she had a heart attack {and we didn’t know}

My Mother had a heart attack, but we had no idea. You see, we didn’t find out until over a year after the event had happened. How we found out was a strange story as well. My mother passed out during worship service one Sunday evening. She was prone to fainting, but she hadn’t in a few years. When she passed out, she wasn’t easily revived, so of course 911 was called. When she got home from the ER that night, she told us that her blood work showed that she had had a heart attack at some point in the past. The next morning, she told me when she thought the heart attack has happened.

You see, when I was in kindergarten, we moved from our home in Hammond, IN to a old run down house on a two acre farm about 15 miles north of Indianapolis, where we lived until the end of my eight grade year. And that last winter we lived there was bad — really bad. There were several weeks that winter when we had snow for 3 or 4 days at a time.

On our farm we raised our own pork and chicken, which was how we ate. Because not long after we moved to the Farm, as we called it, and my little brother was born, and my Dad lost his job. Though he found another job, it didn’t last too long, and he was out of work for 3 years. He had finally returned to work and had been working steady for a while, so we were just starting to recover. But these animals, which had been our life-line all these years, were still around and had to be taken care of every day. This was usually my older brother’s job, as he had just graduated high school the summer before and hadn’t found a job yet. But one really bad blizzard week, he was stuck in town, so Mama decided that she would water the chickens, pigs and our old horse. Now normally, in the summer, we had a hose that ran from the house to the barn that provided the water to the barn, but during the winter, water had to be carried to the animals in five-gallon buckets. I asked Mama if she wanted help, but she said “No, this weather is too bad,” and it was, “You stay in the house and keep an eye on your little brother”, who was about 5 at the time.

It was snowing so hard and fierce that it made the Snowmageden that we had two winters ago look like a light winter’s snow. So out she went, morning and evening, carrying these buckets of hot water in 2 to 3 feet of ever-growing snow, all 100 yards to the barn. My little brother and I would watch at the door to be sure that nothing happened. We would lose sight of her half way there because it was snowing that hard. She would come trudging back just as loaded down as she left, because you see, we lived in a drafty old farm house. And although it had an old oil-burning furnace, we were still recovering from the hard times. So Mama kept the temperature on the furnace on low, and supplemented the heat by burning coal in the old wood stove in the back of the house. Back and forth, 2 to 3 times a day, first with water, then with buckets of coal. For almost a week until my older brother was able to get home from town. She’d come in and crawl in the bed after. We didn’t think nothing of it. It was cold and snowy; we crawled in the bed with her without a question.

“Yes, I know when I had that heart attack. It was two winters ago when I has to take hot water to the chickens. Do you remember, Lucy, how bad it was? I was so weak after that. For a couple months I barely had the strength to get out of the bed.”

Me: ?????? Mama was too weak to get out of bed? We never saw that. Of course she was in the bed a lot, we all were that winter, because the house was cold and that was the warmest place to be. We never questioned that she was maybe there more often than she should have been. It was 10 below outside. All we ever saw was the woman who took care of us and that farm, which she used to feed her family every day. So, to protect her children and make sure that we had food on our table, my mother broke her health one bad, terrible winter.

And we, her children, had no clue until over a year later. She was in her early 50s when this event happened. She celebrated her 80th birthday this last September and I pray that she doesn’t break her health taking care of my dying father, but she probably will, and will silently go on, because that is who she is. The woman who gives it all for the ones she loves.

by Lucy Arrington

There Once Was a Girl

There once was a girl who was fascinated with young children, babies and the process of growing life.  Baby dolls lined her bed with a new one on her wish list every Christmas. She delighted in helping her mother take care of the little ones she took in.  You see, her mother was a great example of helping those in need by offering child care to those in a bind, no matter what the circumstance.  It wasn’t the fault of the ones in need of someone to hold them, play with them and love them.  The little girl sometimes got in trouble for putting things like a ball, a rolled up towel or a baby-doll up her shirt, pretending. She only knew that was how God grew babies.

Once when she was a little older she met a family with two teenaged children.  They were a foster family who gave a temporary home to infants waiting placement in their permanent home.  The girl was intrigued and thought one day she would do that to, after she had children “of her own” of course.  Little did she know God was putting a call on her heart that would take her on a journey she had never dreamed of.

With a life built on the expectation of motherhood the girl, now a married woman, was surprised when things didn’t happen as easily as planned.  The next few years were very emotional.  Even though she was always excited for her friends, it became difficult to hear of their families growing as she continued to wait and wonder.  Everyone tried to be encouraging.  “Don’t worry.”  “It will happen when it is supposed to happen.” “Relax, go on a vacation.” These were only a few things she heard from people trying to be supportive.  None of it helped.  Now she found herself in the roll of taking care of other people’s children as she continued to wait and wonder.

Tests were conducted and results pensively waited for to no avail.  There was no reason for the infertility-no medical reason that is.  In the girl’s heart she was confident this was God ‘s hand, but to understand the reason she would have to continue to wait and wonder.  She did an in depth study on barren women in the Bible, searching for why wombs had been opened.  The answer:  Someone cried out to God.  That was already being done but still she waited and wondered.

Late one Saturday night, or more accurately, early one Sunday morning after discovering her prayer had yet again been answered with a “No,” she fervently cried out to her God, laying her questions at his feet.  “Why give me such a strong desire if You aren’t going to fulfill it?”  “Why am I good enough to take care of other children, but not good enough for my own?”  And “If this isn’t the plan, then what am I supposed to do.” After struggling with God through the night an answer came sooner than she expected.  An answer she wasn’t quit ready to hear.

The next morning at church a man spoke, a man the girl had never met.  His name was Tom Slaughter.  He was the head of Agape of North Carolina.  He was making an appeal for people to open their hearts and homes to be foster parents.  The need was great the available homes too few.  The girl sat in her seat not moving, knowing this answered all of her questions, but saying with a laugh, “God, this is not Your answer for me.”  The next week magazines were delivered that the girl subscribed to.  Three of the four magazines had a prominent article on either foster care or adoption-the fourth was a cooking magazine.  She threw up her hands and said, “OK, God, I hear You. You can stop now.”

A few days later as they were driving, the girl asked her husband about becoming foster parents.  His first answer was No.  “Now what?” She thought, I can’t do this by myself.  He brought it up again saying he knew she didn’t bring things up without first thinking about them.  They decided to go to an information meeting and see where it led.  It took over a year, much prayer and lots of paperwork for them to be licensed as foster parents.

Soon they had a two day old beautiful baby girl to love and take care of until time for her to be placed in an adoptive home.  Her dreams of motherhood were being realized in a  totally unexpected way, but she loved it.  Four weeks later the call came, they needed to have the baby at her adoption ceremony in two days.  The next days were hard ones.  The girl held and loved the baby as much as she could, whispering prayers for her life ahead, thankful she had been able to play an important part in her first days.  After the ceremony there was an incredible peace knowing prayers had been answered.

On the way home it was the husband’s turn to ask the question, “Why aren’t we looking in to adoption.”  In the girl’s mind, adopting had always been giving up on having “her own” children.  But then he said the words, “We want to start a family, if we adopt we are starting and we can still keep trying.”  And so, he journey to motherhood began.

That girl is me and many years and children later, if you ask me what adoption means to me, you won’t get a grandiose answer.  To me, adoption is the way God chose to grow my family, and Yes, they are MY children.  Going forward it would not have been the path I chose, but looking back, I wouldn’t do it any other way.

~Lisa Kolbe

Discover more about AGAPE of NC via their website, or learn more about our partnership with them (and even donate!) here. It’s not too late to join us and AGAPE of NC in a special giving campaign, Agape’s 2nd Annual Mother’s Day Triumph!

this is not my fault

As a child development major in college, I was concerned when my daughter was 12 months old and I had never heard a sound come out of her (other than cries). I worked with children that had all sorts of problems (emotional, developmental) in the mental health field. A 12 month old that never made sounds, though, this was a whole different thing. My best friend in college majored in speech pathology. I called her up one night when Rebecca Lynn was 15 months old.

“Should I be concerned?” I asked.

My pediatrician wasn’t concerned. People kept telling me, “she will talk when she is ready.” My best friend’s response was, “why not get her assessed?” So I did. At 18 months old, Rebecca Lynn started speech therapy. She was in the Early Childhood Program through Wake County. My thoughts were, a few months of speech therapy, and she will be all caught up. After a year and a half of speech therapy, and three different speech therapists (right before the third went on maternity leave and Rebecca Lynn was aging out of the early childhood program), the speech therapist looked at me and said, “Have you ever heard of Apraxia of Speech?”

I looked at the speech therapist as she went on to explain this neurological disorder that doesn’t allow the brain to make a connection to the mouth. This results in a severe delay in speech, along with learning disabilities and speech issues for, quite possibly, most of her life. I was, to say the least, shocked. “Are you sure this isn’t a delay?” I asked.

She always has been a stubborn child. I took myself to the library one night, and I researched Apraxia of Speech. The disorder is caused by trauma. It ranges from mild to severe. The disorder causes kids to have low self esteem; could cause kids to be bullied for the way they sound; and they may never make social connections necessary for school. As I read the symptoms, I felt like I was reading a story about Rebecca Lynn. I felt God telling me the answer. I have a daughter with Apraxia of Speech.

After months of denial, guilt, and trying to figure out a course of treatment, I finally heard God say, “Here is your chance.” I had been frustrated at work for months for not getting promoted. I finally felt God saying, “this is where you need to be.” I started getting involved. I signed up for the 2014 Apraxia walk. I was inspired to see so many other people there that had children similar to Rebecca Lynn. I was inspired to see children who had started making progress and were talking. After that walk, Rebecca Lynn got approved for an iPad with voice recognition. At first, this made me think, “wow, she is really severe if she gets approved for that.” What God was saying was, “here is a resource available to you.”

So I continued learning, educating myself and others. I have been writing letters to our governor to get a day where we can celebrate and recognize Apraxia. By the way, Apraxia Awareness day is now May 14! I have signed up to coordinate the Apraxia walk in Raleigh this year (mark August 29 on your calendars). I am also walking in the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky walk in September. I am getting to know many wonderful people in a new community. I am also able to be a resource for people whose children have Apraxia of Speech, and they are looking to me for answers. I hope to have the opportunity to teach baby sign language, because that has helped Rebecca Lynn immensely to communicate with others. Yep, this is what I am supposed to be doing. This is where God has called me.

Oh, the frustrations are there daily. We have been through 5 speech therapists. Insurance won’t cover speech therapy, so she is not getting the treatment that she needs even with the diagnosis. I get so tired of explaining why my child isn’t answering to strangers. I am tired of getting looks from people because she carries an iPad around with her. I get frustrated with Rebecca Lynn. One of the words that she does say is, “mama.” Well, she says, “mama” ALL DAY LONG, because she can. It gets real challenging, but God is my coping mechanism. He reminds me daily that I can do this. When I see the relief on her face when she gets her needs met, when I see her sign or use her iPad, these are all daily blessings and they daily wash away the frustrations.

At three years old, my daughter can say three words. Every day, I see God through her. She’s brave, she’s confident, she interacts with others, even when they question her. She trusts and knows that one day, her brain will work properly.  Until then, she has this amazing support team. When God made Rebecca Lynn, he knew what he was doing. He knew that I needed a child like this in my life to teach me patience, to teach me to trust in him and to teach me that his perfect timing is everything. As a working mother, mother of two, and a wife, there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think “is this my fault?” “Is there more I could do”? “Do I need to quit my job and do more for her?” Well, here are the answers that God has given during times of prayer:  God loves me!! He has given me the greatest gifts in the world. He has given me a job that I get to help and treat his creations and be a part of their recovery journey! Why would he tell me to stop doing that? This is not my fault! Speech issues run in my family. So does diabetes, bad teeth and poor vision. This stuff happens, and if God gave it to me, he will get me through it. I am doing the best that I can do!! I make time for my family. We do activities together, eat together, learn together, and I have been very proactive in getting Rebecca Lynn the help she needs. I feel confident (after months of convincing myself) that I am a good mom and with the support of my coworkers, husband, family, and church family, we are all pulling together to help my child.

God speaks to us through the strangest ways! I never thought I would be so involved in something. I never thought I would have so much passion for children with speech disorders. When God wants you to do something, he will put it in your life. So, here I write with a heart full of gratitude and hope. I am thankful for my life. I used to compare my daughter with others. “Well, she doesn’t have nearly a bad a disability as that child.” Though, that might be true, this is still a disability that Rebecca Lynn has to live with everyday. We have no idea what the future looks like for her as far as education and social life, but what we do know is she is in good hands. We have hope that she will talk one day. I picture Rebecca Lynn speaking at her high school graduation. She will inspire so many as she has already inspired me!

~Heather Waite

*~*

This post appeared for the first time on our Family website, northraleighchurch.org.  Please visit sometime and connect with us there as well!

Doing Love ~Elysa Henegar

I am folding towels, warm against my hands, pressing them into neat lines, when Adam appears in the doorway, carefully balancing a mug in his hands.  His fingers grip the sculpted handle, which is blue like a strip of summer sky arching over a field of yellow flowers.  The mug is one of my favorites, and it surprises me to realize that he has gathered this fact and kept it.  His other hand rests flat, opened up long and slender beneath the bottom of the mug, there both to steady the cup and to catch any errant drips.  Adam watches the way the coffee swells close to the edge, a caramel-colored wave rising and falling as he walks.  He bites his lip, lightly, lifting his eyes up to me and back to the mug, silently offering his gift.

And I am stunned that he thought of me.  I say his name, more a gasp than a clear articulation, thanksgiving gushing after, and his lips curve in a faint smile. Doing is the weight of saying, and not the big grandiose things but the tiny, the daily, the sweet-in-the middle of the ordinary, the glisten of love on a crumbly day.  Saying love finds shape in doing love, just as saying faith finds significance in living faith.  We need the words, but with them, we need the substance of something held, something touched, something treasured.  Doing love means what it says.

At first, we parents of childen with autism draw out the words, the articulations that frame relationships.  I remember how I waited for the first time that my son would tell me on his own—not in response or repetition or because I prompted, but because he chose to say those words: I love you, Mom.  And when at last he did—little boy with his hands on my shoulders, I cried.  When your once-silent children speak, any words sound beautiful, but those words, those arms-around-me, reaching-into-me words; those how-I-know-you words signify a wealth of waiting.  Those words are a door.  Beyond it, we wonder if our children feel the words when spoken, if love means anything to them.  Or, is it merely another ritual, the saying of love?  Only now has Riley grown old enough to ask, often dozens of times in one day, about the meanings of words I thought she knew long ago, and Adam has yet to find his way to complicated questions.

We joke sometimes that Adam is like an old man trapped in a boy’s body, the way he holds affection for certain routines—eggs and bacon for breakfast, a cup of coffee at 4 in the afternoon.  Among parents of children with autism, rigidity—with it’s iron-written reign—is water-cooler talk.  But no one wants love that is merely routine.

Adam had asked me to make a pot of coffee before I walked upstairs, because that has become an uncompromising expectation, one motivating enough that he has learned how to make his own cup whenever he must.  May I please have Mom making some coffee, please, he said, in those low, rich, careful tones.  But most always, he has finished his own cup of coffee before I make it back downstairs—licking the last drops from the edge of the mug with his tongue, having learned a long time ago to serve himself.  Adam’s routines are mostly self-satisfying at this point, bringing him comfort.

But today, he thought of pleasing me.  In the middle of his routine, he selected my favorite mug, poured in sweet cream, filled coffee to the brim, and then traveled all the way up the stairs to find me, balancing the steamy cup.  He served me first—just me.  And I stood breathless, sipping the steam of love with shape, holding it warm in my hands.

And then it struck me, cutting deep, the way I can let saying love fall empty of doing, the way I can let loving God and loving people become a self-satisfying routine.  And nobody wants loving that is merely a routine.  God wants a love that thinks of Him, that stops in the middle of the routine and remembers what He wants, what He favors; a love that serves Him first, even if it means traveling far and balancing careful, even if it’s a risk that could swell and drip down, burning the yielded hands that carry the gift. And people, being made in His likeness, long for real love, too, the kind of love that takes creativity and has shape and feels weighty about the shoulders.  The kind of love that’s always new, and sometimes even a surprise.

So now this, as my son turns to go, this lip-bitten prayer lifted with my hands open flat: Oh Lord, teach me to do love like that.

*~*

“Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth (1John3:18).”

Vitamins for the soul – {donnicia}

A friend texted me on Friday to see if I wanted to meet for coffee. She only had an hour to spare but I readily agreed to meet her. We ordered our coffee and found a table. We launched immediately into talking, filling the hour so quickly and covering quite a few topics. Too soon it was time to part.

I had entered our time together feeling pressed and frustrated about so many things. But I left it feeling calm and renewed. After several weeks of snow, too much time spent at home alone and pressures at work that were dragging me down, it was like a breath of fresh air to get to sit down with a friend and talk.

As I got back into my car to continue my errands I realized that I was craving connection and real conversation. Not the chatter at work, not the pleasantries that I exchange with people at church, but real conversation, sharing of life.

That thought took me back to a question that had been asked on Wednesday night at church about why people leave the church. I have so often talked to people who say “I don’t feel connected.” That set the gears in motion for me and I started to wonder, what is this connection we all seek? And we do all seek it. Everyone wants to fit in, to belong, to be a part of something. Everyone wants to feel wanted, needed, special. Everyone wants connection.

I heard a report on the news this week that research was being done to try to discern why teenagers and young adults are leaving their countries to go and join terrorist groups. It was discovered that at least in some cases, these young people had sought relationships, had tried to find a place to belong, only to meet with failure over and over. And so they go to join this cause, something they can unite around, a place where people want them, accept them, where they are part of something bigger than themselves.

That brought me back to the church question. Don’t we have something bigger than ourselves to unite around? Jesus died for each of us, sinners, bought with a price, washed in the blood….saved by grace. Why does this great truth and His extravagant love for us not pull us together and cause us to pour out lavish love on each other? Why does any member among us feel unaccepted, unloved, like they don’t belong? Why do they feel adrift and not connected?

Is it our own individual sin that causes us to feel disconnected? Is it that as a people we are too distracted, to busy, to unwilling to make commitments? Is it that we have let ministry take the place of ministering? Is it that while we say it is all about Jesus, it is really more about us?

Do we let our backgrounds, our hurts, our slights, our perceptions and misconceptions, our passion and desire, our pride and our pain, keep us from pursuing connection, from offering connection? Do we walk by hurting people on our way to take care of that tasks that is on our to-do list, do we put up walls that keep people from coming near?

As is always the case with me, I have more questions than answers. What I know is that God created us for community. He did not create us to journey alone. He has left us so many instructions on how to treat each other, how to love each other. Will you join me today in praying that he will show us each how to love as He wishes us to and it learning to do that, find community and connection with each other?

That hour on Friday, that cup of coffee and real conversation….it was a vitamin for my soul!

Ps: If you would like to start a discussion on community and connection, email me. Maybe we can meet for coffee.

Family Interviews {~by Janet Ellis}

Introducing Pat Burgess

Recently, I had the pleasure of interviewing Pat Burgess.  She is such a wonderful woman of God, who has stood strong in the face of many trials. She kept saying she wanted to be humble, so she really didn’t take any credit for what she has done or endured. But I could see how God has carried her all the way she’s gone. (Deut 1:31) Pat is the small woman who sits on the right side of the auditorium if you are looking at the podium. She usually sits on the first or second row of that section.

Ms. Burgess grew up in the church of Christ and at the age of 12 was baptized. She said her mother was lying on the bed in the dark when she told her she wanted to be baptized. She was a language arts teacher for middle school children. While teaching and going to school for her graduate degree, she dated one of her professors. He asked her to go to a Scottish dance. The dance instructor was David, her future husband. They wrote back and forth when he went back to England. They called and visited. Finally, they got married.

Her favorite things to do are read books, visit with her daughter and go to England. She and her husband love to visit the historic sites in England.

Her favorite hymn is “I’ll Fly Away.” She says freqeuntly she’ll sing instead of praying. To her the words become the words of her prayers. She truly enjoys the older songs; the ones she grew up hearing. She sees her niche in the church as an encourager. Finally, she said that God has been changing her into a more patient person recently.