Never Say Never

Congratulations to Daniel and Kevin of Dragonfly Core and to Jeff Boyer and JEDA Productions for their work on the next upcoming installment of Missions that Changed the War. It’s airing on the Military Channel November 18 at 8pm and 9pm EST. This next installment documents the sobering mission of the Enola Gay, the B-29 Superfortress bomber used to drop a nuclear bomb on Hiroshima, Japan, in 1945.

Dragonfly Core’s contribution to such a prestigious project is a testament to the tireless work, sacrifices, and long hours Dan and Kev have put into learning the art of 3D graphics and animation and building a partnership. Their dedication despite many trials and setbacks has been inspiring.

They’ve come a long way from the first time Kevin managed to move one finger just enough to click the cursor on his laptop. It was the first time he had done something for himself since his spinal cord injury in 1997. Back then, he was declared a “complete” injury, and we were told he would never move anything below his chin or shoulders. We were also told he would never breathe again on his own. He definitely could never return to the United States (he was injured in another country). He would never again live at home. At the time, it would have been absolutely laughable to suggest he would eventually partner with his brother to produce graphics and animation for an Emmy-nominated television series.

Of course, he did all those things. Really, one should never say, “never,” especially when God is involved. He totally delights in crushing the “nevers” in our lives. He lives to deliver those of us who have been given no hope. He rejoices in being worthy of our trust. For He is, after all, so very trustworthy.

Thanks, God, for being so amazing.

Thanks, JEDA, for giving Dragonfly Core a chance.

Thanks, Dragonfly, for giving my faith new wings as I watch you take flight.

Loyalty Lives

Today

Is my youngest son's thirtieth birthday. We were actually able to surprise him with a small party over the weekend. I worked really hard to keep him from discovering our plans, but I don't think I needed to worry. Between his part-time job, his care-giving, and his work as co-partner and effects modeler at Dragonfly Core, he was too exhausted to notice. The party went off without a hitch, he was adequately and genuinely surprised, and we had a chance to let him know just important he is.

Really important.
And amazing.
Did I mention hilarious?

Daniel always brings the party. Daniel's the smile-and-light-up-the-whole-room kind of person, the one with a good story and an infectious laugh.

He's also one of the truest examples of loyalty I know. At the age of fifteen, his older brother was nearly fatally injured in a fall. In the fourteen years since, Dan has never left Kevin's side. Neither has he left our side, sacrificing his own dreams to help us accomplish ours. His strength, his sensitivity to the needs of others both humbles me and fills me with pride.

It reminds me of a passage in Isaiah, in which God proclaims His loyalty to His people. Isaiah 46 draws a stark contrast between the idols of the people and the true God. Idols, we are reminded, are created by us. They cannot even move unless we carry them. So we pack them around on our shoulders, set them up where we want them, fall down to worship the creation of our own hands... only to act surprised when they leave us unsatisfied and empty.

God is the complete contradiction to this. He creates us and carries us from the womb. He never leaves our side...even in times of great brokenness. Because He is loyal to us, He promises to carry us on His shoulders from conception through old age (Isaiah 46:3-4). His deliverance is complete; His salvation powerful and perfect.

We are made in God's image; His attributes are displayed through us, as they are through all creation (Genesis 1:27; Romans 1:20). Those who have been born into salvation through the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus become sons of Father God, partakers of His divine nature. As such we display those character traits that remind others of our Father.

In my son Daniel, I see the fierce and tender loyalty of God. I am encouraged to know that Daniel serves a faithful Father and Deliverer who promises to carry his burdens as he has faithfully carried the burdens of his family. I am comforted to know that Dan does not serve the things he has made, but the One who created him, bears him through every day, and who will never leave him forsaken.

Thank God that loyalty still lives. Thank God that He rewards those who live for Him.

Happy Birthday, Dan.

Graduation

The family

And it only took me forty years to get there. I began taking the prerequisites for the nursing program in 1971 and didn't complete the program until 2011. At least you can say I finish what I start... eventually.

The day was made extra special by the presence of all our children, their spouses, the grandchildren, my niece and her husband, my mother-in-law, and my almost-sister Sherry. My son-in-law Scott couldn't help but add a little drama to the occasion by wiping out on the four-wheeler with our granddaughter hours before the pinning. What began as an innocent ride on our property ended with a tumble into the barbed wire.

Scott, himself bleeding from a nasty cut, carried our granddaughter up to the house, where I had chance to practice my newly learned skills. As we worked on Va, the other granddaughter watched anxiously over my shoulder. Suddenly she mumbled something about not wanting to see any more. She backed up to the kitchen counter and passed out cold in the most graceful display of slow-motion collapse that I have ever seen. She hit her head on the way down, and the rest of the family came running to care for her. I couldn't leave the one to care for the other.

She quickly came to, was escorted to the living room to recover, and we got Va patched up.
My son-in-law had to be taken to minor care for a tetanus shot and stitches. I had to go to school to get ready for graduation. My daughter went home, cleaned up after the carnage, and took clothes to Scott in minor care. He changed in the restroom there for the ceremony and everybody came limping in just in time. I have to say that it made for an absolutely unforgettable day!

Pinning

With all my heart I thank my amazing family for their support, sacrifices, and prayers during my year in school. I now have my certificate in practical nursing and can return to caring for Kevin (my most favorite job).

Me with my stepmom and dad
I'm especially excited to be back to writing. This last year has left me more convinced than ever that we serve a God who performs miracles. Pretty much raising-the-dead kind of miracles. Every day, out loud, parting-the-waters kinds of miracles. Help for the helpless.

Deliverance for the desperate.

Can't wait to share with you.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby - A Review

In 1995, Jean-Dominique Bauby was the editor-in-chief of a well-known French magazine, the father of two, and a man very much in control of his life. One day - without warning - he suffered a massive stroke and was transformed from an active forty-three-year-old professional man to a prisoner within his own body. Nearly a month after the stroke, he awakened from a coma able only to blink one eye, the victim of a condition called "locked in syndrome." In this syndrome, a person is cognitively aware but is unable to move or talk.

Eventually he was able to communicate to others that he was mentally functioning. With the help of a therapist, he learned a system of blinking his one good eye to indicate the letters of the alphabet in order to form words and sentences. He used this system to write The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, the poignant story of his experience.

Bauby died of pneumonia two days after the French publication of his book in March of 1997.

***********************

Since our own fight to keep the doctor from pulling the plug on our son after his spinal cord injury in 1997, it has been my passion to learn as much as possible about people with devastating disabilities and to help others understand the struggles they endure.

In one of our nursing classes, the instructor showed us a clip of a 2008 movie about Jean-Dominique Bauby. I wanted to learn more about his story, but I decided to buy and read the book rather than watch the video.

After finishing the book, I did some additional Internet research on Bauby and locked-in-syndrome and discovered that the movie version is not accurate. The book flows unscripted from the mind of Bauby to the page. His talent for painting rich word pictures is all the more stunning when one remembers that he painstakingly dictated each word by blinking his one good eye. Ironically, his senses seem to have been honed sharper - rather than dulled - by his profound paralysis.

 
Bauby’s account of discovering some of his former associates were calling him a “vegetable” is heart-wrenching, as is his description of his brutal treatment at the hands of one doctor. Thankfully, not all medical professionals surrounding Bauby were so callous. Under other circumstances, Bauby might never have had an opportunity to speak from inside his prison. It makes me wonder how many times society dismisses those with disabilities as "vegetables." It makes me think we need to tread lightly when it comes to making decisions that may destroy someone who is desperately fighting for life.

 
As I read Bauby's story, I wept over his loss. I wept anew over our loss. I was drawn back to the reasons I chose nursing in the first place, before tests and competencies and endless stress buried me alive. I want to be a nurse who cares for those who can’t care for themselves and who speaks for those with no voice - an advocate for those fighting against all odds to live as fully as possible in bodies that are broken.

Surprisingly, the book is not depressing. It is the celebration of life from the perspective of one who experiences it from afar. It solidified my resolve to remember that the person always precedes the process when I care for others. When scheduling demands, changing societal norms, or my own ignorance of a particular medical condition threatens to pull me away from that resolve, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly sits nearby on my shelf as a solemn and powerful reminder.

This also makes me wonder how many times we dismiss those with disabilities as "vegetables." It makes me wonder how much we still need to learn about what is considered brain dead in an individual. It makes me think we need to tread lightly when it comes to making decisions that may cost the life of someone desperately trying to fight for life.
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is not written from a Christian perspective, but Bauby's love for life and talent for "writing" make this an important read.

Worth a King's Ransom

Boy, has it been a roller-coaster year. I've been missing-in-action here while I finished up my pre-requisites for nursing school. Juggling school and care-giving has been, to say the least, a challenge. I have a new appreciation for students of any age. I had forgotten just how hard it is to adjust to spending hours each week in a room full of strangers. At least now I know what a scantron is! I'll be putting in my application for nursing school this week and then there will be the long wait to hear whether or not I'm accepted for the fall quarter.

In an earlier post, I talked about the challenges of being an older student in a classroom dominated by youth. I expressed the hope to have a chance to extend the grace I yearned for to others.

I got that chance. During the quarter, I happened to make friends with a young woman about the age of my eldest son. She and I were so different, it was almost laughable. But somehow, we clicked. I chose to ignore her wild ways and rough language. She didn't seem to mind that I cringed at her crude banter and politely refused her invitation to join her for "thunder down under" (and no, I didn't even know what it was). I stood in the wind with her at break time as she smoked a cigarette and told me about her latest boyfriend. I bit my tongue and beat back the motherly urge to give her advice.

Then I went home and cried.

I cried for all she could be. I wept for her lostness. She was so utterly, completely without God. So sweet. So streetwise. And yet, so very clueless. In her, God gave me a glimpse of His tears for humanity in all its fallen beauty. I saw her soul as God sees it: a priceless thing; worth a King's ransom and worthy of our tears.

Why is it so easy to forget that those without God are no less deserving of Him than we are? In value, they are us. In spiritual poverty, we were them. We are all in need of a Savior. We are all completely undeserving of and often blindly oblivious to His fierce and undying love for us. He cares so much. We comprehend so little.

Even now.

The last day of regular classes, I gave my friend a gift-wrapped copy of Song in the Night and asked her to open it later. I knew she didn't like people who were "goody two-shoes" and had no idea how she would react. But I liked her so much, I just had to share the real me with her... and tell her why.

On finals day, I was nearly as nervous about her reaction as I was about the test.

When she saw me, her first words were: "You made me cry." Then she solemnly gave me a hug and ask if we could get together for coffee.

I hope we do. But truthfully, I don't know if I'll ever actually get a chance to see her again. I'm grateful, though, that God answered my prayers and gave me someone new to love, unconditionally, in His precious name.

Keeping It Real

It's been too long since I've posted here, I know. The recent direction God has driven me (back to school to finish my pre-nursing courses) has kept me extremely busy. I have two five - credit classes, which is a lot for me to juggle along with my other responsibilities. The rest of the family have been very supportive, and I love them all the more for their sacrifice and encouragement.

It has been harder than I thought it would be to adjust to being in classes with people who are much younger than I. Many of them are younger than my eldest children. In fact, I guessing that the teacher is younger than my eldest children.

I didn't think it would make much difference, but I definitely feel the generation gap. I have been referred to as the "older woman" in class, with a breath of emphasis on the "old" in "older." My table has a large empty circle around it, as if my gray hair were a disease. One young girl had to sit by me the first day because the class was so full - but quickly remedied that at the next class.

I have dreaded walking into that room every time. Suddenly I'm in ninth grade again. Yes, me - the author and speaker. I'm surprised by the strength of the past to influence my present. Old insecurities ooze up from some long-gone, but obviously still-raw, sewage of high school memories and threaten to pull me into their smelly pit.

But it's different this time. Forty years ago, I didn't know the Lord Jesus. Four decades ago, I walked into each class alone. This time I have a powerful Advocate within me and at my side, encouraging me and strengthening me to offer to others the grace and acceptance I longed for and never received from my classmates.

Perhaps God has plans to expand my education in more ways than I anticipated. Perhaps He has used this time to expose old scars and insecurities to His healing touch.

Did I say "perhaps"? I'm thinking, probably.

All We Have Is Us

This has been the best Mother's Day ever for me.

My wonderful husband surprised me by providing a surprise week-long visit by our eldest daughter, Sis, and her family. They worked it out so beautifully that I, the especially suspicious one of the family, didn't have a clue. In fact, I was so taken aback that it took me a minute to process the familiar face that knocked on our front door - an entrance usually reserved for door-to-door salesmen and lost motorists.

The days since have been a glorious clamor of laughter, food, visiting our old haunts, and re-telling the same old family stories. My new daughter-in-law has patiently and sweetly endured hearing it all again, laughing in the appropriate places and riding along in the swirl of joy that has consumed this week.

 

I love them all so much. We are complete when we are together. Age, new family affiliations, distance, and changing circumstances seem simply to weld us closer.

So this is what heaven must be like. It's going to be rich.

My father has always had a special saying:

In the end,
all that really matters
is relationship.

Amen, Papa, amen.