to the contour of the birth canal leaving it slightly out of round and he had goop all over him. He did not look like the cute little babies they show in the nursery, but he was beautiful and he was hers. He had black hair all over his head and he was frowning. He was finally out. The adventure had begun.
To be continued......
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
The circumstances of their meeting were unclear. She simply remembered him. And then he was gone. It was a fleeting meeting, a spontaneous moment that evaporated as quickly as it happened.
Several years passed. There had been many spontaneous moments two of which ended in divorce. The sparkle of spontaneity had dulled considerably and consequences had taken their toll. The pieces that she had so willingly given were never to be recovered. Her heart had become riddled with holes and while it had not been broken beyond repair, the walls were being built.
This day had come and almost gone like so many others. A friend was with her as she drove into the service station. She saw him. She tried to not give the moment too much consideration, but that feeling started crawling out of the pit. Their eyes met and she knew he remembered.
He filled her gas tank and when she left, she knew she would be returning before his shift ended.
Time flew by in a sea of love and lust of youth. Soon they were living together. His mother thought that she was wrong for her baby boy. She wanted him to move back to her home. His mother cried when he moved out and she carried his boxes back into the house and tried to hide them. He moved anyway. This new woman had something to give to him that he had never had before. She believed in him and thought he could conquer the world. For her he just might.
There were arguments and tempestuous forgiveness and the cycle started. They decided to marry. The third time was to be the charm for her. This was to be the last time. There would be no more marriages. They would live happily ever after.
They eloped. They told no one. While on a trip to a drag race competition, they found a little town called Eden and there they forged the legal and emotional bond. Their wedding night was spent in celebration of that union.
Upon their return home, they still told no one. Assumptions were made. Efforts were made to part the young lovers, but to no avail.
More than a year passed. During that time they moved from the small apartment into a hovel on the wrong side of the tracks. It was a two-story dwelling that had no insulation, no central heat and wind blew through the window frames, but it was their first place. His mother was appalled that he could live in a place like that, but that was what $80.00 a month would buy. It was in an industrial area, but his wife knew it as home. She felt safe there. She would put plastic over the windows to keep out the cold and the wind. The landlord blew insulation into the walls and it was home.
His job as a mechanic did not pay much and she went to work as a receptionist at a local factory. The home was clean and sparsely furnished with second-hand furniture and un-packed boxes.
It was 1977. One morning she woke and made the comment, "I hope you like being called Daddy. I think I'm pregnant."
It was about a week later when the vomiting increased and she had no choice but to go to the emergency room. She told the doctor on call that thought she was pregnant. The doctor insisted that she had gall bladder problems and scheduled a gall bladder series for the next morning. He insisted that she take the medication for the series while he stood and watched. It was not something she wanted to do because of the danger of the x-rays to the baby, but the doctor insisted that she could not know that she was pregnant.
They left the hospital and drove straight home. As they pulled up to the house a wave of nausea engulfed her and as soon as the car door was opened, the contents of her stomach were on the ground. She would not be having any x-rays.
The morning sickness increased. It was 1977 and pregnancy tests were still done by doctors. She dropped the urine sample off at the doctor's office. She talked to the doctor later that morning and he said, "I guess congratulations are in order. You're pregnant."
It was time to tell the family that they were married and pregnant.
His mother was heartbroken. Even when she saw the marriage certificate, she tried to deny it's existence. She did not want to believe that he had married and actually gotten that woman pregnant.
Her family was non-nonchalant about the whole thing, but excited about a first grand-child.
His mother finally warmed to the idea of a grand-child and made efforts to become part of their lives. Everything was an effort but worth the price paid to gain control of some bit of the son she had lost to her.
She knew she was not what the woman would have chosen for her son, but there was only the future to look at. She was determined to make this work.
The pregnancy was wonderful after the initial month of morning sickness. The doctor prescribed Bendectin and the nausea subsided. It was not until after the pregnancy that it was broadcast that Bendectin caused birth defects and should not be taken by pregnant women.
She was healthier than she had been in years. Weight gain was within reason and that glow that expectant mothers have seemed especially bright. The child that grew within her she just knew was a boy. It was never a consideration for her that she would have anything but a boy child. She only wondered what he would be like and if she could be a good mother to him.
She wondered about her mothering skills. Books had been her main source of information and what she read had her on edge. There were many philosophies and some were quite confusing; nearly all contradicted the others at one point. The "Leave It To Beaver" family was a dream she had as a child, but it was only a fantasy that never had a hope of reality. Her own family had been the epitome of dysfunction. The fights, the screaming, the drinking, the profanity and vulgar language were the visible signs. The constant degradation and lack of appreciation between the adults was transferred to every child. If the cycle was to be broken, there would have to be a miracle, a rebirth. It would have to be a total change of heart. There was no sign of that happening.
The other side of the family seemed to be better, but upon closer examination it was dysfunctional lite. The symptoms were just not as vocal and there were no fist fights. There was only the continuously pleading voice. The children had lived in a home with a closet hoarder with her heart deeply embedded in the keepsakes of the past and a peculiar attachment to the children living at home.
Somewhere in between or even outside of the box, there had to be reason. There had to be understanding and love and reason. With no visible model it was going to be a difficult road, but there had to be a better way. Someone out there had to have an answer, a direction upward; a better way of living life.
The pregnancy was wonderful, but what about life after? Would she be able to nurture this new life, this new son, properly?
The physical side was never in question. It had snowed and she was in the end of the eighth month. So she got the snow shovel and started shoveling the snow off her in-law's driveway. She felt wonderful and alive.
As she shoveled she thought of events that happened during the pregnancy.
They were in the grocery store and needed milk. The milk was on the bottom shelf and was almost sold out. She stooped down and reached for a gallon at the back of the shelf and lost her footing. As she rolled across the floor, she laughed at the comedy of it all. Her husband saw her and together they shared that moment.
The three of them were at a community concert and as the music played, the child within her started keeping time to the music. He was having his own personal party and it was wonderful.
She never felt fat. It was an emotional, hormonal time, but it was a time of feeling womanly and wonderful. She did not want it to end but knew that it would end soon. It had too. But as the time drew near, the fear within grew. It was a fear that she would fail as a parent; she would fail to be a good mother.
She was not aware of just how short the time was. They were driving to a friend's home in Dooms. His father was a frequent visitor because the husband had a garage. It is late, but there were still several cars there. She elected to stay in the car because she was tired and not looking forward to the walk up the hill to the garage.
She sat there waiting. Her husband had not been gone that long, but she started getting a sense of urgency. It was a 1966 Chevrolet and the front seat was quite large and she laid down trying to be patient. Since that was not working, she sat up. The feeling was sudden and instantly she realized that time was very short. The amniotic fluid washed over her and she sat there waiting and trying not to get anxious.
A short amount of time passed, but it seemed like an hour. She got out of the car and headed up the hill. Walking toward the door, she started feeling a twinge. As she opened the door, she heard his voice and several others. The conversation was animated.
"Sweetheart, it's time to go."
"Yeah, I won't be long."
"No, we need to go now."
You could see the awareness grow as the men, one by one, realized that we really had go and go now! The laughter started as they kidded him about going. You could see the pronounced change on his face as he suddenly became aware of the fact of the moment. The baby was coming.
He jumped up suddenly, confused and concerned and excited, all at the same time. They drove home to pick up that bag of essential things that every newly expectant couple packs. As the contractions grew, she fixed a couple of peanut butter sandwiches. She remembered the stories of fathers who had passed out due to low blood sugar and she was determined that would not happen.
The calm remained with her until hours after the birth of her son. It was then that she realized that the next 18 years would be a time of growing and a time of pulling away and of finding his own way.
That was the beginning of a life-long journey for the young couple. Neither of them knew that in a few short years their lives would change forever and there would be no turning back. The contractions were getting closer and harder, but she had been trained in the Lamaze classes and knew what to expect, but it was still a new experience. She was calm with anticipation. She knew it was going to be intense and she knew she would never remember it as pain. It was a process that had to be. It was necessary and it would happen and it would be without drugs and forceps. She was determined that it would be a natural birth. the child would be born when the child was ready, when the body was right.
As she focused on the tiny blue and white bear, a woman was wheeled in to occupy the bed next to hers. It was a classmate from the Lamaze class. Her hair was in place and she had on her makeup. When the contraction hit, she started screaming. Instead of listening to her husband, her coach, she allowed the pain to become over-powering. When the next contraction hit, her husband walked out.
The screaming was loud and annoying, but it was breaking her concentration. She buzzed for the nurse. When the nurse came in she asked her to move Mrs. Screamer to another room before she smothered her with a pillow. The nurses moved her bed to the room farthest from the nurses station. When that proved to be insufficient, they closed her door.
Thirteen hours into the labor, they started talking about taking the baby. She had not gotten that far to give in to their desire to fill her and her unborn child with drugs or numb her lower body so she could not feel the actual birth of her son. It was time. She could feel it. Regardless of what they said, it was time to push.
They grew frantic and told her not to push. They insisted that she wait until they got her from the labor room to the delivery room. She told them she was not waiting and they better hurry because it was time.
She felt the pressure and the wonderful release of new life. He did not cry nor scream. He gave out a little "aach!" opened his eyes and looked around. His head was formed to the contour of the birth canal leaving it slightly out of round and he had goop all over him. He did not look like the cute little babies they show in the nursery, but he was beautiful and he was hers. He had black hair all over his head and he was frowning. He was finally out. The adventure had begun.
To be continued......
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
On This Day in 1978
The most wonderful son was born. He grew into a wonderfully talented young man with a kind heart. He is simply brilliant.
He is every mother's delight.
He is intelligent.
He is handsome.
He is sweet.
He is intuitive.
He is thoughtful.
He is Spiritual.
He is funny.
He has a wry sense of humor.
He got the best of the genetics from both his father and his mother.
He is honest.
He is unique.
He is my son and there is no other like him.
I am proud of him and all that he has accomplished.
May THE LORD BLESS him and may he follow THE LORD all the days of his life.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Son!!!
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
He is every mother's delight.
He is intelligent.
He is handsome.
He is sweet.
He is intuitive.
He is thoughtful.
He is Spiritual.
He is funny.
He has a wry sense of humor.
He got the best of the genetics from both his father and his mother.
He is honest.
He is unique.
He is my son and there is no other like him.
I am proud of him and all that he has accomplished.
May THE LORD BLESS him and may he follow THE LORD all the days of his life.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Son!!!
Shalom. Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem.
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