Greenhouse Going Up

Fresh veggies!!  Robust and beautiful flowers! Aching back and dirt-filled nails!  Oh, yes!  Yes!!  Bring it on!

veggies

veggies

My sweet husband is once again laboring away on something that I have wanted for a long time.  The gift he gave me for Christmas.  My coveted greenhouse.  Which went along with the round, tumble compost maker.  Good rich dirt is one of my favorite things.

the making of a greenhouse

the making of a greenhouse

The weather was gorgeous, so the flower beds got cleaned, and all the new buds coming up were exclaimed over with lots of oohing and excited squealing.  I love spring.

a peony coming up

a peony coming up

baby's breath getting ready to breath!!

baby’s breath getting ready to breath!!

 

The greenhouse has our gardening juices flowing.  Not only will we have things growing in that, we will also have things for the small orchard we are planning.  We went through Stark Brothers catalog and ordered fruit trees and asparagus and strawberries and blueberries and blackberries and… I am just so excited.

Did I mention I love spring?

spring

spring

We have sat here and watched youtube videos on gardening in  raised beds, growing  in the garden plot, making compost, how to plant certain plants, all sorts of things.  Here are a few of them just in case you find a plant catalog lying around somewhere.  I’ll warn you now.  If you look through the catalog and watch the videos, it will change your life.

HAPPY GARDENING!!!!

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My Momma, the Amazing Foodie

My mom was a great cook. She cooked for a hungry husband, an even hungrier boy, a pudgy very healthy girl, and another skinny little unhealthy girl.  They were good, stick-to-your-ribs and thighs and butt meals.  Meals like this one I made tonight.

goulash

goulash

She never made things like this salad I made the other night.IMG_7957And she never would have used the “china” that I used for the salad.  She had two dishwashers:  Darla and me.  She could get all kinds of dishes dirty.

dirty dishes

dirty dishes

If it was my turn to wash, I diligently washed all those dirty dishes — just like you see above — and after rinsing a couple of plates, Darla had to go to the “bathroom.”  She would use the “bathroom” until the dishes were all clean and piled in her sink to rinse.  Only they never got rinsed — because Darla was in the “bathroom” — until Mom came in the kitchen and got all over me for not rinsing them since Darla had to go to the “bathroom.”  Of course, Dar only was finished using the “bathroom” after I got all the dishes washed and rinsed.

That’s probably why I use paper china quite often now.

But I digress.  The reason for this blog tonight is not to tell you how good a cook Mom was or how many dishes Dar bathroomed out of doing, but the fact that Mom could cook without leftovers.  She didn’t like leftovers, so she could cook for all these starving stomachs and have nothing left over and fill us full to bursting.

But even that wasn’t the greatest feat.  If we did on the rare occasion have food left over, she would get out the just-right container for them.  Never too big.  Never too small.

And now I have accomplished what I have heretofore been unable to do:  Get the just right container for the leftovers.

Here is the proof!

perfect fit

perfect fit

Ah, the leftover food fantasy has become remaining food reality!

It’s a New Dawn! It’s a New Day!

Happy-New-Year

Happy-New-Year

It’s 2014!!!!  HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

I can’t express my attitude toward the new year any better than Nina Simone!  A great great song.

Click on  It’s a New Day! if you want to start the New Year off great!

“Feeling Good”

Birds flyin’ high, you know how I feel
Sun in the sky, you know how I feel
Breeze driftin’ on by, you know how I feel
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me.
Yeah, it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me, ooooooooh…
And I’m feelin’ good.

Fish in the sea, you know how I feel
River runnin’ free, you know how I feel
Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me,
And I’m feelin’ good

Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don’t you know,
Butterflies all havin’ fun, you know what I mean.
Sleep in peace when day is done: that’s what I mean,
And this old world is a new world and a bold world for me…

Stars when you shine, you know how I feel
Scent of the pine, you know how I feel
Yeah, freedom is mine, and I know how I feel..
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me
[scat]
And I’m feelin’… good.


Restoration or Resolution? (Final Chapter)

Restoration or ResolutionBeing “all right” is not the same as being of sound mind and good mental health.  It’s sometimes just an answer for people, but it’s sometimes true.  Compared to the “normal” of a sick person, being “all right” is a good day.  And sometimes the things sick people do to make themselves feel “all right” are not the things God would have them do.  This is what the Spirit had been leading me to find out as I stayed at the Eagle’s Nest; this is what He wanted me to know when He sent me to Thessalonica.  “I know you are in pain and confusion.  Here is your cure.”  Stand resolute.  Stay in the Word.  Lean not on my own understanding but on God.  I just needed to follow these guidelines in order to keep from falling into other difficulty, other sorrow, other illness.

After studying those books over and over again, sitting and contemplating what they mean, I have decided they mean a little of both.  First of all, they are a call to be resolute in following Christ, to follow the teachings in those two books.  For if one follows that teaching, although the path to restoration is still difficult, the chance of further problems from bad choices, those things one does to “feel better,” are eliminated.

In those dark moments of time at the Eagle’s Nest all my mind could fathom was restoration, the promise Christ gave me.  But in reality, He was telling me to stand firm in the truths I knew, for those truths would lead to the restoration I was needing.  That resolution to follow Him, even when I didn’t understand how He could “let” all these events happen, was the message.  The resolution would ultimately lead to a restoration.

I encourage you.  Stay resolute in talking with God (I’m not sure yelling and saying all sorts of horrible things to Him counts, but…).  Stay resolute in attending church; even when we aren’t feeling very “Christian,” go anyway; it eventually draws our hearts into peace.  Stay resolute in following Biblical guidelines; they’re for our health, not God’s.

“And so we will be with the Lord forever.  Therefore encourage one another with these words.”  1 Thessalonians 4:17b-18

Our Sunday School lesson this past week was about Joseph, the son of Jacob, the favorite son out of the 12, the son who got the beautifully ornamented robe.  The son hated by his brothers.  How could one ever imagine being sold to the Egyptians as a young man, just a boy, would work for the glory of God and the betterment of men?  But it did just that.

Over the years I have seen people dealt such harsh blows that I didn’t know how they could stand.  But they did and do.  Not only stand but firmly still trust that God is in control.  A young man who lost his wife and girls in a car accident.  A mother and father who forgives the drunken driver who caused the death of their daughter.  The list goes on and on.

I will never understand the “whys” of this life nor am I strong in my faith as these other people.  There are truths I know for a certainty because God in his wisdom and loving kindness has shown them to me.  Why He would do such a wondrous thing is beyond me.  I cannot imagine, as in the case of Joseph, how any good comes from tragedy, but, again, I know it does.  Who would ever have thought the accident that Joni had as a young woman would bring her fame, enabling her to help so many, as well as glorify God?  How does the young Nick come to terms with a life void of arms and legs?

It is through the movement of a Spirit; a Spirit that is God.  The Spirit that moves those who love God, that sustains them through life, that even creates something majestic out of nothing, from what seems dead and useless.

Our Father God, our Savior God, our Spirit God:  the Trinity.

My favorite quote of all time.

My favorite quote of all time!

Restoration or Resolution (Part 4)

When I asked her, “Is it Nate?” through her sobs she choked out, “No, it’s Joe.”  My sweet, sweet grandfather-in-law who had taken a bad fall down his basement stairs not more than two weeks before I had taken my own fall into a mental and physical breakdown.  We had shared our sorrow over the deaths of his sister, his daughter, and then his grandson.  We had had plans that winter to go through pictures of family, writing on them who everyone was.  We ate meals together.  Together we had buried Kody, the dog he loved and took with him every day.

I was the one who came to his aid first, opening his door with the key he had given me, to find him lying on the cold basement floor, his head covered in blood.  The emergency number was called, the EMTs arrived, and my little grandfather-in-law was packed off to the hospital as I followed.  Memories bombarded me; the “whys” rolled off my tongue.  “Where were you, God, when I was pleading with you?”  It was soon after that that I, too, fell down the steps of despair.

Joe was dead.  I was devastated.  I had to go home.

When I told my sis that I had to come home, she cried even harder and said, “No, his funeral was two weeks ago.”  “WHAT?”  My mind wasn’t able to wrap around the idea that I had missed it.  Even though he was not recovering from the head injury he had received in the fall, his death from that injury came as a great surprise.  I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.  Dar could hear the shock in my voice and feel my confusion.  She cried and explained how they had prayed about whether or not to call the Haglins to come tell me, as they anguished over their decision with other believers, other friends who had walked my journey of despair by my side.  She told me of the difficult, heart-wrenching phone call to the Haglins to get their opinion.  And in the end, as they were led by the Spirit to do, the decision was made to let me heal, to spare me another death, another loss, until I was strong enough to embrace it.

The Lord’s presence was with the two of us that day even though we were miles and miles apart.  His presence enfolded me as I grasped the whole picture, for surely He had orchestrated my stay at the Eagle’s Nest before He called Joe home.  His love for me in the midst of my anger toward Him was a balm on my aching heart, a soothing touch.  Something I didn’t deserve after all the things I had yelled and said to the Ruler and Creator of the universe.  My sister was a puddle of tears and pain as I reached out to her over the phone, telling her I understood and it was the right thing to have done, no matter how difficult it had been.  I explained that I was all right, and I was also ready to come home.  It was time.

(continued)

Restoration or Resolution (Part 3)

Restoration or Resolution (Part 3)

Restoration or Resolution (Part 3)

It’s been awhile, once again, since I’ve been here, back to my little blog, my baby that I have let fly solo after monitoring it daily since it’s birth.  Sometimes multiple times in a day.  Loving the feedback; loving that you guys loved some of my stuff.  And now, here we are, after those long months of getting established, pouring my heart and soul and silliness into it, we go our separate ways most days, turning into weeks.  It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.  We were supposed to be acknowledged by WordPress as blog of the month or week; Freshly Pressed it’s called.

But, really, our little venture has served its purpose: as a fulfillment for my desire to write (whether that’s good or bad writing) and as a catharsis for my troubled soul, helping me to overcome catastrophic events.  Those events that change a person: our thoughts, actions, feelings, personalities, ability to relate to other people, affecting how we relate to other occurrences in our lives.  It has helped shed some light, hopefully, on the anguish and devastation of mental illness as well as given honor to a good man who died way too young.

reading apronsandappetites

reading apronsandappetites

So to catch you up, all who have just today wondered by or to you good people who follow along in my meager efforts to express myself, you can go back here and here to read the previous blogs on this subject or continue reading.

a beautiful day

a beautiful day

The morning dawned with the beauty and the warmth of springtime.  It was 60 degrees!  What a surprise.  A spring day right smack dab in the middle of January winter, melting the snow and creating a day for the outdoors.  A beautiful day that did not lift the heavy foreboding I had that something was wrong; someone had died.  My fear took hold, choking common sense.  If someone had died, then I would have gotten a call.  Of course, that call would have gone through Paul and Gretel for there were no phones capable of incoming calls nor televisions for aired programs in the housing where guests stayed.  Just peace and quiet.  I could call out on the phone that was there, and I could watch the movies they had for guests’ enjoyment, all G-rated, but there was no intrusion from the outside world to disturb those that stayed in this Eagle’s Nest.

That was also the day after my “send her to Thessalonica” dream.  The day I rebelled against the Lord, telling Him there was no way I was reading the Thessalonians.  He had not helped after all those prayers.  Why should I do what I knew He was asking me to do?  So instead I went for the walk that brought me to His feet, to sit and listen and envision His own pain and sorrow.  The walk that brought comfort and encouragement and strength.  The walk that said, “you can do this; go on back and make that phone call.”  The walk that validated my foreboding that someone had died.  And that someone, I just knew, was my son; the son who had struggled with drug addiction for years.

All day I had walked that 200-acre farm.  There were trails to follow and benches to sit on, ponds to meditate beside, gullies to explore, embankments to climb.  I had taken the map provided and thought I fairly well knew where I was, so when I noticed the storm clouds gathering that afternoon, I wasn’t too worried.  At that point in my exploration I had been walking down an almost dry creek bed with woods on the left and a steep embankment on the right.  I decided if I climbed the embankment, the farm should be right there to my right.  When I finally got to the top, pulling myself up with tree limbs, and looked out over the field, there were no houses in sight.  Just field and woods.

The thunder rumbled and the panic set in.  I scurried back down to the creek bed, thinking that the only thing to do would be to backtrack  my path, those hours worth of walking,  and that I surely would not beat the storm brewing.  My first encounter when I reached the creek bed was a big deer that ran out in front of me followed by a ‘possum.  Where had all those animals been all day?  They hadn’t been around earlier.  Were they as frightened of the storm coming as I was?  Would that cause them to fear me, thus causing them to attack me?  I had heard of how vicious an opossum could be when threatened.  As I stood and looked around, there was wildlife rushing around all over that piece of wooded area.  How would they feel about me barging into their sanctuary as I raced the storm?  And I was filled with dread and fright and uncertainty, knowing I would never beat the storm back to where I was staying.

How far back did the creek go?  Now I couldn’t remember how long I had walked it.  Would it fill quickly if the rain poured?

The storm within me was roiling and brewing more than the storm in the sky until I heard in the small rush of wind the voice speaking within my spirit, “Don’t go the familiar way.  Step out and trust and go forward.”

As I looked up at the embankment and around at the wildlife and creek, I decided that’s what I would do.  I wouldn’t follow the familiar, but I would go forward.  I scrambled back up to the field, and as I stepped out of the woods and into that field, I could see that, yes, there was the farmhouse.  I was right where I thought I had been according to the map.

And I pondered on the walk back to my “home” the lesson God was teaching me.  I thought of all the people I see coming through the court system who fall right back into the familiar path of drugs or alcohol or bad relationships or circle of friends.  I thought of all the children that didn’t want to leave abusive parents because that was “the familiar path,” all they knew.  I thought of the way Christians don’t want to change church services or opinions or routines, staying in the rut that leads down the familiar path.  The scripture in Proverbs 3:5-6 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; and He will direct your path” came to mind.

In my walk with God that day, I knew that my foreboding had been for a real reason, one I dreaded hearing, one subconsciously I had been waiting to happen for a long time.  When I finally called my sister and told her I knew that someone had died, she instantly began crying, sobbing.

(continued)

Restoration or Resolution? (Part 2)

After having been gone for such a length of time, I might need to update you, my dear reader, as to what this post is all about because you may be lost if you are just now dropping by.  Just step back a day, and get caught up on my trip to ancient Thessalonica.

For those that follow faithfully:  I so love you!!!!!  Thank you! Thank you!  You give me affirmation and bring my life such joy to know that someone cares enough to hang in there with me.

a wild hair?

a wild hair?

Also, you may never know what wild hair will grab hold of me, and what I will then put on this little blog.

But in the meantime…

Have you been to Thessalonica yet?   Or in other words, did you read the books of Thessalonians?  Does it mean restoration or resolution to you?

“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.”  1 Thessalonians 4:13

My hope was and is in Christ Jesus, God the Son.  The fact that I had lost someone I dearly loved in death and, quite literally, lost my children to trauma or illness or addiction, was overwhelming.  I have intimate knowledge of the word despair.  Even though we as Christians always have hope in Christ, our physical and mental well-being does not always recognize that.  The brain is such an awesome organ, and when it gets sick, the devastation is tremendous.  The fact that we are Christians has nothing to do with the physiology of brain chemistry.  And I am appalled at those Christians who seem to think a person has control over that physiology;  then, through their own ignorance, will condemn the actions of the very people who need help the most.  In my embarrassment, however, I have to admit that I have been one of those Christians, making judgments, condemning, seeing the sin or act instead of the person.  Restoration or ResolutionGod and I have had many, many talks about that; He has heard my cries of repentance and sorrow and self-loathing over those things; He has in His graciousness made me whole again.

“So when we could stand it no longer, we thought it best to be left by ourselves in Athens.  We sent Timothy, who is our brother and co-worker in God’s service in spreading the gospel of Christ, to strengthen and encourage you in your faith, so that no one would be unsettled by these trials.  For you know quite well that we are destined for them.”  1 Thessalonians 3:1-3

the pureness of fresh snow

the pureness of fresh snow

So back in 2002, in the dead of winter, in a place called the Eagle’s Nest, on a farm heavily covered in fresh snow, I clung to the hope God promised me: to strengthen and encourage me.  Paul and Gretel Haglin owned that farm; two beautiful people full of mercy and grace and service.  Their ministry with this farm, this place of refuge and renewal, was only one of the many ways they have served God throughout their lives.  They allowed me to stay here, alone with God, occasionally with them in order that they might  strengthen and encourage me, letting me walk the trails they had made and sit at the benches they had placed throughout the 200-acre farm.

“And give relief to you who are troubled.”  1 Thessalonians 5:24

“May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father, who loved us and by His grace gave us eternal encouragement and good hope, encourage your hearts and strengthen you in every good deed and word.”  2 Thessalonians 2: 16-17

And God my Father, the Lord Jesus Christ, himself, gave me promises and told me how to live and breathe again, how to put one foot in front of the other to continue the life that was still before me.  He  showed me how it was He who first had cried in a loud voice of sorrow “WHY?”  He showed me how the world had changed from the beauty of His making to the ugliness of sin.  He filled me with the knowledge of His great sorrow when the children He loved turned from Him to choose their own way, the opposite of His instruction.  As I sat on the bench crying to God, “Why?” for I had prayed, my friends had prayed, churches had prayed for the healing for my son, a healing that did not come, God opened my eyes to the very beginning of time.

tracks of God's tears

tracks of God’s tears

He let me hear his cry of anguish and pain over the deception of His children, a cry so loud and sorrowful that all earth mourned with Him.   The earth trembled and pushed outward in its effort to bellow; it sagged inward with its great sadness.  God’s tears fell, filling those low spots, rushing across the earth, imparting His sorrow.

Those two whom God loved, the two who walked daily with Him and enjoyed His fellowship, his friendship, had opened Pandora’s Box and let sin in.  And in it came.  Rushing with its white hot wind, scorching the earth, burning the two as well.  I could see the plants turn from their beauty as sin rushed by, now reaching out with thorned fingers to catch hold and entangle the unsuspecting, just as sin had taught it to do. Sin hurried on, creating suspicion in the once docile animals, causing them to turn on the two, putting fear between them and the two they once called friend.   Death began.  The change was too great, the sin ever-present.  Beauty destroyed by decay.

God’s sorrow was more than I could bear for it overshadowed the grief that had overcome me.  No, I was not the first to ask the question Why.  God, Himself, was.

But as is His way, He comforted me, filled me with His presence, His greater-than-sorrow love.  The kind of love that makes the eagle soar, that causes it to rise above the storm.  The kind of love that sustains and carries and says, “You can do this.”

He then sent me back down the hill to make the call I had been dreading to make.

(to be continued)

Restoration or Resolution? (Part 1)

phototake-rm-hives_urticaria_skin_rash

Hives (Urticaria)
© Scott Camazine / Phototake

Many years ago, when my world came crashing down, so did my body.  It very simply gave way to complete and utter exhaustion brought on by the previous trauma and stress and my unsuccessful coping mechanisms.  My whole body broke out in hives from the tip of my head to the bottoms of my feet.  If you have never had hives, I cannot begin to tell you how horrible they are!

The itching was relentless; the wheals raised and nasty; the stress level even higher than it was.  So after a trip to the doctor and a shot, I was hoping for some relief.  None followed since the shot made me so agitated I could do nothing but walk the floors all night long.  A lion caged comes to mind.

The next morning I went back to the doctor, and this time got a shot once again to calm me down.  It did.  Blissfully put me right to sleep.

But I was on the edge of something.  Something that was taking me down fast: grief, heartache, sleep deprivation, working my body to the point of exhaustion in order not to think.  And it was kicking my butt.

That’s when the sister (once again) stepped in and made decisions for me.  She and Terah found the perfect spot for restoration: the Eagle’s Nest.  My favorite scripture is Isaiah 40:31, so when my sister leaned into my face and said, “It’s called the Eagle’s Nest,” I knew I had to go.

On a cold and blustery, snowing day, the two of them took me to this sanctuary and left me.  All alone.  Just me and God.  There were many, many God moments that were supernatural in nature during my stay at the Eagle’s Nest.  After all, God is supernatural.  But one moment in particular that I have pondered on for a decade is the dream in which my future was being discussed.  The general concensus in the dream by whomever was deciding my fate was “Send her to Thessalonica.”

Wikipedia

Wikipedia Panoramic view of Thessalonica with Mount Olympus in the background.

Having been raised in church, I knew that Thessalonica was one of the cities of the New Testament, and I woke up realizing that I should read Thessalonians.  But I was mad at God.  A lot had happened in my life that year and over the previous several years that made me feel as though God had thrown me into the desert alone, to be devoured by elements and circumstances beyond my control.  And apparently His control as well.  There was no way I was going to Thessalonica or anywhere else I felt He was guiding me.

But as is the way with supernatural activity, the God way, I was so drawn to read the books of Thessalonians that there was nothing I could do but sit down and get out my Bible and read.

At that first reading I was overwhelmed with the message that God would restore my family, for my family was in chaos.  And that gave me the hope, I suppose, to continue fighting, continue coming up for air and trying desperately to pull those I loved up with me. But after years filled with disappointments of that restoration, I began to question my interpretation of Thessalonians.

“Had it truly been a message of restoration?”

(to be continued)

Suicide: Selfish Action or Despairing Reaction?

a journal

a journal

Odd.  Just this past week I got out my Purpose Driven Life Devotional to use it again, needing to understand life better, trying to wrap my head around our purpose.

And now, ever since Sunday morning at church, when our associate pastor stood before us, the congregation, and told us about Rick Warren’s son committing suicide, I have been heart-sick.  My thoughts and emotions are with their grieving, their unanswered questions of “Could I have done more?”  I have reflected on the long journey they have been taking with their son and his mental illness, the toll it took on their son as well as them for that is what illness does in a family.  Those debilitating illnesses of any kind, those long-term illnesses with a need for long-term help not only affect the sick person but affect the caretakers as well.

The problem with mental illness, deep depression illness for today’s discussion, is the misunderstanding the majority of people have about it.  It’s not something an ill person wants to have.  Those with chronic depression do not want to be sad all the time; they do not want to have to fight every single day of their lives just to feel the slight presence of a “good day.”  They want, as badly as a child wants its Momma when it is scared or hurt, to be “normal,” to be happy, to be able to walk without a cloud of heavy darkness constantly hanging over them.  They would love to be able to “pull themselves up by their bootstraps.”

But it’s just not possible sometimes.  Some days they lose the fight they fight every day to live life.  And sometimes when they lose… they commit suicide.  That happens in an instant; that decision.  The pain of sadness hurts, and sometimes it hurts so badly that all one wants to do is just leave.  It is not, as the leader of a visiting singing group at our church had the gall to get up and say before the entire group of people there to worship God, “an act of cowardice.”  No person who commits suicide is a coward.  My heart wants to cry out to God to let this particular man experience the despair of depression.  But the Christ who suffered for me and has sent a part of Himself to live within me fills me with compassion instead; something this man clearly does not have.  And the knowledge that Christ is with us does not keep us from the Dark Abyss; it does not keep us from feeling despair any more than it keeps one from feeling the pain of a broken bone.  But it does, as Rick Warren’s son knew, give us a hope.  And with that hope, those fighting this horrible illness grope along through the darkness of depression; some days victorious; some days just holding their own; some days losing.

It’s the losing days that we, as caretakers or friends or health workers, worry about.  Those are the days we check and double-check the one we love.  But what of the losing day we know nothing about?  That moment in time when the despair is overwhelming, the tiredness of the fight creating such a longing to leave that the sick one does just that:  leaves.  One way or another, but leaves.

It’s been 12 years now since I almost left.  But I remember the day as though it were yesterday.  My grief that evening had doubled: first I grieved the loss of my husband and now the grief over my son as well hit me.  And this particular evening it was just too much grief.  I had to leave; I couldn’t stay.  The thought that my family needed me never entered my mind.  There were no thoughts but one:  I had to leave; I couldn’t bear the pain anymore.   All I could feel was the horrible blackness of despair.  The leaving would not be a cowardly act but an act of one whose thought processes are skewed by the darkness of depression.

As was her nightly ritual at that point in time, my sister called me to check on me.  And as usual I was crying.  We would talk; she would say she was coming down, but I would assure her I would be fine.  And I would rise above the grief and be fine.  But this night was different.  Dar called; I was crying; we talked.  And when she said she was coming down, I continued crying and talking and telling her I would be fine… until I realized I was talking to no one.  I knew she had dropped the phone, got in her car, and was probably speeding way past the legal speed limit to get to me.

My plans to leave had been derailed and I cried that much harder.  I knew that whatever pills I had planned on taking would only be pumped out of my stomach at a hospital; whatever mode of transportation I could think of to leave this world had just been shut down by the fact that my sister was on her way to do whatever she had to do to save me.

And then she walked through the door…

Just what I’ve been thinking lately, but this says it so much better than I ever could.

Whenquiet's Blog

Often, God sends us angels. During this recording, the angel was the pianist, Martin Eigenmann. Because of his encouragement, I recorded one of my belated Grandmother’s favorite songs, and heard her voice when we listened to the playback. The second angel is the person who recently uploaded this video to youtube. Merci beaucoup! Yes, I am ready to begin singing again. Thank you!!

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