December 19 – “Meanwhile …”

I finally got to go Christmas shopping with Chris.  Jennifer came over to stay with Mom and we headed out to those two icons of Galveston’s retail economy, Target and WalMart.  We found a few things, but we were really glad that Jennifer was able to return for an encore the next day.  I was ever so much the gentleman when lunch time came around.  I offered Chris a choice.  Since we would have two days in a row to have lunch together, she could choose Mexican food (her favorite) or Shrimp n Stuff (my favorite).  Then we would switch the next time.  She chose shrimp.  She loves me.  Guess that means Mexican food is in my immediate future.

Meanwhile, I discovered a new “fun” thing with my right leg.  It has been tingling and almost going numb, especially in the afternoons and most definitely when I have been on my feet a lot.  I decided to try an experiment.  Drawing from my vast array of experience with ruptured and bulging disks in my neck that affected my arms in a similar fashion, I bent and twisted at my waist, trying different positions.  Sure enough, I found a position that stops the tingling immediately.  Looks kind of silly, but it works.  Of course that means another almost guaranteed bulging disk, in my lower back this time.  Not excited about what that means at all.  Trip to Houston for an MRI at the neurologist (which also means having to come up with all $1500 of my deductible at once).  Going through the typical protocol for disks.  Possibly ending in back surgery.  Great fun.  But I hear a voice in my head admonishing me, “Don’t make it a problem until it’s a problem.”  OK.  I’ll wait it out.

Meanwhile, our microwave died.  Chris slammed the door shut and it just gave up the ghost.  No lights.  No sounds.  Nothing.  It’s amazing how we can get so hooked on modern conveniences so quickly and we don’t even know it.  We had to look up in a cookbook how to boil water in a pan on the stove.  Not really, but that would have been the case if I was in charge of the kitchen.  But we do have a new microwave now.  Way to go WalMart.  Way to go, Discover Card.

Meanwhile (and now to the bad news?), in the wee small hours of Wednesday morning (actually it was exactly 3:04 a.m.  I checked), Mom took a tumble coming out of the bathroom.  Chris was almost to her to give her some stability, but she could only get to one arm before Mom lurched forward.  She scratched her back on the door frame on the way down, and hit her head on the closet door in the hall.  When we got her to sit quietly she also said her shoulder was hurting.  After an interlude of just sitting still and getting her bearings, we helped her up and back into bed, wondering what damage was done and how she would be later in the morning.

The next morning we got the fall results.  There was the scratch on her back.  The bump on her head was gone, but there was bruise right over her collarbone.  And that’s what was giving her fits.  Some loud groans and moans followed her wherever she went, so we took her in to have an x-ray.  Thankfully, there was no break of any kind.  But she is really bruised up and will be sore for a few days. 

Meanwhile, Jennifer still came over.  We managed to sneak in a quick trip back to Target and WalMart to finish up our shopping.  We never made it for Chris’ Mexican food, though.  She said she just wasn’t up to sitting down in a restaurant when she knew there was so much going on with Mom.  So Whataburger it was. 

Meanwhile, today we have to prepare for our white elephant party tonight.  Clean house.  Find and wrap our white elephants.  Ah, the holidays.  Ain’t they grand?

Meanwhile, Psalms 103:19 says, “The Lord has established his throne in heaven, and his kingdom rules over all.”  And that is what matters, after all.

Father, meanwhile, please heal Mom quickly so she can enjoy the company tonight.  She loves the music and the hustle and bustle all around her.  Allow her Christmas joy to win out over her pain.  Amen.

December 18 – “Snow Day”

I made it to Snow Day at Cailyn’s school yesterday.  Wait.  This is Galveston – a tropical island paradise, remember?  I guess I should explain.  So it didn’t mean they stayed home because of too much snow.  Doesn’t take much snow for it to be considered “too much” here anyway.  But the last time any snow happened was the Great Christmas Eve Snowstorm way back in ‘04, I think.  That means we are probably good for no snow until at least 2019.  One snow usually lasts us about fifteen years.  Rather it meant that someone paid to have artificial snow created and blown onto the school ground.  The patch they selected was right up next to the school near the building. 

Now, I was assigned the duty of taking Cailyn to school yesterday, but her class wasn’t scheduled to play in it until around 9:00.  As we walked across the street from the parking lot, I saw it right away from my towering five foot nine inch perspective.  Cailyn didn’t.  She lives life a little closer to the ground for the time being, so other objects prevented her from seeing what I saw.  Without thinking of the difference of view points, I said, “Look, Cailyn, at the snow.”  She glanced around on eye level at the grass nearby and quickly corrected me, “No, DadDad.  That’s called frost.  It’s on the grass.”  Ah, yes.  I stood corrected on what she could see.  But I encouraged her to look beyond her visual limitations, and focus a little closer – right up next to the school building.  And the look of awe on her face when she actually spied the snow was priceless.   So was the “Oh, my gosh” comment that followed.  Her eyes grew wider and wider as we approached, and she with a sly grin, she quite politely asked if she could touch it.  Of course I said she could.  And as she picked up a handful and held it out to me, she said with all the wonder and awe she could muster, “It’s like a pile of bunches and bunches of ice and ice.”

Psalms 8:3-4 says, “When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?”

Father, give me the eyes of a child to appreciate the wonders you have placed all around me.  Strike me awe-ful and wonder-fully polite.  Amen.

December 17 – “Filthy wet”

I have a lot to look forward to today. Aside from my usual work on Sunday’s sermon I also have to take Cailyn to school, then go to water therapy class and try to live up to my undeserved reputation as “a fireman who loves to be challenged,” then hurry back out to Cailyn’s school for her Snow Day.  Apparently they are going to truck in some man-made snow for the kids to play in.  School officials are really thinking ahead on this one.  They announced that the kids have to bring a change of clothes with them.  No doubt a smart move.  Cailyn is really excited about it.  Her comment the other day when she first told us about it was, “At the snow day at school, we’re gonna get filthy wet.”  Filthy wet.  That’s one I have to remember.  Very descriptive. 

Speaking of Cailyn (and I know I often do, but she just says so much.  Gotta love that female built-in gift of gab), she is just getting over a bout with some kind of sickness.  I think they decided it was an ear infection or something like it.  She brought all her medications with her whenever she came here.  That’s one thing about that girl.  She is very good at the whole taking medicine thing.  Chug-a-lugs it right on down.  And she knows that when she is feeling bad, the medicine is there to help her.  After one particularly rough coughing spasm the other day, she gathered her breath and announced rather weakly, “I got take my anaboxes now.”  Took me a minute, but Chris already had those “anaboxes” in hand (a.k.a. “antibiotics”).  Amazing what miracles God performs through just a few doses of that pink, cherry-tasting stuff.

In Luke 2:12 the angel says, “This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Father, in the midst of such miraculous “signs” as antibiotics and open heart surgeries, help us to recall the most miraculous of signs, that baby wrapped up in warm cloths and lying in a manger.  Amen.

December 16 – “Sharing deepest secrets”

When the grandkids were over the other day, they were gathered at the table, so I decided to ask them a question or two.  Of course I had ulterior motives.  I was trolling for ideas for Christmas presents.  It was quite fun, actually.  I started with: “Who is your favorite superhero ever?” 

Jachin: Cyclops.
I have no idea who that is.   He was never in any of the comic books I used to read.  Probably a Marvel Universe fictional creation.

Micah: Iron Man, War Machine, and Falcon. 

OK.  Iron Man I know, but that’s because of the movies.  Never heard of those other two guys.  Again, they have departed the true DC Universe into the fictional realm of Marveldom.

Cailyn: Yoda. 

Finally, someone I have heard of.  Not necessarily one I would have put in the superhero category, though.  But I have to admit it was a mighty creative answer.
Then, fearing she had mixed genres, she quickly added: And Spiderman.
Ouch.  Again, with the Marvel movie answer.  Finally I turned to three-year-old Josiah.

Josiah: All of them.  And then in a sing-songy voice he listed: Batman and Robin and Scooby. 

I interrupted: Wait, you said Batman and Robin and … Scooby?
Josiah: Yes.  But they are not really tough.
Me: Not tough?  Well, who is tough?
Josiah: Me.  I’m tough.  And Hulk.  But sometimes he’s a bad guy.  He fights Spiderman.

And there you have it.  I have been sufficiently educated on the realm of the superhero to the next generation.

Now I have to admit, I did ask another question or two.  About their Mommies.  Now I can’t tell you what all they said, because I have plans for a very special Christmas present based on their answers.  But I know they were excited about sharing such secret information with me.  At least Cailyn was.  Two days later she and I were eating breakfast together.  After she prayed (a very sweet prayer, I might add.  In fact I will include it as the concluding prayer to this blog), she wanted to talk.

Cailyn: Can we talk about those things you talked us about last time? 

Me: What things?
Cailyn: You know.  About my special Mommy.  Only now I want you to say about my special Daddy.
Me: OK.  What is your favoritist thing about your Daddy?
Cailyn: He likes to eat with me on breakfast day.  He likes to take me to the movie.  OK.  Now ask the other one.
Fortunately I remembered this one.
Me: What is something that not many people know about your Daddy?
Cailyn: He has to borrow my Mommy’s boots.  Oh, and he has candy cane leggings.

Well, the candy cane leggings do have a story to go with them.  Something about a costume party and Mommy being a snowman.  But the boots?  You’ll just have to ask him, I guess.  Or April.  I’m not sure I want to know.

Psalms 139:13-14 says, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

 

Father, thank you for knowing me so well that I don’t have to worry about keeping secrets from you.  Amen.

 

And Cailyn’s prayer: Thank you Jesus, for our food.  We love how you make our food for us.  We love that we get to go to church and learn all about you.  Amen. 

December 15 – “Candy Cane Box Wars”

We had some overnight guests the other night.  Four of them in fact.  Kel and Christina had a Christmas party at church, so their three boys were here.  Nathan and April had a party as well (It was the fire department union party.  I actually made an appearance at that one as well, dressed as Santa, just for fun.  They were pretty nice about it.  I think it took them by surprise.  The worst thing I got called was Skinny Santa.  Can’t complain too much about that one, I guess), so Cailyn joined them for an almost-all-the-cousins sleepover.  We did miss Zak and Caleb and Luke, but they’ll be here in a few weeks, so maybe we can make up for lost time then.

So Jachin, Micah and Josiah were to arrive first.  And from the grandmother perspective, there was a lot of work to get done.  You know, the usual cleaning up so they can mess it up plan.  They got here a little earlier than expected, though.  So combine three active boys with a Nana who has been cooped up for weeks and weeks with a few chores that didn’t quite get done, and what do you get?  Well, I guess that could go a few different ways.  She could be cranky and determined to get done at all costs.  She could be demanding and insist that they stay out of her way and quiet.  Neither of those is exactly what happened.  No.  In this house, the time was ripe for … Candy Cane Box Wars.

I had quite a few boxes of candy canes that I purchased for the Bethlehem Street Market at Seaside.  They had been emptied out, and I was in the process of taping a contact card onto each one.  So combine empty boxes destined for the trash bin, with a stir-crazy Nana, with three wild and crazy little boys, and the temptation was just too great.  Said Nana started it, I think.  A gentle toss here.  A giggle there.  Here a throw. There a connect.  Everywhere a box flying.  For the next hour or so I was witness to a spectacle like none you could imagine.  It involved pillow forts that never really worked all that well.  Out of control chases around and around the house.  Evil, maniacal laughter (that would be Chris).  Grandsons plotting the overthrow of the stalking Grandmother, laden with armfuls of boxes.  At one point Josiah, the three-year-old, couldn’t get his hands on the boxes fast enough.  He felt at risk.  So he improvised.  I heard his declaration and breathed a sigh of relief that I was not involved in that part of the battle: “I got stinky trash.”  Ammunition other than boxes made its way into the fray often enough that Chris declared a battleground rule: “Boxes only.  No throwing toys.”  Ouch.  That must have hurt.  Of course she saw the rule turned against her when she captured Josiah and had him trapped in a tickle frenzy.  Punctuating his peals of laughter came this appeal: “But Nana.  You said boxes only.  No tickling.”  Got ya.  Josiah was also the source of two other statements that caught my attention.  At one point his brothers declared him dead from a particularly vicious box attack.  Undaunted, he declared, “I still have two more lifes left.”  Video game generation, right?  And once he even proclaimed, “I’m God.  I can come back to life.”  Hey, at least he got the theology right this time.  Only God can do that. 

John 11:25-26 says, “Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’”

Father, thank you for the resurrection.  Only you can do that.  Amen.

December 14 – “Bethlehem Street Market”

The village street market in Bethlehem was a bustling place.  The tax station was of course there, where salt and various types of produce as well as animals were weighed and the customs on them calculated and paid.  A money changer’s booth was near at hand as well.  Passersby paused in the inner court to play games of chance.  Beggars frequented this area as well, crying out for alms while being careful to keep their distance.  Vendors, pedestrians, litter bearers, and pack animals all vied for space.  Wares ranged from fabric to fully sewn clothing, grains to baked bread, casks of wine to containers for cooking, scales for weighing, pottery for daily use, baskets for fruit, straw for animals, meats of all kinds hanging about, covered with flies and smelling stronger and stronger as the day wore on.  The market was more than merely a one-stop shopping center, however.  It was the place for meeting friends, making business contacts, recounting tales of the past, and expounding hopes for the future.  The street market was the heartbeat of the village.

Today, in the village of Jamaica Beach on the Island of Galveston, from 10 A.M. to 4 P.M., the Bethlehem Street Market will be revived on the site of Seaside Church.  Crafters from all over the county will man booths and pitch their wares just in time for the celebration of the birth of the One born right in the middle of such hustle and bustle a few thousand years ago.  Along with the crafts for sale, there will also be horse rides, puppets, and of course, food.

The thing that makes Seaside’s Bethlehem Street Market unique is that we aren’t trying to put on some elaborate production.  That would be better named the Jerusalem or maybe even the Roman Market.  But Bethlehem is not Jerusalem.  Jamaica Beach is not Houston.  Small town.  Down-home folks.  They make things.  They sell them to help get by.  They know each other.  And they care. 

It’s our second year of operation.  I understand the horse rides will be back.  As will lots of vendors with crafts to choose from.  There will be food.  And puppet shows for the kids.  Oh, and one returning booth back by popular demand will be Gentile-ly Used Goods.  This one will look remarkably like a garage sale, and proceeds will go toward sending teenagers to summer camp. 

So, take a trip with us into the past.  Set your new-fangled GPS for 16534 San Luis Pass Road and come on down.”  

Luke 2:13-15 says, “Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.’
When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, ‘Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.’”

Father, thank you for the Bethlehem Event.  It really did change everything.  Amen.

December 13 – “It’s GFD’s fault”

I have mentioned numerous times before that I have been in a water therapy class twice a week.  It was something sanctioned and even encouraged by my rheumatologist since other forms of exercise had proved to be quite painful.  And the experiment has proven to be quite successful.  The heated pool at the brain injury center behind WalMart is a great venue, and the instructors, although each having their own peculiar approaches to teaching, have been very good.

And now to my complaint, of sorts.  For some reason several weeks ago the instructor decided that I needed to be treated like a special case.  Not that I was trying to be the teacher’s pet or anything.  Quite the contrary.  I have done my best from the beginning of this whole thing to stay focused on just doing the exercises and staying as nondescript as possible.  I figured with my gray hair I could blend in pretty well with everyone else in the class.  The only people in class who knew me were one couple who came to Seaside and my old high school biology teacher.  It was the perfect place to remain relatively in cognito.  Somewhere along the line, though, the teacher saw fit to notice me.  And then much began to change.

It started innocently enough, I suppose.  She came over to the side of the pool where I was and very quietly said, “If you ever want to know a different way to do some of these exercises that would be more difficult for you, just let me know.”  More difficult.  Why in the world would I want something more difficult?  I was having a hard enough time keeping up with what she was already showing us.  And there were certainly times when those twinges cried out a bit more piercingly than I would have liked.  Why would I want more pain?  I smiled and thanked her, although I never took her up on her offer.  And then it seemed that every class she found at least one exercise that would “benefit you much more if you would do it this way.”  Ever the dutiful student, I followed her commands, wondering all the while what I could possibly have done to warrant the extra attention. 

I finally found out the answer at my last class.  The teacher once again approached me, this time with a special version of the arm apparatus we would be using.  There were two things shaped like dumbbells.  Each had a “special” attachment on the ends, designed to make it more difficult to push through the water.  No one else got this breakthrough equipment.  Just me.  I was about to finally get up enough courage to ask the question that had been gurgling in my innards for weeks … “Why?  Why me?”  But suddenly she turned and walked away.  But this time she tossed one last comment over her shoulder.  One final thought that opened up the world of understanding to me.  Ready for this one?  She said, “I knew since you’re a fireman that you’d want more of a challenge.”  Wait.  What?  So that was it?  All this time she thought?  You mean it’s GFD’s fault?  Wait a minute, Teach, I’m just an old guy that loves those youngsters who run into fires on purpose.  It’ll be OK to cut me some slack here. 

Well, thanks, Galveston fire fighters.  I guess it’s true that people often judge you by who you hang around with.  But I have to admit, I was proud to be lumped in with you guys for a brief moment there.  It sure gave me a little extra determination to use that “special equipment” she graced me with.   I’m nowhere close to Mr. Crossfit, Chief Varela, but I’ll sure do my best to represent the department well amongst the gray-hairs.

Proverbs 12:26 says, “A righteous man is cautious in friendship, but the way of the wicked leads them astray.”

Father, thank you for the chance to associate with some great folks at the fire department.  Keep them safe and draw them close to you.  Amen.