Seeing Beyond the Offense and Giving Grace

Evie praising at Lifest 2014

I was driving into the parking lot at a supermarket chain the other day and was cut off by someone coming from the other direction.  The driver was clearly speeding, which startled and offended me; I had Evie in the car with me, and did not appreciate the "near miss" which endangered my daughter.

My instinct was to fume...

But quite instantly I heard a voice inside me say, "How many people did you cut off?  How many times did you speed into a parking lot when you were picking up medications or running in for milk and you needed to get home as quickly as possible?" "Remember when you were working 10 hour days and then taking Evie to chemo appointments the other days?"

You see, reflecting back on when Evie had cancer, I'm certain that I stopped short, cut off, sped by, tail-gated...you name it.  We'd let our sidewalk go un-shoveled.  I didn't return phone calls.  I can't recall if I even sent out Christmas cards.  I think a hurricane devastated a large portion of the southeastern coast, but I didn't care;  

our world had shrunk down to the size of a 15 month old baby girl with a port in her chest, and poison running through her body in hopes of killing a killer.

So, our few months between the fall of 2005 and the spring of 2006 when Evie was being treated for cancer taught me a lot about grace.  Clearly, we didn't have a neon sign on the top of our car that said, "Be kind, their baby has cancer."  "Please, let them through, they're on the way to the ER with a fever of 104."  "New Year's Eve and on the way back to clinic for a dose of antibiotics because complications with pneumonia!"

The fact of the matter is, you may be judging someone who is experiencing the worst period in his or her life.

Give Grace...

Give grace... by letting the heavily sighing woman behind you move ahead of you in line.  /She may have just worked an overnight shift and now be going home to give the kids a meal before she goes to her second job which barely pays for heat.

Give grace... by waving that person in pleasantly; the person who is trying to "cut in"on the traffic when he or she should have moved over a long time ago.  He or she may have been thinking about when the right time is to call hospice for their mom or dad, and never saw the sign that the lane was ending.

Give grace...by shoveling the neighbor's driveway and sidewalk even though they've never done that for you, and usually take too long to do their own.  They may not shovel in a timely fashion because their daughter has cancer, and they can hardly lay her down to sleep at night let alone during the day when she just got her weekly dose of chemo.  (Yes, our wonderful neighbors in Wisconsin often shoveled us out that long, cold winter...they blessed us by never asking for anything in return, and probably weren't sure if we knew it was them.)

Please, see beyond the offense, and give them grace...you have no idea what news they just received, what horror they just witnessed, what tragedy they are experiencing.

The gift of grace is rarer than the sharpest diamond, and more precious than the finest pearl. 

One size fits all and guaranteed to be just what that person needs.

My "Not So Flattering" Moment at the Local Pharmacy

In my commitment to follow the post topics set forth by WEGO Health for National Health Blog Post Month, I MUST write today about the most embarrassing situation that my, or in my case, my daughter's health condition put me in.  Let's face it though, when you read this, you'll understand that it was I, and I alone, who put myself in this embarrassing situation.

First, I'll set the stage.  Jeff was out of town for a training in Iowa.  Evie was probably 2 or 3 years old.  I was working fulltime at a dental office in downtown Madison, about a 40 minute commute with traffic to work.  I had one of the days that Jeff was out of town off because I was scheduled to take Evie to her routine ophthalmologist check up with Dr. Struck.

So, here we go...

I got Evie ready to go to Dr. Struck's.  We had breakfast, we were dressed, and I just needed to give her the morning eye drops for her glaucoma.  I gave her the drops and she wiped her eye and started to fuss.  Evie had a speech delay, so we didn't have a lot of help when it came to determining "what was wrong" when she fussed.  I just ignored it, figuring it was typical toddler behavior. 

I got Evie into the car, opened the garage door and put the keys in the ignition.  Turned them.  Nothing...just a stubborn, hallow click.  Evie noticed something was wrong and started to get even sassier in the back seat than she had already been.  I said, "Evie, we're fine.  I'm going to call Grandma." 

I got out my cell and called Grandma Rita.  I didn't want to take Evie back in the house, because I figured it would only make her more disgruntled to be shifted from one place to another.  I explained my situation to Rita who was at work just down the road from our house.  We agreed that she'd drive over, I'd drop her back off at work, and Evie and I would take her car into Madison for the eye appointment. 

Okay, we are on the road!  Should be smooth sailing now.  But, hmmmm....Evie Jo was still playing the roll of Ms. Whiney Cranky-Pants in the back seat.  What was the deal????

After a LONG, toddler-sobbing filled ride to Madison, Evie and I arrived at Dr. Struck's.  She fussed the whole time in the waiting room.  We were taken back to the room and Dr. Struck said, "Has she been like this all the whole time?"  I was like, "Yeah, I don't what her problem is.  Our car wouldn't start so I think that threw her off."  But he noticed that she seemed to be rubbing her eye and tearing mostly from the right one...THE GOOD EYE.  Yes, the only eye that really still worked. 

Dr. Struck grabbed a bottle of drops and plopped one in Evie's eye and then shined a light on it.  There was a fluorescent yellow stain smeared across her eye.  "That is a very scraped eye, that would explain all the tears.  It must hurt a lot."  He looked at me again, "Did she have an appointment today, or is this why you came in?"  "No," I said, "This was just a regular appointment, I had no idea she scratched her eye." 

A scratched eye is bad news in a regular healthy eye.  A scratched eye is TERRIBLE news in an aniridic eye.  The aniridic eye is very immaturely constructed...it has no iris for protection.  Dr. Struck said that there would be no exam today, we would need to get an ointment to heal the eye.  We had to return to the office the next day so he could ensure the eye was healing properly otherwise we would have to try something else. 

Oh, brother. 

I gathered up my screamy-meamy Evie, now feeling remorseful that I had been so impatient with her fussiness, and we headed for home.  Since Evie was still screaming, AND I had to call work to tell them that I would not be in the next day because I had to take Evie BACK to the eye doctor to check on her scratched eye, AND because I had to pick up the ointment at the pharmacy so we could start trying to heal Evie's eye...I called my mother in law and asked her if she could possibly come to our house and stay with Evie while I tried to do all these things at once.  She said she would, so we picked her back up from work, I dropped her and Evie at our house and I went to the pharmacy to get this precious ointment which would soon restore peace, and tranquility to our lives. 

There was only one problem.  The pharmacy didn't carry that ointment, it wasn't a very commonly prescribed one.  They could order it and it would be in the following day.  Nope!  That doesn't work!  I need to have this eye HEALED by tomorrow.  "We can see if Walgreens in Verona has it."  (There was no Walgreens in Mount Horeb yet.)  Fine.  They called Verona.  Yes, Walgreens had the ointment, I could come and pick it up.

Great.  Whatever.  Now I have the loaner car, another trip to make that would take another 20 minutes at least, and a screaming child to take with me.  I remember something that I had forgotten about at our pharmacy, so I turned back around to the technician and asked, "Can I pick up her blood pressure medications I called in the other day?"  The technician goes aside to check for the prescriptions.  "Those haven't been filled because they weren't cleared through Medicaid yet." 

Steam began to escape from my ears.  My cheeks flushed. I imagine I looked like Fred Flintstone when he would get hopping mad.  "Are you KIDDING me?  I called those in days ago.  Why haven't I been called?   I have a broken car, a screaming child and ointment that I have to drive all around to find, and you can't even fill her blood pressure medication that was called in two days ago??????!!!!!!!!"

That's right.  I WAS the screaming, ranting, tyrannical lady at the pharmacy.  I was sobbing.  I was choking.  I was ready to punch a wall.  "Okay," the manager stepped in, "We can get them filled and we will bring them to your house later today."  I don't recall much else aside from this offer, which DID bring me some peace.  I turned to leave  and a lady behind me in line said, "Is there anything I can do?"  I said, "No, there's nothing anyone can do.  It's all just a mess." 

Off we go to Verona.  I picked up Evie at home and dropped Rita back at work.  Evie and I made our way back down the highway to Verona in search of the precious eye ointment; which was beginning to feel more like an epic quest for the Holy Grail than for a .3 fl.oz. tube of goo. 

I approached the pharmacy counter with my whimpering child in my arms, and likely a frazzled look of insanity on my face.  In my delusional state, I may have even sounded like a mobster as I said, "I...need...ointment...Do ya hear me, Punk?"  Well, maybe I didn't say it quite like that.  Yet...

"I'm here to pick up a prescription for Evelyn Hefty, they just called from the Mount Horeb Pharmacy." 

"Oh, we're still waiting on Medicaid to approve that."

Say what now?  "No, no, no.  That is unacceptable."  I began in my I'm-on-the-verge-of-another-breakdown voice.  "I need it now, I'm not waiting.  I've been driving around all day, with a screaming child, sent from one place to another.  My car broke down.  I can't go into work.  I NEED THAT OINTMENT NOW!" 

"But we can't release it to you until insurance approves it." 

"Give me the ointment.  Give it to me now.  I will pay the difference." (I don't need to explain to you all at this point where my mind was going.)

"We can't do that."

"Listen to me.  I will give you the MONEY.  Give ME the OINTMENT NOW!  How much is the copay after our private insurance?"

"Ten dollars."

"What?  You're putting me through this for $10?  I would give you a hundred dollars right now!!!  Give me the ointment!"

I'm pretty sure I threw the money at him.  I didn't care.  No one cared about me right now, why should I care about them?

I've blacked out on what happened after that.  I got the ointment.  We made it home.  Evie's eye healed MIRACULOUSLY...Dr. Struck was very happy with how it had healed up by the next day. 

On her left sleeve you can barely
see the little bump of the clear plastic tag hanger.
 

A couple days later I had some photos developed and saw a picture I had snapped of Evie the morning of the entire fiasco.  She had on a new shirt from Christmas that said, "Small in Size, Big in Attitude" on it.  My eyes were drawn to her shirt sleeve down by her wrist.  On it dangled, barely apparent to the naked eye, one of those plastic price tag holders that we have all cleverly figured out how to pull off with our teeth or a strong tug.  Sure enough, I had put the eye drop in Evie's eye before the appointment that fateful day, and she had a fairly natural reaction to reach up and wipe the excess fluid away with her sleeve...in the process, that darn price tag plastic hanger-thing had scratched her eye all to heck. 

So...there it is...the UGLY story of my total breakdown at the poor pharmacy staff.  Thankfully they still allow me back in, and I am forever grateful for this wonderful town accepting me and all my unpleasant, embarrassing moments.  Often I would be asked by co-workers when I worked at the dental office, "How can you be so nice to that person when she (or he) is so mean?"  I would just stare off into a distant day in my past and say, "Because I AM that person."   

A Memory that Haunts Me Still~In the Robe-Room

The question struck me this morning...out of the blue

What ever happened to that little girl in the robe-room?

It was my senior year of high school, and I was in the Seattle, WA area on a trip with our Concert Choir. We had been touring there; performing and competing. Near the end of our trip, we were to perform at a church and then stay for a meal in the church basement. I don't remember all the details of the church, but I remember the room where we changed into our choir robes. I remember it because it terrified me and left me with an image forever burned into my memory; an image of a girl...

I only remember snapshots of this event. I remember the room was large, and quite vacant where we changed into our robes. I remember a wood floor and the walls were lined with those shelves that have the bar under them to hold hangers for hanging coat or other articles of clothing. And I remember seeing the wheelchair on the side of the room opposite the door through which we entered. And I remember seeing the girl in the wheelchair.

The wheelchair was turned toward the wall. FACING the wall. And her hair was dark brown, like a chestnut.

I quickly walked over to her. I stood in front of her so she could see me. She was in a contorted position, her limbs were curled up making her immobile. I said, "Hi, Sweetie..." in the long-drawn out way that you speak to a small child so as not to frighten her. She smiled, and moved her mouth as if trying to respond. No sound came out, but I knew that she was warmed by my presence. I raised my right hand, and I caressed her cheek. The smile grew larger, and she moved her cheek into my hand the way a kitten presses into your hand when you pet it...she basked in the touch, in the affection.

My stomach began to turn. Why was she here? Why was she kept in a room behind a closed door? We were at a CHURCH!!! Why had someone closed her away as if ashamed of God's creation?

I knew I had to sing for these people, but I knew I could never eat with them. I could never break bread with them and pretend like their actions weren't horrific and cruel.

I turned her wheelchair around so she was facing all of us and I proceeded to change into my choir robe. I didn't want to leave her there, but I had an obligation to fulfill.

We sang, and the congregation clapped. And it was time to change back into our street clothes and join the church downstairs for supper. I went out to the bus. I was too nauseous to eat. I was upset. My mind was racing. Some of my friends came out to the bus and told me that they had asked someone from the church about the girl. The response had been that she preferred to be in that room. She didn't like to be where all the people were and all the noise was. I knew that was a lie. Why would the door have to be closed? Why was she pushed up against a wall~facing the wall? I knew that any child who nuzzled up to me, a stranger, the way she did was craving touch, warmth, affection, love...

I think I remember trying to go back in. I think I remember crying softly to myself as our bus pulled away. Dr. C (our director) would not allow us to talk or even listen to music when we were preparing to sing, but since we were done I was able to put my headphones on and escape to my mind.

She was perfect. She was God's creation. And she was hidden away by people who didn't understand the basic needs that human beings have. We were made to worship God. We were designed to praise him. And they were keeping her from that. But were they?

No. Because the Bible tells us that some day, we will all fall down and praise the God who made us. And that if this earth ever stops praising him, then nature will cry out~the rocks and the trees will sing his praises. That little chestnut-haired girl, with no voice, and no movement from her limbs was praising God with her smile, and her eyes, and her nuzzle into my hand. You can't hide her away no matter how you may try...

Why did that image come back to me today? Was it being home in Stillwater? Was it reading an article in the Star Tribune about a friend from high school and a facebook group she created to reminisce about life in Stillwater? Or was it maybe that the little girl's soul became a part of my soul when we connected that day two decades ago? Maybe without a voice of her own, I am the only voice she has. So, I felt compelled to tell her story here so she has a legacy that her family wouldn't give her. Maybe God brought me that church to start stirring my passion so I could be a better mother to my daughter who might not look like other daughters, and might not talk like other daughters; but who is the perfect image of God on earth as she dances and sings in the aisles of our church.

So how do I end this narrative? How do I close this thought? Maybe I can't. If 20 years passes and I still remember so clearly a little voice-less girl with whom I only shared 10 minutes of my life~then maybe I'm not supposed to have closure on this. I will let her image haunt me in order to keep my passion burning. I can't wait to meet her in heaven some day so we can rejoice together and cast our crowns at our Maker's feet, lock our hands, and twirl and dance~and let our hearts sing...

Free Falling, Pulling the Chord, or Crashing...

I struggle...I never know if I'm a risk-taker, a wuss, or a wreck. And I'm so fickle, that I tend to switch between all three within seconds of each other. The only problem is, you can't change your mind that many times and make life work. There's a law of physics: Objects in motion tend to stay in motion...

This "change of mind" can cause quite a wretch to my soul and a disjointing jolt to my system. Since I have found myself in a free-fall from time to time, enjoying myself quite a bit in a leisurely, care-free, downward spiral (people often encourage me to "lighten up" "not take things so seriously" etc. etc.--and I'll admit to enjoying myself when I do...) when I take a look around during my free-fall and see the ground rushing at me, and the trees looming larger: I FREAK!!! Did I miss the mark? Am I still on target? Will I still be able to catch the prize? As I rip the chord and feel the yank of the parachute open--I feel my body seize with tension. Tammie, you lost your head! What were you thinking?

Let's look at a big weakness of mine. Shopping. It's definitely my addiction. When I walk into a store and smell it's intoxicating fragrance (that's usually in Abercrombie or The Buckle, when I hear the music thumping (usually a tune that I don't know, but makes me feel twenty-something again), and when I see the pretty new styles of the season...sultry new color combinations that raise my blood pressure, and flowing-fluttery fabrics that whisper of femininity and youth~ah...that really helps the serotonin release.

For a while, I was doing well at not buying just to buy. But, lately, I had lost some significant weight and things needed to be a little smaller. I had to go out shopping! Suddenly, I was out the door of the airplane, spread eagle, FREE-FALLING!!!!! Oh, the joy~the freedom~the beauty and majesty of it all...

But~whoa-nellie!!!! This is wrong! I was trying to find joy in things again. Somehow I was trying to fill an emptiness in my life, a hole in my heart with a pretty top, or delicate earrings, or fantastically-fitting jeans. What were those THINGS going to actually do for me?

QUICK~yank that chord!!! I pull the chord...I turn tail and run from the mall...but am I free??? Did I really just fix anything?

No...I am still falling, just at a more controlled speed. I am still missing whatever it was that I was seeking in those items. I am still not-complete~still not whole.

It looks like I'm going to crash. But here is where I can determine my final destination. I have already jerked myself senseless by defying gravity and pulling that chord, so I have to shake the blurriness from my mind. Okay...Tammie...think...where can you land that will be safe? How can you crash into something that will not mean death, dismemberment or damage?

I then see it...the ultimate place to land...

GRACE...

His grace is sufficient for me. It's the ultimate place to land. It will wash away my sin, my iniquities, my transgressions. His grace will comfort me and fill that emptiness inside me.

I will, no doubt, fall or jump out of a plane again. I will FREAK OUT! That is who I am. I will see my faults and pull the chord...and His grace will be there for my landing. What Wondrous Love is that???

Today in church we sang a song that has become a part of my soul~How Deep the Father's Love for Us by Stuart Townsend~ "It was my sin that held Him there, until it was accomplished; His dying breath has brought me life, I know that it is finished."

This feels to me like a rambling piece of clumsy words...but I'm praying for it to communicate what God intends it to. I'm praying that those who need to read it, can and do. I'm praying that the next time you or I find ourselves in another rapid free fall, we remember that it WAS accomplished, that it IS finished, and that we ARE His treasure.