Tag Archives: Prayer

July 16, 2024 · 6:04 AM

In the Eye of the Storm

This has been a week of swirling events that boggle the mind.

I never liked hurricanes from my childhood days growing up in Miami. As an adult living in Houston, I certainly didn’t want them now.

We prepared for the anticipated Hurricane Beryl to cross our path. We filled our vehicles with gas. We went grocery shopping for water and all the necessities while supplies last. My husband filled our portable generator and several oil lanterns with fuel. We hunkered down, determined to make the best of the situation.

On Mon, July 8th, Hurricane Beryl made landfall around 3:30 a.m. The pelting rain on the windows woke us. She was a Category 1 storm with 80-mph damaging winds and beating down hard. In no time, the roads flooded and we had tornado warnings. At least 3 people were reported dead from this detrimental storm. Sure enough, we had a power outage. I looked at the time: 6:14 am. Thank goodness, my husband soon cranked up the generator. That generator kept both refrigerators running, the TV, a couple of fans, and my computer for work. Thankfully, our internet never went down.

That afternoon, we assessed our property for damages. Besides tree branches and leaves scattered across the backyard, our roof and wooden fence remained intact. We gladly helped a neighbor in two ways. We kept their meat in our freezer. We also charged their phone charger every day. Our gas stove cooked warm meals, and we used oil lanterns for light in the evenings.

When evening came, it was still cool enough from the heat. I opened the windows as I continued to work from home with a small fan blowing on me. But with each passing hour, the heat intensified, becoming an unwelcome distant cousin of Hurricane Beryl. Thank God for being able to take cool showers!

Over 2.4 million people were left without power. By Tuesday morning, 100% of the rain had come down, which meant we had to close the windows. We knew this delayed CenterPoint Energy from restoring our power. I tried to stay upbeat, but truthfully, I became irritable, gripping, and listless.

By day three, with our power still out, I drove to the office, as their power had been fully restored. I drove through my neighborhood that morning. I was flabbergasted to see all the debris, fallen branches, and uprooted trees. One tree had toppled over a house in my subdivision! My heart went out to that family. I realized that no matter the circumstances, it can always be worse. I asked the Lord to help me weather the aftermath of this storm.

Saturday – day six, and still no power. I was thankful for our ongoing generator. I worked half a day from home. I prepared a meal in the crockpot and relaxed in my recliner. I sat near the bedroom window to watch a Netflix series. Later that evening, my son ran in saying that Trump had been shot. My heart skipped a beat as I turned on the news. We remained glued to the TV. We watched and re-watched the horrific attempted assassination of former President Donald Trump. It happened at a campaign rally in Pennsylvania. The time was approximately 7:15 pm CDT.

Trump dodged a bullet when he turned his head at just the right moment. This resulted only in nicking his upper right ear. This was a close call – I believe – an act of divine intervention. God is not finished with him yet. The Secret Service rushed Trump off the stage into the SUV. He showed remarkable resiliency, courage, and strength. He encouraged the crowds cheering for him at the rally.

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1

We are not promised tomorrow. We can only live for today and strive to do our best with what we have been entrusted with. We all come from different walks of life. As a Christian, I certainly don’t have all the answers; in fact, I am left with more questions about today. The Bible says, “It rains on the just and unjust.” I know that my God is still on the throne. Nothing takes Him by surprise.

I thought about God’s protection and what being in the eye of the storm meant. There are many storms in this life. Storms can be so intense. If you let them, they’ll shake you to the core and rob you of your peace. They’ll take away your joy and even your sanity. May we learn to trust in the One who calms the seas and the storms, and rest in Him.

I am happy to report that a little past 8:00 p.m. on that same Saturday night, the power came back. Oh, and it returned to our area. This definitely was one emotionally taxing six days, and I am forever grateful this chapter is behind us.

“In order to realize the worth of the anchor, we need to feel the stress of the storm.” Corrie ten Boom

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Filed under Eye of the Storm

Tagged as Casting Crown, Corrie ten Boom, Donald J. Trump, God's promises, Hurricane Beryl, life, personal, power outage, Prayer, Ryan Stevenson, storm, trials

February 28, 2024 · 2:51 PM

Mrs. C

We affectionately called her Mrs. C. In her sixties, with remarkable zeal, she possessed a charisma and a gregarious personality. She was a Bible teacher, an author, a missionary, a powerhouse, and a woman of great faith. She exuded genuine friendship in a Godly persona and took me under her wings. She held many prayer meetings in her home. Often, she prostrated herself on the floor on her face, interceding on behalf of others. She became my lifesaver, my spiritual mother. I counted on her for spiritual advice and much-needed counseling throughout the years.

On one dreary afternoon, the sky, along with my hope and faith, grew overcast. Suffering from battle fatigue, I sat in Mrs. C’s den. I told her I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

“I can’t take it anymore,” I confessed, wringing my hands.

Patiently, unassuming, and non-judgmental, Mrs. C handed me a tissue and gave me time to release the dread and pain in my heart.

“I’ve tried everything. Done all I know to do. Yet nothing seems good enough.”

“Has he stopped hitting you?”

I sighed, much relieved that he had. “Oh, yes.”

“Mary Ann, you know he loves you, in his own way,” she began, “but you have become ‘weary in well-doing.’ In your mind’s eye, you’ve conceded it’s not worth it.”

She honed in on my sentiments. I hung my head in shame.

“You know,” she insisted, “it is worth it all.”

At that moment, I wished I were stronger and smarter and that Mrs. C wasn’t so wise and couldn’t read me so well. “But shouldn’t this be a two-way street?” I suggested.

“Are you and the kids better off without him?”

I figured she knew the answer before I did. “We . . . we have nowhere else to go.”

“Are you better off without him?” she repeated and handed me the tissue box.

“I can’t afford to do anything else.”

“Are you better off without him?”

No,” I whispered and wiped my nose.

I felt weak and inadequate as a Christian wife. I struggled to keep a measure of peace and sanity in my household with four children. I was also tending to a man wrestling with his demons.

“Then, go home and be the best wife and mother you know how to be,” she said.

Sometimes, it’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.

“But first,” she added, “I want to pray for you.”

That woman knew how to enter the Throne Room of God in her prayers. Electricity surged through my entire body when she touched me as she prayed. Before I left, she handed me her book, Wives, Unequally Yoked. I figured reading couldn’t hurt; plus, the title intrigued me. I’d already devoured The Total Woman, by Marabel Morgan. Much like my Bible, the pages were worn and underlined with a yellow marker.

I didn’t leave Mrs. C’s company the same way I arrived. Resolved in my heart not to become bitter, I determined to be better and left strengthened, with a made-up mind.

Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 35

*I’ve always felt that* *Mrs. C was my person, who soon became like a spiritual mother to me. I went to her broken and wounded. She never made me feel less than. She believed in the best for me and all* *God had to offer. This lady was full of wisdom and knew how to bombard heaven on your behalf! How I miss our intimate conversations.*
{Mary Anne Copelin: Aug. 30, 1926 — Dec. 4, 2017}

Additional mentioned about Mrs. C here — Saying Goodbye For Now

My Friend, My Sister ~ an Answered Prayer

Again, left alone, I had no one to share my heart with. I regretted that I never stayed in touch with old classmates. I also regretted that I never finished school. It’s what he wanted. Although I had advanced to the tenth grade, I never went back, relying solely on Donny’s moral and financial support. I regretted that, too.

I felt my prayers answered the day a neighbor knocked on our door. I recognized her instantly. At last, someone my own age to talk to.

She was not much older than me. She was a friendly sort with deep-set, café con leche eyes. She had long espresso hair and a tan complexion. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. The warmth of her smile cast away my shadows. Liz sold Avon. Even though I doubted I’d be able to buy any of her products, I welcomed her company.

While Donny was engrossed in TV, she and I visited at the dining room table. We had coffee and slices of block cheddar cheese. We chatted about makeup and the latest perfume. After an hour, she dug deep when she peered into my eyes and asked, “Mary, do you know Jesus?”

“Well . . . I . . . I used to . . . as a kid,” I stuttered and hung my head.

She reminded me of God’s love, goodness, and grace.

Liz was my neighbor who soon became my sounding board and best friend. She made me laugh and forget my troubles. She made suggestions about hair and makeup. We went window-shopping at the malls, grocery shopping, and baked cakes together in her kitchen. Liz even introduced me to garage sale hunting on weekends. We started reading our Bibles over coffee at her place in the mornings. This happened after our husbands left for work. Her older kids had already trotted to school by then. Our preschool girls were close in age and enjoyed playing with each other.

Donny never said too much about Liz, which was fine by me. He once labeled her a “Jesus freak.” He usually made himself scarce whenever she came around, which was also fine by me.

Before long, I started sitting in on Bible studies, which Liz held with other couples in her apartment. Eventually, I attended her small church. I felt a sense of belonging there. The serenity was something I hadn’t known since living with my grandparents. I longed to return to the God of my grandparents. However, I needed to overcome the stinking-thinking about myself. I never felt worthy enough; may as well have worn a sign over me that read: Deflated, Dejected and Discouraged.

After our devotions in the mornings, Liz led prayer. She prayed that I’d learn to “let go and let God.” I wasn’t sure how to “let go,” let alone move on. Then, before closing our devotions, she always asked what my prayer requests were.

“I can’t stand Jerry . . . he’s a moron,” I blurted one day. “When he’s around, Donny drinks more. Jerry and him go bar-hopping and get into fights with other drunken bozos.”

“What do you want God to do?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe Jerry needs to take a long walk on a short pier or something.”

She smiled.

I felt foolish.

She then asked if I had ever asked God to sever Donny and Jerry’s friendship. I never thought about praying that way. She said she believed we needed to be a family in the privacy of our home. We needed to avoid negative interference from an outsider.

A woman of simple faith, Liz started praying for that specifically.

Weak in my faith, I hoped against hope.

One autumn day, as the temperatures fell and the evening grew chilly, Jerry wanted “female companionship.” He borrowed my Plymouth Duster. He drove more than a thousand miles from Houston to Denver to get that companionship. Once there, he landed in jail, and the police impounded my car. Weeks later, Donny paid someone in Denver. This person got my vehicle out of impound. Donny then drove it back home.

Coincidentally—or by divine intervention—we never heard from Jerry again.

{Except from Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace, Chapter 23}

Side Note:

The day I located my friend Liz on FaceBook and contacted her, joy flooded my heart. She lives out of town and drove through after attending a conference; we reunited at a local diner. We played catch-up over a glass of iced tea. We talked about the present, and before long, reminisced about the past, some thirty-plus years ago.

“I never expected anyone to come to my apartment. I certainly didn’t anticipate someone trying to sell me some Avon or to talk about Jesus.”

“Mary Ann, I had to come over,” Liz said, her eyes growing misty. “I used to hear you and Donny argue. Every time you two fought, I heard everything. I even used to hear him hit you … then to hear you crying.”

“I didn’t know that.” I glanced away and watched water droplets slide silently down my glass, like my tears so long ago.

“Whenever I heard the fights,” Liz continued, “I would lay my hands on the walls. I prayed for you. Then my husband would tell me to get away from there and to mind my own business.”

I studied my friend from long ago. “Well, I’m so glad you made me your business. When I needed a friend, you were there.”

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Filed under Compassion, friendship

Tagged as alliance, bonding, Christianity, compassion, divine intervention, domestic abuse, Faith, friendship, girlfriend, Prayer, Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace

October 10, 2022 · 5:08 PM

On Borrowed Time

How time flies.

We’ve been caring for Mama in our home for the past 3 years. After spending the holidays with us as she usually did, she never returned to her apartment. Hubby and I noticed how frail she had become. We both realized she would need more assistance. She had been getting less help when living on her own.

We do what we have to.

Our adult daughter, who also lives with us, is a tremendous help and caregiver for Mom, as well. My husband and I work full-time. Even with care providers checking in on Mom weekly, my daughter fills in the gap. She does more than expected.

Last year, after her doctor’s visit and blood work results, Mom’s doctor ordered that she be admitted to the hospital. Her blood pressure and blood count were dangerously low! During her four-night stay, she received two units of blood and an iron infusion. She returned home with her energy and appetite back! A year later, in August, it happened again – she was hospitalized and released. Soon after, I got a medical POA. The episode occurred again a month later. Thankfully, Mom agreed this time to have an endoscopy procedure instead of coming home.

She had a mass in her stomach.

The dreaded cancer.

We cried, reminisced, and prayed.

Dr. Solomon would be Mom’s surgeon. We prayed nonstop for this physician and observed how he used wisdom in dealing with Mom’s delicate procedure beforehand. We placed our trust in him, knowing that the God we served–the Great Physician–was in control.

On the day of surgery, my husband and children joined me. As they wheeled her off to surgery, I saw flecks of fear swimming in her eyes. I hoped she found strength in mine, although my heart was heavy. You see, I became that little girl again. And I cried out to her, “Momma, come back to me!”

We waited in the waiting area for half a day. Her surgery was over. She was already in the Post-Opt room. The good news is that cancer did not seem to have spread to any other area in her body. However, they removed 80% of her stomach.

Mama remained in ICU for a couple of days and then moved to a private room. I stayed with her as much as possible. I spent the night with her often. I gave her my love and support every chance I got. We have always had a complex relationship. She and I have had challenges. But no matter what, she is still my mama. I will always be her little girl. ( To read more of my journey, click here… )

Today is Mama’s 88th birthday. Yesterday, Sunday, the family joined us to celebrate her life, surrounding her with our love and prayers. We wore matching T-shirts to honor her. I wanted her to feel our love and let her know how special she is. She is the matriarch of the family.

Today, Mom is being moved to Rehab for a few weeks for therapy and to become stronger. We continue to wait for the final pathology report. We trust the Lord will complete the work He has started in her. She is in His hands.

Life is fleeting. Let go of the petty things. Treasure your loved ones while they are still around.

I am comforted in knowing that when I am weak, my God is strong. His grace is sufficient for me! Thank you, Lord, that your mercies are new every morning. Thank you, Lord, for another day.

8 Comments

Filed under gastric surgery, Personal

Tagged as cancer, Dr. Brett Solomon, Family, gastric surgery, inspiration, mom, Musing, personal, Prayer, the Great Physician

December 16, 2020 · 10:22 PM

Road Less Traveled…my truth

This has been a challenging year for all. I never imagined I would be alive in a time like this. The events occurring these days are astonishing! Many are left shocked, confused, and angry, and some have lost their ever-loving minds over worry, paralyzed in fear!

Is it not true every day we have to make choices? Do we not decide daily on what actions to take? How are we going to react? I for one believe in the power of prayer. Prayer brings results. But I don’t doubt there are days when our prayers cry out, “God, are you there? Are you listening?”

He is. And He does.

I do not pretend to have all the answers. I am flawed. I am an imperfect being trying to serve a perfect God. His ways are higher than my ways. As a Christian, I am not immune to the happenings of this world. Family and dear friends have experienced illnesses. Some are due to COVID. They have faced setbacks because of circumstances beyond their control. They have also endured hurtful disappointments because, well, we’re humans.

In Robert Frost’s poem The Road Less Taken, towards the end, he mentions the road less traveled. I want to be on that road. What does that mean exactly? I’m sure it means different things to different people.

For me, the road less traveled is to be on the road of steadfastness. It means not faltering or leaning on my own understanding. I want to be on the road less traveled. I want to be collected and in my right frame of mind. When much confusion lies before me, I feel overwhelmed. At times, I may stumble. I might not know what to do. Still, I want to be on the road less traveled in my prayer closet. I prefer this instead of bickering and complaining.

Someone, please show me the road less traveled—to trust in God instead of doubting Him. Guide me to the road less traveled. Help me believe it is well with my soul. Help me trust in the best yet to come. Point me to the road less traveled. I want to be free from the weight of the world. Keep its troubles off my shoulders.

I want to walk in faith and not in fear. Sing and not scream. Be tender and not hardened. Pliable and not crushed. Teachable and not a know-it-all.

These are my truths, what I hope to achieve someday. I don’t want to follow the crowd of ‘woe is me!’ Instead, I will listen in humbled silence. I will hearken to the still small voice that beckons me to be still and know that He is God.

Whenever I approach the two roads of life, I want to look heavenward. I want to take the road less traveled. That choice has made all the difference.

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Filed under allegory, reflection

Tagged as allegory, Faith, fork in the road, Prayer, reflection, road less traveled, Robert Frost, steadfast, uncertainties

August 23, 2020 · 1:29 PM

In the Midst of the Storm

Hurricane Cleo struck Miami with 100-mile-per-hour winds in late August 1964. Fallen branches and debris flew across the yard. The pelting rain rattled against our old wooden door and the thin, sheet glass-pane windows.

My stepdad, Jimmy placed a dresser against the front door to our efficiency apartment to keep it from flying open. Mama and I hunkered down in the dark bathroom like cornered animals. I sat on the floor with my knees pulled up. I covered my ears with my hands. I tried to drown out the deafening gusts of wind. My mama’s panicking cries also filled the air.

In the same instant that I closed my eyes, thoughts tumbled through my mind. I thought, Gosh, today is my birthday. I am five years old. Mama said I’m a ‘big girl’ now.

________________________________________________________

In the year 1969, a powerful storm struck ten days before my tenth birthday. It was the second most intense hurricane on record to hit the United States. Hurricane Camille, a Category 5, had all of South Florida feeling her wrath.

My step-daddy, Mama, and I took shelter in the gymnasium of Miami Edison High School. Many people talked in loud voices. Confused and frightened children fussed and cried. They clung to their mama’s skirts and their daddy’s necks to ride out the storm.

I sat on a floor mat, glancing around. I clutched my raggedy doll and our meager chow in a sack. Inside, there was a single loaf of Wonder Bread and a jar of Welch’s Grape Jelly. When My step-daddy suggested that I offer some to another girl close by, I recoiled. You see, even in normal times, sharing food wasn’t so easy for me.

Comfort and tranquility were as far away from me as the moon. They blew past like shingles from the roofs of so many homes. Those homes felt Camille’s fury.

The above are excerpts of my memoir. Even after all these years later, I still get a bit skittish during rainstorms, let alone hurricanes. Me no like, and as you can see, have never liked them.

Currently, the National Hurricane Center forecast are saying–not one but–two storms are brewing in the Gulf of Mexico! What if they collide with each other and spin around each other, becoming one? This Texas Two-Step is known as a Fujiwhara effect. Go figure!

My heart and prayers go out to all those affected by these storms; whatever type of storm they may be: sickness, trials, trouble, distress, turmoil, heartache or pressure. This is not easy for everyone–me included–but may I encourage you to allow God to give you peace in the midst of the storms.

I am reminded what scripture says: Isaiah 26:3-4: “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You; because he trusts in You. Trust in the Lord forever: for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.”

https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d0/e5/d2/d0e5d2990f98360a0c67f7705984db83.jpg

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Filed under storms

Tagged as distress, encouragement, Fujiwhara effect, hurricane, Isa. 26:3-4, memoir, Prayer, reminiscing, storms, trials

June 27, 2020 · 12:44 PM

I Cry

Usually, tears bring me to write. Something that touches my very core. Something that moves me. Something that triggers passion, or emotion – a memory, a thought, an image, or a prayer.

Lately, I’ve been silent. Silent in writing. My drive for writing once ignited with words and expression within the depth of my soul had to be released by putting pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, now nebulous and dim from what it once was.

I admit this year has brought about shock, uncertainties, and even dread. My tears flow. Lord, what has happened? God, what is happening?

America: land of the free and brave! Are you still among us?

I sang as a child:

America! America! God shed his grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea.

And:

This land is your land. This land is my land
From the California, to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest, to the Gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me.

Who can forget singing proudly in school with friends:

Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.

Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.

With God as our Father, brothers all are we …

Lord, I can’t speak for others. No one can walk in my shoes. I certainly cannot walk in their shoes, nor would I want to. We all have our own crosses to bear. But please lift this burden from off of us and lighten the load, I pray. You are a God who is able. But even if You chose not to make the pathway easier, or the roads brighter, then help us as individuals and help us as a nation to allow You to be God again in our lives, at home and abroad, and within our own families.

I chose You, Lord. Whether I understand things or not, whatever tomorrow may bring, I know that I need You more now than before — and that has not changed. Your Word says there is a season for everything under the sun. Although I am not liking the season we are in right now, I know that You’re not a God of confusion but of peace, for You are merciful and Your love never-ending.

Humility, respect, order, and compassion are all it takes. Heal us, oh, Lord. We are sick, we need a healer. Please heal our hearts. Please heal our land.

“It is the LORD who goes before you.

He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you.

Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8

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Filed under America, Reflections From the Heart

Tagged as America, devotion, Music by Good News Circle, patriotism, peace, personal, Prayer, pride, reflection, tears, writing

April 4, 2020 · 9:34 AM

Then Came the Morning

Brokenhearted . . .
How can I bear the pain?
So many plans . . . permanently interrupted.
So many dreams . . . shattered.
Hopes . . . dashed.
All gone.
Why?
Why this?
Why us? Why me?
Helplessness . . . hopelessness . . .
Life will never be the same again.
Is it even worth living?
Where are you, God?

I’m right here beside you, my child.
Even though you may not feel my presence,
I’m holding you close under the shadow of my wings.
I will walk with you through this dark night.

Do not shrink from weeping.
I gave you tears for emotional release.
Don’t try to hide your grief.
Let it become for you a source of healing,
A process of restoration,
For I have planned it so.
Those who mourn shall be blessed.
I’ll be holding on to you,
Even when you feel you can’t hold on to me.

Seek my face, child of mine.
Receive my promise, impossible as it may seem now,
That joy will come in the morning.
It may take much time,
But I will heal your broken heart.
I know the night seems endless,
but MORNING WILL COME.
I have promised.

–From the Haven of Rest Newsletter

Note: I came across the above poem some time ago, and wanted to share it with my readers. So many times we can’t see the light because of so much fear, darkness, despair, grief, and pain. We wonder how long? How much more? When will it end? God, are you really there? Friends, please know that as long as you have a pulse, there is a purpose. As long as you have breath, there is hope. And as long as you’re in your right mind, there are possibilities. Under the shadow of His wings, stay the course. One day at a time. Full speed ahead!

Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

EASTER IS AROUND THE CORNER – THAT HASN’T BEEN CANCELLED.

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Filed under Trial

Tagged as Easter, encouragement, hope, morning is coming, Pandemic, personal, Prayer, promise, Then Came the Morning by The Bill Gaither Trio, trials

May 9, 2019 · 12:19 PM

Mother’s Day is Everyday

Last year, my oldest daughter and I were asked to be a part of a workshop at our church, speaking about adult daughters and their mother’s relationships. We made a list and examined our strengths as well as our, ahem, weaknesses. I knew from experience that mother-daughter relationships can be both complex and diverse.

There are many ups and downs, no matter how positive or complicated, in testing relationships. Psychologists say that daughters’ primary complaints are with mothers trying to baby them and being overly critical and demanding. From the mom’s perspective, daughters don’t listen to them, make poor choices, and have zero time for them.

I did not find this teaching comfortable or an easy topic. Parenting has many challenges, and this thing called “motherhood” hit me between the eyes at an early age. My mom raised me pretty much as a single mom, as she never married after she and my dad split. She had common law relationships–I can think of three–and I was pretty much left alone. So yeah, I was neglected and raised myself. As a matter of fact, our roles were reversed, and so, I’ve always felt that my childhood was taken from me!

I left home early and married very young. I had my first child at 17, and by the time I was 22, I had my 4^th. Ironically enough, I made many of the same parenting mistakes as my own mother. I wrote about my journey as a daughter, wife, and mother. You can say I was a real hot mess back then. In retrospect, I thank God that He rescued me from myself! Now that my children are adults, I can think of many things I did wrong and regret in my role. But nothing worthwhile comes easy; at least it never did for me!

There are defeats and triumphs in every challenge, and we all have some scars along the way.

Lamentations 3:22-23: “It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.”

I am familiar with the power struggles, the pet peeves, and the miscommunications.

What I see in my daughter(s), the good, the bad, and the ugly – I sometimes see a reflection of myself. Oh! Those flaws! Clearly, I may not always like what I see … or hear. But you know what? We’re on the same team – we love each other and are there for one another.

Jer 31:16: Thus says the LORD, “Restrain your voice from weeping And your eyes from tears; For your work will be rewarded,” declares the LORD, “And they will return from the land of the enemy.”

I can’t stress how I prayed, interceded, and wept for my wayward child (children). But as mothers, that’s what we do! We don’t give up, and we don’t let up until we have God’s peace. Know that it’ll be in His time frame, not necessarily in ours. And when God does it, it’ll surely work. He’ll leave nothing undone.

HOW CAN WE BE STRONGER TOGETHER?

Here are a few golden nuggets from my own firstborn’s perspective:

Everybody knows that TWO heads are better than ONE. In Girl Scouts and the 4H Club, you learn that three strands of string make a strong rope. To play harmony on a piano, you play with two or more notes. And as you know, you won’t find a giant redwood tree standing alone!

Teaching by example and learning by experience, values, and skills help us become stronger together.
Spending quality time with one another, such as meal times and outings, strengthens us as a family.
Appreciating each other – showing love and affection.
Sharing a laugh builds us up – laughter is good medicine.
Sharing responsibilities and accomplishing tasks together.
Stand by each other in times of trouble, uniting and pulling together when things get tough… when we encourage each other, we are stronger.

Most importantly, we become stronger when we learn to forgive each other, be open and honest, and be KIND. Remember: attack the problem, not each other.

We encourage each other, consult with each other, spend time together, and learn and grow from each other. No matter the circumstances, despite feelings, perspectives, weaknesses, and “bumps” along the way, when we face life together, find God together, and pray together—all of these acts and then some—we can get through it and be stronger together!

My daughter(s) and I have come a long way.

Ps 90:12 “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.

Here are my own acronyms for MOTHER & DAUGHTER:

M ake the first move

O mit malice

T hink before responding

H ave realistic expectations

E xtend grace

R epair damage quickly

D is to forgive offenses

A gree to disagree

U nity is better than division

G ather your words with prayer

H old unto hope

T alk about ways to communicate

E mbrace change for the better

R espect each other

If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.

MotherAndSon MotherAndDaughters

And by the way, I also have an adorable son close to my hip! God is good!

IMG_1228_2

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December 8, 2018 · 2:44 PM

Amazing Grace – my granddaughter

December 2006:

I kissed her sweet, velvety cheeks. When her tiny hand wrapped around my finger, she instantly wrapped around my heart. Having just witnessed the birth of my first granddaughter, I was simply ecstatic. Grace Elizabeth, just a little thing with a mop of chestnut hair and raven eyes, reminded me of the sister I lost so long ago.

Not long after, our joy was short-lived. Apprehension and a staggering wave of fear suddenly replaced excitement and joy.

Her doctor ordered x-rays, ultrasounds, RSV, EKG, blood work, and an echocardiogram. “She has three holes in her heart,” he announced. His foreign words invaded my head: “congenital heart defect . . . coarctation of the aorta . . . a ventricular septal defect . . . an arterial septal defect . . . a bicuspid aortic valve . . .”

But three words snatched my breath away: “Open-heart surgery.”

Surrounded by family, we waited. Watched. And prayed.

That night, my daughter, Angela, and I shared a couch that opened up to a bed in Grace’s room. Dreams and visions overlapped, as I drifted in and out of a fitful slumber. Nurses routinely came in to check on Grace’s vital signs, administered meds, and prepared her feeding tube around the clock, interrupting sleep.

But tonight was different.

At 3 a.m., a nurse instructed all residents to remain in their rooms, keeping the doors closed. We couldn’t help but peek out of the window blinds. And we watched in horror as the mother of the infant in Room 1704 ran inside, her hand over her mouth. Soon her wails carried across the hallway from inside. Other relatives arrived and held tightly unto one another, weeping, lamenting, and grieving.

Hot tears flowed down our faces. I gazed upon Angela—my baby girl who always wanted a baby girl—and grieved along with her. Though she carried unspoken heaviness, she always remained strong for her household. But this was too much for any mother.

My eyes traveled and fixated upon our sick Grace. The doctors had said that Grace needed to gain weight, but she only grew weaker and tired more easily. Instead of eating, she slept during her feeding. I now watched her shallow, rapid breathing and listened to the heart monitor. Beep. A precious life. Beep. Hopelessness loomed. Beep. Fear gripped my heart. I said another prayer.

Beep, Beep, Beep. The rhythm of Grace’s heart monitor echoed louder in my head.

Come morning, more alarming reports:

“Murmur is louder.”

“Heart’s beating fast; enlarged, working too hard.”

“Surgery tomorrow.”

We waited for the day; we waited for the hour, but when the time finally came for her procedure, tomorrow seemed much too soon!

In the morning, we huddled around Grace behind a curtained room. Her daddy’s strong arms are around her mommy. Her papa’s firm grip held me up. Words failed to express our love for this precious twenty-nine-day-old child. We covered her with our tears, our kisses, and our prayers.

“Please, Lord, bring her back to me,” my daughter whispered, crying out.

In a moment’s time, they whisked her away to prep her and lay her on the operating table, surrounded by nine surgeons. We felt helpless, but we believed in God as we prayed that He would return Grace to us alive, whole, and healthy.

After four hours in surgery, the cardiologist reported, “Grace’s heart is very sick,” and added, “We didn’t know how sick until actually seeing it.”

The pendulum swung. We sat and paced. Paced and sat.

A flood of questions crammed my mind: How do you silence the sobs that overtake you? How can you calm the waters and keep the dam from bursting from within the depths of your being? How do you say goodbye when someone has captured your very heart and soul?

Nine hours later, we were told, “Her heart failed when taken off bypass.”

My gut tightened. “Please, Lord.”

We gathered in a quiet room to pray. I studied the faces of each family member. The women prayed openly as they cried out to God. The men, unable to trust their voices, dare not open their mouths for fear of losing control.

After three hours, the doctor’s assistant entered and announced, “She’s made it, but she’s not out of the woods yet.”

We hugged one another. Tears of relief flow freely.

“The next forty-eight hours will be critical,” she cautioned. “You can briefly see her soon.”

Emotions are raw; I lacked the courage to see Grace lying still, motionless, and heavily sedated. “I want to see my granddaughter when her beautiful eyes are open,” I said.

Angela understood. “Mom, go home and rest,” she urged. “I’ll keep you posted.”

* Day One Post-Surgery, my daughter’s report via email:

Baby Grace remains heavily sedated and has countless tubes and wires attached to her petite frame. Mom, the list is endless: a breathing tube, a pacemaker, a rectal thermometer, a catheter, and so much more. Arms and inner thighs are bruised due to multiple attempts to locate the main artery. The sides of her head are shaven. Her face is bloated from fluids. One lung has collapsed. Mom, I’m so scared!

* Day Two Post-Surgery, another email:

No movement, still heavily sedated. I held Baby Grace’s little hand and said, “Mommy’s here.” Grace moved her head for me, and I whispered in her ear, “Mommy loves you so much.” When her eyes opened for me, my heart skipped a beat!

* Day Three Post-Surgery:

Mom, Grace is better and responding to my touch! Her swelling has gone down. They re-installed her feeding tube today and are giving her 5cc of my breast milk per hour. She is eating now and will gain weight again.

* Day Five:

My first day seeing Grace since her surgery. Overflows of emotions bombarded every nerve in my being. Hope crashed into fear. Joy into anxiety.

I must keep it together. My legs turned to putty. My daughter took me by the hand, “It’s okay, Mom,” and led me into Grace’s room . . .

I see her! I reached down, caressed her face, and gently placed my hand over her chest. The incision was the length of my index finger.

And then her eyes! Those familiar eyes sparkled and looked at me as if to say, “See Mimi. I’m here. I’ve made it.”

Twelve Years Later:

This precious flower continues to blossom and bloom wherever she is planted. Grace is our little miracle, and she knows it! She has brought much joy to our lives, and we are grateful to God for answering our prayers.

Just when I thought I was too old to fall in love again ~ this precious one first called me “Mimi” at 8 months old!