The How To's of Parenting

I don't read "how too" books anymore, especially how to books on how to raise kids or anything to do with parenthood.

Been there, done that, didn't work the way they said it would.

I don't blame the authors of said books, but I've lived long enough to know and seen enough to realize that their kids aren't my kids.

I attended a homeschooling conference one time where a father of 8 got up to speak about raising kids. His words of advice stayed with me, I just wish I would have heeded them.

He started out explaining that when his first child was born, he was sure that just after a few years, he KNEW how to raise kids. After the second kid was born, he had to adjust a little, but still felt completely confident that he knew the best way to raise kids. Then the third and fourth came along, and more adjustments till he finally realized with numbers five and six that he didn't know anything and that by the time seven and eight rolled around he was so outnumbered, he just gave it to God and did the best he could.

He did share that after 8 children, there were as many ways to raise kids as there were kids. And because each kid is different there was no tried and true way to raise children. He did share one thing that I had heard from my very wise mother-in-law and that was every child is different, and that your job as the parent is to get to know and understand your kid. End of advice.

I just wish I had heeded them instead of reading all the stupid parenting books.

Every couple is different. Two different family dynamics come into play in a marriage, then add to the mix children from those two individuals and it's anybody's guess just what you're going to get.

Parenthood is a mystery that you have to solve. Or as I remind my daughter when she calls asking me a barrage of questions, "It's a crapshoot. Do your best and pray."

But my mother in law was right. Get to know your kids, study them, work to understand them, and then help them remember that they are unique individuals with God-given talents and gifts.

There, that's it. My parenting advice. The result of failing and succeeding as a parent.

Good luck!

Ending and Beginning

The Family 2017

I'm getting ready to do the Christmas letter for 2017, and I look at my blog and realize that I haven't posted anything on here since last Christmas.....

I haven't lost interest in blogging, but with Facebook, Instagram, Snap Chat and Marco Polo, blogs are actually becoming obsolete, or out of date, etc. I'm on facebook way to much as it is, and I do write, but it is in my journals, with a pen and paper. 

I've become somewhat disenchanted with facebook over the past year; the election had much to do with that. So I've looked for other ways to stay in touch and haven't really found any. On facebook, people share what others have already shared, or are posting memes that are not theirs, but no one else's. I guess what I'm seeing is a lot of non-original posting. Facebook has become like a telephone; you have it to keep in touch when you want to, or to promote, or advertise, or sell, but not to actually reveal anything too personal because those that do that are hailed as advertising TMI (to much information).  

So I am returning to my blog. 

Here I'll write my posts, and share my thoughts. I'll share things of my family, and I'll only put out there what pertains to me and mine. If people want to know whats going on with me, they can find me here. 

So here is my family. Our daughter and our son, with their spouses, and their little's. We are not to spread out. We are here and there, and yon, but every once and while, we get together and play and have fun, and laugh a lot. Life is very good; VERY good. 

Quilting........an inherited trait.....obviously.

Back during the depression when my Grandparents were raising 7 children on a farm in south central Kansas, my Mother was around 9 or 10 years of age. She made some quilt blocks. I'm thinking that this is something her Mother probably gave her to do to keep her occupied and busy. That would have been around 1928 or 1929.

When we were preparing to move mother, we discovered them in a box. Mother's reaction, "Oh, those are so old, you probably should just throw them out." I did not.

Mother has been gone almost 9 years, and I found those blocks when I was going through fabric several months back.

Things have changed a great deal in the quilting world since Mother was a little girl, and many, many quilts are being made out of what used to be deemed "unsuitable" fabrics. With the advent of stabilizers; a type of interface you iron on that gives the too thin, too stretchy, fabric stability, quilts are being made out of satin, silks, tee shirts, etc.; even very thin frail muslin.

I knew I could make a little quilt with them, even though I knew it would be strictly ornamental, a keepsake.

Here is the finished result.

I'm thrilled with it, and plan to hang it in my office.

Christmas letters......or snail mail.

Our Holiday Greeting...........

Yes, I still send snail mail Christmas cards and a Christmas letter. 

I was going to forgo the annual Christmas letter and cards this year, and just post this on my blog directing friends from Facebook to read it here. But then as I sat and looked at my Christmas card holder with only a few cards in it, I realized that if I did that Roger would not get to enjoy the Christmas greetings that we have received for the past 39 years that only come through the U.S. Mail service. 

You see, I'm married to man who just this year got his first I Phone, even though it isn't connected to the internet, and learned to send text messages. He doesn't have a Facebook page, and prefers it that way, and doesn't have a clue as to how to check the company e-mail. I am the sole reason that we are on the internet at all. 

Because of this, I realized that Christmas would be woefully void of news, updates, pictures, and catching up that we both so look forward to from friends and family each year. For it seems that when you send a Christmas greeting, you usually receive one in return.

Plus if you are like me, you have other friends that are not on the internet, and who look forward to your updates, just like you look forward to theirs. So I will continue to use the old snail mail method, however, .........here is the internet version of our Christmas letter.

Merry Christmas!!!!!

2015 is almost over! Hard to believe as we are still plugging along and doing pretty much all the same stuff we usually do. 

Roger and Nicolas are still busy building beautiful new homes in Emporia with the occasional remodel and installing those gorgeous custom kitchens. We are thankful for the work, and hoping for some milder weather so they can get their current project enclosed. 

I continue to share half of my days with Samuel when he isn't in school, and keep the home fires burning. I celebrated my 60th birthday in March with all the kiddo's being here and celebrating to the max...I don't really FEEL any older!?!? 

Audrey and Paul Coleman surprised us in May with an elopement. 5-15-15 will be an easy date to remember and anniversary. We are very happy for them both, and thrilled to have Paul as part of our family. They continue to reside in Phoenix and work at the Palo Verde Nuclear Plant. 

Nic and Melissa are still here with Nic continuing to work with Roger while Melissa is closing in on that graduation date in May of 2016. She is so ready to be done with school and able to use her nursing skills. We are just as excited for her. There will be celebrating!! 

Sam is 5 years old, and is in his last year of Pre-K at Lords Lamb Preschool. He is growing up so fast Grandma is having a hard time keeping up some days. He is a great little helper. He loves to cook, help plant flowers and rake leaves and anything else that might be filling Grandma's days. He will start Kindergarten next year and I'm going to miss him terribly!  

We want to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!! 

                                        Hoping 2016 hold all the best of God's                                            blessing for you and yours!!   

Roger & Andrea 

Parenting from this side......

If you know me, you know that I have kept my grandson since he was born, on a regular basis, while my son and daughter-in-love work and go to school. This has thrust me back into rubbing shoulders with young mothers at library story time, church, and pre-school.

Now I know that everyone is different, and that we all handle the things that come in life differently. But somewhere along the way, I’ve become somewhat captivated with how the younger generation is “handling” things. The internet is playing a HUGE role in this. I have read and perused dozens of websites and blogs written by many young parents, especially mothers, about how they are handling life. I find this interesting, a study, so to speak in human nature. Trust me when I say that I am perfectly aware that what someone writes on a blog or a website can be manipulated and embellished to the point that there is little reality there at all, but I also know that under every lie, exaggeration, or “story” there is also a bit of truth and reality

.

I have often bemoaned the fact that the internet wasn’t around when my kids were growing up because there is so much out there that would have been tremendously helpful when my kids, being 15 months apart, were very small; assurance, validation, support, and encouragement, but then when my kids were very young, I would not have had time for the internet.

I was also told by one young woman, a mother of three, when I commented to her to this effect, that it can be a blessing, but also a curse. I understood, because we are prone to compare ourselves to others, and I can’t help but wonder if that isn’t what all this is really about.

A slippery slope to say the least. Comparing ourselves to others has taken on a global influence, something that I’m pretty sure isn’t a good thing. I cannot imagine comparing my life, children, and child rearing techniques to those of someone, say in New York or Japan. I used to struggle just looking at close, local friends, let alone the entire world of blogging and websites that so many young women are reading and writing these days.  

I do see the boost that these parents get from this though. We all need encouragement in whatever we are doing. We all need to know that even when what we have done appears to be a huge mistake, that our children are probably less scarred by it than we think. We all need the support to get out of bed and keep going on those days of utter exhaustion after a night of sick little ones, and none or very little sleep. But this constancy of it, and it can be constant with a hand held device, I’m afraid can be dangerous.

I also see where because of this so many of these young parents are looking to each other for the support and advice they feel they need, and not necessarily those who have actually walked through it and come out the other side.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no expert on raising kids, trust me, that has been driven home to me more than once, but there are some things in all this that I see, that if I had the opportunity to share a cup of coffee with these  folks, and talk to them, this is what I would tell them.

    1) There are no exacts with child raising. One method used on one child is probably not going to work on the next one. Every child is different. Your job, is to study the child and get to know them. This takes time. It is a priceless investment that pays HUGE rewards. It’s called relationship.

    2)Your children are watching and listening to you. They hear that tone in your voice when you are speaking about or to someone.  They know if you are exaggerating or embellishing a story to garner attention. They can spot a phony a mile away. Listen to yourself when you speak, because later you will hear yourself coming out of those little mouths.

    3)  Stop doing too much. You heard me. Most of us, at any age are over extended in our lives. We are trying to do too much. We have trouble saying no; except to our kids. We get ourselves overextended which is why we tell ourselves we need a vacation, a break. Get your time back and you won’t need a vacation you can’t afford, or a break from those who you love. You know the acronym for B.U.S.Y.? Burdened Under Satan’s Yoke…

     4) Clean up your house. Yes, I said clean up your house. It isn’t about cleanliness, it isn’t even about neatness, it is about structure, and organization. Children thrive in structure. Environment plays a huge role in a child’s life and yes I’m talking about their physical environment. When they see you take control of your and their environment they know they are with someone they can count on and trust, bringing security.

      5)  Stop doing what you “WANT”. That’s right, harsh words, I know. The excuse that you are making more money so you can take that vacation, fix up your house, drive a better car, so the kids will be better off……….news flash, they don’t care if they go on vacation, live in a bigger house, or drive a better car. Their needs are simple and as follows:  Mom, Dad, food, clothing, time and love.

    6) That’s right. I heard someone say one time that children spell LOVE, T-I-M-E. I’ve also heard the old saying “time is money”. But I will tell you either way, time is valuable. You will either pay now or pay later.

    7)    And last but not least, stop comparing. Stop comparing houses, clothes, cars, jobs, income, attitudes, abilities, and each other. If you want the ultimate and best example to compare yourself to--Jesus. And when you realize by doing that, that you are a complete and total failure in EVERY department. You will be right where He can really do with you, your time, and your family, exactly what you were REALLY wanting all along.  Strive for THAT, and there will be no need for any comparison in any area. 

I reiterate here that I am not an expert in child rearing. And I am quite confident that there are going to be some things here that will offend, and put some people off. But many times the truth about ourselves is a difficult thing to face. I’ve learned that first hand too, just keep reading.

I have been shocked and amazed by some of my children’s choices and decisions as adults. Something that I’m sure if I had developed certain relationships with them in some vital areas while they were very small they very possibly would not have made and be making those said choices.

I have cringed in recent years to hear my voice and comments come out of my adult children’s mouths. I know from personal heartbreak, that in time, those things will not serve them well and I pray they learn that without living with the same mistakes and regrets I have.

I knew structure was important to children, and schedule was maintained most of the time while they were growing up. Daily routines were followed, including making of beds, washing dishes, and picking up the house. They tell me now that those things taught them a great deal about structure, time management, organizational skills, work ethic and gave them a sense of security.

However, I found myself some days resenting the quantifiable time I had to spend just investing in my kids; especially when they were very small. I did nothing, it seemed, for myself. There simply wasn’t time. So when they did became more independent I jumped at the chance to do things I wanted to, things, that looking back were of no value except to me. Yes I needed an outlet, but I should have been more careful as to the time and effort it took. The words coming out of their mouths “I don’t WANT TO!” were often times the cry of my heart too.  Making a child AND yourself do something you don’t WANT to do or doing something you HAVE to do, is probably the hardest part of being a parent.

There was never enough money. Roger worked so hard, all day, extra jobs at night, but it all seemed to go somewhere, and looking back I know that it was mostly because the I DON’T WANT TO, took precedent over what should have been.

I grew up being told to compare myself to my three older sisters; what I wore, my hair, my makeup, my grades, my activities, so I didn’t do too much of anything without first comparing myself to someone. If you compare, your children will grow up comparing themselves with others, and be afraid to trust in their own instincts and abilities which only breeds redundancy and boredom.  Encourage their abilities and talents, even if they don’t fit your mold. Let them know that being different isn’t necessarily wrong; sometimes it is just different.

All that said, the most important thing I would say to these young parents who feel that they are drowning in work, jobs, children and childhood happenings is to PRAY. It can be done changing a diaper, nursing a baby, picking up toys, opening the mail, cleaning and scrubbing, doing laundry, breaking up a fight, driving the car, and it is free, it doesn’t cost a thing, and it will CHANGE YOUR LIFE and the life of everyone around you!

Talk to Jesus. He hears you, and best of all, He already knows what you’re going to tell Him. He already knows that you feel like a failure, or you’re so tired you’re about to snap, or your lonely and dying for some adult input in your life. He knows that you are actually feeling overwhelmed, would love to start over completely, but don’t have a clue how to do it. He knows.

I found the following verse when my children were little. I grabbed onto it like a life preserver, reminding Him that He said he would be gentle with me. He was and He still is. Where would I be without his compassionate grace and mercy? As usual the answer always rests with Jesus.

Isaiah 40:11

¹¹ He will feed his flock like a shepherd, he will gather the lambs in his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and will gently lead those that have their young.

The Tablecloth--a tribute*

Her things are always in my house; her coffee table and end table, dishes, pots, kitchen utensils. There is even a fleece jacket of hers that I wear almost every day during the winter, but I guess I’ve grown accustomed to having those things.

These are new. Tablecloths. I have a whole pile of them. Anita brought them up. Lace, linen, some Mother made, and many we bought her; one in particular stands out to me. She never used it much, said it did not fit the table for large groups, but I always loved it; the smoothness of the linen, the formality of it with just enough whimsy of fun in that trial of pale green shamrocks.

The things I was taught in the use of table clothes. Use the formal ones with the china, the bright printed ones with the Fiesta ware, for family dinners. There were others for Sunday after church dinners, parties with friends.

Much discussion always went into which one to use on which occasion. Did it hang right, was it the right color, and was it to short, too long? Dressing a table took forethought and preparation. It was a statement to your guests as they walked in your door.

“I’m ready for you!”
“I’m so glad you’re here!”
“I have planned something special just because you are coming.”

With the advent of Formica top tables, and polyurethane finishes, tables don’t need the protection of a table cloth or covering so much anymore. Place mats have also taken the place of table cloths. Shoot, people seldom drag out the china, and candle sticks anymore, if they entertain at all.

I did not realize that there was anything to doing it properly until I had Roger help me one time and he did not have a clue….he did not know the crease needs to run straight down the center of the table, the ends need to be even, to really do it correctly, you need a partner on the other end to get it centered just so. You don’t just “slap” a tablecloth on the table; you put something under it to protect the table. She went so far as taking old mattress pads and making table pads for her tables. She made special hangers to hang the cloths on in the closet after she had washed and ironed them so they would stay wrinkle free and ready to dress out the table at a moment’s notice.

As I went through the stack and looked at each one, I remembered them, and I remembered the times we used them, and I remembered her. I remember being taught to be particular about how you do things, pay attention to details--they matter, somethings go together, and somethings just don't. Protect and take care of your things, they are worth it, be prepared for company, make people feel special, sometime it takes more than two hands to do something right, and "Yes, the crease being straight matters". As I look at that stack I miss my mother. I’m thankful for my Mother and all the simple life lessons that she taught me by simply teaching me the how’s and whys of using a table cloth.
* from the archives....

A Touch

As I was reading in the Gospel of Mark today, I was reminded of a story; and as usual, when that happens I need to write it down.

The passage was the gospel of Mark, chapter 1:29-45.

“And immediately after they had come out of the synagogue, they came into the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John.

Now Simon’s mother-in-law was lying sick with a fever, and immediately they spoke to Him about her. And He came to her and raised her up, taking her by the hand, and the fever left her, and she waited on them.

And when evening had come, after the sun had set, they began bringing to Him all who were ill and those who were demon-possessed. And the whole city had gathered at the door.

And He healed many who were ill with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and He was not permitting the demons to speak, because they knew who He was.

And in the early morning, while it was still dark, He arose and went out and departed to a lonely place, and was praying there. 
And Simon and his companions hunted for Him; and they found Him, and said to Him, “Everyone is looking for You.”

And He said to them, “Let us go somewhere else to the towns nearby, in order that I may preach there also; for that is what I came out for.”

And He went into their synagogues throughout all Galilee, preaching and casting out the demons.

And a leper came to Him, beseeching Him and falling on his knees before Him, and saying to Him, “If You are willing, You can make me clean,”

And moved with compassion, He stretched out His hand, and touched him, and said to him, “I am willing, be cleansed.”

And immediately the leprosy left him and he was cleansed.

And He sternly warned him and immediately sent him away, and He said to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, for a testimony to them.”

But he went out and began to proclaim it freely and to spread the news about, to such an extent that Jesus could no longer publicly enter a city, but stayed out in unpopulated areas; and they were coming to Him from everywhere.”

*A story came to mind as I read certain verses from this passage and the remembrance that I saw firsthand what a touch can do toward the spiritual healing of someone.  

When I was growing up, we lived next door to a family of boys. Theirs was a rough home life with a mousy little mother and a loud obnoxious father, who was chronically unfaithful, and habitually abusive toward his wife and children; we saw this first hand. 

The youngest boy in the family was a year younger than me, and during the course of our growing up years, we joined the other kids in the neighborhood playing ball in the vacant lot across the street and riding bikes all over town. But as we grew into our Jr. High and High School years, the differences in our lives became apparent, and the childhood friendship waned and ended. I’m not proud to admit this, but he was a boy, after all, and my friends were mostly girls. He became coarse and rough, and yet, looking back, cowardly and needy…..of male companionship.

As his older brothers grew up they ran with the rougher crowds, smoking, drinking, and when the drug culture really took off, that as well.

In the midst of all that Billy seemed lost. Always his mother’s baby, he was struggling to find a place. The guys in school didn't like him, didn't feel comfortable around him, and mocked, teased and picked on him, while at home…..well, I can’t imagine at home. 

After he graduated, he joined the military, and the last I had heard, had settled on the west coast.  My mother moved to another part of town away from his parents but continued to run into Bill’s mother here and there. 

Eventually, my mom told me that his mother had started attending one of the churches in town, and we were all glad to hear this. 

But several years later not long after I married, my mom shared with me that Bill had come back to town, and was living with his folks. He was ill, apparently with AIDS, and had come home to receive his care and treatments close to his family.

This didn't really surprise me. Bill had turned to the gay lifestyle for all the obvious reasons they give, but for all the good it did to analyze the reasons and whys, he was now dying.

One weekend when we were home Mother and I were headed to my sisters for dinner on a Sat. morning, we stopped by the grocery store in that small town I grew up in and when we pulled up to the curb to park the car, Mother commented that Bill’s mother was sitting in the car next to us, and sure enough as I got out of the car to run into the store, Bill came out of the store with a carton of cigarettes.

We stopped and looked at each other, grinning and confirming that yes, we were who we thought the other one was. He was a shadow of his former self, frighteningly thin, and pale as a ghost. When I stepped forward to give him a hug, he seemed surprised but eagerly responded when he realized I meant it. There we were, two play mates from childhood, seeing each other after years and years of life.

As we pulled apart, I asked how he was doing, and he admitted that it wasn't too good, but he was hanging in there. He struggled to look me in the eye, so I went over to the car and bent down to tell his mother hello, and as I did I noticed tears in her eyes as she smiled at me and said hello. Bill got into the car, and as I told them each goodbye, she reached out and took my hand squeezing it and brimming over and whispered: “Thank you.” 

When I got out of the store and back into our car, my mother was beyond upset. “You wash your hands as soon as you can!”  she said. I assured her that you could not get AIDS from touching someone, but she was adamant, “I don’t care, you wash up anyway!”  I could tell it scared her to death.

The above passage of scripture reminded me of this story today as I read it.

Vs. 32 “And when evening had come, after the sun had set, they began bringing to Him all who were ill and those who were demon-possessed. And the whole city had gathered at the door.”

Why wait till sunset, under the cover of darkness? Because in that time, those who were ill, or considered possessed were considered unclean, and therefore untouchables. The only times they were able to be out and about was under the cover of darkness when everyone else was home in bed.

Then in verse 40: “And a leper came to Him, beseeching Him and falling on His knees before Him, and saying to Him, “If You are willing, You can make me clean.”

I have checked this translation with several others, and they all say the same, “You can make me clean.”

Healing did not seem to be the issue so much as the whole idea of cleanness; Cleanness meant restoration, acceptance, inclusion, and relationships.

“You can make me so I am acceptable to the rest of society, so I will be included, and can have friends and family again.”  I wonder if that is what he was really saying when he asked Jesus to make him clean?

The next verse is what says it all though:

“And moved with compassion, He stretched out His hand, AND TOUCHED HIM, and said to him, “I am willing; be cleansed.”

Jesus touched the untouchable.

Imagine the feeling of that man who had not had a human touch in years when he felt someone touch him for the first time.

Bill did die of AIDS, but not before he accepted Christ as his Savior. For you see in the story of the family, that small church, that his mother had started attending a few years prior, hired a new pastor; a guy new to the area who knew nothing of the town, or the people, or the stories that went with them.

When he found out that Mary, a part of his church, had a son who was dying, he went to call on them……every week……and toward the end, every day. He called on this family who for years had sat in a shadow of reputation and gossipy assumptions, but who desperately needed to be told of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Every week he went and ministered Jesus to them, and before Bill died, he prayed and received Jesus as his Savior,  and not long after  Bill’s death, his dad started attending church and eventually walked the aisle to the altar and gave his heart to Jesus as well.

I’m glad the preacher at the church had greater faith in God than he did in the mistakes and sorrows and reputations of people. I’m glad he did not know the stories, or if he did he ignored them and went out and ‘touched’ them anyway.

This story is a constant reminder to me of God’s grace and power and that time is not our enemy if God is on our side.  It is also a reminder that prejudice and bigotry are born out of ignorance and assumptions, something the church should not tolerate. It also reminds me to check that log, before I go fishing for splinters.  But mostly it reminds me how desperately some people need the “touch of Jesus”.

*names have been changed 

A Gift of Time

Can you remember the last time you were simply handed extra time with someone one you loved? 

Yesterday, Audrey went home to Phoenix, but not until we had made the hour and a half drive to the airport did she receive the e-mail telling her that the flight had been cancelled and she wouldn’t leave for another 4 hours.

After she checked her bags and overheard a heated exchange between the passenger in line in front of her did she realize that her flight was delayed. As we sat and she read the e-mail and checked the website, another lady, sitting next to her began to bemoan the delay. 

                “My daughter lives 10 minutes away! She just left! We’ve said our goodbyes and I’ve hugged the grandbaby and cried, I just don’t know if I should call her, I don’t know if I can go through all that again!”  

Audrey and I glanced at each other and I told her I was an hour and a half away; not quite as convenient as 10 min. I didn’t mention this to her to “one up” her complaint. I was trying to help her see that her situation could be much worse; she actually had much to be thankful for. 

After chatting with the lady a bit more, we encouraged her to call her daughter, grab that time with that baby, and eat up every extra second she had been handed. You could see her mind recalibrating as she began to nod. The furrow between her eyebrows disappeared as a grin developed on her face and she began to dial her daughter. She grinned at Audrey as she walked away and said “I’ll see you later.” 

Audrey and I conferred and decided what we would do next. Her bags were already checked, and she had her boarding pass. When the time came I could drop her at the curb with her carry on, and head home while she simply strolled through security, and waited at the gate……..WOO!HOO! We were free to go and enjoy an additional 3 hours together we hadn’t counted on. We were thrilled!

As we left the airport, we talked about the differences in people’s reactions to this inconvenience. Do they see them as blessings or curses? Audrey and I chose blessings.  We could have complained about the aspects of how it all would alter and change our day, and our plans, but instead we rejoiced in the fact that we would get 3 more hours, just the two of us, to shop, eat lunch together, and chat it up.

It is the end of the year. A time when we often hear people bemoan the rapid passing of time. Yesterday reminded me that I am given gifts of time every second of every day………how I view them, usually determines how I use them, and if I make them count. 

Looking toward a new year I am reminded that my perspective of time is somewhat skewed anyway. In 2 Peter 3:8 the apostle reminds us:

"‘But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day." 

After reading this again, I am reminded that time is a gift for which I need to be more thankful, and mindful of how I'm using it. As I begin 2014 I am going to place this scripture in a prominent place to remind me of a day when I was handed 3 hours to spend with someone I love and what a precious gift it was. 

Happy New Year!

For we walk by faith, not by sight.

Hudson--in his deep restful sleep before the bottom fell out

My niece Casie, who's two year old son has been battling cancer for the past year and a half asked me to write my perspective on what happened yesterday....this is it. You can learn more about our little warrior at  http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/hudsonkatzer 

I have a blog I write on about spiritual lessons learned. Yet I have in the past year and a half written nothing about the struggles of Casie’s and Dave’s battle with this monster cancer in Hudson’s little body. I somehow knew I could not begin to know what I was talking about if I were to do so. 

I was right. 

Yesterday I went to Kansas City per Casie’s request to have people on site who would pray for Hudson during this 4^th round of anti-body. Like number two it was a duel med round and they were anticipating problems like before; extra prayer covering made sense. 

When I arrived yesterday, my first reaction was how exhausted Casie looked. She had been up on and off all night. Lest you think of blissful days with your newborn, think again. The nurses had found Hudson in a mess of blood from his IV tube leaking all over his bed. Other things kept happening after that, and sleep was simply a luxury she never got to experience prior to the second, and first full day, of the treatments; the day that the troubles, if they were to have them, were going to start.  

Questions with Dr’s and nurses filled the first hour I was there over protocol. Why were things being done this round that hadn’t been done the round before? She wanted and needed answers, not just to question people, or cause trouble, but for Hudson’s safety and her own piece of mind. I got to see the mother bear in my niece come out, yes she is related to her aunts, but I was proud of her candor with everyone, and also her sensitivity to their position. All was explained, and yes, it was good she had asked questions, as Hudson’s Dr., like some many in the overworked medical community, was unaware of some things. As I sat and listened and watched I was praying silently for Casie and the Dr’s and nurses. After all wasn’t that what I was there for? 

As issues got explained and the morning rolled on, Hudson slept, a peaceful deep sleep that Casie assured me was just what we wanted. His fever had been up and his heart rate elevated, but the Tylenol seemed to bring it down, and all was better. Prayer was being answered. 

Around 3:30 we noticed Hudson scratching his neck. Earlier in the day he has pulled off a “lead”, one of those little sticky patches they use to hook monitors up to, so we were watching him to make sure he didn’t do it again.  Bright red patches began to form. I’ve seen hives several times in my life, and Casie saw them too, so she called the nurse. Another of the myriad of medications that he is entitled to during this time was given, with a word to watch him for any issues that would signal an allergic reaction, even though he had been given it many times before. 

We continued to pray and chat. But I must interject something here. On my drive to Kansas City, earlier in the day I felt the leading of the Holy Spirit to rub Hudson’s feet. As it turned out, through the course of the day, it was about the only part of his little body he would allow anyone to touch without crying out “No! No! No!”.  

After the administration of the meds, I again lifted the blanket to rub those little feet, and noticed that his toenails were purple. I mentioned this to Casie, who immediately started watching him even more closely, if that is possible. She is so in tune to him, and what he is experiencing, and looking for those subtle changes, that nothing escapes her; the result of a year and a half of fighting for your child’s life. As I continued to rub and massage those feet, he grew paler and paler, and his lips began to turn blue, we noticed a change in his breathing.

She called the nurse, his temp had spiked, and his heart rate was up; way up and rising. The nurse called the PA, who called the Dr., who ran up four flights of stairs, and within minutes they were struggling to get a good blood pressure reading, and the room began filling up with people. They unhooked him from everything, the morphine, the antibodies, the other drips, all unhooked. Cold packs were applied to his head—after all it had worked before—it didn’t work this time. Finally I saw the Dr. pick him up and move him to the crib. The crying began in earnest as Hudson kept reminding them in his furtive pleading, “DONE! DONE! DONE!” and “NO! NO! NO!” Casie was in the midst of all of this while Dave was skirting the Dr’s backs, pacing and watching.  More people came, the crash cart was called, oxygen was hooked up, and there simply didn’t seem to be enough room at the side of that crib for all the people. The room kept filling up; a security guard walked down the hall and stood on the other side of the hall from me, watching. I felt the presence of someone and turned to find a kind smiling lady, who introduced herself as the Chaplin. 

I knew we were in trouble by all the people running, yes they were running, to the room, but a Chaplin?!! 

His heart rate was dangerously high, 224 at my last good look at the monitor and rising. The looks of concern of the two Dr’s in the room, and the other people as well assured me that something was going horribly wrong. There were nurses and aids, who have worked with Casie and Dave throughout this whole ordeal, standing in the hall, watching and waiting. I began to feel my knees shake, and I couldn’t really think too clear. But I was pleading with God, begging, and crying out that He stop whatever it was that was going on and help that baby, and his parents.  I realized at that moment, that many words aren’t prayer. Prayer is an attitude, how-be-it one of desperation.  

He was going to be taken down to the PICU where they could administer another drug to bring the heart rate down. It was now high enough that had it been you or I we would have passed out. The drug they needed to give him since the first three syringes hadn’t done the trick, could only be administerd in the PICU. 

I stood in the hall and waited, straining to hear, watching every face that came and went from that room, searching for a sign of hope. 

I don’t know for sure just when things began to improve, but people began to leave. Eventually, the oxygen and the crash cart were pushed out with the EKG machine and the defibrillator among other things. The looks of concern turned to a sort of half smile as everyone began to speak in normal tones. I caught a glimpse of the heart monitor and the rate was dropping.  I still could not see Casie among those by the bed. Someone told me it was O.K. to go back into the room. I did. 

Casie was pale, her eyes wide, Dave was pale, the Dr’s were both more serious than I’d seen them all day, and as they spoke with the kids, it was almost a whisper. He would not be moved to the PICU, throughout the entire ordeal his BP was normal, his oxygen was normal, only the heart rate was elevated. Something they had never encountered before (remember this IS Hudson). He would have more tests, and be re-attached to the morphine drip, and antibodies, in a few hours after test results came back. 

As the adrenalin rush began to subside I finally made eye to eye contact with Casie. We hugged and we cried, and we hugged some more.  

To say I have a new perspective on what Casie and David are living with would still be a huge understatement; I don’t, but I do, to a degree. I was humbled to my core at the realization that until you have lived the nightmares of watching your baby endure cancer treatments you cannot possibly relate to anything they describe or tell you. Really, don’t think you can, nothing in this world can be like standing there helplessly waiting for them to “fix” it, when deep down you know “they” can’t; only God can. 

To live a day in this world is exhausting, let alone a year and a half. The adrenal rush of moments like this cannot be good for the body, and I ask myself on the way home, how many of those experiences since this all started have they gone through? 

Listening to Hudson plead to be left alone when he feels so horribly bad would break the heart of any one, let alone his parents…..I will never forget the sounds of  those cries. And I hope I don’t.  I hope that this day has taught me a lesson in empathy that will deepen my resolve to pray. 

Pray……yes that is what I did all day. Some might say it made things worse, others would testify to the evidence of a spiritual battle that is going on over the life of a tiny little boy who, in the huge scheme of things, for some, might not understand the significance. But there are forces at work in this world, and if you say you believe in God and are a follower of Jesus Christ, you cannot deny the Word of truth when it says,  

 For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. --
Eph 6:12

I interject this because prior to my going to KC, my sisters and I had agreed to pray in a concerted effort at 4 p.m., and others who knew of it agreed to pray with us at that time as well.  Hudson began to itch at 3:30, just prior to prayer time. By the time 4 o’clock rolled around, the battle was raging. God won---again. He will continue to win. But without those prayers? We may never know but I’m still willing to go on faith. Faith in God, because when it comes right down to it, after what I saw today, it is all we have. 

May His name be Praised!