Showing posts with label brother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brother. Show all posts

Why Firestarter Was the Scariest Movie of My Childhood... I've Never Trusted Drew Barrymore Since

I think my brother is a pyromaniac.  Of course, I’m basing this on three separate incidents from childhood and have no recent occurrences to back up the claim, but I’m sure it’s true anyway.

The first related memory I have of this is standing in our kitchen with my brother sitting at the table playing with our mom’s cigarette lighter.  I was very small and the memory has faded, but I do know that it ended with my bangs significantly shorter, the smell of burnt hair in the air, and Big Bro saying, “Don’t tell Mom.”

The other incidents are clearer in my mind.  The first was at Christmas and we were decorating the tree.  This was the seventies, so we didn’t have pre-lit trees and anyway, we were still using real trees.  Maybe someday God will start making pre-lit real trees, but in those days, we had to string the lights on the tree ourselves.  Now that I’m writing this, I’m beginning to realize that it’s a wonder that house is still standing... But I digress.  Now, everyone knows you need to test the lights before putting them on the tree.  But not everyone (at least not Big Bro) knew that you need to test them somewhere other than on top of the highly flammable tree skirt.  Then again, if he is a pyromaniac, maybe it was all part of his evil plan???

Long story short, one of the bulbs blew when he plugged them in and it immediately caught the tree skirt on fire.  Dad was in the den, Mom was in the kitchen, and Big Bro and I were frantically stomping in the living room as quietly as possible, giggling as if setting our house on fire was actually funny.  I seem to recall another sibling in the dining room who probably witnessed the event.  If so, would you please step forward and confirm this?  You can remain anonymous (there are nine of us kids, so remaining anonymous in our family is actually plausible).

These two events seemed to me to be completely unrelated until I suddenly remembered The School Project.  Being several years younger than Big Bro, I don’t recall what class this project was for, or if it even was a legitimate project or just an excuse to do random dangerously stupid stuff and catch it all on film.  I know that this is a daily occurrence for teenagers today but back then, there were no cell phones and the average family didn’t own a video camera.  So most of the dangerously stupid things teenagers did could only be recorded in our memories, not on film.  But I remember Big Bro and his friends, one of whom had a camera, putting together some sort of film that I never saw but got to witness parts of it in action.  And what I witnessed was them setting one of our old outbuildings on fire and then putting it out with snow.  I vaguely remember those old sheds.  They weren’t really buildings, but some sort of giant storage crates that Dad turned into little rabbit hotels.  Lots of chicken wire cages filled with bunnies that I used to let out when no one was looking because I felt they needed to run free.  Well, the bunnies were gone by this time and the sheds were just sitting there slowing falling into ruin.  So they burned one down.  I don’t even know if they had permission to do it.  I’m gonna give them the benefit of the doubt on that part.

And there you have it; case closed.  Big Bro was a pyromaniac in his youth.  He now lives in a lovely home with his lovely wife and hasn’t burned it down yet, so I guess he got better.  Or maybe he just got smarter about what he sets ablaze...

P.S. If you know my brother and have any other related incidents, please let me know... maybe it’s not too late for an intervention!

P.P.S. Still working on getting the html fixed for my comments section but with being a holiday weekend, it’s slow going... but don’t let that deter you from leaving your comments!  I’m still getting them, even if they don’t show up on the blog right now.  Happy New Year!

Sticks & Stones May Break My Bones, but 12 Steps and a Concrete Floor Will DEFINITELY Do the Trick!

One morning at work nine years ago, I left my second floor office to head downstairs.  About two or three steps down, I slipped and fell the rest of the flight, breaking my ankle, toe and shoulder and tearing my rotator cuff.  What had started as a typical day at work became a life-changing event.  I don’t mean to say it has changed my life in a physical way; my doctors expected a full recovery and other than some minor limitations, I'm back to normal.  But spiritually, I learned so many lessons that I most certainly did not come out the other end of this experience the same person I went in as. 

Only photo I could find from that year.
I remember that the first thing I felt as I slipped was regret.  To this day, I don’t know what I was regretting, maybe the poor choice of foot placement?  I mention this because it was such an odd emotion to have as you are tumbling down a flight of stairs.  I would have assumed fear would be natural, but regret?  Of course, once I got to the bottom, the pain took over as my entire right side felt like it was on fire. 

Once I was secured into the ambulance and on my way to the hospital, I started praying and focusing on my prayers in order to endure the pain.  I actually got a little annoyed with the paramedic who kept asking me questions while I was repeating the Lord’s Prayer so that I had to keep starting over.  I was praying out loud, didn’t he realize he was interrupting?  Once I was at the hospital and diagnosed, x-rayed, drugged, and everything else they did to me, I was taken to surgery to put my ankle back together with screws.  This scared me most of all.  Broken bones were supposed to be put into casts, not operated on; this was not on my To Do List for the day!  But little did I know that I was on my way to learning what I thought I already knew.  I guess I did already know these lessons, I just hadn’t had to put them into practice yet and God knew that I needed some hands-on training.  It’s one thing to be able to list the responsibilities, expectations, and aspects of being a Christian; it’s something else entirely to live them on a daily basis. 

My first realization of what God was teaching me came a few nights later.  I had been moved to a rehabilitation hospital, where I would spend the next few weeks.  As I was writing a letter to my brother, I suddenly saw what God wanted me to understand.  I had just been baptized two months earlier, I was only a baby Christian.  I had been studying the Bible on my own, searching for something for quite a while, and then started studying with a local preacher.  During this time, I had learned that part of being a member of Christ’s church is service.  But as of yet, I hadn’t really helped anyone.  Sure, I had done some baking for events, things like that, but what had I actually done?  What was there that needed to be done?  If someone had asked me that question, I'm not sure I could have come up with an answer. 

So God showed me an answer: Do whatever needs doing.  Within hours of my accident, my new brothers and sisters in Christ came to my aid in every way imaginable, and many ways I never would have imagined.  Of course, I received tons of get-well cards, phone calls, and visits.  But they were also taking turns driving my daughter to and from school, taking my car to the garage, doing my laundry, inviting me to come stay with them once I was released from the hospital, bringing me items that I hadn’t asked for but they knew I would need.  It was so overwhelming!  While I sat there that night, writing to my brother, it hit me that God wanted me to receive all this love, support, and kindness, so that I would know what to do later for someone else!  Prior to this, I would have thought sending a card was all I could do for someone who is ill or injured.  But Jesus didn’t send cards.  He did for others whatever needed done.  By the time I finished writing that letter, I was sobbing.  What I didn’t know then was how many more lessons God was teaching me through this.  But over the next few weeks, my eyes kept opening wider and wider to His plan. 

The next lesson I learned was probably the hardest, and one I still struggle with: humility.  I was an independent person.  At the time, I was a single mother with a career, and no one to turn to when it was time to pay the bills or make important decisions.  And I liked it that way.  I just didn’t realize how prideful that attitude is until I was forced to give it up.  It’s hard to humble yourself in any situation, but I was in a situation where I simply didn’t have a choice.  If I didn’t let these wonderful people do things for me, nothing was going to get done.  My child wouldn’t get to school, my laundry wouldn’t get washed, and I wouldn’t have a ride to my doctor’s appointments.  It was time to get over myself.  Seeing my new family doing these things for me also humbled me in another way: it showed me how much I had to grow as a Christian.  They weren’t even hesitating; they were just jumping in with both feet to get the work done.  That’s pretty humbling to see how self-involved I had been; things had to fit into my schedule in order for me to do them. 

During these weeks, another lesson kept coming back to me.  I had a strong faith in the Lord, but at no other time had I had to rely on that faith as often. I read the book of Job again and this time it meant so much more to me.  I was able to relate to Job in a way I hadn’t before.  It is so easy to stay faithful to God when His blessings are abundant and obvious, but what about when the rug gets pulled out from under us?  I had been basking is His glory, receiving His blessings and praising Him.  Now I was faced with that difficult question of WHY.  Why was I suffering in pain, unable to walk, go to work, or go anywhere for that matter?  I had to turn it over to Him, reminding myself that He is in control and that someday I may or may not be able to see His plan in all this, but that regardless, He had a plan, and I was just along for the ride.  Nothing I could do could possibly improve my situation, and if I forced my will I’d be sure to make things worse anyway. 

This leads me to the next lesson I was learning: patience.  I prayed several times a day, asking God to heal me and let me get back to my life and my responsibilities.  And I was always careful to add “Your will be done”.  I thought I was submitting myself to that until the day of my first follow-up with my surgeon.  I woke up that day full of hope and high expectations that the doctor would be dumbfounded by my rapid improvement and decrease his estimate of how long I’d be out of work by at least a week or two.  I started the day with an MRI to determine the amount of damage to my shoulder.  X-rays the day of the accident didn’t show any breaks, so we assumed we were dealing with the rotator cuff injury alone.  I wasn’t going to receive the results of that test until the next day, so I was off to the doctor.  There was no dumbfounded look, no accelerated recovery.  In fact, he moved it back another two weeks!  I was crushed; I had prayed so much!  Then the next day, the MRI results came in and I was told that not only was the rotator cuff torn, as we expected, but I had also broken my arm near the shoulder.  They immediately immobilized the arm by strapping it to my side.  I had just spent the previous week in rehab learning how to use crutches safely with a bad shoulder.  Now I was stuck in a wheelchair full-time.  I couldn’t stop crying; again I asked why.  And it hit me: patience.  Deep down, I was hoping and actually expecting that “His will” was really my will.  And it obviously wasn’t.  In His time, not mine.  Another reminder that I cannot be in control of my life and live the life God wants for me, and why would I want to?  His plan for me is so much better than anything I could come up with on my own!  Which leads to the fifth lesson I learned from this accident: appreciation. 

When you think of all the blessings you have received from the Lord, what is on your list?  Jesus, of course, and love, family, your job, food and so on.  But do we ever remember to thank Him for the ability to walk?  To cook a meal without assistance?  So many things we take for granted that never make that list of blessings, not because we don’t think of them as blessings, but simply because we don’t think of them at all.  It’s a blessing that I am able to drive myself to an appointment or to put my hair up with ease.  I suddenly found myself reliant on others to drive me everywhere, and I had to leave my hair down all the time because I couldn’t lift my right arm.  When you forget something in the other room, it’s a nuisance.  But when you're in a wheelchair and forget something in the other room, it’s an ordeal!  All these things are from the Lord, not us.  And He didn’t take away my blessings.  I feel completely blessed with so many other things I hadn’t thought about before, and I have a new blessing: that I am able to appreciate all the things I used to do and would someday do again.  I sat in the physical therapy gym at the hospital and watched other patients doing their exercises.  Many had had an arm or leg amputated.  They will never have them again; mine were only broken and would heal.  What an incredible blessing that is! 

The final lesson that comes to mind from my experience brings all of them together into one very important package: influence.  I’ve always asked God to use me in the lives of others, to bring them to Christ, but then I wonder what I would say to someone who asked me questions.  Would I freeze under pressure?  Say something stupid that discourages them?  If I felt they wanted to talk, but didn’t know how to ask, what would I say?  Then I received an email from a friend in New Jersey. 

Valerie and I had never met, but were internet pen pals.  We had met in a Christian chat room several months prior, while I was still searching for what I was missing.  Valerie’s husband is a Lutheran minister, and as a preacher’s wife, she was able to answer many of my endless questions about the Bible, Jesus, and Christianity with patience and understanding.  When I got out of the hospital, I emailed her to let her know what had happened and how everyone in the church was helping me so much. Valerie wrote back that she was truly inspired by my story.  She explained that as a wife, mother, and employee, she got caught up in her responsibilities and didn’t realize how much she had slipped out of serving others until she read my email.  Hearing how the church was coming to my aid, she resolved to get back into serving her congregation, really serving them.  She mentioned a woman whose mother had just died.  Valerie said she had hugged the woman and gave her condolences, but she now saw how much more she could have done.  She said she was going to see her the next day and do something, anything, for her.  Who would have guessed that a two-month-old Christian could have influenced a life-long believer and minister’s wife?  And all I had to do was share my story.  God is good! 

So many people in my life asked me about my faith after my accident, and the biggest reason is that they could see that I was constantly surrounded by my brothers and sisters who were showing unending love.  If seeing that could be a positive influence on any of my coworkers, family members, or friends, then falling down those stairs was the best thing that ever happened!  How easy it is to feel sorry for ourselves and question why God let something happen.  But we must have faith in Him, patience to wait for His answers, appreciation for everything He has given us, and open ourselves to let Him do His work.  By serving others, we are serving the Lord, and He rewards us greatly, if we just open our eyes to see it.

The Whimsical Life of Pico and Annette

My siblings and our mother are spread all over the eastern US, so we keep in touch through email.  We actually carry on conversations throughout each day, hitting "reply all", so that sometimes, you might not be part of a conversation but you can always "listen in".  Most times, it doesn't take long for these emails to become pretty silly.  Here is a snippet of one such email conversation:

My brother Dave: "I have been wondering for years how flowers (and other plants) follow the sun.  Everyone I asked either ignored the question or didn't know or restated the reason they do it, but no one said how.  Finally, I found an answer.  Not certain if it's the right answer, but it sounds plausible.  Plants follow the sun because of increased elongation of the stem on the shadowed side.  The growth of cells on the sunny side of the stem is suppressed by the presence of light (the growth hormone that causes cells to lengthen is photo-sensitive), so that one side of the stem is slightly longer than the other.  This makes the stem bend toward the sun during the day."

My brother Bill: "That is interesting."

Me: "No it wasn't. It wasn't the least bit interesting. Stop encouraging him!"

My sister Sue: "*yawns* I have a new grandson if anyone is interested. Not sure the sun-worshipping flowers can be outdone, though."

Me: "Was Heather pregnant? Or is it one of the boys'? I'm pretty sure I'd remember if you had told us that Rachel was expecting... so, what's his name?"

My sister Betsy (after two days with no answer from Sue): "Based on Sue's current reply rate to email, this grandson will be celebrating a birthday before we know whose child it is... or did she answer you personally, Julie?"

Me: "Nope, not a word.   I've decided to make up my own version of who the parents of this baby are... it'll be juicy!  Very soap opera-ish."

Bill: "The father is a displaced chef from the New Orleans flooding.  The mother is a waitress he met as he migrated north to escape the rising waters.  The father's name is Pico Sanchez and he is a mouse.  He fell in love with the beautiful waitress right away.  The waitress was surprised by the mouse.  She was not aware that mice could cook so well or where he kept his wallet when he tipped her as he didn't seem to have any clothes on.  She admired and respected him and eventually loved him for his skill in the kitchen.  Eventually they were married.  Thus begins our story of Pico the mouse and Annette.  Both Pico and Annette had some money saved and began their life together north of Mobile, Alabama having started their own little diner.  Recently, they had their first little one which we were told about by our sister Sue."

Me: "VERY good, but one question... Sue refers to the baby as her grandson? So is she Pico's mother or Annette's?"

Our Mom: "You people!  You build up such kooky stories, I'd nearly forgotten what the original story was. Oh yeah, Ethan!"

Me: "I think we've just been scolded by Mom for making fun of Susie's grandson. Tee hee... I'm gonna start poking her when Mom's not looking."

(So apparently, Sue's stepson Ethan is the proud new daddy. But technically Mom, the original story was Dave's flowers-bending-toward-the-sun snoozefest.)

Bill (continuing the story without missing a beat): Sue was very proud of her new grandson named Ethan.  She was not alone in this though.  Pico was also very proud and sent out letters of announcement to all his relatives who had stayed and lived through the flood in New Orleans.  Shortly afterward those very relatives came to visit Pico and Annette, all 423 of them.  Pico was overwhelmed by their family spirit.  Annette was just overwhelmed and asked Pico where they would all sleep for the duration of their stay.  "Under the sink next to the soap, of course" replied Pico.  "There are so many" said Annette as she put their son in his crib.  "Not so many" replied Pico. "Combined they make up less mass than one of your legs".  Annette looked at him with a shocked expression.  Pico began stepping backward with his paws up.  "No no, I didn't mean it like that.  Your legs are not fat.  I am just saying that mathematically speaking, one of them has more mass than 423 of my relatives"  Pico said smiling.  Annette said nothing and turned to go to get the child's bottle.  Later that night as they lay in bed, Pico assured Annette that his relatives would only stay a few days.  He was not sure she was placated.  She reached over and patted his head and said, "Well I should just be thankful you aren't a rat".  Pico knew he had that coming.  He apologized to her and they both went to sleep knowing that their son was being watched by 423 pairs of little eyes.

No one else probably cares about this, I just find my mood is lifted every time one of my family shows up in my inbox. Especially Bill... we don't hear from him very often, but when he does chime in, it's always entertaining.