Posted in Believe it or not!, Inspiring, Photos, Wisdom

An Incredible Gift

fernShe was incredibly poor.

A girl I’ll call Sharon lived down the country road from our house, in a piece of rental property meant to be a hunters’ cabin. Drafty, leaky, and termite-infested, it at least provided some privacy for Sharon’s family: her unemployed parents and her 10-year-old baby sister.

When the church brought us meals after one of my children was born, and it was too much food for us, we shared it with Sharon and her family. I worried that they might not enjoy all those types of foods, but they assured us they loved all foods. Then they returned all those empty Cool-Whip cartons, carefully washed and dried. Only once did her mother ask for $25 for food, and when she had finished shopping, she brought me the change she had not needed.

Sharon was trying to finish high school and keep out of trouble, bless her. I enjoyed her calm and sure personality a lot. Although she was a teenager and I was near 30, she seemed bonded to me and would call me to chat, sometimes. Towards the end of each conversation she would mention some trouble she or a family member was having and we would discuss it for a few minutes. Only if I promised I would pray for her, would she end the conversation. That always touched me so.

Before long, she married and the young couple had their first child. She called me and asked me to come visit and see the house her teen husband had built for her. I was amazed at this building made of plywood, inside and outside, floors and ceilings, with the interior walls painted a pale blue. Sharon had actually used a feather duster dipped in paint to make fancy designs on the paint in the front room. A cast-iron wood stove in the center of the house cranked out more heat than I needed, but it was to keep the baby warm.

One day Sharon rang my doorbell and said she had a gift for me. She and her husband and baby were moving far away and it was her way of saying good-bye. There, on my porch stood a small table her husband had made. It was primitive, about on the order of a house made only of plywood, but it was sturdy and painted pale blue with feathery designs on it.

I could hardly believe that Sharon, in her poverty, would think to give anyone anything. It was so touching to me. I have cherished that little table for a long time, using it for a fern stand on the porch in summer and indoors in winter. It didn’t match a thing I had, but I wouldn’t think of parting with that incredible gift.

 

Posted in Believe it or not!, Inspiring, Photos, Wisdom

The Gift of Peace

Serenity

Tranquility, calmness, peacefulness, quietude, stillness, composure, coolness, poise, contentment, repose, mellowness . . .

WHAT on earth is peace on earth?

We write poems about it, take classes to learn it, build our houses to achieve it, take vacations to find it elsewhere, and even try screaming to see if we can’t get a little of it . . .

. . . “and QUIET!”

Peace in the sky and on earth...It’s more than the opposite of war. It cannot be bought for any price. In fact, some of the poorest people possess it. Some of the richest also possess it, along with some of the saddest and the happiest. It also knows no color, no rank, no age, and no gender.

It sounds indefinable, but it is not. It just passes all understanding.

The definition? Peace is a fruit of intimate communion with Jesus Christ.

Anything else that masquerades as peace is false, will fall, will fail, will fly away.

Facts are, constantly working hard to capture all the runaway part of your own self-manufactured peace and keep them somehow glued together is not a very peaceful existence.

Getting the Prince of Peace to do it for you is—umm—peaceful. He just gives us peace, His peace.

Of course, such a great gift would be wrapped and need to be unwrapped before we could use it, right?

The wrapping is Jesus, Himself, and the unwrapping is as easy as letting go—and as difficult.

Actually, this gift is a trade.

We give up our own peace and trade it to Him for His peace, as when we trade in a bent, sweaty token for a train ride–trade it for the ride, itself. And He paid for the ticket.

And our hands were what bent and soiled it.

So simple, some people let it insult them. Some people are so accustomed to a difficult peace that they disdain something so simple.

How sad.

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Homemaking, Inspiring, Photos, Wisdom, Womanhood

It Was a Gift

one of Joi's doilies
One of Joi’s Doilies

I used to live near a sweet and cheery lady named Joi. She and her husband were quite poor, he being a sacker in a grocery and both of them trying hard to earn college degrees, with four children in a two-bedroom house.Joi and I were friends and she was a constant amazement to me. She made every meal from scratch and did home canning. She crocheted doilies, sewed quilts, even ran soy beans through her blender to make soy milk. And then turned it into ice cream.

Somehow she had an abundance of cheer to compensate for all she did not have. Somehow, before the age of computers, she knew all about the health truth about oleo and butter. Before the age of herbal renaissance, she knew all about herbs. She played piano beautifully, taught piano lessons, and played for her church. I always felt somehow behind when I would visit her house.

Eventually she and her husband completed their degrees and moved to where the jobs were. I regret having lost touch with her, but in a way, I still feel the touch of Joi’s cheer in my life.

When it was my birthday, she visited me with a huge surprise. Humble and sweet, just like Joi, no gift could have made me happier that day. Wrapped in a towel was a huge loaf of warm, homemade bread. I had never seen any bread so big, and later learned she actually used the dough for two loaves and placed them into one bread pan. What a gift! Along with it, she brought a large bag of her own spinach, perfectly washed and grit-free.

We loved that sweet gift to pieces, literally. Every slice of the bread was a marvel of deliciousness and the spinach made a great addition to our supper that night. You may think it was an odd gift, but she knew what it means to think before you give something, and we recognized the rarity of it and the loving care that went into it. Imagine washing and washing all that spinach and then giving it away! Imagine the aromas of homemade bread floating through your house, but the bread going to someone else’s house.

It was a gift.

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Homemaking, Inspiring, Who's the mom here?, Wisdom

I Have Slept . . .

 . . . but I did not dream.

Dreaming about getting the laundry done.I love dreams, except for nightmares. I love recalling those crazy twisted dreams and trying to figure what was going on in my head that I could have thought such things when my mind was disengaged.

They say “house” dreams are about yourself, so the one I dreamed with the flooded basement probably was not a good sign. But what about the one where the staircase just went on forever with thousands of rooms on hundreds of floors, all furnished like a ritzy bed-and-breakfast? Hmm.

My other dreams, my wide-awake dreams where I plan how wonderful I will be next year, are another story. These dreams haunt me. I put them off, thinking I need some other thing to be just perfect before I can get started. You know the type: losing weight, writing a book, finishing crocheting that afghan, unpacking the last box from moving several years ago, etc. I know I should make some headway on at least some or at the very least one of these dreams, but the facts stand on the sidelines laughing at me.  The facts are that I don’t do what I could and I don’t know why.

I used to keep ironing up to date. Really. I used to keep my flower beds weeded. I used to weigh less.

I think partly I was living before my children and insisted on setting a good example at all times. Now they are grown and mostly gone and no one is watching me.

Except the Lord. He sees. He knows.

What I used to do because I believed I must do it, I now must learn to do only because it is right. My mind allows me choices these days, and I am surprised at who I see living underneath all the exterior rules I had made for myself.

I distinctly remember thinking, when the last child was off to college, “Whew! Now I can rest and do whatever I please. Finally! I am my own puppy!”

I think I need to rethink.

I have slept. It’s time to wake up.

Posted in Believe it or not!, Health, Who's the mom here?, Wisdom

Sheer Terror.

This is long, but it is astonishing reading, in that it is a true story. In fact, I’ve included a link at the end where you can read more of it, because I think you will want to. It is written by Michael Farris, a lawyer for the people, of whom children are a part.

Who should make very difficult decisions for children? Parents or doctors?

In March of this year, 8-year-old Jacob Stieler was diagnosed with Ewing Sarcoma, a dangerous bone cancer. His parents took him to a highly-rated children’s oncology center in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Jacob had surgery to remove the tumor, which was followed by several rounds of chemotherapy. The treatment was incredibly difficult, and Jacob’s mom, Erin, told me that when she looked her son in the eyes, she knew in her heart that he simply could not survive many more rounds of these drugs.

Erin and Ken, Jacob’s mom and dad, joined by hundreds of others, prayed for Jacob and his complete recovery.

After all of these rounds of chemotherapy were completed, there was a PET scan done to check on the status of the cancer. There was no evidence of cancer detected in Jacob’s body. Jacob’s family and friends rejoiced in his healing—prasing God for this wonderful outcome.

But the doctors wanted to give Jacob several more rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, despite the clean PET Scan. When asked why they wanted to keep giving Jacob these incredibly dangerous drugs, the doctors replied that this was “the standard of care” for his illness.

Jacob’s parents begged the doctors to make an individual diagnosis, rather than simply following unbending standards. But the doctors were steadfast. All children with this cancer needed multiple rounds of these drugs—regardless of PET scan results, the doctors contended.

Jacob’s parents did extensive study of the side effects of the five different chemotherapy drugs that the doctor wanted to administer. And they believed that the risk of the drugs was far greater than the risk of recurrent cancer, since Jacob had a clean PET scan. They said no to the doctors. No more chemotherapy treatment for now.

But the doctors would not take no for an answer. They called child protective services in Jacob’s county and asked the agency to file charges against the family for medical neglect.

After looking into the matter, both the local CPS agency and the local prosecuting attorney refused to file charges. They believed that the parents were making reasonable decisions for Jacob.

The doctors still would not take no for an answer. They called higher authorities in the state level CPS agency. The doctors had to make several calls before they finally found someone who would agree with them.

As a result of all of these calls, the local CPS agency was pressured into filing medical neglect charges against the parents.

The local prosecutor still refused to take a case against the family, so the state level CPS officials hired an independent private lawyer to serve as the prosecutor against Ken and Erin Stieler.

A jury trial is scheduled for early January to determine if the doctors will be given the authority to take over the medical decision-making for Jacob.

When I heard about this case—and checked out the facts—I knew that I could not sit on the sidelines and watch this family be overrun and parental rights be trashed by well-meaning but overzealous doctors.

I recently flew to Michigan and took the depositions of all three doctors who were scheduled to testify against the family.

Jacob’s treating physician is the key.

I prepared for the depositions by obtaining copies of the official “package inserts” that the FDA requires all drug companies to give to physicians and patients. Undoubtedly, you have seen these inserts when you have picked up prescriptions for your children.

The inserts tell you several things:

  • Indicated uses—that is a list of the diseases for which there is evidence that the drug is a safe and effective treatment.
  • Warnings—these are strong cautions that indicate serious potential issues.
  • Side effects—these disclose all of the potential consequences that arise from taking the drug.
  • Approval for children—there is a specific disclaimer on many drugs that indicate whether the drugs have been proven to be safe and effective for children.

“Have all of these drugs been approved by the FDA as safe and effective for children?” I asked Jacob’s treating oncologist.

“Yes,” she replied, “they have been FDA-approved for children.”

According to the official package inserts that we were able to obtain, she is just flat wrong.

She wanted to continue to give Ifosfamide to Jacob.

The FDA disclosure for this drug says: “Pediatric Use: Safety and effectiveness in pediatric patients have not been established.”

The oncologist wanted to give Jacob a week’s worth of Etoposide.

The FDA disclosure says: “Pediatric Use: Safety and effectiveness in pediatric patients have not been established.”

The warning on the drug Doxorubicin says: “Pediatric patients are at increased risk for developing delayed cardiotoxicity.” This means that the drug can cause severe harm to a child’s heart—at even higher rates than it can in adults.

In fact, as it turned out, the treating doctor had never even seen, much less read, these official FDA-required package inserts. She did state that she had seen similar information from other sources.

Most of the drugs did not list Jacob’s form of cancer as an “indicated use.” This means that these drugs had not been tested and validated as safe and effective for this particular kind of cancer—even for adults, much less for children.

And then we get to the official warnings and side effects.

In addition to the strong warnings about “congestive heart failure” from Doxorubicin, other drugs the doctor wanted to give were known to have caused cancer—new forms of cancer—in patients being treated for an original cancer. Vincristine’s label is typical of these warnings: “Patients who received chemotherapy with vinchristine sulfate in combination with anticancer drugs known to be carcinogenic have developed second malignancies.” The warning labels say that sometimes these second cancers develop years after the treatment.

All five of the drugs that the doctors want to give Jacob are either know to cause other cancers or have not been fully tested.

Some of the other side effects for these drugs include:

  • Damage to the cranial motor nerves
  • Serious infections
  • Failure of boys to sexually mature
  • The inability to father children
  • Anorexia

It would take pages to recite all of the warnings and side effects.

Parental rights are increasingly being lost in the medical arena. I am beginning to wonder why physicians even bother asking for parental consent if they will just do an end run around the parents whenever it is convenient for them to do so.

To read more, go here.

Posted in Believe it or not!, Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Husbands, Inspiring, Wisdom

. . . and Thanksgiving Found!

Today is the second story, the one that makes yesterday’s post complete in expression of the beauty of blessings. If you didn’t read yesterday’s, you kind of have to read it now. Today’s won’t make as much sense without it.

Fast forward one year. It is Thanksgiving Day, again. We are planning the 500 mile trek home again. Our arm is better. We are playing more carefully, now. We are so totally ready, again.

But a lot has happened in another family we know. The family that opened its home to us last year, when we were sort of stranded, in a medical way of speaking, had lost its only source of income. The dad–we’ll call him Clarence–had been jobless for weeks, had found new employment several hours away and had moved his entire family there to be with him. Things were looking rather good for them and we rejoiced that after such a long trial, these kind people had found some relief from their troubles.

Clarence also had medical insurance at this new job and needed elective surgery. He chose the weekend of Thanksgiving for it because he had days off and so did his parents; they could all be together.

We visited with them over the phone a time or two before the surgery. He felt a bit uneasy, as anyone would before surgery, and Clarence and my husband were pretty good friends. Clarence would call my husband his best friend, but my husband is shy of being called by superlatives.

I think it was the Wednesday. You know–THE Wednesday before Thanksgiving. We were readying to go, I know that for sure. Then the call came. Clarence’s wife wanted prayer for his surgery. I told her of course we were praying. She said that no, she meant really, really pray, that something was not going right. She began to cry. I listened. My horror grew as I realized the medical terms she was quoting from the doctors were the warm-up words they use to prepare the family for death of the patient. I think she wanted me to help her accept this might be happening. I don’t remember what I said, but I did not want to commit myself to anything quotable until I had spoken with my husband.

I called my husband and told him what I thought. It did not register with him. He came home as early as he thought appropriate, and by then I had spoken several more times with Clarence’s wife and when my husband walked in the door I told him, “I think Clarence is dead.”

The grief that washed over him made me sorry I had to tell him.

He called the wife and spoke with her a bit. When he hung up, he said he was going immediately. He took our older son, Clarence’s older son’s best friend. The two of them stayed up all night waiting for the doctors to admit the truth: Clarence had suffered from a fatal reaction to the anesthesia. He had gone out of this life saying to his wife, “Something’s not right. Something’s not right. Tell them! Something’s not right.” She heard these, his last words, I am sure, forever, although that was maybe 12 or 15 years ago and she is happily remarried now.

grabschmuck-61204_640But my husband and my son were there. They were able to help Clarence’s family assimilate the truth and deal with the aftermath. This kind family who had opened their home to us during the previous Thanksgiving, now missing one member, were the needy ones. And although our plans were again foiled by the events around us, by troubles and tragedies around us, there was the blessing: We could be there for them.

And we realized: That Thanksgiving Dinner we had shared the year before was the last event, ever, that we shared with him before he moved his family and then died. If we had not had reason to stay home, we so would have missed that one last dinner.

And that was the 8th blessing.

And we know that in all things, God works for good with those who love Him . . . Romans 8:28

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