The Third Christmas Came with Grace

The grace of God will infuse you with joy despite your apathetic feelings about life. The grace of God will give you perseverance as you deal with chronic health issues. The grace of God will sustain you when you feel completely and utterly hopeless. The grace of God will provide everything that you need whenever you are lacking. The grace of God will usher in your greatest comfort in times of loss and sorrows.  The grace of God will pour in strength into you when you feel completely helpless.  The grace of God will help you to fulfill your calling even in the midst of your trials.

I'm talking about the same grace that saved you from a life doomed to hell. God is able to make us sufficient in all things by the power of His grace. II Cor 9:8

If you have followed this blog or read my post "Not this Christmas" you will have a bit of insight as to why the holiday seasons are still a bit rough for me. And this post is not meant to be a "woe is me" post. It is meant to give you a glimpse into how God's grace continues to enable me to do the things that are necessary in life. And how His grace has again helped me to find the pleasure in family gatherings. It is to share how I avoided naming this post "Not This Year, Either".

We all have our share of difficulties, trials, temptations and the like. These things came with the sin of Eve and Adam. They are an inevitable part of life. The events themselves leave wounds and when healed, scars. As with scars upon one's skin, careful attention and time will fade their appearance. So, that's really what this post is about; how this third Christmas without my little sister, came to be a joyous occasion.

The Thanksgiving holiday came and went with very little notice. I had to work. Sister wasn't much on hosting. The nephew #1 had alternate plans with his wife and in-laws. And nephew #2 was unavailable to attend. So, we each texted the others with the obligatory "Happy Thanksgiving" message. Without a Thanksgiving gathering, we would have to set aside another time to discuss Christmas plans. 

Two weeks into December and we still had not decided on date, time, nor menu. Then three days before Christmas, we hatched a plan to gather together. Each brought goodies to eat and presents to exchange. While I hoped that we would do more than just go through the motions, I didn't expect the grace that came after the meal.

Number 1 nephew & his wife had chosen a gift for my sister, that essentially became a fun family project for all of us. It was a gingerbread house kit. We divided the contents and started on the houses. No one took time to look at the instructions. What ensued was sheer chaos.... and lots of laughter. Three different houses being built according to three different processes. One started with the walls. Another started with the decorations. And my husband just let me make a great big mess of ours. Each person tried to give advice to the others on how to make it work.

Sticky icing on everything. Decorative pieces stuck everywhere except where they should have been placed. Each house as it was raised, but then promptly came tumbling down. I finally took all of our pieces and sandwiched them together with the icing. Then, proudly proclaimed "done. It is a condo for the ants". The reaction from the galley included all sorts of comments, but mostly laughter.

We seemed to savor the moments like enjoying a bite of granny's chocolate pie. There was even a few seconds of silence here and there. Then we all pitched in and cleaned up the mess, tidied the kitchen, and prepared to go home. 

Hugs all around and a lot of "I love you" was said. Goodies in hand, we each went to our own homes. Days later, we were still talking about those gingerbread concoctions and the laughter that lightened our hearts.

Truly God's grace is the perfect addition to every occasion.

Old Wounds: New Opportunities

Three years have passed. Like the grass that now covers her grave, time has closed the rift that spanned my countenance. Like the headstone that marks her location, the scars of her absence mark my soul. Yet inside, the healing process continues. 

"This house of flesh is but a prison. Bars of bone are holding my soul. But the doors of clay are gonna burst wide open, when the angels set my spirit free." These words written by Dottie Rambo. You can find the story behind the song, here.

As Lazarus was brought from the tomb, so my shroud covered hopes have emerged. And as the mourners were instrumental in removing his grave clothes, so KK's closest relatives and friends have hastened my unveiling. Even people who knew her not, have provoked the revelation of the depths of my grief.

Mourners from near and far gathered for her wake and funeral. Many were relatives and folks with long-time connections to our family. Some were the parents of the children that she had rocked gently in their days at the center where she had worked. Others were those children, now grown themselves, paying respect to a lady they called "KK". Oh the stories that were shared, their memories that now have become a part of mine. Seeds of healing planted in days just prior to her burial.

Sympathy cards, letters, texts, & phone calls followed. Each with a little bit of balm to apply to my grieving heart. Some simply stated, "you are in my prayers". Others contained scriptures and words of encouragement. Their sentiments soothed me; temporarily. I was grateful but longed for the embrace of someone who had experienced an identical loss. Yet it was difficult for me to share that need with my remaining sister. We spent time with one another, but neither of us could muster a conversation about how deeply we were hurting.

For months after her death, I struggled to keep myself together. I just had too many folks depending on me. The first holidays without her were particularly pressing. I felt that I had to put on my happy face and carry on the family traditions as if the family were fully intact. Doing these things mostly for my nephew, I failed to realize it would take much more than traditions to restore our downtrodden souls.

My patients suffered as well. I found great difficulty in procedures that were previously seamless. Every time an infusion pump would alarm, I would temporarily freeze. When a vital sign limit was breached and the familiar sounds of alert would blare, I would get flushed and light-headed. I would feel faint and need to stop what I was doing and leave the room. My co-workers labeled my behavior as "panic attacks". I refused to believe that it was anxiety, choosing rather to think it was metabolic in some way.

A full physical exam revealed no such problem. My physician prescribed a mild anti-depressive drug. I despise taking medicine and loathed the idea of being on a "happy pill". But I decided I would give it an honest trial. And while I was going to "get happy" anyway, I agreed with my hubby that a vacation could be the best remedy of all. 

To shorten the story, I will tell you this; ten days away from all of my regular stressors, some happy pills, lots of devotional time, and prayer made all the difference. I continued the meds for 3 months, then quietly weaned myself from them. Six months post check-up with the doc, and she agreed with my course of action.

And then the ministry opportunities came from all sorts of places. For a span of 16 months, I was the regularly scheduled Wednesday Bible Study teacher.  Doors opened to minister to fellow employees who were struggling loss, pain, & grief. And through an unsuspected course of events, a letter writing ministry was born. Letters of biblical instruction and encouragement, written to the incarcerated.

The open doors and the grace needed to pass through them, became the Balm of Gilead to my grief-stricken soul. I am truly a living witness of how the all sufficient ONE will supply all the grace needed to heal, restore, revive, and re-direct the life of one of His own. 

Not This Year

This morning, I re-read my sister, Cindy's post, this post, entitled "Mama's Christmas Fudge".  It brought back bittersweet memories of our annual candy making day. Our mother died in August 2001.  Making candy that year, was difficult; yet my sisters and I turned out some very tasty treats. It was a tear filled day, but one that brought much comfort. Through the years, candy days have been filled with memories and laughter. Every December we have continued with the tradition; each year perfecting the craft, adding different flavors, & making more than the previous year. 

Our fudge has been the prized gift received by family & friends. But not this year......We tried; Cindy & I. We gathered the ingredients, the utensils, and cooking vessels. But I just couldn't bring myself to be in the kitchen, much less to try to make the sweet confections. My broken heart refused to make candy without my little sister. I resigned myself to the couch, with no consideration of Cindy's feelings. I closed my eyes, covered my head, tried not to even listen to the voices in the kitchen.

My nephew and his wife had come over to visit with Cindy. Since they were visiting and I was not, Cindy enlisted their help to make the fudge. They followed the recipes, they did everything that our notes had added to the process, everything smelled & looked great. But, the fudge did not "set" properly. It tasted fine, but was too soft to cut and place in separate containers. 

Cutting the fudge had always been my job, so I forced myself to try. It was just too soft. We tried putting it in the fridge for a while to see if that would help. Even tried the freezer. I managed to get a few pieces cut, but soon quit trying. It wasn't right. I wasn't right. It wasn't going to get right. I wasn't sure that I was going to get right, either.

Finally, I just couldn't handle my feelings any longer. I said my good byes and headed home. I later texted Cindy and apologized for my behavior. I admitted that I was sad. Her reply let me know that she too, was sad.

Grief has many facets and the duration of its effects varies from person to person. Some people never recover from its devastation. Sometimes I feel as though I have had enough grief for one lifetime. Yet, I know that as long as I am earth-bound, grief will be with me in one form or another. HOWEVER, I KNOW THAT JESUS IS WITH ME, REGARDLESS OF THE TYPE OR LEVEL OF GRIEF THAT I MAY EXPERIENCE.

It is in that "knowing" that I find COMFORT. So maybe the fudge didn't set this year.... it is not the end of my world. And so, my baby sister moved into her heavenly home.... I refuse to remain sad about that. For one day, (whether by the grave or the rapture), I WILL SEE HER AGAIN.

Next Time

The following sentence is part of the last paragraph from my August 25th post. "Next time, it may be me, standing in the need of prayer".  Little did I know how soon that "next time" would be. 

On ,September 3, 2021 my baby sister, KK was diagnosed with c0vid* pneumonia. It was the beginning of Labor Day weekend. The Convenient Care Clinic where she was seen, sent her home in the same shape that she was in when she entered their door. She was told to use her home oxygen and go to the Emergency Room if her symptoms became unmanageable. Additionally, they told her that she qualified for the monoclonal antibody infusion, but couldn't get it until after the holiday.

In the days that followed, her symptoms worsened. She had to increase her oxygen usage from 1 liter  to 3 liters. She experienced head ache, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Yet, she insisted that she would be alright; her hope pinned on prayer and the infusion that had been scheduled for September 8, 2021.

Weak, but unwilling to call an ambulance, she gathered enough strength to get into the car to go for the infusion. Once we made it to the Infusion Clinic, she was taken inside via wheel chair. I had to remain outside of the building.  For the next two hours, I waited, worried, prayed, texted, and drank coffee. Time passed. I could only wonder what was taking so long. When I was finally able to talk to a person who actually knew her whereabouts; I found out that she had been taken to the Emergency Room. Fortunately, it was in the same building complex as the Infusion Clinic.

Another hour went by and then two. By this time, she & I had exchanged a few texts. The last of which read, "I'm going to the big house**, bra-less and with only one flip flop". Despite the gravity of the situation, she had retained her sense of humor. At this point, I scrambled to gather a few personal items for her; phone charger, toothbrush, tooth paste, deodorant, etc. Next hurdle; how was I to get these items to her when I wasn't allowed inside the building?

God smiled on me & helped me to arrive in the correct ambulance bay, at the right time, to get her stuff to the ambulance driver. He would not confirm that she was the patient in his care. However, when he did not deny it, I took that as a sign that she was, in fact, in his ambulance. I will forever be grateful to have made that connection in time. Due to c0vid restrictions, it would be nearly three weeks before I would see my sister again. 

Text messages were our only means of communication with baby sis. First she was on high flow oxygen, but soon after, was placed on a Bi-Pap, We tried talking on the phone, but she could barely talk and breathe at the same time. On September 12, 2021, she was intubated and placed on a ventilator.

Then the roller coaster ride of day to day health changes, ensued. She was fully sedated into coma to tolerate being on the ventilator, so she could no longer text. No visitors allowed, due to  C0vid restrictions that would not be lifted until September 24th.

At some point we got word that we could set up a Zoom sessions with her. We were allowed one, ten minute session each day. While she was unconscious, there was little to do but talk to her and hope that she was hearing us. We closed each session with prayer for her and for her caretakers. Once they doctors started decreasing the sedation, she was able to interact with us with nods, smiles, and hand gestures. We had some good visits, but we longed to see her for longer than 10 minutes at a time, and we wanted to see her in person.

On the 19th day of her admission, we were allowed to visit face to face. But restrictions only allowed one visitor per twenty-four hours. Those visits were like pure gold to us ( middle sister & me). Some days, she was able to interact freely and we could see that she was improving. Then at times, there would be set backs and the sedation would be increased. And once again, she would not be able to communicate with us.

On the home front, we cried, we prayed, we leaned on our family and  friends, and we set our eyes on the miracle that we fully expected to take place. We proclaimed our faith to all that we met. We shared the testimony of her previous illness and recovery.*** We held on to God's unchanging hand. And even in all of that, we felt utterly helpless.

The days and nights seemed to run together. We basically pieced together the reports each day. Sometimes a nurse or doctor would call me with an update. Sometimes I would call the night nurse and get a report. And then, there were times while I was visiting her, that I actually was able to talk directly to a doctor. She had some very good ones and one or two that were just "okay". Same with the nurses; two of them ranked very high in our esteem and yet others barely made an impression at all. But we were thankful to know that she was receiving good care.

In general, the longer a person is on a ventilator, the less likely are they to recover. Yet, we held on to our hope that KK would be miraculously healed. All in all, she was on the ventilator for 35 days. In that stretch of time, she endured the following procedures; urinary catheter, central line placement, arterial line placement, tracheotomy, chest tube placements, feeding tube, and an untold number of peripheral sticks for blood tests. She suffered from anxiety, fevers, infections, frustrations with trying to communicate, body aches from being bed-ridden, and pain from procedures. Yet, she remained strong in the assurance that God was working on her behalf. 

How do I know that she knew this? On the day before she passed away, I was able to sit with her for about 4 hours. In that time, I held her hand, I talked to her, prayed with her, and at some point, I said, "God's got you, baby girl and He is working for you. Do you know that?" And she responded with a smile and a nodding of her head. On that positive note, I said my good byes and headed home. Little did I know that would be the last time that we would be together.

On the following morning @ 7:40 AM, my sister entered into the joys of heaven; never to experience pain again. She had completed forty days in the wilderness of a critical care unit. Did we cry? YES. Did we mourn? YES. Yet, we rejoiced in the miracle of her full recovery. It did not happen in the way that we wanted, but it happened in God's timing and in His way. Are we still crying? Yes, at times. Are we still grieving? Yes, each in our own way. Are we still rejoicing? Yes, for we know that we will be reunited with her one day.

KK's wilderness trial helped me to re-evaluate my purpose, realm of influence,  faith, relationships, testimony, and ministry. I discovered areas in my life that needed some attention. And I found great strength as I prayed for others who were going through the ordeal of C0vid and its devastation.

Dear reader, be encouraged today. Nothing is too hard for God. There is no sickness that He can not heal. No broken heart that He can not mend. No grief so deep that He can not ease it. And when the answers to our prayers are delayed or come in an unexpected way, He will be there to help us to rejoice in the aftermath.

* I refuse to spell it correctly. When spelled correctly, it shows up in search engines and then it is flagged for review by the Internet police. I'm not a conspiracy nut; but I have seen first hand censorship on other social media sites.

** refers to the flag ship hospital, Jackson Madison County General Hospital which has 600+ beds

*** In 2017, she was diagnosed with Dematomyositis, DVT, Pulmonary Emboli, CHF, Pulmonary Hypertension, and other related conditions. She was told that she would be permanently disabled and that she would be on oxygen the rest of her life. In November 2018 at CrossRoads A/G, she testified of God's healing power. Then she sang, "God is My Refuge" with the same gusto that she had enjoyed prior to the string of illnesses that she had endured. She went back to work part-time in 2019 and full-time in 2020. And was working full-time when she contracted C0vid.  - https://youtu.be/PlgRMJXcgtc