Christmas will be different this year. The first Christmas without the matriarch of my family, the one who taught us the joy of Christmas, the one who still enjoyed a visit from Santa as much as anyone else, even when her youngest child was 45 years old.
This year we will be without mama, definitely a sad marker since her death. As sad as the "first" Christmas will be, it also provides us with a challenge to fully celebrate the joy of Christmas the way she taught us since childhood.
This morning in Church I was swept away by the music of the season, beautiful glorious music celebrating the birth of our Savior. Suddenly it dawned on me, this will be mama's first year with the angels of heaven celebrating the miracle of that first Christmas. This year as we set one less place at the table, our family of angels sets one more, what a glorious feast that will be!
This year, not only in December, but through the year, the spirit of Christmas has engulfed me in ways that I have never felt before. As I think back on the past months, since that day in late February when my life changed, an overwhelming feeling of joy and gratitude fills my soul.
From the friends who selflessly gave their time to clean my house, replant my flower beds and stock my fridge and cabinets while I was away, I see the spirit of giving that we are taught as children, a selfless act that goes with me every day.
Phone calls that came out of the blue, phone calls from friends and family just to let me know they were thinking of me. In my world, those calls were like the angels of heaven announcing the good news, they were pick-me-ups letting me know that the dark days will pass.
I was taught from an early age that the spirit of Christmas is more about the promise of the new life than it is about gifts, trees and tinsel. This year, more than any other I have found myself thinking about that "new life."
A new life that moves forward without my most important influence. A life that moves forward without my "light."
This year as I think about the sadness that could take over my Christmas season, I have decided to celebrate the lessons I was taught since childhood and the joy that will help me move forward.
I will remember my 5th Christmas. The year I got a Big Wheel. The Big Wheel I literally wore the tires off of. That was the year that Tom and Sam helped their little brother find the freedom of adventure with my own "wheels", a sense of adventure that I still have today as an adult.
This year, I will think back to my 6th Christmas, the year that ma-ma fell down our steps and broke her arm, that was the year that my cousin Melissa and I went out into the woods to build a "garden" in a pie pan to make ma-ma feel better. That was the year I learned about compassion, I have certainly felt that compassion this year and hope that I have been able to return the favor.
Or my 7th Christmas when Larry McClure showed up to our house and scared a little boy to tears when the Santa "impostor" showed up MUCH earlier than he should have. This year, I know in my soul that any "impostors" have been removed from my life. I have found a peace in faith that I never knew before, a faith that carries me not only through darkness but also through the joy of light!
When I was in my early teens we had Christmas a week early, that was because Sam was working on an oil rig that year and would be away from home on Christmas day. I hated that year and am glad that we never had another Christmas apart. That was the year that I learned the importance of family, just being in the same room, somehow takes away some of the pressures from the outside world and provides a feeling of warmth that can't be realized elsewhere.
Then there were the years when our family grew. The years we got Donna, then Chelsea and Zack, these are the years that I learned there is an endless ability to love. Room for my heart to grow and welcome new people into my life.
We have had more Christmases than I can count that were uneventful, but always filled with laughter and sometimes tears. We were taught that the Christmas spirit is about family, it is about the laughter, the tears, the togetherness. No doubt we will find that same spirit under our tree this year as well.
Mama started a tradition years ago when Chelsea and Zack were very young. Once they got old enough to read they would open up an old "pop-up" book and read the Christmas story to our family. I hope this year, those same young adults will continue that tradition, knowing that the real meaning of Christmas lies in the words of the story, not in the packages under the tree.
This year, I have seen the spirit of Christmas all year long, in big and small ways, in ways I could never imagine. Maybe it is because I am getting older and those simple gestures mean more. Maybe it is because of the loss of mama, or maybe it is because of the lessons I have learned along the way. The lessons I was taught by my bright star, a mother who taught the best gifts at Christmas are those shared with family.
My Christmas wish for each of you is the joy of the season, the light of simple gestures and the creation of memories and traditions that will comfort you into the future.
I wish you peace, I wish you love and I wish you happiness. With a full heart of gratitude this Christmas I will remember the past, but also look to the future hoping for new memories of the true meaning of Christmas.
Embrace those you love, hold them close and make sure they know just how important they are. Those people who touch your lives each day, the friend, co-worker, neighbor and family member, share the spirit of the season with them and as we move forward just imagine how great our futures would be if we carried that Christmas spirit year round.
My Christmas wish for you is love, grace and joy.
With love and gratitude, Merry Christmas to you all!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Aunt Beck
We all have one, a favorite Aunt or Uncle, favorite cousin, for me that is my Aunt Beck.
Aunt Beck is mama's older sister by just a couple of years. The two of them were very close, which may explain my connection to her. Aunt Beck turned 80 this month, a milestone worthy of celebration and a milestone worthy of reflection.
In many ways Aunt Beck and I are very similar. We are the children who flew the coop, moved away from home and settled on the beach. We connect through the sand between our toes.
As a child some of my fondest memories were of Aunt Beck's house in the Summer or on Spring Break. Our family would pile into the stationwagon and take off for a week at the beach, a week at Aunt Beck's house.
Now, the house we were visiting wasn't only Aunt Beck's, Uncle Larry and Melissa lived there too, a dog or hamster was often included in the mix.
Aunt Beck has lived in Fernandina Beach, Florida for all of her adult life. She and Uncle Larry moved there not long after they were married.
For me, Fernandina Beach was paradise, little did I know that until the fancy people found it in the 80's that it really wasn't all the rage until a name change made it Amelia Island. Mama used to joke with her friends that we had been going to Amelia Island before anyone even knew what Amelia Island was.
Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa had a quiet house, everything neat and put away in its place. That was until the Rumsey clan would arrive with three boys, insatiable appetites and a boisterous energy that was difficult to tame.
We would visit Aunt Beck a couple of times each year, wreaking havoc on her peaceful existence each time we came.
Two or three times each year, Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa would make their way to God's Country for a visit. You could almost see the culture shock on their faces when they arrived and soon realized they had left the melodic symphony of the ocean for the hectic chaos found on Old Buncomb Road.
They usually stayed with Ma- ma and Gramps when they came, about 30 miles from our house. I think they probably needed a safe place to retreat to.
Our visits to Aunt Beck's house were for the beach. When Aunt Beck and her family came to God's Country it was usually for the visits to those "cute little shops on Main Street."
Mama and Aunt Beck loved going in and out of the shops on Main Street when she came. The same shops that mama only occasionally would walk into during the rest of the year would become a magnetic force for mama and Aunt Beck during those visits.
Aunt Beck has always held a special place in my heart. Her dry sense of humor, devilish grin and zest for life are what attracts me.
As I have grown from childhood to adult life, Aunt Beck has become a force in my life. When I was thinking of moving to Florida, she was one of the people I spoke with.
My concern was that I wouldn't be able to be home when I "needed" to be there if I lived 12 hours away. Aunt Beck assured me that if I were to be happy in MY life I needed to follow my dreams and that the rest would take care of itself. She was right.
Aunt Beck is the person who guided me through my first few holidays away from home, and she was a role model for me to see how you can create a "Florida family" while never forgetting your real family.
When Aunt Beck married Uncle Larry she .....GASP.... left the Baptist Church and became a Methodist. During my search for faith, I did the same. Aunt Beck helped me realize it isn't about the family tradition of a denomination. It isn't about what faith you grew up in, what it is about is the path of faith you grow into.
After I moved to Florida, Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry continued their visits to God's country. Melissa was now married with her own children and Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry were now traveling to help take care of Ma-ma and Gramps as they made their long journey to heaven.
After ma-ma and gramps passed, not long after Uncle Larry's health began to fail and he passed before Christmas just a few years ago.
When it came time for me to make my next visit to God's Country, I asked Aunt Beck if she would like to go with me. Her house was almost perfectly half way in a 12 hour drive. Aunt Beck accepted my invitation to ride with me and this began a whole new adventure in our relationship.
I picked her up just off the I95 exit. Ground rules were set from the very first trip.... meet me at McDonald's just off of 95. I will drop you off at the same location on the way home. For the most part that has been our routine for several years now.
The other rule I set was, don't go to sleep and talk to me while we drive. I can assure you THAT rule has NEVER been broken!
From the time Aunt Beck sits down in the passenger seat until we arrive in God's Country we talk. We talk about anything and everything. She kids me and I kid her, she knows that we will stop 2 maybe 3 times tops on the road. She doesn't complain she just makes sure to take care of everything during these brief stops.
Driving up the road Aunt Beck tells me stories about the good ole days when she and mama were in High School. How their circle of friends used to congregate at my grandparents house and how Gramps would pile all their friends into his car and take them places.
We have talked about faith and Church news and business more than most people I have ever spoken to. Sometimes we even talk politics.
Several years ago, after mama's health began to fade Aunt Beck made a comment driving up the road, "Ken, once ma-ma and gramps started getting sick I always made sure I took all the clothes I may need for a visit because you just never know." In that very instant I knew exactly what she was saying and it was in that instant that I began to prepare myself for the inevitable loss of mama. Since that trip I always make sure to have "all the clothes I may need" because you just never know.
In February when we knew mama was making her final journey home, I called Aunt Beck at 11AM and told her I would be picking her up at 5, she was ready and in the car. We didn't talk as much on that trip, I assume for fear that we would both breakdown, but we did talk about the important stuff.
During that final week in Georgia, Aunt Beck was there every step of the way and she was the one who alerted us all that mama was gone..... I think mama planned it that way.
The trip back to Florida after mama passed was difficult, in many ways even harder than the drive up. On the way back we talked a lot about mama and the week we had just lived through, about mama's service, we talked about daddy and Sam and the grandkids and Donna, we talked about everyone.
We talked about how hard it would be not to be able to pick up the phone and talk to mama, after all Aunt Beck had been through it already. We talked about birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and just regular days and how they would be hard. But we also talked about the memories that we would carry with us, the memories that would make us smile and the memories that would bring a warmth to the heart.
When Aunt Beck got out of my car that day, I cried, she cried. There was no way to hold back the tears, they were going to come and we both knew it, the thing I didn't know would happen was that when I got back in my car to finish my drive home I had a strong sense of peace, I reflected on memories and my heart grew warm. Aunt Beck has a knack for teaching big lessons without ever trying, she did it again on that day.
In June I decided I was going to God's Country for Father's Day. It was my first visit home since mama passed and when I decided to go I invited Aunt Beck to go, she said yes. I was dreading the trip and I think she was too, but we both knew one trip had to be the first, so it may as well be now.
As usual we got into the car and took off. Since the first time Aunt Beck rode to God's Country with me, she has talked about how pretty the backroads are through Georgia. I am not the kind of guy who likes the back roads, I want to get on the Interstate and go, she likes to take her time and enjoy the scenery.
On this trip Aunt Beck threw down the ultimate guilt trip. "I would love to go on those back roads just one more time, this may be my last trip and I sure would love to see that pretty scenery." I insisted that I was NOT going on the back roads. For the next three hours I insisted that I wasn't going on the back roads until we reached Statesboro, Ga and she broke me.
I got off the interstate and made my way through Statesboro. I hadn't been there since I graduated college and thought it would be fun to reminisce for a bit. We drove into town, I showed her my college dorm and then we got onto the main road that I thought would take us home.
We were now on those back roads that she had longed for, I was going 35 mph and losing my patience, plus I was getting lost. We drove around in circles for about an hour until we finally got onto the road that we both agreed was the right road for us to be traveling during this excursion into the back roads of Georgia.
The trip home was about 2 hours longer than it should have been, but we saw cotton fields and antebellum houses. We saw the Wal-Mart that Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry used to always stop at on their journeys up and down the road. We reminisced and stepped back in time on those old 2 lane roads through Georgia.
Our visit home was much better than either of us expected, it was a wonderful family visit, it was hard without mama being there but it was our new normal and I am glad Aunt Beck was there to be a part of it.
Aunt Beck has lived 80 years, she has accomplished a lot in that time. She has kept that devilish grin and dry sense of humor for all these years. She has nurtured, she has loved and she has taught. Aunt Beck has become more important to me each and every year, I love her and wish for many more trips together to God's Country. Although one thing is for sure... she HAS taken her last trip through on the back roads with me driving, that is until she guilts me into it again!
Aunt Beck is mama's older sister by just a couple of years. The two of them were very close, which may explain my connection to her. Aunt Beck turned 80 this month, a milestone worthy of celebration and a milestone worthy of reflection.
In many ways Aunt Beck and I are very similar. We are the children who flew the coop, moved away from home and settled on the beach. We connect through the sand between our toes.
As a child some of my fondest memories were of Aunt Beck's house in the Summer or on Spring Break. Our family would pile into the stationwagon and take off for a week at the beach, a week at Aunt Beck's house.
Now, the house we were visiting wasn't only Aunt Beck's, Uncle Larry and Melissa lived there too, a dog or hamster was often included in the mix.
Aunt Beck has lived in Fernandina Beach, Florida for all of her adult life. She and Uncle Larry moved there not long after they were married.
For me, Fernandina Beach was paradise, little did I know that until the fancy people found it in the 80's that it really wasn't all the rage until a name change made it Amelia Island. Mama used to joke with her friends that we had been going to Amelia Island before anyone even knew what Amelia Island was.
Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa had a quiet house, everything neat and put away in its place. That was until the Rumsey clan would arrive with three boys, insatiable appetites and a boisterous energy that was difficult to tame.
We would visit Aunt Beck a couple of times each year, wreaking havoc on her peaceful existence each time we came.
Two or three times each year, Aunt Beck, Uncle Larry and Melissa would make their way to God's Country for a visit. You could almost see the culture shock on their faces when they arrived and soon realized they had left the melodic symphony of the ocean for the hectic chaos found on Old Buncomb Road.
They usually stayed with Ma- ma and Gramps when they came, about 30 miles from our house. I think they probably needed a safe place to retreat to.
Our visits to Aunt Beck's house were for the beach. When Aunt Beck and her family came to God's Country it was usually for the visits to those "cute little shops on Main Street."
Mama and Aunt Beck loved going in and out of the shops on Main Street when she came. The same shops that mama only occasionally would walk into during the rest of the year would become a magnetic force for mama and Aunt Beck during those visits.
Aunt Beck has always held a special place in my heart. Her dry sense of humor, devilish grin and zest for life are what attracts me.
As I have grown from childhood to adult life, Aunt Beck has become a force in my life. When I was thinking of moving to Florida, she was one of the people I spoke with.
My concern was that I wouldn't be able to be home when I "needed" to be there if I lived 12 hours away. Aunt Beck assured me that if I were to be happy in MY life I needed to follow my dreams and that the rest would take care of itself. She was right.
Aunt Beck is the person who guided me through my first few holidays away from home, and she was a role model for me to see how you can create a "Florida family" while never forgetting your real family.
When Aunt Beck married Uncle Larry she .....GASP.... left the Baptist Church and became a Methodist. During my search for faith, I did the same. Aunt Beck helped me realize it isn't about the family tradition of a denomination. It isn't about what faith you grew up in, what it is about is the path of faith you grow into.
After I moved to Florida, Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry continued their visits to God's country. Melissa was now married with her own children and Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry were now traveling to help take care of Ma-ma and Gramps as they made their long journey to heaven.
After ma-ma and gramps passed, not long after Uncle Larry's health began to fail and he passed before Christmas just a few years ago.
When it came time for me to make my next visit to God's Country, I asked Aunt Beck if she would like to go with me. Her house was almost perfectly half way in a 12 hour drive. Aunt Beck accepted my invitation to ride with me and this began a whole new adventure in our relationship.
I picked her up just off the I95 exit. Ground rules were set from the very first trip.... meet me at McDonald's just off of 95. I will drop you off at the same location on the way home. For the most part that has been our routine for several years now.
The other rule I set was, don't go to sleep and talk to me while we drive. I can assure you THAT rule has NEVER been broken!
From the time Aunt Beck sits down in the passenger seat until we arrive in God's Country we talk. We talk about anything and everything. She kids me and I kid her, she knows that we will stop 2 maybe 3 times tops on the road. She doesn't complain she just makes sure to take care of everything during these brief stops.
Driving up the road Aunt Beck tells me stories about the good ole days when she and mama were in High School. How their circle of friends used to congregate at my grandparents house and how Gramps would pile all their friends into his car and take them places.
We have talked about faith and Church news and business more than most people I have ever spoken to. Sometimes we even talk politics.
Several years ago, after mama's health began to fade Aunt Beck made a comment driving up the road, "Ken, once ma-ma and gramps started getting sick I always made sure I took all the clothes I may need for a visit because you just never know." In that very instant I knew exactly what she was saying and it was in that instant that I began to prepare myself for the inevitable loss of mama. Since that trip I always make sure to have "all the clothes I may need" because you just never know.
In February when we knew mama was making her final journey home, I called Aunt Beck at 11AM and told her I would be picking her up at 5, she was ready and in the car. We didn't talk as much on that trip, I assume for fear that we would both breakdown, but we did talk about the important stuff.
During that final week in Georgia, Aunt Beck was there every step of the way and she was the one who alerted us all that mama was gone..... I think mama planned it that way.
The trip back to Florida after mama passed was difficult, in many ways even harder than the drive up. On the way back we talked a lot about mama and the week we had just lived through, about mama's service, we talked about daddy and Sam and the grandkids and Donna, we talked about everyone.
We talked about how hard it would be not to be able to pick up the phone and talk to mama, after all Aunt Beck had been through it already. We talked about birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and just regular days and how they would be hard. But we also talked about the memories that we would carry with us, the memories that would make us smile and the memories that would bring a warmth to the heart.
When Aunt Beck got out of my car that day, I cried, she cried. There was no way to hold back the tears, they were going to come and we both knew it, the thing I didn't know would happen was that when I got back in my car to finish my drive home I had a strong sense of peace, I reflected on memories and my heart grew warm. Aunt Beck has a knack for teaching big lessons without ever trying, she did it again on that day.
In June I decided I was going to God's Country for Father's Day. It was my first visit home since mama passed and when I decided to go I invited Aunt Beck to go, she said yes. I was dreading the trip and I think she was too, but we both knew one trip had to be the first, so it may as well be now.
As usual we got into the car and took off. Since the first time Aunt Beck rode to God's Country with me, she has talked about how pretty the backroads are through Georgia. I am not the kind of guy who likes the back roads, I want to get on the Interstate and go, she likes to take her time and enjoy the scenery.
On this trip Aunt Beck threw down the ultimate guilt trip. "I would love to go on those back roads just one more time, this may be my last trip and I sure would love to see that pretty scenery." I insisted that I was NOT going on the back roads. For the next three hours I insisted that I wasn't going on the back roads until we reached Statesboro, Ga and she broke me.
I got off the interstate and made my way through Statesboro. I hadn't been there since I graduated college and thought it would be fun to reminisce for a bit. We drove into town, I showed her my college dorm and then we got onto the main road that I thought would take us home.
We were now on those back roads that she had longed for, I was going 35 mph and losing my patience, plus I was getting lost. We drove around in circles for about an hour until we finally got onto the road that we both agreed was the right road for us to be traveling during this excursion into the back roads of Georgia.
The trip home was about 2 hours longer than it should have been, but we saw cotton fields and antebellum houses. We saw the Wal-Mart that Aunt Beck and Uncle Larry used to always stop at on their journeys up and down the road. We reminisced and stepped back in time on those old 2 lane roads through Georgia.
Our visit home was much better than either of us expected, it was a wonderful family visit, it was hard without mama being there but it was our new normal and I am glad Aunt Beck was there to be a part of it.
Aunt Beck has lived 80 years, she has accomplished a lot in that time. She has kept that devilish grin and dry sense of humor for all these years. She has nurtured, she has loved and she has taught. Aunt Beck has become more important to me each and every year, I love her and wish for many more trips together to God's Country. Although one thing is for sure... she HAS taken her last trip through on the back roads with me driving, that is until she guilts me into it again!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Phone Call the Changed My Life.... Chapter 4
As I drove to the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches that morning, I kept thinking about what daddy had said on the phone the night before. "Go to Church tomorrow."
At 30 something years old, I was still accustomed to listening to my daddy. I didn't always do what he said, but I learned at an early age that he was pretty smart, so on most things I listened. This was one of those days when I listened.
I drove up to UMCPB and made my way into the "Gathering Place," the hall where Church was held. I hobbled in on my crutches and found my way to a seat. The seat I chose was on the right side of the building and there were a number of seniors who came and sat around me. A couple made chit-chat with me and I learned that the gentleman I was speaking to was a retired doctor, so he was very interested in my injury, my surgery and my on-going recovery.
As the service time got near a lady came and sat down beside me, I will never forget. She was dressed in a kelly green skirt and jacket. Those sitting around me all greeted her and she did the same in return. She introduced herself to me as Nancy and welcomed me to the Church.
As services began, Nancy and I shared a hymnal. I think she felt sorry for me, trying to balance myself on crutches was enough of a feat, much less trying to balance a hymnal, myself and the crutches. I felt really comfortable in this Church immediately. The people were friendly, welcoming and you could feel the genuine love amongst the members.
I decided before I left that morning that I would be back. I liked the music, the preaching and the overall feel of the place. Leaving Church that morning I felt better than I had since before my accident.
The following day I hit a really low point emotionally. I don't know what it was but the loneliness of a new town, the injury, everything just kind of hit. Immediately I knew what to do. I called the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches and asked if I could come over and speak to the Pastor.
Within the hour I was sitting in the office of David McEntire. He asked all the obvious questions, what was wrong with my leg, how long I had been on the crutches etc. Then he told me that his wife told him I had a nice voice and that I should be in the choir. His wife?????
What I didn't know at the time.... Nancy, the lady in the green, the lady who held my hymnal. Nancy was the Pastor's wife. That meeting led to a friendship that I will always cherish. David and Nancy McEntire became a pastoral couple who taught me about grace. They taught me what true Christianity is all about and they became family.
Over the years many people at the UMCPB have become like family to me. I have made friendships that will last throughout my life. I have been nurtured, loved, challenged, held accountable and taught by these people.
Now, 12 years later, this Church fills a chunk of my heart that guides me on a daily basis.
David and Nancy are gone, they were transferred a few years back, but we have been blessed by other Pastors who have served our Church well. John, Ken, Bo and Jen, all Associate Pastors who blessed UMCPB during their tenure and into today.
Pastor Jen and Bo remain with us today. I don't see Bo that often as he leads our Korean congregation, but Jen is a major force in my life. The day I got laid off, she was one of my first calls, I just needed to hear her voice. When mama was sick and her time was short, Jen called me more than once just to let me talk. She is now someone I look to for guidance and advice, but most of all she is someone I try to emulate, she lives her life humbly, with grace, compassion and love.... she lives her life the way God intended us all to live our lives.
David was replaced by Pastor Vic as our Senior Pastor. He was with us for 3 years. He had a difficult tenure, but he led us with grace and did his best, no one can ask for more than that.
I lost my job during Pastor Vic's tenure, you know they say "God puts people in your life for specific reasons." Debbi, his wife came to me after the lay-off, she hugged me and told me everything would be ok and for me not to leave Florida. God still had a future for me here, I listened to her.
Now this past summer Pastor Kent and Carla have come to lead our Church, I already like them. They are fun, energetic and Kent has a presence in the pulpit that I really like. I know they will lead us well.
The United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches has become more than a Church for me, they are extended family. People I know who love me for our commonality and our differences. A congregation who loves, laughs, cries and grows together. A congregation that has nurtured me through good and bad.
And now you know why that simple phone call, with a simple statement "go to Church tomorrow" changed my life.
That simple call that had so much power, four words "go to Church tomorrow" the phone call that changed my life.
At 30 something years old, I was still accustomed to listening to my daddy. I didn't always do what he said, but I learned at an early age that he was pretty smart, so on most things I listened. This was one of those days when I listened.
I drove up to UMCPB and made my way into the "Gathering Place," the hall where Church was held. I hobbled in on my crutches and found my way to a seat. The seat I chose was on the right side of the building and there were a number of seniors who came and sat around me. A couple made chit-chat with me and I learned that the gentleman I was speaking to was a retired doctor, so he was very interested in my injury, my surgery and my on-going recovery.
As the service time got near a lady came and sat down beside me, I will never forget. She was dressed in a kelly green skirt and jacket. Those sitting around me all greeted her and she did the same in return. She introduced herself to me as Nancy and welcomed me to the Church.
As services began, Nancy and I shared a hymnal. I think she felt sorry for me, trying to balance myself on crutches was enough of a feat, much less trying to balance a hymnal, myself and the crutches. I felt really comfortable in this Church immediately. The people were friendly, welcoming and you could feel the genuine love amongst the members.
I decided before I left that morning that I would be back. I liked the music, the preaching and the overall feel of the place. Leaving Church that morning I felt better than I had since before my accident.
The following day I hit a really low point emotionally. I don't know what it was but the loneliness of a new town, the injury, everything just kind of hit. Immediately I knew what to do. I called the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches and asked if I could come over and speak to the Pastor.
Within the hour I was sitting in the office of David McEntire. He asked all the obvious questions, what was wrong with my leg, how long I had been on the crutches etc. Then he told me that his wife told him I had a nice voice and that I should be in the choir. His wife?????
What I didn't know at the time.... Nancy, the lady in the green, the lady who held my hymnal. Nancy was the Pastor's wife. That meeting led to a friendship that I will always cherish. David and Nancy McEntire became a pastoral couple who taught me about grace. They taught me what true Christianity is all about and they became family.
Over the years many people at the UMCPB have become like family to me. I have made friendships that will last throughout my life. I have been nurtured, loved, challenged, held accountable and taught by these people.
Now, 12 years later, this Church fills a chunk of my heart that guides me on a daily basis.
David and Nancy are gone, they were transferred a few years back, but we have been blessed by other Pastors who have served our Church well. John, Ken, Bo and Jen, all Associate Pastors who blessed UMCPB during their tenure and into today.
Pastor Jen and Bo remain with us today. I don't see Bo that often as he leads our Korean congregation, but Jen is a major force in my life. The day I got laid off, she was one of my first calls, I just needed to hear her voice. When mama was sick and her time was short, Jen called me more than once just to let me talk. She is now someone I look to for guidance and advice, but most of all she is someone I try to emulate, she lives her life humbly, with grace, compassion and love.... she lives her life the way God intended us all to live our lives.
David was replaced by Pastor Vic as our Senior Pastor. He was with us for 3 years. He had a difficult tenure, but he led us with grace and did his best, no one can ask for more than that.
I lost my job during Pastor Vic's tenure, you know they say "God puts people in your life for specific reasons." Debbi, his wife came to me after the lay-off, she hugged me and told me everything would be ok and for me not to leave Florida. God still had a future for me here, I listened to her.
Now this past summer Pastor Kent and Carla have come to lead our Church, I already like them. They are fun, energetic and Kent has a presence in the pulpit that I really like. I know they will lead us well.
The United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches has become more than a Church for me, they are extended family. People I know who love me for our commonality and our differences. A congregation who loves, laughs, cries and grows together. A congregation that has nurtured me through good and bad.
And now you know why that simple phone call, with a simple statement "go to Church tomorrow" changed my life.
That simple call that had so much power, four words "go to Church tomorrow" the phone call that changed my life.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Phone Call that Changed My Life.... Chapter 3
Making my way into the "Gathering Place" of the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches was a big step for me. I had no idea that this would be the first step of many that would be life altering because of UMCPB.
I grew up in the Church, so attending services wasn't anything I was unaccustomed to. From an early age many of my fondest memories revolved around Clayton Baptist Church. Rev. Sam Letson was my first pastor, his son Sammy one of my best friends.
My Church friends from Clayton Baptist Church were some that I still think of fondly today. Fred, Michael, Patty, Kristina, Tracy, Warren, Brian, Jill and many others. I grew up with these kids. Together we sang in choirs, did musical productions, attended Bible School, led Youth Sunday and so much more.
Whether they knew it or not, these people helped to shape my life. Others shaped my life as well. Winona Gates, a gentle woman who started out as a piano player in my Youth Choir and later became a role model and confidant.
Mrs. Gates is the kind of woman who touches lives by example. No great speeches, no parables, just grace and example. When I go to God's Country I make it a point of seeing Mrs. Gates when I visit CBC.
Standing in the receiving line at the funeral home when mama passed away was incredibly difficult. I remember seeing Mrs. Gates face come around the corner and got a sense of peace, that is the kind of woman Winona Gates is.
I had a Sunday School teacher named Ted Law for several of my formidable years. Coach Law (in addition to being a Sunday School teacher, he was also a High School Basketball Coach) already seemed old when I was a kid, it was probably his grey hair because he wasn't much older than I am now when I first began going to his Sunday School class.
Coach Law challenged our class of boys. He challenged us to be young men, respect others and lead by example, not falling into the wrong crowd.
Another thing Coach Law taught was responsibility.
Sunday School and Church were not something that was done sometimes, it was our responsibility to be in Sunday School and Church EVERY Sunday. For some reason that responsibility made its way into my 10 year old brain and I latched onto it.
The year before my friend Brian had gotten a perfect attendance pin and I decided I wanted one too. That bright shiny pin looked so impressive on the lapel of his jacket and caught the light just so as to glisten when he walked.
I accepted Coach Law's challenge and decided I would receive my perfect attendance pin for Sunday School. I got my initial pin, I also got year two and year three.
Getting to Sunday School every week wasn't always easy, but mama and daddy knew it meant a lot to me. When we were out of town, they found a church where I could attend Sunday School.
When I was 11, I had my tonsils out, mama invited the entire Sunday School to our house for class, just so I wouldn't be counted absent.
When I was 12, a group of families went camping for the weekend. We set up camp on the river. The only way into the campground was with a 4-wheel drive vehicle.
Sunday morning came and as mama and I prepared to leave for Sunday School, all of the kids in the campground decided they were going too.
Instead of taking our Jeep, we all loaded into one of the pick-up trucks there. There were three of us in the front seat with mama driving and 4 boys in the back of the truck. (In the 70's it wasn't that big of a deal for kids to ride in the back of a pick-up truck.)
As we made our way down the small winding dirt road around the river, the truck lost its grip on the road. The next thing you knew we were rolling down an embankment, kids thrown out of the back of the truck and onto the ground.
The wreck looked bad and the truck was totaled, thankfully no one was seriously hurt. Just bruises, a few cuts and some stitches.
I missed Sunday School that week, we all missed Sunday School that week. I was heartbroken, not only were we in a wreck, but my streak was broken, there would be no perfect attendance pin.
Without my knowledge mama spoke to Coach Law and told him we were on our way to Sunday School when we had the wreck.
That year when Perfect Attendance Pins were presented they called my name. It was explained that I did miss a Sunday, but I was on my way and sometimes God puts obstacles in front of us that prevent us from reaching our intended goal.
On an early morning, in the backwoods of North Georgia, as a truck flipped down and embankment, God put one of those challenges in front of me, a challenge that would teach me a lesson I still carry today. It wasn't anything earth shaking, it was a lesson of perseverance.
I could have missed more Sundays after that week, but I didn't. I kept going and didn't miss another week. I was awarded that perfect attendance pin and I never felt like it was a "gimme" I earned it and wore it with pride as the lights flickered off my lapel.
I learned a lot in that Church growing up. The lessons I learned formed me in many ways into who I am today. The cornerstones of my character were molded there in that small Church, with my friends, leaders and examples I still remember today.
As often happens, I moved away from the Church when I was in college. I was experiencing life on my own, learning and accepting who I was and spreading my wings.
As I came to an acceptance of who I am, I wasn't so sure I was welcome in Church. This God who I had been told loved me, allowed his more vocal "followers" to persecute me. Was this really the God of love for everyone or only those who fit a certain mold?
As I searched for answers through my 20's, I longed for Church, but not the narrow-minded "spokespeople" who made up the Church. While living in Atlanta, I made friends with a couple of guys who told me about a Church they were attending.
A Methodist Church in Midtown Atlanta, not far from my house. I attended with them and found a Church where all were welcome, all were loved and the true examples of God I longed for were found.
In that Church I learned that the "spokespeople" who jumped in front of a television camera at every opportunity were not the Christians I would encounter. I learned that true Christians love everyone, we love each for our struggles, our weaknesses, our defeats and our victories.
I learned these Christians were the same ones who loved me as a child, the people who shaped my life and led by example. Through my journey, I learned that where God is truly present, there lies love and grace as well.
I had many examples of that grace throughout my life. On the day that I first walked into the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches, I wondered which Church I would find. The Church of persecution, or the Church of love and grace.
From the moment I walked through the doors, I knew I had found the latter. My walk with Christ has only been strengthened by the UMCPB family and through that journey I have found new leaders, people who lead by example, show love and grace.
Much like my childhood Church home, UMCPB has become my adult Church home, a journey that continues to evolve.
To Be Continued.....
I grew up in the Church, so attending services wasn't anything I was unaccustomed to. From an early age many of my fondest memories revolved around Clayton Baptist Church. Rev. Sam Letson was my first pastor, his son Sammy one of my best friends.
My Church friends from Clayton Baptist Church were some that I still think of fondly today. Fred, Michael, Patty, Kristina, Tracy, Warren, Brian, Jill and many others. I grew up with these kids. Together we sang in choirs, did musical productions, attended Bible School, led Youth Sunday and so much more.
Whether they knew it or not, these people helped to shape my life. Others shaped my life as well. Winona Gates, a gentle woman who started out as a piano player in my Youth Choir and later became a role model and confidant.
Mrs. Gates is the kind of woman who touches lives by example. No great speeches, no parables, just grace and example. When I go to God's Country I make it a point of seeing Mrs. Gates when I visit CBC.
Standing in the receiving line at the funeral home when mama passed away was incredibly difficult. I remember seeing Mrs. Gates face come around the corner and got a sense of peace, that is the kind of woman Winona Gates is.
I had a Sunday School teacher named Ted Law for several of my formidable years. Coach Law (in addition to being a Sunday School teacher, he was also a High School Basketball Coach) already seemed old when I was a kid, it was probably his grey hair because he wasn't much older than I am now when I first began going to his Sunday School class.
Coach Law challenged our class of boys. He challenged us to be young men, respect others and lead by example, not falling into the wrong crowd.
Another thing Coach Law taught was responsibility.
Sunday School and Church were not something that was done sometimes, it was our responsibility to be in Sunday School and Church EVERY Sunday. For some reason that responsibility made its way into my 10 year old brain and I latched onto it.
The year before my friend Brian had gotten a perfect attendance pin and I decided I wanted one too. That bright shiny pin looked so impressive on the lapel of his jacket and caught the light just so as to glisten when he walked.
I accepted Coach Law's challenge and decided I would receive my perfect attendance pin for Sunday School. I got my initial pin, I also got year two and year three.
Getting to Sunday School every week wasn't always easy, but mama and daddy knew it meant a lot to me. When we were out of town, they found a church where I could attend Sunday School.
When I was 11, I had my tonsils out, mama invited the entire Sunday School to our house for class, just so I wouldn't be counted absent.
When I was 12, a group of families went camping for the weekend. We set up camp on the river. The only way into the campground was with a 4-wheel drive vehicle.
Sunday morning came and as mama and I prepared to leave for Sunday School, all of the kids in the campground decided they were going too.
Instead of taking our Jeep, we all loaded into one of the pick-up trucks there. There were three of us in the front seat with mama driving and 4 boys in the back of the truck. (In the 70's it wasn't that big of a deal for kids to ride in the back of a pick-up truck.)
As we made our way down the small winding dirt road around the river, the truck lost its grip on the road. The next thing you knew we were rolling down an embankment, kids thrown out of the back of the truck and onto the ground.
The wreck looked bad and the truck was totaled, thankfully no one was seriously hurt. Just bruises, a few cuts and some stitches.
I missed Sunday School that week, we all missed Sunday School that week. I was heartbroken, not only were we in a wreck, but my streak was broken, there would be no perfect attendance pin.
Without my knowledge mama spoke to Coach Law and told him we were on our way to Sunday School when we had the wreck.
That year when Perfect Attendance Pins were presented they called my name. It was explained that I did miss a Sunday, but I was on my way and sometimes God puts obstacles in front of us that prevent us from reaching our intended goal.
On an early morning, in the backwoods of North Georgia, as a truck flipped down and embankment, God put one of those challenges in front of me, a challenge that would teach me a lesson I still carry today. It wasn't anything earth shaking, it was a lesson of perseverance.
I could have missed more Sundays after that week, but I didn't. I kept going and didn't miss another week. I was awarded that perfect attendance pin and I never felt like it was a "gimme" I earned it and wore it with pride as the lights flickered off my lapel.
I learned a lot in that Church growing up. The lessons I learned formed me in many ways into who I am today. The cornerstones of my character were molded there in that small Church, with my friends, leaders and examples I still remember today.
As often happens, I moved away from the Church when I was in college. I was experiencing life on my own, learning and accepting who I was and spreading my wings.
As I came to an acceptance of who I am, I wasn't so sure I was welcome in Church. This God who I had been told loved me, allowed his more vocal "followers" to persecute me. Was this really the God of love for everyone or only those who fit a certain mold?
As I searched for answers through my 20's, I longed for Church, but not the narrow-minded "spokespeople" who made up the Church. While living in Atlanta, I made friends with a couple of guys who told me about a Church they were attending.
A Methodist Church in Midtown Atlanta, not far from my house. I attended with them and found a Church where all were welcome, all were loved and the true examples of God I longed for were found.
In that Church I learned that the "spokespeople" who jumped in front of a television camera at every opportunity were not the Christians I would encounter. I learned that true Christians love everyone, we love each for our struggles, our weaknesses, our defeats and our victories.
I learned these Christians were the same ones who loved me as a child, the people who shaped my life and led by example. Through my journey, I learned that where God is truly present, there lies love and grace as well.
I had many examples of that grace throughout my life. On the day that I first walked into the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches, I wondered which Church I would find. The Church of persecution, or the Church of love and grace.
From the moment I walked through the doors, I knew I had found the latter. My walk with Christ has only been strengthened by the UMCPB family and through that journey I have found new leaders, people who lead by example, show love and grace.
Much like my childhood Church home, UMCPB has become my adult Church home, a journey that continues to evolve.
To Be Continued.....
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The Phone Call that Changed My Life.... Chapter 2
After surgery I was extremely weak. The last week of injury, ice and surgery had really taken its toll. Here I was back in my parents house, on the pull-out sofa in the living room.
Pull-out sofas are not comfortable, as you probably know there always seems to be an iron bar that goes right across the small of your back. Mama and daddy's pull-out was no different. Day and night I stayed on the sofa, but eventually I was able to move about more and more.
I had never been on crutches and they took some getting used to. I was anxious to get back to Florida, but also knew it would be a while before I came back.
After surgery on the 7th, I had a doctor appointment on the 21st, so my short four day vacation in God's Country had now turned into a month long Groundhog Day experience of pain, sofa bed, pain, sofa bed and on and on.
Daddy knew I was anxious to get back to Florida, but he also knew better than I did that I wasn't ready to go. He gave me a challenge. As soon as I could walk to the top of our driveway hill I would be ready to go back.
I was weak, but day after day I began to try to accomplish the task of going up the hill. The first day, I barely made it out of the garage. Each day I got stronger, eventually making it to the top of the long driveway hill within about a week.
My strength was returning and I was getting much better on the crutches. We had an appointment on the 21st with my doctor, so a few days before that, mama, daddy and I all felt comfortable that we could make a plane reservation for the 23rd.
The 21st came and we made it to my doctor appointment. For the first time since my surgery the doctor removed my cast and bandages. When everything was exposed I saw my scar, an 8 inch "L" shaped scar now adorned my beautiful foot.
After getting the cast off, my doctor found a referral for me in WPB and two days later I was on a plane headed back to Florida.
My first big challenge on the return home was to conquer the 17 steps that led up to my 2nd story apartment. I made it and eventually learned to drive with my left foot. I was coming along back in Florida.
The catering job was gone because I couldn't do anything, but that was ok, my main focus now was on getting well.
Four days per week I went to physical therapy, the rest of the time I spent moving slowly and trying to get around.
I found through this experience just how nice people can be. I had doors held for me by little old women, I learned to drive one of the motorized buggies at the grocery and often had people get items on uppper shelves that I couldn't reach. The kindness of strangers took on a whole new meaning during this time period.
As I began to get better each day, I also became depressed. Here I was in a town where I knew no one, I didn't have a job, I couldn't go to the beach and I had several more months on the crutches before I would be able to get around like I did before.
I looked for a job during this time, had a few interviews, but whenever I came hobbling in it was obvious by looking at the interviewer that I wouldn't be coming back for a second interview.
I was frustrated, I was angry, I was depressed and I was beginning to think I had made a mistake by moving to Florida.
Through it all my family tried to keep my spirits up, but it wasn't working, I was at a very low point in my life.
One Saturday night I was on the phone with mama and daddy. The conversation was pretty typical and then at the end of the conversation daddy said something, he said something that would change my life forever....
"you know that big Church behind the TGIF Friday's restaurant", my response was "yes." Then daddy said.... "why don't you go to Church in the morning?"
I was non-committal but the next morning I woke up, got dressed and made my way to the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches. I went in, sat down, and before I left I knew it that phone call from the night before had just changed me, changed me in a way that would soon make me realize it would all be ok!
To Be Continued....
Pull-out sofas are not comfortable, as you probably know there always seems to be an iron bar that goes right across the small of your back. Mama and daddy's pull-out was no different. Day and night I stayed on the sofa, but eventually I was able to move about more and more.
I had never been on crutches and they took some getting used to. I was anxious to get back to Florida, but also knew it would be a while before I came back.
After surgery on the 7th, I had a doctor appointment on the 21st, so my short four day vacation in God's Country had now turned into a month long Groundhog Day experience of pain, sofa bed, pain, sofa bed and on and on.
Daddy knew I was anxious to get back to Florida, but he also knew better than I did that I wasn't ready to go. He gave me a challenge. As soon as I could walk to the top of our driveway hill I would be ready to go back.
I was weak, but day after day I began to try to accomplish the task of going up the hill. The first day, I barely made it out of the garage. Each day I got stronger, eventually making it to the top of the long driveway hill within about a week.
My strength was returning and I was getting much better on the crutches. We had an appointment on the 21st with my doctor, so a few days before that, mama, daddy and I all felt comfortable that we could make a plane reservation for the 23rd.
The 21st came and we made it to my doctor appointment. For the first time since my surgery the doctor removed my cast and bandages. When everything was exposed I saw my scar, an 8 inch "L" shaped scar now adorned my beautiful foot.
After getting the cast off, my doctor found a referral for me in WPB and two days later I was on a plane headed back to Florida.
My first big challenge on the return home was to conquer the 17 steps that led up to my 2nd story apartment. I made it and eventually learned to drive with my left foot. I was coming along back in Florida.
The catering job was gone because I couldn't do anything, but that was ok, my main focus now was on getting well.
Four days per week I went to physical therapy, the rest of the time I spent moving slowly and trying to get around.
I found through this experience just how nice people can be. I had doors held for me by little old women, I learned to drive one of the motorized buggies at the grocery and often had people get items on uppper shelves that I couldn't reach. The kindness of strangers took on a whole new meaning during this time period.
As I began to get better each day, I also became depressed. Here I was in a town where I knew no one, I didn't have a job, I couldn't go to the beach and I had several more months on the crutches before I would be able to get around like I did before.
I looked for a job during this time, had a few interviews, but whenever I came hobbling in it was obvious by looking at the interviewer that I wouldn't be coming back for a second interview.
I was frustrated, I was angry, I was depressed and I was beginning to think I had made a mistake by moving to Florida.
Through it all my family tried to keep my spirits up, but it wasn't working, I was at a very low point in my life.
One Saturday night I was on the phone with mama and daddy. The conversation was pretty typical and then at the end of the conversation daddy said something, he said something that would change my life forever....
"you know that big Church behind the TGIF Friday's restaurant", my response was "yes." Then daddy said.... "why don't you go to Church in the morning?"
I was non-committal but the next morning I woke up, got dressed and made my way to the United Methodist Church of the Palm Beaches. I went in, sat down, and before I left I knew it that phone call from the night before had just changed me, changed me in a way that would soon make me realize it would all be ok!
To Be Continued....
Saturday, August 7, 2010
The Phone Call That Changed My Life....
Right after the 1996 Summer Olympic Games I needed a change of pace. Atlanta had been in the spotlight since 1990 when the Games were awarded and for those years we had all been gearing up for what was to come.
At the conclusion of the Olympics there was a tremendous let down, sadness and depression throughout the city. There was a feeling of now what? I had the same feeling on a more personal level.
Working in the special events industry, the Olympics were the epitome of a career for most people, here I was at 32 thinking, ok, what now? I needed a new adventure.
For years I had held a love affair with the beach. Immediately after the Games I took a trip to Florida, by myself just to unwind. What I found in Florida was the beginning of my "now what" because within weeks I was packing my bags and moving to sunny South Florida, West Palm Beach to be exact.
The beginning of this adventure was going to be huge, I was moving to a place where I knew no one. I would either thrive or fumble on my own.
I had gotten a piddly job working for a catering company to help me find my way. I hated working at the catering company, but loved south Florida, I knew that once I found a job I could enjoy I would be set.
A couple of months after my arrival, mama, daddy and gramps came for a visit to see my new home. A few months later mama and daddy came again, they could tell I was happy here and even though it was too far from God's Country for their taste they were supportive of my move.
At the end of June I had gathered up enough days to take a vacation. I packed my bags, hopped a plane and headed home, to see my family. The plan was to spend the Fourth of July holiday with family and then come back to WPB for work...... that was "the plan!"
It had been a while since I had been to God's Country and not long after I arrived mama told me she had one job she needed me to do while I was home. I told her of course and she said that "one of the screens had come off the upstairs window and she needed me to put it back on." Simple enough.
The next day, July 1st I decided it was time to re-attach the screen. Mama and daddy didn't have a ladder and I decided I didn't need on. Without saying anything to anyone, I went into the upstairs bathroom, opened the window and climbed out onto the roof.
I put the screen back into place and then it happened. I felt myself slipping, when I began slipping I jumped. When I hit the ground I landed on both feet, but immediately knew something was wrong from the pop I heard when I landed.
Intense pain surged through my body and all I could do was yell for daddy.
Mama first and then daddy made their way to the front lawn, finding me in a heap writhing in pain. What did you do was their first question, their second question was WHY????
I let them know quickly that this wasn't the time for a long drawn out talk, we needed to get to the hospital pronto. Daddy and I got into the car and made our way to the hospital, leaving mama at home to, well.... call everyone she knew to tell them that Ken was hurt.
By the time we made it to the emergency room, my foot was swollen and burning with pain. I knew this was more than a sprain, this was something serious. I had never had a broken bone, but was pretty sure I had one now.
Not long after daddy and I arrived at the hospital, Sam and mama made their way in. After checking out my foot, the doctor told us his recommendation was for us to go to a Regional Hospital about 40 miles away as they could give me better care.
An ambulance was offered, but we decided to load me into the backseat of mama and daddy's Oldsmobile and head south. By this time I had been given a shot for pain, so I was drifting, the backseat of the car as opposed to an ambulance was just fine with me.
We met a doctor at the Regional Hospital and he advised that I had broken my heel. My heel??? Who breaks a heel? Evidently I do!
Not only did I break it, the impact of me on the ground basically made my heel explode inside my body, it was in lots of pieces.
So now we know what is wrong, how do we fix it and fix it fast, I have to be back in WPB in less than a week. As if my day wasn't already bad enough the doctor had some more news for me.
The swelling in my foot was so great that he couldn't do surgery until it had subsided, this meant I would be going home and icing my foot to get the swelling down. Ok, ice the foot, we will see you tomorrow..... ummmm, NO..... we will see you on the 7th. The 7th!?!?!? That is a week away.
Yes, I would be coming back in one week for surgery. The instructions from the doctor, keep my foot elevated and iced for a week. Yes, iced for a week!
That is exactly what I did, for one week, day and night I kept ice on my foot. I slept and lived on a sofa bed in the living room. The 4th of July came and went, no fireworks for me and finally the morning of the 7th arrived.
Mama, daddy and I made our way to the hospital, surgery was scheduled for early afternoon. I would be in the hospital for a day or so, depending on how well I did.
When we got to my assigned room, mama told the nurse that she would need a blanket as she would be staying in my room with me. "Now mama that is silly, I am a grown man, I can stay here by myself, you go home with daddy."
My direction fell on deaf ears, mama was going to stay and I was just going to have to like it.
After surgery I woke up in the big hospital room. I soon found out that the surgery was a success, I was now the recipient of a bone graft, 7 screws and a metal plate which made up my heel.
At some point during the night I woke up, in horrible pain. The first face I saw was mama, she was bent over my bed, stroking my head, offering me water.... I was really glad she stayed!
The next morning the nurse came into my room bright and early, she advised me that I had to pee.
I told her I didn't need to pee, and she advised me that my needs didn't matter, I HAD to pee.
My bladder had not done anything since my surgery, she was getting off in an hour and she would be back in 30 minutes, if I had not pee'd she would insert a catheter and I WOULD pee.
I had never had a catheter, but I knew I didn't want one, so for the next few minutes I drank as much water as I could stand and eventually pee'd a few drops.
When she came back in she laughed and told me "I thought you would see it my way!"
In a couple of days I went home, back to the sleeper sofa. My return to WPB had come and gone, now I was in recovery land on the sofa in my childhood living room for God only knew how long......
To Be Continued......
(Side Note, thank you all so much for the notes and gentle pushes in person you have given me to continue the Blog. In all honesty, since mama died it has been a chore, but I am going to continue and thank you all for encouraging me to do so!)
At the conclusion of the Olympics there was a tremendous let down, sadness and depression throughout the city. There was a feeling of now what? I had the same feeling on a more personal level.
Working in the special events industry, the Olympics were the epitome of a career for most people, here I was at 32 thinking, ok, what now? I needed a new adventure.
For years I had held a love affair with the beach. Immediately after the Games I took a trip to Florida, by myself just to unwind. What I found in Florida was the beginning of my "now what" because within weeks I was packing my bags and moving to sunny South Florida, West Palm Beach to be exact.
The beginning of this adventure was going to be huge, I was moving to a place where I knew no one. I would either thrive or fumble on my own.
I had gotten a piddly job working for a catering company to help me find my way. I hated working at the catering company, but loved south Florida, I knew that once I found a job I could enjoy I would be set.
A couple of months after my arrival, mama, daddy and gramps came for a visit to see my new home. A few months later mama and daddy came again, they could tell I was happy here and even though it was too far from God's Country for their taste they were supportive of my move.
At the end of June I had gathered up enough days to take a vacation. I packed my bags, hopped a plane and headed home, to see my family. The plan was to spend the Fourth of July holiday with family and then come back to WPB for work...... that was "the plan!"
It had been a while since I had been to God's Country and not long after I arrived mama told me she had one job she needed me to do while I was home. I told her of course and she said that "one of the screens had come off the upstairs window and she needed me to put it back on." Simple enough.
The next day, July 1st I decided it was time to re-attach the screen. Mama and daddy didn't have a ladder and I decided I didn't need on. Without saying anything to anyone, I went into the upstairs bathroom, opened the window and climbed out onto the roof.
I put the screen back into place and then it happened. I felt myself slipping, when I began slipping I jumped. When I hit the ground I landed on both feet, but immediately knew something was wrong from the pop I heard when I landed.
Intense pain surged through my body and all I could do was yell for daddy.
Mama first and then daddy made their way to the front lawn, finding me in a heap writhing in pain. What did you do was their first question, their second question was WHY????
I let them know quickly that this wasn't the time for a long drawn out talk, we needed to get to the hospital pronto. Daddy and I got into the car and made our way to the hospital, leaving mama at home to, well.... call everyone she knew to tell them that Ken was hurt.
By the time we made it to the emergency room, my foot was swollen and burning with pain. I knew this was more than a sprain, this was something serious. I had never had a broken bone, but was pretty sure I had one now.
Not long after daddy and I arrived at the hospital, Sam and mama made their way in. After checking out my foot, the doctor told us his recommendation was for us to go to a Regional Hospital about 40 miles away as they could give me better care.
An ambulance was offered, but we decided to load me into the backseat of mama and daddy's Oldsmobile and head south. By this time I had been given a shot for pain, so I was drifting, the backseat of the car as opposed to an ambulance was just fine with me.
We met a doctor at the Regional Hospital and he advised that I had broken my heel. My heel??? Who breaks a heel? Evidently I do!
Not only did I break it, the impact of me on the ground basically made my heel explode inside my body, it was in lots of pieces.
So now we know what is wrong, how do we fix it and fix it fast, I have to be back in WPB in less than a week. As if my day wasn't already bad enough the doctor had some more news for me.
The swelling in my foot was so great that he couldn't do surgery until it had subsided, this meant I would be going home and icing my foot to get the swelling down. Ok, ice the foot, we will see you tomorrow..... ummmm, NO..... we will see you on the 7th. The 7th!?!?!? That is a week away.
Yes, I would be coming back in one week for surgery. The instructions from the doctor, keep my foot elevated and iced for a week. Yes, iced for a week!
That is exactly what I did, for one week, day and night I kept ice on my foot. I slept and lived on a sofa bed in the living room. The 4th of July came and went, no fireworks for me and finally the morning of the 7th arrived.
Mama, daddy and I made our way to the hospital, surgery was scheduled for early afternoon. I would be in the hospital for a day or so, depending on how well I did.
When we got to my assigned room, mama told the nurse that she would need a blanket as she would be staying in my room with me. "Now mama that is silly, I am a grown man, I can stay here by myself, you go home with daddy."
My direction fell on deaf ears, mama was going to stay and I was just going to have to like it.
After surgery I woke up in the big hospital room. I soon found out that the surgery was a success, I was now the recipient of a bone graft, 7 screws and a metal plate which made up my heel.
At some point during the night I woke up, in horrible pain. The first face I saw was mama, she was bent over my bed, stroking my head, offering me water.... I was really glad she stayed!
The next morning the nurse came into my room bright and early, she advised me that I had to pee.
I told her I didn't need to pee, and she advised me that my needs didn't matter, I HAD to pee.
My bladder had not done anything since my surgery, she was getting off in an hour and she would be back in 30 minutes, if I had not pee'd she would insert a catheter and I WOULD pee.
I had never had a catheter, but I knew I didn't want one, so for the next few minutes I drank as much water as I could stand and eventually pee'd a few drops.
When she came back in she laughed and told me "I thought you would see it my way!"
In a couple of days I went home, back to the sleeper sofa. My return to WPB had come and gone, now I was in recovery land on the sofa in my childhood living room for God only knew how long......
To Be Continued......
(Side Note, thank you all so much for the notes and gentle pushes in person you have given me to continue the Blog. In all honesty, since mama died it has been a chore, but I am going to continue and thank you all for encouraging me to do so!)
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Grief
Grief is a strange thing. One moment you are ok, or at least you THINK you are ok and the next, something can hit you that opens up a deep pain that you didn't even know you could feel.
Since mama passed, I have been going through this roller-coaster of emotions and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. If anything it gets worse. The slightest thing will trigger my eyes to fill with tears, a commercial, a smell, anything and everything, it just hits a nerve.
This past Sunday, we got word that my Aunt had passed away, although we weren't particularly close, that news put me in a tail-spin right back to those days n God's Country with mama during her final days and burial.
I constantly want to pick up the phone and call her, but I can't, so in those moments I just talk to her. I speak with daddy every morning and that is a blessing I cherish.
Mama has been gone now for three months, but the wound of her loss is still fresh and some days it gets deeper and deeper. I am constantly reminded of her and I cherish every one of those memories and know that one day we will all be reunited.
I also know she is with me every moment of every day, but that doesn't take away the pain. I just want to hear her voice, I want to hear her say "I love you" or call me "baby".... I just want my mama!
Some things probably aren't appropriate for a blog post, and this may be one of them, but I need to get it out and for me writing it down is therapeutic, I realize this rambles, but it is how it is coming out, so accept my apologies, this one is more for me than anyone else.
Daddy and Sam are wonderful and I appreciate being able to lean on them, but I am a mama's boy and nothing or no one can completely take her place. I got through the funeral and planning and death better than I thought I would, but now as things are quieted down, as life has moved on and things are supposed to be back to normal, this new normal is difficult at best. I am trying and know I will get through, but at certain times and certain moments the sadness is overwhelming.
Grief is a strange thing, you think you are making progress and then the mack-truck of sadness runs into you face to face. I hate those moments, but also know that if I didn't love her so much and she didn't love me so much the pain wouldn't be as hard.
For the memories and joy mama gave me through life, this pain is worth it. But this pain is hard and will take forever to mend.
Since mama passed, I have been going through this roller-coaster of emotions and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. If anything it gets worse. The slightest thing will trigger my eyes to fill with tears, a commercial, a smell, anything and everything, it just hits a nerve.
This past Sunday, we got word that my Aunt had passed away, although we weren't particularly close, that news put me in a tail-spin right back to those days n God's Country with mama during her final days and burial.
I constantly want to pick up the phone and call her, but I can't, so in those moments I just talk to her. I speak with daddy every morning and that is a blessing I cherish.
Mama has been gone now for three months, but the wound of her loss is still fresh and some days it gets deeper and deeper. I am constantly reminded of her and I cherish every one of those memories and know that one day we will all be reunited.
I also know she is with me every moment of every day, but that doesn't take away the pain. I just want to hear her voice, I want to hear her say "I love you" or call me "baby".... I just want my mama!
Some things probably aren't appropriate for a blog post, and this may be one of them, but I need to get it out and for me writing it down is therapeutic, I realize this rambles, but it is how it is coming out, so accept my apologies, this one is more for me than anyone else.
Daddy and Sam are wonderful and I appreciate being able to lean on them, but I am a mama's boy and nothing or no one can completely take her place. I got through the funeral and planning and death better than I thought I would, but now as things are quieted down, as life has moved on and things are supposed to be back to normal, this new normal is difficult at best. I am trying and know I will get through, but at certain times and certain moments the sadness is overwhelming.
Grief is a strange thing, you think you are making progress and then the mack-truck of sadness runs into you face to face. I hate those moments, but also know that if I didn't love her so much and she didn't love me so much the pain wouldn't be as hard.
For the memories and joy mama gave me through life, this pain is worth it. But this pain is hard and will take forever to mend.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Child of Miracles
Eighteen months ago I was in a meeting at Church. The meeting was like most others and to be honest I don't even remember what we discussed that night, but what happened during and after that meeting gave me a renewed sense of faith, grace and love unlike most anything I have ever seen in my life.
Just a month or so earlier, our Pastor Jen had shared the news with our congregation that she was expecting her first child. The congregation was overjoyed for Jen and her husband Mike, also a Methodist Pastor at a nearby church.
On the night of our meeting several of us noticed Pastor Jen appearing to be run-down and tired. Some even mentioned it to her. As the meeting concluded, I walked to the parking lot with Jen and we spoke briefly about how she just wasn't feeling well. As we usually do, we departed with a hug and I told her to get some rest.
Unbeknownst to me and the rest of the congregation, that ride home for Jen would change her life forever. After a call to her on-call doctor, Jen was informed to pack an overnight bag and get to the hospital.
Following doctor's orders she and Mike soon arrived at the hospital and doctor's began to do their work. Over the next few days it was determined that not only was the babies life in danger, but also Pastor Jen's.
Word of Pastor Jen's difficulties began to seep out into our community of faith and we all began to pray for her, Mike and their unborn child. Following a couple of days of ups and downs, Jen was transferred to another hospital and she delivered Luke, just over 1 lb at birth.
It was apparent from the beginning that Pastor Jen, Pastor Mike and baby Luke were in for a battle. Doctor's weren't very encouraging, but one thing that baby Luke had on his side was a community of faith that lifted he and his parents up.
We began to pray for baby Luke, we spread the word about baby Luke to other churches and we continued to pray. We prayed through dark days, days when it seemed inevitable that God's will wasn't for baby Luke to live. Facebook pages were formed for prayer and updates, blue ribbons were worn in solidarity with baby Luke and we turned it over to God for a miracle, to deliver baby Luke from harm.
During his early months, baby Luke was transferred from a local hospital to a regional hospital in Miami that could give him more intense care. We continued to pray and Pastor Jen and Pastor Mike made the trip daily to see their little boy and spend time with him.
One night during a bible study I was attending, Pastor Jen got word that she needed to get to Miami immediately. As word spread of this news, again we began to pray.
As time went along, it sometimes was confusing what we were praying for, but we kept praying.
Months passed and Luke began to improve, bit by bit his small body began to respond to treatments and he began to grow. First Christmas, birthday, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and Father's Day were all held in a hospital NICU unit, but although they were reserved just for family, the faithful celebrated these milestones from miles away.
Finally, as if God had smiled on this little angel, Luke came home. He was released from the hospital with a mom and dad who had spent far too many hours confined to a hospital to enjoy their newborn;s birth. He came home.
This time we prayed a prayer of Thanksgiving..... another milestone met.
Today, several months after his initial homecoming, Luke was brought to another home. For the first time he was introduced to our congregation and his baptism was reaffirmed before one of his Church families. Again we prayed and we cried, but we also smiled today. Today a miracle child was in our midst and a proud mother and father shared the pulpit to preach the word of Luke's life and the lessons learned through his life.
We continue to pray for Luke, for the young boy he is and the young man he will become. We will continue to pray and celebrate the milestones.
Baby Luke is home, the blue ribbons no longer adorn our wrist and the Facebook page doesn't get much traffic any longer, but the prayers remain for a miracle child who taught us all about faith, perseverance, love, grace and prayer.
Welcome to the family baby Luke, we look forward to seeing where God leads you and your parents as you continue to journey.
Just a month or so earlier, our Pastor Jen had shared the news with our congregation that she was expecting her first child. The congregation was overjoyed for Jen and her husband Mike, also a Methodist Pastor at a nearby church.
On the night of our meeting several of us noticed Pastor Jen appearing to be run-down and tired. Some even mentioned it to her. As the meeting concluded, I walked to the parking lot with Jen and we spoke briefly about how she just wasn't feeling well. As we usually do, we departed with a hug and I told her to get some rest.
Unbeknownst to me and the rest of the congregation, that ride home for Jen would change her life forever. After a call to her on-call doctor, Jen was informed to pack an overnight bag and get to the hospital.
Following doctor's orders she and Mike soon arrived at the hospital and doctor's began to do their work. Over the next few days it was determined that not only was the babies life in danger, but also Pastor Jen's.
Word of Pastor Jen's difficulties began to seep out into our community of faith and we all began to pray for her, Mike and their unborn child. Following a couple of days of ups and downs, Jen was transferred to another hospital and she delivered Luke, just over 1 lb at birth.
It was apparent from the beginning that Pastor Jen, Pastor Mike and baby Luke were in for a battle. Doctor's weren't very encouraging, but one thing that baby Luke had on his side was a community of faith that lifted he and his parents up.
We began to pray for baby Luke, we spread the word about baby Luke to other churches and we continued to pray. We prayed through dark days, days when it seemed inevitable that God's will wasn't for baby Luke to live. Facebook pages were formed for prayer and updates, blue ribbons were worn in solidarity with baby Luke and we turned it over to God for a miracle, to deliver baby Luke from harm.
During his early months, baby Luke was transferred from a local hospital to a regional hospital in Miami that could give him more intense care. We continued to pray and Pastor Jen and Pastor Mike made the trip daily to see their little boy and spend time with him.
One night during a bible study I was attending, Pastor Jen got word that she needed to get to Miami immediately. As word spread of this news, again we began to pray.
As time went along, it sometimes was confusing what we were praying for, but we kept praying.
Months passed and Luke began to improve, bit by bit his small body began to respond to treatments and he began to grow. First Christmas, birthday, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and Father's Day were all held in a hospital NICU unit, but although they were reserved just for family, the faithful celebrated these milestones from miles away.
Finally, as if God had smiled on this little angel, Luke came home. He was released from the hospital with a mom and dad who had spent far too many hours confined to a hospital to enjoy their newborn;s birth. He came home.
This time we prayed a prayer of Thanksgiving..... another milestone met.
Today, several months after his initial homecoming, Luke was brought to another home. For the first time he was introduced to our congregation and his baptism was reaffirmed before one of his Church families. Again we prayed and we cried, but we also smiled today. Today a miracle child was in our midst and a proud mother and father shared the pulpit to preach the word of Luke's life and the lessons learned through his life.
We continue to pray for Luke, for the young boy he is and the young man he will become. We will continue to pray and celebrate the milestones.
Baby Luke is home, the blue ribbons no longer adorn our wrist and the Facebook page doesn't get much traffic any longer, but the prayers remain for a miracle child who taught us all about faith, perseverance, love, grace and prayer.
Welcome to the family baby Luke, we look forward to seeing where God leads you and your parents as you continue to journey.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Chelsea
After years of waiting Sam finally called me with the news, Donna was pregnant! I had been wanting a niece or nephew since I was old enough to know what one was.
Sam and Donna waited until my patience had grown thin to get married and then waited a couple of years to get pregnant.... what was the wait? Didn't they know that I needed a little bundle of joy in the family?
So finally, the time had come, I was going to have a baby to play with. It never occurred to me that Sam and Donna would be the parents, all I knew was I was getting a baby.... FINALLY!
The next few months were filled with anticipation, if she were a girl I would groom her to be Miss America, if it was a boy, I would groom him to be President of the United States..... I was in a state of euphoria planning how I would impact this child's life.
Finally the day arrived, Sam called early in the morning and said Donna was in labor. I took the day off to be with family at the hospital. We were all there mama, daddy, Donna's mama and daddy, Donna's sister we paced the floors of Northeast Georgia Medical Center just waiting.
We waited for hours. I couldn't believe how long it was taking and I felt for Donna for the labor she must be going through. Later I found out Donna slept through most of the labor after she received her epidural.
When the moment arrived, Sam came out to tell us, "it's a girl." A girl! A girl?
Secretly I had wished for a girl, but when the words came out of his mouth I was a bit worried.... what are we supposed to do with a girl? We are a family of boys, we don't know anything about girls!
But we had one, a girl, Chelsea Leigh Rumsey, born May 8th, 1990.
I quickly learned that Chelsea was not mine, she belonged to her daddy and her grand-daddy. If two men could ever be wrapped around the small pudgy fingers of a child they were. This little girl would just look at them both and they would melt....and they still do to this day.
From day one Chelsea was her own person, she makes her own decisions, she stands strong behind her values and she is unwavering in her opinions.
Chelsea is a mix of soft blond beauty and rough and tumble tomboy. Today she is a statuesque college student who enjoys being in a sorority but also lets me know with no apologies that she can kick my butt.
I didn't get my Miss America, but what I did get was a sweet, funny niece who values her friends and family. A young lady who has her head on straight and always stands by what is right, not what is popular. I'll take that over Miss America any day!
Happy Birthday Chelsea, you make your family proud!
Sam and Donna waited until my patience had grown thin to get married and then waited a couple of years to get pregnant.... what was the wait? Didn't they know that I needed a little bundle of joy in the family?
So finally, the time had come, I was going to have a baby to play with. It never occurred to me that Sam and Donna would be the parents, all I knew was I was getting a baby.... FINALLY!
The next few months were filled with anticipation, if she were a girl I would groom her to be Miss America, if it was a boy, I would groom him to be President of the United States..... I was in a state of euphoria planning how I would impact this child's life.
Finally the day arrived, Sam called early in the morning and said Donna was in labor. I took the day off to be with family at the hospital. We were all there mama, daddy, Donna's mama and daddy, Donna's sister we paced the floors of Northeast Georgia Medical Center just waiting.
We waited for hours. I couldn't believe how long it was taking and I felt for Donna for the labor she must be going through. Later I found out Donna slept through most of the labor after she received her epidural.
When the moment arrived, Sam came out to tell us, "it's a girl." A girl! A girl?
Secretly I had wished for a girl, but when the words came out of his mouth I was a bit worried.... what are we supposed to do with a girl? We are a family of boys, we don't know anything about girls!
But we had one, a girl, Chelsea Leigh Rumsey, born May 8th, 1990.
I quickly learned that Chelsea was not mine, she belonged to her daddy and her grand-daddy. If two men could ever be wrapped around the small pudgy fingers of a child they were. This little girl would just look at them both and they would melt....and they still do to this day.
From day one Chelsea was her own person, she makes her own decisions, she stands strong behind her values and she is unwavering in her opinions.
Chelsea is a mix of soft blond beauty and rough and tumble tomboy. Today she is a statuesque college student who enjoys being in a sorority but also lets me know with no apologies that she can kick my butt.
I didn't get my Miss America, but what I did get was a sweet, funny niece who values her friends and family. A young lady who has her head on straight and always stands by what is right, not what is popular. I'll take that over Miss America any day!
Happy Birthday Chelsea, you make your family proud!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Gift
I was born on April 28th, 1964... yes, I will be 46 this week. Daddy was born 33 years prior, I was born on his birthday.
Growing up friends and family never made me feel like my birthday was HIS birthday nor his birthday MY birthday, we celebrated together but it was always made special for each of us.
On my 12th birthday and Daddy's 45th mama threw a surprise party for us both. I went home with a friend after school and daddy went somewhere. When we got home later that afternoon all the neighbors and friends for each of us was there.
That birthday mama and daddy gave me a motorcycle. I never asked for a motorcycle, but I got one. I rode it sporadically at best, but daddy LOVED riding that motorcycle and it quickly became more his gift than mine, which was appropriate.
For years that motorcycle sat in the garage and every now and then daddy would take it for a ride. Every now and again he tells us he is going to buy another one, which I quickly explain to him is not a good idea!
Since I was little, daddy has always told me I was the best gift he ever got for his birthday.... that's pretty nice praise for a child.
I may not have always realized it, but getting him for a daddy was the best gift I ever got for my birthday as well. I was born to a man who honors his family above all else, a man who loves, laughs and lives life to the fullest.
Daddy is an example of what a father should be.
I didn't always understand that and sometimes when he was tough on me, I thought I was cursed, but then you grow up and realize his influence and strong hand and stronger love shaped me into the man I am today.
As a teacher and Coach, daddy molded hundreds of kids in the mountains of God's Country into the adults they are today, generation after generation has been touched by his influence, strong hand and love.
It is nice to look back at 46 and see the man I called daddy as an influence in so many lives. I used to be jealous that so many students had his time, today I realize, he has so much to give; if only Sam and I would have gotten it his gift for life would have been wasted.
I am the one who got the best birthday gift, the gift of love, laughter and respect for the man who has lived his life giving to so many.
Happy Birthday Daddy, I love you!
Growing up friends and family never made me feel like my birthday was HIS birthday nor his birthday MY birthday, we celebrated together but it was always made special for each of us.
On my 12th birthday and Daddy's 45th mama threw a surprise party for us both. I went home with a friend after school and daddy went somewhere. When we got home later that afternoon all the neighbors and friends for each of us was there.
That birthday mama and daddy gave me a motorcycle. I never asked for a motorcycle, but I got one. I rode it sporadically at best, but daddy LOVED riding that motorcycle and it quickly became more his gift than mine, which was appropriate.
For years that motorcycle sat in the garage and every now and then daddy would take it for a ride. Every now and again he tells us he is going to buy another one, which I quickly explain to him is not a good idea!
Since I was little, daddy has always told me I was the best gift he ever got for his birthday.... that's pretty nice praise for a child.
I may not have always realized it, but getting him for a daddy was the best gift I ever got for my birthday as well. I was born to a man who honors his family above all else, a man who loves, laughs and lives life to the fullest.
Daddy is an example of what a father should be.
I didn't always understand that and sometimes when he was tough on me, I thought I was cursed, but then you grow up and realize his influence and strong hand and stronger love shaped me into the man I am today.
As a teacher and Coach, daddy molded hundreds of kids in the mountains of God's Country into the adults they are today, generation after generation has been touched by his influence, strong hand and love.
It is nice to look back at 46 and see the man I called daddy as an influence in so many lives. I used to be jealous that so many students had his time, today I realize, he has so much to give; if only Sam and I would have gotten it his gift for life would have been wasted.
I am the one who got the best birthday gift, the gift of love, laughter and respect for the man who has lived his life giving to so many.
Happy Birthday Daddy, I love you!
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Listening
Today I had two friends ask me if I had posted on my blog recently, sadly the answer was no. In all honesty I haven't felt like writing.
Since mama died, the thought of writing anything here has terrified me. She loved this blog and I couldn't wait to share each story with her, now without her being here to read, it just isn't as much fun to write.
But here I go, although I have no idea what I am about to write, let me begin....
Everyone told me that losing a parent would be hard, I never could have imagined just how hard. Mama died on February 21st, today is April 18th and the emotions are still just as raw as they were the moment I knew she was gone.
My faith, my family and my friends have gotten me through this. But not a single moment of a single day has gone by since she passed that I haven't thought of her. I just want to pick up the phone and hear her voice. I want to hear her say she loves me and I want to know that I am going to see her again.
On the outside I seem pretty together, on the inside I am a mess. I go about my day everyday and keep a brave face, but a simple commercial or moment on tv can have me in tears.
The final thing our family did together was celebrate Communion, or the Lord's Supper. It was mama's wish, that someone from the Church come to the house and serve us this blessed meal together. So on Saturday the 20th, a Deacon from mama and daddy's Church came to the house and served us the Lord's meal as a family. Mama was already slowly making her journey home, but we surrounded her bed, as a family, and took part in the Lord's feast, that memory will be with me forever.
My Church serves communion on the first Sunday of each month, I missed it in March because I was busy with my election campaign. (To be honest, I was not in any place emotionally to go to Church and have Communion that week.)
On Maundy Thursday, I was in Church and had to leave the room when Communion was being prepared because I wasn't ready yet.
Last Sunday, we served Communion, the second Sunday of the month because Easter fell on the first. I took Communion and the warmth and love I felt as I took the bread and wine was palpable, I knew my mama was with me. It was emotional, but I got through it.
Easter was tough. Daddy came down for the day and as wonderful as it was to be with him, the empty seat was painful to see.
Daddy and I talk every morning, it is wonderful to hear his voice and we have been there for each other through all of this.
Daddy and I will both celebrate our birthdays on the 28th of this month, another first.
All these first seem like they are difficult, but I imagine the seconds and thirds and fourths are going to be just as hard. Mama was my rock, the person I always knew I could talk to and now she is gone. Now I talk to her in my mind and in my prayers and sometimes I just talk out loud to her, I just wish I could hear her answer.
A couple of weeks ago she did answer, although I had no idea she had until a friend of mine told me. I had an event on the 9th that I was responsible for. About 10 minutes before the event began I was running around getting everything finalized when I got a text from Sam.
The text was a picture of the headstone on mama's grave that had been put in that day. Of course I lost it but regained my composure and kept going with my event.
A few days later I was relaying the story to my friend Beth when she said "you know what that was don't you, that was your mama telling you she was with you." Beth was right, although I don't hear her voice any longer she still communicates to me... I just need to find the new way of listening.
Thinking back on it mama has spoken to me in numerous ways over the last 8 weeks.
When I arrived back in Florida after being with family to find my yard completely made over, my house cleaned beyond spotless, hot chili in the crock pot and a memory garden planted in the back yard. That was mama telling me that she has entrusted me to wonderful friends, a Florida family, who is there for me in good times and bad.
When on a particularly bad day, I called Sam and said I am having a bad day and within 2 minutes he had me laughing, that was mama passing along the love of siblings through us to get through difficult moments.
The night I was sitting on my sofa, deep in thought and feeling lonely, when an acquaintance, a Southern lady, drove up handed me a freshly baked pound cake and departed, that was mama knowing that everything is ok as long as you have a freshly baked pound cake on hand.
When a friend stops by to drop off flowers or neighbors who have suffered their own loss just sit and listen to me, that is mama helping me work through the grief and letting me know that I am not alone.
When Chelsea or Zack text or email me, or when Donna and I talk, that is mama passing along love to a new generation of Rumsey.
Countless cards, letters, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages all acts of love and kindness, the type of grace mama showed to others through her years is being given back to me now in my time of loss.
The rose bushes in the backyard that have been covered in blooms this year, each time I see one I think of mama and feel renewed.
It is comforting to know that mama still speaks to me in these brief moments. Moments of love and grace, now I just find a new way of hearing her.
Since mama died, the thought of writing anything here has terrified me. She loved this blog and I couldn't wait to share each story with her, now without her being here to read, it just isn't as much fun to write.
But here I go, although I have no idea what I am about to write, let me begin....
Everyone told me that losing a parent would be hard, I never could have imagined just how hard. Mama died on February 21st, today is April 18th and the emotions are still just as raw as they were the moment I knew she was gone.
My faith, my family and my friends have gotten me through this. But not a single moment of a single day has gone by since she passed that I haven't thought of her. I just want to pick up the phone and hear her voice. I want to hear her say she loves me and I want to know that I am going to see her again.
On the outside I seem pretty together, on the inside I am a mess. I go about my day everyday and keep a brave face, but a simple commercial or moment on tv can have me in tears.
The final thing our family did together was celebrate Communion, or the Lord's Supper. It was mama's wish, that someone from the Church come to the house and serve us this blessed meal together. So on Saturday the 20th, a Deacon from mama and daddy's Church came to the house and served us the Lord's meal as a family. Mama was already slowly making her journey home, but we surrounded her bed, as a family, and took part in the Lord's feast, that memory will be with me forever.
My Church serves communion on the first Sunday of each month, I missed it in March because I was busy with my election campaign. (To be honest, I was not in any place emotionally to go to Church and have Communion that week.)
On Maundy Thursday, I was in Church and had to leave the room when Communion was being prepared because I wasn't ready yet.
Last Sunday, we served Communion, the second Sunday of the month because Easter fell on the first. I took Communion and the warmth and love I felt as I took the bread and wine was palpable, I knew my mama was with me. It was emotional, but I got through it.
Easter was tough. Daddy came down for the day and as wonderful as it was to be with him, the empty seat was painful to see.
Daddy and I talk every morning, it is wonderful to hear his voice and we have been there for each other through all of this.
Daddy and I will both celebrate our birthdays on the 28th of this month, another first.
All these first seem like they are difficult, but I imagine the seconds and thirds and fourths are going to be just as hard. Mama was my rock, the person I always knew I could talk to and now she is gone. Now I talk to her in my mind and in my prayers and sometimes I just talk out loud to her, I just wish I could hear her answer.
A couple of weeks ago she did answer, although I had no idea she had until a friend of mine told me. I had an event on the 9th that I was responsible for. About 10 minutes before the event began I was running around getting everything finalized when I got a text from Sam.
The text was a picture of the headstone on mama's grave that had been put in that day. Of course I lost it but regained my composure and kept going with my event.
A few days later I was relaying the story to my friend Beth when she said "you know what that was don't you, that was your mama telling you she was with you." Beth was right, although I don't hear her voice any longer she still communicates to me... I just need to find the new way of listening.
Thinking back on it mama has spoken to me in numerous ways over the last 8 weeks.
When I arrived back in Florida after being with family to find my yard completely made over, my house cleaned beyond spotless, hot chili in the crock pot and a memory garden planted in the back yard. That was mama telling me that she has entrusted me to wonderful friends, a Florida family, who is there for me in good times and bad.
When on a particularly bad day, I called Sam and said I am having a bad day and within 2 minutes he had me laughing, that was mama passing along the love of siblings through us to get through difficult moments.
The night I was sitting on my sofa, deep in thought and feeling lonely, when an acquaintance, a Southern lady, drove up handed me a freshly baked pound cake and departed, that was mama knowing that everything is ok as long as you have a freshly baked pound cake on hand.
When a friend stops by to drop off flowers or neighbors who have suffered their own loss just sit and listen to me, that is mama helping me work through the grief and letting me know that I am not alone.
When Chelsea or Zack text or email me, or when Donna and I talk, that is mama passing along love to a new generation of Rumsey.
Countless cards, letters, phone calls, emails, Facebook messages all acts of love and kindness, the type of grace mama showed to others through her years is being given back to me now in my time of loss.
The rose bushes in the backyard that have been covered in blooms this year, each time I see one I think of mama and feel renewed.
It is comforting to know that mama still speaks to me in these brief moments. Moments of love and grace, now I just find a new way of hearing her.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Promoted to Glory....
Mama passed away last Sunday. After years of fighting for her life, she made the journey to heaven early Sunday morning. She passed away in her sleep, surrounded by her family.
Over Valentine's Day weekend the entire family gathered in Edgewater, FL not knowing that the end was so near. Sam took mama and daddy home to Georgia on Sunday, February 14th. Mama wanted to go home.
Early Monday morning Sam called me and told me I needed to come home. Within the hour I was on the road.
During the week prior to her passing, my family was all together. We spent many loving hours together.
We left nothing unsaid and for that I am thankful. I am thankful that mama did not suffer and she is now home with our Lord.
Sam and I both spoke at mama's funeral. I have never been more proud of Sam than I was sitting in the Church pew listening to him talk about mama, he was masterful in his words and love for mama and our entire family.
I re-wrote my eulogy twice and finally finished it at 11:30 on Monday night, I lovingly post it below.....
On behalf of Daddy, Sam, Donna, Chelsea, Zack and Aunt Beck, I want to thank you all for being here today.
Several years ago at the funeral of Coretta Scott King, men and women from around the world stood to talk about the legacy of Mrs. King. As the service was nearing an end Former President Bill Clinton stood and walked to the podium, he simply said. Let’s not forget there is a woman in that box and today I want to talk about the woman.
Well, today I want to talk about this woman, Martha Joyce Bellamy Rumsey. Daughter, sister, wife, mother, grand-mother, teacher, role model, lady, friend and Christian.
Most of the people in this room know her simply as Mama, a tough, dedicated woman who fought through more tragedies and struggles than most of us will ever know. Through it all she never lost her zest for life, her passion, she never gave up and she never complained. Up until the day she died mama fought to live, even in her last breaths she was fighting to live.
In a household full of men, mama was a total lady. A southern lady. Supper was on the table every night, meat, two vegetables, biscuits and gravy. Sweet tea was always in the refrigerator, or as mama called it the Frigidaire. Mama ruled with grace, but she also ruled with an iron hand. She was the real boss of the house, she knew it, and we all knew it. The last thing you ever wanted to do was disappoint mama, and in the Rumsey house, we worked hard not to disappoint mama.
She taught us manners and respect. All questions were answered with yes ma’am, no ma’am, yes sir, no sir, we cleaned off the table after every meal and you never walked away from the kitchen without an “I enjoyed it.”
In our house there was one rule. Daddy tattooed it onto our brains….. don’t do anything to embarrass your mama, ever. Think about it…. Don’t do anything to embarrass your mama; it’s a pretty good rule to live by. I don’t think Sam or I ever embarrassed mama…… and that is a badge of honor I will carry forever.
Mama was a role model to my brothers and me…. and to hundreds of students who passed through her classroom doors. Ironically in a household of men, some of mama’s primary life influences were women. Four women shaped my mama through life and helped make her the woman she was.
Mama’s sister Aunt Beck, her big sister, her friend. Aunt Beck has been a major influence in all our lives; she taught mama about life as they grew up and she was the one mama chose to help her make her journey into heaven. Aunt Beck we love you and will always be thankful that you are a vital part of our lives.
When mama and daddy moved to South Georgia, she met Gracie Hudson….no words can describe Gracie other than, she was a character. Gracie was boisterous; she could make mama laugh harder than anyone else could. Gracie became a second sister to mama and for Sam and me a second mother. Gracie died a few years ago and I know she and mama are sitting on the banks of a catfish pond today, cane pole in hand, laughing, loving and remembering their times here on earth.
When we moved to Clayton mama met her best friend, Sara Singleton. Mama and Mrs. Singleton had lives that intertwined. Teachers, Coaches Wives, mothers of boys and coffee lovers. COFFEE LOVERS. For as long as I can remember mama and Mrs. Singleton would meet daily for coffee. 1:30 in the afternoon would find the two of them at the Singleton’s, the Rumsey’s or in later years McDonalds. Mrs. Singleton is my mama’s longest lasting friendship, her best friend; the two of them shared a bond like no other relationship in my mama’s life. Mrs. Singleton, my mama loved you and I know you loved her…. Thank you for always being there for mama.
The fourth woman of influence came along late in Mama’s life. Sam brought her home one day, shy, quiet, reserved. Donna. It took me a while to warm up to Donna, but she knew exactly how to get to mama’s heart. From day one Donna was able to connect with mama. For many years our house had a dark cloud over it, we mourned Tom and as hard as we tried that cloud remained over us….. until Donna came along. Donna gave us a new dimension in our family, a girl…..we didn’t know anything about having a girl in the family but mama thrived on it. Donna made mama happy, she was much more than a daughter in law, as mama told Donna last Thursday, she was the best thing to ever happen to the Rumsey family. And as much as I believe I was the best thing to ever happen to the Rumsey family, if I am honest I have to agree with mama. Donna thank you for bringing joy back to our household.
Sam and I are mama’s boys. In our minds mama was as close to perfect as anyone the good Lord ever created. While truth be told, she wasn’t perfect, she was in our eyes. Mama cooked, cleaned, kept house, taught school, and still had time to spend with us both.
Mama taught us simple lessons….simply. Christmas is for family, Sundays are for Church, Family is the most important thing there is. Mama’s family was her greatest pride and joy. She nurtured us, she made every holiday special, she would call just to say hello, and she made sure that the simple things in a day were important.
As lucky as Sam and I were to have mama, two people were even luckier. They got to have her as a grandmother. Chelsea and Zack; mama’s angels. While being the son of Martha Rumsey had a lot of benefits, imagine what it was like to have her as a grandmother. Mother’s have to say no sometimes, grandmothers don’t. Chelsea and Zack, you dada loved you more than you will ever know. She celebrated every moment of joy you had and hurt when you hurt. Know that your dada will now be your angel, she will watch over you from heaven, just always remember don’t do anything to embarrass your dada and you will be fine.
Over 60 years ago Mama met the man that she would marry and she chose well. Daddy words will never be enough to thank you for what you have done for mama over the years. Life wasn’t always perfect, but you both fought to make it the best it could be. In mama’s final years, daddy was her caretaker; he cooked, he cleaned, he made sure she never missed a medication; he catered to mama’s every need. I honor what my daddy did for mama and hope that I can prove to be half the man he has been through the years.
Not a single day will go by that I won’t miss mama. She lived on her own terms, but she also died on her terms. She had everything planned; she made it easy for us. Last Tuesday mama sat Sam, Daddy and I down to tell us what she wanted for today, I guess you could call it her final lesson plan. Every detail was planned and I pray that we have executed it to her satisfaction.
As hard as death is, the last week has been a wonderful blessing. As a family we have all been together, we have laughed, we have cried, and we have talked about everything. I can safely say that we all had the chance to say evertything that needed to be said. Every I love you was more intentional, hand holds meant more and simple touches will be forever cherished.
I hope for each of you, when the day comes to say good bye to the most important person in your life that you will be as fortunate as we have been with mama’s passing. The Lord blessed us as a family by letting us has Martha Rumsey in our lives, and he blessed us again by taking her without pain, knowing she was loved by us and we were loved by her.
I attend a multi-cultural Church in West Palm Beach, Florida. We have over 60 nationalities represented in our Church. Several years ago one of our members died, a lady from Jamaica who had fought cancer for several years.
I made a comment to a friend from Kenya about how sad it was that she had died. My Kenyan friend said something that I will never forget and today it has more meaning to me than it ever has before.
My Kenyan friend said….. no Kendall, Deborah had not died, she has been promoted to glory.
Promoted to Glory…… promoted to glory!
What a beautiful way to view the passing of a loved one. So today, my mother is not dead, she is Promoted to Glory. On Sunday morning she crossed over to her glorious after life, no longer in pain, with lungs that would never need the help of an artificial device to breathe again.
Mama ran into heaven and into the arms of Tommy. She now sits with the Lord in a huge celebration of a life well lived, enjoying her time with ma-ma, gramps, Pa and me-ma, Uncle Larry, Lloyd, Bubby, Aunt Tenie, Bridget, Vickie and Gracie.
A celebration worthy of a promotion…. A promotion to glory!
Friday, February 12, 2010
My Valentine
I first met my Valentine on April 28, 1964. From that day until today she has held my heart.
From the first day I met her, my Valentine has loved me without question. She comforts me when I am sad, she celebrates my successes and provides guidance through every step of my life.
As a child she kissed my bumps and bruises, as an adult she kisses my heart.
Through almost 46 years of life, I have never doubted my Valentine's love, not for one day, not for one moment.
I cherish every memory with my Valentine. She talks to me about the things that matter, she talks to me about the journey of life and she talks to me about nothing of importance..... we just talk.
My Valentine warms my heart through memories, through her actions, through her being.
Growing up I revered her, today I honor her. She is my friend, my confidant and my Valentine.
From the first day I met her, my Valentine has loved me without question. She comforts me when I am sad, she celebrates my successes and provides guidance through every step of my life.
As a child she kissed my bumps and bruises, as an adult she kisses my heart.
Through almost 46 years of life, I have never doubted my Valentine's love, not for one day, not for one moment.
I cherish every memory with my Valentine. She talks to me about the things that matter, she talks to me about the journey of life and she talks to me about nothing of importance..... we just talk.
My Valentine warms my heart through memories, through her actions, through her being.
Growing up I revered her, today I honor her. She is my friend, my confidant and my Valentine.
She is my mother...... Happy Valentine's Day Mama! I love and appreciate you more than you will ever know.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Slippery Slopes
It has been abnormally cold in Florida over the past couple of weeks. Last night it got down to 30 degrees at my house, the coldest night I have experienced here since I moved in 1996.
With the low temps, I have been thinking back to a time many years ago when I couldn't wait for the cold weather to arrive, the beginning of ski season.
God's Country is in the far northeast corner of Georgia, at the foothills of the Appalachian Trail. It gets cold in those mountains and each year we would have one or two really pretty snowfalls that blanketed the horizon.
When we built our house, mama's main wish was to have a wall of windows that she could sit in front of and watch the snows fall, she got those windows and we have watched many a snow shower from within the confines of that home.
In the 70s a group of developers built the southern most ski resort in our county, Sky Valley. It was a beautiful Alpine inspired resort with huge arching windows, intricate wood carvings and probably the smallest ski slope known to man.
With only a couple of snowfalls per year, Sky Valley utilized man made snow to keep it running. Once the temp hit 28 the big snow machines would be brought out and a base of ice (not really snow) would cover the slopes and the season would begin.
I began snow skiing when I was 11 or 12. I loved to slide down those icy slopes over and over again. Through many passes and slides, I became a pretty good skier.
Nothing was more exciting during those days than a school's out, snow day. Coach and Mrs. Singleton would pick me up early in the morning and joined by John, their son and an assortment of other friends we would pile into their old Scout and head for the slopes.
Piled into the Scout like a bunch of sardines in an aluminum can, we would make our way up the ice covered roads. Slipping and sliding the whole way. No seat belts, no airbags, basically a rag tag vehicle making our way up the mountain.
Once we arrive at Sky Valley we would spend the whole day going up and down that tiny slope. Some wonderful friendships were formed there and memories that will last me forever.
At the end of the day, mama and daddy would pick us up in our Jeep Cherokee. Another rag tag vehicle with no seat belts, no air bags and we would slide our way back down the hill.
Over the years mama, daddy and the Singletons made that trip hundred of times. Many times when they probably shouldn't have, but their boys wanted to do it, so they did.
I can still taste the hot chili from the lodge dining room and feel the cold air hitting my face as we made our way to the top of the hill on a chairlift.
My love for snow skiing continued through high school and into my first year of college. Those were great times, innocent and exciting.
Today, Sky Valley is a shell of its former self, it is sad to see how things have changed there, but my memories of that time will always keep me warm when the temperature dips.
With the low temps, I have been thinking back to a time many years ago when I couldn't wait for the cold weather to arrive, the beginning of ski season.
God's Country is in the far northeast corner of Georgia, at the foothills of the Appalachian Trail. It gets cold in those mountains and each year we would have one or two really pretty snowfalls that blanketed the horizon.
When we built our house, mama's main wish was to have a wall of windows that she could sit in front of and watch the snows fall, she got those windows and we have watched many a snow shower from within the confines of that home.
In the 70s a group of developers built the southern most ski resort in our county, Sky Valley. It was a beautiful Alpine inspired resort with huge arching windows, intricate wood carvings and probably the smallest ski slope known to man.
With only a couple of snowfalls per year, Sky Valley utilized man made snow to keep it running. Once the temp hit 28 the big snow machines would be brought out and a base of ice (not really snow) would cover the slopes and the season would begin.
I began snow skiing when I was 11 or 12. I loved to slide down those icy slopes over and over again. Through many passes and slides, I became a pretty good skier.
Nothing was more exciting during those days than a school's out, snow day. Coach and Mrs. Singleton would pick me up early in the morning and joined by John, their son and an assortment of other friends we would pile into their old Scout and head for the slopes.
Piled into the Scout like a bunch of sardines in an aluminum can, we would make our way up the ice covered roads. Slipping and sliding the whole way. No seat belts, no airbags, basically a rag tag vehicle making our way up the mountain.
Once we arrive at Sky Valley we would spend the whole day going up and down that tiny slope. Some wonderful friendships were formed there and memories that will last me forever.
At the end of the day, mama and daddy would pick us up in our Jeep Cherokee. Another rag tag vehicle with no seat belts, no air bags and we would slide our way back down the hill.
Over the years mama, daddy and the Singletons made that trip hundred of times. Many times when they probably shouldn't have, but their boys wanted to do it, so they did.
I can still taste the hot chili from the lodge dining room and feel the cold air hitting my face as we made our way to the top of the hill on a chairlift.
My love for snow skiing continued through high school and into my first year of college. Those were great times, innocent and exciting.
Today, Sky Valley is a shell of its former self, it is sad to see how things have changed there, but my memories of that time will always keep me warm when the temperature dips.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Milestones....
January, the beginning of a new year. Wow, where did the last year go? And the one before that and all the ones since I was an 18 year old kid with my whole life in front of me.... where does the time go?
We measure our lives in milestones. New Years, birthdays, anniversaries. Sometimes we measure our lives in wealth, luxury cars, designer clothes.
What if in 2010 we measured our milestones daily, what if for this year we measured our self-worth in something more simplistic, something that could really make a difference?
One of the things I learned in 2009 was that kindness and compassion are still rampant in our society, it sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
Do the people who have prayed for me, loved me and guided me know that I measure their past year as a success? Do the people who have done that for you know the difference they have made in your life.... sadly, like me, the answer is probably no.
What if for this year, 2010 we set new goals, not abandoning those that allow us to live the lives of comfort we already do, but smaller more tangible goals.
Kindness, compassion, understanding, love, friendship and grace.
How different would the world be if those were our guiding principles instead of who has the nicest I-pod, who can shout the loudest to get their point across, whose Mercedes is newer.... how different would the world be?
As we embark on a new year, with new goals and aspirations, wouldn't it be great if this year we measured our lives by what is really important, the kind of person we can become.
2010 like every year starts off with great promise, like a daffodil breaking through a soft bed of snow, the potential is limitless. My goal for 2010 is to be the best person I can be, to return the love, compassion and friendship I have been shown.
Several years ago I set a goal for myself.....
Some days I meet that goal, others I don't, but if I continue to strive for that ideal imagine how great my life will be!
It is expected that we measure our lives each year with those milestone moments, there is nothing wrong with that, but this year, my challenge for myself and you is to measure your life successes in smaller increments. Live each day to the fullest, honor your neighbor, and find a way to be of service to someone each day.
Service, it doesn't have to be something big. Helping a lady across the street is service, opening the door for someone, sharing a kind word with a stranger, it is all service. What if in 2010 we took it upon ourselves to make a difference, small differences added together to make a huge difference.
I continue to work towards financial security and having nice things in my life, that is expected... but this year, the small things are what I will use to measure my life.
Making a daily difference, that is a milestone I can be proud of!
We measure our lives in milestones. New Years, birthdays, anniversaries. Sometimes we measure our lives in wealth, luxury cars, designer clothes.
What if in 2010 we measured our milestones daily, what if for this year we measured our self-worth in something more simplistic, something that could really make a difference?
One of the things I learned in 2009 was that kindness and compassion are still rampant in our society, it sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
Do the people who have prayed for me, loved me and guided me know that I measure their past year as a success? Do the people who have done that for you know the difference they have made in your life.... sadly, like me, the answer is probably no.
What if for this year, 2010 we set new goals, not abandoning those that allow us to live the lives of comfort we already do, but smaller more tangible goals.
Kindness, compassion, understanding, love, friendship and grace.
How different would the world be if those were our guiding principles instead of who has the nicest I-pod, who can shout the loudest to get their point across, whose Mercedes is newer.... how different would the world be?
As we embark on a new year, with new goals and aspirations, wouldn't it be great if this year we measured our lives by what is really important, the kind of person we can become.
2010 like every year starts off with great promise, like a daffodil breaking through a soft bed of snow, the potential is limitless. My goal for 2010 is to be the best person I can be, to return the love, compassion and friendship I have been shown.
Several years ago I set a goal for myself.....
Laugh each day and show grace to others.
Some days I meet that goal, others I don't, but if I continue to strive for that ideal imagine how great my life will be!
It is expected that we measure our lives each year with those milestone moments, there is nothing wrong with that, but this year, my challenge for myself and you is to measure your life successes in smaller increments. Live each day to the fullest, honor your neighbor, and find a way to be of service to someone each day.
Service, it doesn't have to be something big. Helping a lady across the street is service, opening the door for someone, sharing a kind word with a stranger, it is all service. What if in 2010 we took it upon ourselves to make a difference, small differences added together to make a huge difference.
I continue to work towards financial security and having nice things in my life, that is expected... but this year, the small things are what I will use to measure my life.
Making a daily difference, that is a milestone I can be proud of!
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