by Victoria -

Always and forever a daddy’s girl

It’s Father’s Day and fitting to pay tribute to the daddy who shaped me in many ways into the person I am today.  I love you, Dad.

My earliest memories of my daddy are hazy. They center around a sand box, a white picket fence where my leg became stuck after climbing it when I wasn’t supposed to, and he had to rescue me, and the basement of the first house I lived in.   As I remember, dad and I were checking out the basement for things left behind because we were moving to a new house. I can still see my doll cradle tucked up under the stairs, and for some reason I didn’t tell him about it, so it didn’t come with me to my new home.

I wasn’t much of a talker. I think I was more of an observer. Being an introvert has its drawbacks.

I followed him around like a puppy dog and as I got just a little older, I became his helper.

He remodeled kitchens and bathrooms and bedrooms, and I was always hanging around watching him work and fetching the tools he needed and holding the ladder for him. He always knew the answers to everything and he was my hero. When my momma would say to me out of frustration – “left handed people can’t do nothing right!” He would pull me aside and say – “you can do anything you put your mind to.”

And his voice is the one I’ve always believed. Because he’s right.

Of course, we didn’t always get along. My teen age years were difficult for the both of us, what with boyfriends and learning to drive and gaining independence and every terrifying thing that comes with it.

My parents came from the mountains of West Virginia where college education wasn’t on their list of possibles, and for them growing up, graduating high school was usually not happening, either. But my dad worked hard and got his GED, then went on to become an electrician while he worked 40-plus hours a week at the shop for General Motors. He put his mind to something and he accomplished it.

So, when he offered to send me to a community college when I graduated high school with honors, I stupidly turned it down and I’m still kicking myself to this day. But that was a long time ago, and many tears ago, too.

We have always seemed to be able to understand each other, my dad and me. Momma, bless her heart, didn’t get either one of us. She would get angry at dad and expect me to side with her and when I didn’t she’d get mad at me too. She was an emotional woman looking for a bosom buddy to agree with her assessment of the horribleness of the situation and I didn’t fit the bill. That’s why she and my sister got along so well. They commiserated together about the unfairness of things.

At momma’s funeral, it was me that dad sat next to. It was me that made sure he was ok. It was me that stayed up with him, staying close, waiting to see what he might need. It was me that anticipated what his life was going to look like after momma was gone. It was me that he confided in and I turned into his counselor, listening and encouraging and praying for him.

My dad’s commitment to his marriage, his unconditional love for his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren is a study in steadfastness that many have forgotten in our day and age. How he patiently and tenderly cared for momma as she struggled with dementia and devolved into someone we didn’t know and who she didn’t know anymore either, is one of the strongest examples of courage I’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing.

He has always been the anchor keeping us safe in the storms. He is the one with wisdom and patience, explaining in simple language again and again how to do something. His voice is the one that calms my heart and stills my fears.

At 81 years young, his step is slower and his early Parkinson’s causes his hand to tremble uncontrollably. He can’t do many of the things he used to be able to do. But he’ll always be my role model and the voice I look forward to hearing answer the phone when I call.

The last time I ever hear these words –“hello, sweet thing!” will be a sad day indeed.

by Victoria -

A personal transfusion of God’s grace

This article is featured in GO! Christian Magazine’s Summer 2018 issue

“Just three years ago I was a totally different person physically and spiritually than I am now. Though I went to church I wasn’t as close to God as I should have been. A lot of the time I was more interested in myself than God. He was on the back burner.”

In September of 2015, Steve Brown was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia, a very aggressive form of Leukemia. His doctor, with a heavy heart, told him he had 3 to 6 months to live. He had gone to his doctor for a checkup, where they found some irregularities in his blood. Steve’s only symptoms were some fatigue and shortness of breath. His doctor took the time out of his schedule and did a bone marrow biopsy on his lunch break for him.

Steve was a fire fighter for 28 ½ years, retiring from the Fire Department in 2003. He went on to get his teaching certificate, teaching classes in Fire Standards, Hazardous Materials, and Fire Chemistry at Gulf Coast College. A teacher at heart, Steve said “I like turning the lights on in people’s heads.”

Up to the day of his diagnosis, he and his wife Connie were leading full lives. Connie had recently retired from nursing, and they were enjoying their grandkids and doing some traveling. After the news of his impending death, they both marveled at how God had set the stage many years earlier for Steve’s illness. You see, Connie, after becoming a nurse, had obtained her national registration in Chemotherapy and had run the outpatient chemo unit at Bay Medical. They were also debt free, and were part of a local church family and small group who gave them all the emotional and practical support they needed.

Four whirlwind days after hearing those terrifying words, Steve checked into the University of Alabama in Birmingham’s blood disease center. He was there for about six weeks where he had a port placed in his chest, receiving both chemo and other drugs. The treatment made him very sick with horrific headaches and exhaustion. They had to ‘wipe’ his bone marrow. Chemotherapy gets rid of as much cancer cells as possible, but it wipes out the bad cells as well as the good cells, so Steve had no white blood cells left to fight infections.

He went into complete remission for the first time in April of 2016.

In November of that same year, Steve relapsed. “This was the hardest time for me psychologically. I almost resigned myself that I was going to die. I wrestled with God over and over about it until I said, ‘ok, Father, your will be done.’ Then I had peace.”

Both Steve and Connie believe with all their heats that when you give your life to God there’s going to be divine providence in your life.

During his second remission, he was doing so well, they sent him home from the UAB 10 days early. During his sickness, Steve learned early on to read his Bible and pray. “The first time I got chemo I learned how real God is, and the second time around was how steadfast God’s Word is. Sometimes, I would be so sick or in so much pain all I could do was remember bits and pieces of scripture but I would stand on them and His Word saw me through.”

For Steve’s daily devotions he found himself reading a lot in the Old Testament reveling in the descriptions of God’s absolute power. The Holy Spirit encouraged Steve to substitute his own name as he read, making the verses very personal to him. Verse after verse began to jump off the page. “And the Lord said, I have surely seen the disease of Steve in Panama City…” Steve remembers many times waking up in the night just hugging God to himself as he clung to his Bible like a child to his blanket.

At one point Steve told me when he was in such agonizing pain, he was crying out to God, “Don’t take the pain away but help me bear up under it.”

Connie and Steve read a book by Alistair Begg about divine providence, and how we are sheltered under his protection and guidance. “Even though you believe in God there are days that you struggle so I always tried to look for the positive in everything. To keep my trust in God. Through it all there was going to be a good outcome one way or another.”

After the round of chemo, Steve was able to receive a bone marrow transplant, and during this last relapse and remission, Steve and Connie stayed at the American Cancer Society’s Joe Griffin Hope Lodge living among many other cancer patients and their caregivers.

On the day of Steve’s bone marrow transplant, he and Connie read their daily devotional with hopeful hearts. It read, “The Holy Spirit is Christ’s life transfused into you and flowing through you. The Spirit changes us from the inside out and empowers us to live out the call of God.”

They decided to start a Bible study at the Center of Hope.

A lot of the cancer patients in their group were in bad shape. One lady had throat cancer. When she first joined the group she could hardly talk or pray. Then a preacher came who had cancer and Steve asked him to lead the group. The lady with throat cancer was a pianist who played the piano at the Hope Center. During one of their Bible studies, they had a prayer meeting right then and it was awesome.

The will to stay alive was evident in everyone. Some patients were in intense pain, but, as Steve said,
“God has put eternity in our hearts and you could see it there”. Everyone checked on each other, shared their lives and stories, and encouraged each other.

With a smile on his face, Steve said “one thing we learned was that Stage 4 is just a number to God. Nobody knows how much time you have but God. I wouldn’t trade what I went through for anything. Jesus loved me enough to allow me to go through it to break me and make me into a different person. Isn’t that awesome?”

Steve and Connie continue to serve others in their church and small group, encouraging and strengthening hearts weighed down by sickness and pain. They bring the hope of salvation and eternity to all who will listen, praying with them in the power of the Spirit from lives that have been transformed from the inside out.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight. Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones. (Proverbs 3:5-8)

by Victoria -

Pinecones and the Ocean

I originally wrote this post back in February of 2012, when I was transitioning from living alone in Arizona to moving back to Michigan to help my dad take care of my mom who had been diagnosed with dementia.  I knew life was going to get difficult, and this vacation in Florida at the time was a welcome hiatus.  Having family close when life gets tough is priceless.

I awoke to the steady, almost deafening, drumming of rain on the metal roof of the beautiful rental we were calling home for the week.

I know its February, but I thought it was supposed to be sunny and warm in Florida.

I left Arizona for this?

Ah, yes, because there’s something else here of more value to me than the mountains and desert and sunshine and heat of Arizona.   Although, come to think of it, those are really, really nice things.

As I began to collect my thoughts, I heard the muffled sounds of the television emanating from the other room. Sounded like my grandsons Noah and Luke were watching cartoons again.

After washing my face and getting dressed, I wandered downstairs to find some life-giving coffee. My daughter was busy reading a book, and the boys were running around still in their pajamas.

After a while the rain let up, so I braved the front porch, perched on the porch swing under the safety of the roof, and listened to the birds. They were quite busy breakfasting on small red berries. I’ve never seen so many robins perched together in a tree before, and a small one at that. The sound of their constant twittering and the whoosh of their wings was calming, and I smiled.

I watched as the gray clouds skittered across the sky and patches of blue began to peek out. I sipped my coffee and sighed a deep sigh of contentment.

Maybe the rain would stop soon and we could go for another walk to gather pine cones again.

Here we are in Florida gathering pine cones. Seems like a funny thing to do.

It was like a scavenger hunt, or trick or treat, finding the pine cones. We found some discarded plastic bags and the boys and I loaded them up. Along with a few sticks and acorns. But mostly pine cones.

We took turns holding hands and running and laughing.

It really doesn’t matter what the weather is doing when you’re with family, does it?

Of course, when I’m in Florida, every day is a bad hair day. This I have come to accept. Frizzy hair is what I have there and that’s just the end of it. I can fuss with it all I want, and within minutes – poof – back it goes to frizz again. I just give up after a day or two, knowing that I look a bit wild. I avoid mirrors.

The boutique shops are always fun to poke around in. I don’t usually buy anything, but virtual shopping is satisfying in a virtual sort of way. I really liked the brightly colored skirts and tops, but I didn’t like the price tags attached. So, that was that.

When it looked like the rain was done for the day, we made our way across the street, down a wooden walkway, and found the Gulf in all of its majesty right there at our feet. The sight made you stop and drink in the view. The water was gorgeous. The blue-green waves with their ruffles of white lace stretched to the horizon and met with the grays of the sky to frame the pictures I kept snapping. I kept some of the soft white sand in the photos too for contrast and context. Lots of memories.

The wind was whipping up pretty cold coupled with the continual crashing sound of the waves as they met the sand and then receded only to gather themselves again and fling their combined droplets forward, stretching, stretching. The mark the waves leave in the sand is temporary. No matter how loud and how strong. Only temporary. The next wave washes away the evidence over and over and over.

The only things left behind are small shells and bits of driftwood. And those are picked up and carted off.

Do you think the ocean gets frustrated? All that effort and nothing much of lasting significance to show for it?

He can be content in knowing we hear and see and enjoy the show. The sights and the sounds mesmerize us. The sand tickles our toes and transports us back to childhood again, as we dig and build sand castles and write our names with sticks just out of reach of the next wave.

Hopefully, I’ll have left some lasting impressions when my waves are finally stilled.

Like collecting pine cones and holding hands and laughing.  

Yeah, I think that will be ok.