MY SUPERNATURAL JOURNEY UNDER THE CLOUD

How in the world are you to get any decent rest when you take your Ambien at 11:15 and doze off a little after that (I had a lot to do; I couldn't make it to bed any earlier!), and you wake up by alarm clock at 1 a.m. to take your Prednisone and it takes forever to get back to sleep? Now it's 5:30 a.m. and I can't sleep. I have to take another Pred. at 7 a.m., and then my day will start, full steam ahead. It's Sunday, a pastor's biggest day. Wish I could go back to sleep right now, but sleep eludes me.





My cousin Jan, a pharmaceutical sales person, says Pred. will eat up your bones. I knew that, because we've had lots of parishioners take it, and I've seen the results. I'll never forget a stooped-over elderly woman, with tears running down her cheeks, saying, "They made me take Prednisone, and it ruined my body." When the doctor ordered it--to reduce the swelling in my brain, as well as the tumor--I thought, Oh, great. Now, when I'm 85, I'll have a bad case of osteoperosis!, and then I thought, What do you mean? You can't live that long with a cancerous brain tumor? You'll only make it three or four, if that?





But of course I don't know how long I'll be here. Only as I watch this nightmare journey unfold before me will I know. No, I won't call it a nightmare journey any more. I need to come up with a positive name, a good name, a blessed name. Since I'm an author and my forte is words, and I love to come up with book titles that I think are catchy, I'll have to think on this topic. Nightmare Journey...to Blessed Walk? Nah, not punchy enough. I'm wide awake but feel too lazy to drag out my Flip Dictionary and my thesaurus to start brainstorming. But I hope to soon. If anybody has any ideas, let me know.





My great aunt Eva lived to 108. If you want a real kick, go to great Aunt Eva Connors' web page , and take a peak at her, complete with a backdrop of ragtime 1890s Victorian music! Many in our family lived to ripe old ages. My Nana Connors at 96. My Papa at 96. My other Nana at 95. My great Aunt Maybelle at 99. My great Aunt Leota at 100. My dear Aunt Tine at 91. On and on, I could go. My darling Mother Grace dropped dead at 86 when she was getting ready to go to the beauty shop and went to heaven instead. Greatest shock of my life. We used to speak at mother/daughter banquets together, for church women's groups, and had other speaking engagements, too, and she was my bedrock, my pillar. I thought she'd be here a long time like great Aunt Eva, all the way into her hundreds. I was only in my forties when she left me, and I needed her so badly. I was her oops baby, coming in her late 30s after four children, and so we had an extra special bond.





I had time to read the 19 comments on one post on this blog last night--that's why I was so late getting to bed! I'll read the rest of them soon, I promise, as well as the 143 emails in my inbox. Thank you, all. You are an encouragement to me, and I appreciate them so much.





Sometimes I JUST CANNOT BELIEVE I HAVE BRAIN CANCER AND AM FACING SURGERY. Me, who never even takes an aspirin barely, and hatest going to doctors, will fudge a month or two on my yearly physicals because I have such dislike of medical situations. But this cloud of peace is still surrounding me, and it's so sweet and sooooooooo supernatural. Otherwise, I'd be a basket case. In fact, my surgeon is removing a brain cancer on a patient Tuesday morning whom he described as just that.





Oh, I do get my moments of panic and tears. But then that cloud settles again. Maybe I should call this journey something to do with "cloud." Journey Under the Cloud? Hmmm. My Supernatural Journey Under the Cloud. Kinda' long. I'll have to think about it some more.





I called my two beautiful daughters into my study last night and had them read my friend author Carrie Turansky's comment where she said to please have Milton or my daughters post when I get...down. They promised me they would. Jennifer has her own blog, and boy, is it good, and they said they'd blog here, so I'm hoping they will.



Pictures, in random order (I'm grabbing my camera constantly and photojournaling my experience):

1. On the deck with the kiddies, Lorenzo and Claudia who arrived Friday with mom Jennifer from San Juan. Claudia is pronounced the Spanish way: Claw - dee- uh. Unless you forget and say it the American way, which is fine.

2. Playing on the Yamaha piano with Lorenzo and Claudia. Claudia has on her Cinderella dress. Or is that her Belle dress? She has lots of character costumes.

3. Getting a neck message from church person Cindy, an R.N., as I'm playing with little Lorenzo. Felt good! She and two other couples, Sonja and Emmett, and Gordon and Fredde, delivered the most delicious dinner last evening! Baked ham, fresh spinach layered salad, homemade mashed potatoes, homemade yeast rolls (Sonja's specialty), and The Best Homeade Peanut Butter Pie In the World (another of Sonja's specialties). It has an opaque filling, similar to a lemon merinque pie (not a cool whip, confectioners' sugar, and peanut butter type; though if anybody brings that kind, we'll eat it, too!), and then Sonja's pie has a mile-high meringue on top coated with crushed peanuts. Thank you, dear ones!

4. The spot my meds hide out in. I'm a rule-follower, and they labels said store in dark place, and since I want them on my kitchen counter under my antique lamp, I thought and thought and came up with this idea. An overturned stainless steel mixing bowl.

Signing off now. Maybe I can catch a few zzzzs before that alarm clock goes off at 7, and I have to pop another Pred.

One more thing: Ann reminded me to have a spirit of praise through this process. Yesterday morning, a spirit of praise hit me. I raised my hands toward heaven and walked through my love home thanking God, out loud and with tears streaming down my cheeks, for everything good in my life. It was so sweet and precious. I tend to cry at beauty. Remember that line Deborah Kerr made to Cary Grant in An Affair to Remember? They were in Paris (or was it the Riviers?) vising his elderly grandmother, and Deborah Kerr was crying at the beauty of the relationship he had with his grandmother, and he asked her why she was crying, and she said, "Oh, don't mind me. I always cry at beauty." That's how I am. I cry in church. I cry when I think about God. I cry at special times in my life.

So I'll end this with praise. I THANK You God for this bad time in my life. I don't understand, and I am trusting in You, but I THANK you to help me through it and accomplish all You want me to on the other side of it.

Oh, one more thing. My darling mother Grace taught Sunday school almost 50 years and loved finding good illustrations for her teaching, to drive home the point to her students. She was No. 5 in the nation in the Henrietta Mears Sunday School Teacher Contest of the Year. She always said she won this high honor because of the glowing application letter I wrote. I really think it was because she was such a fantastic teacher.

She used this illustration in her class one time, then wrote it down and gave it to me to use in my speaking engagements. I think it fits right now:

Here it is, from her hand-written note in my bulging file titled "Illustrations."

Johh Peyton, a missionary, translated the Bible in the the people's language. He couldn't find a word for "belief" that was suitable. He prayed for God to show him the right word that would help the people understand believing. One day a man came in tired and weary and plopped down in a chair and uttered a word. "What'd you just say?" John asked. The man repeated it. John said, "What does it mean?: The man said, "I'm putting all my weight on this chair." So John realized that was the word he needed to use to help the people undersand believing on Christ.

When you believe in Christ and live for Him, you give Him your all. You put all your weight on Him, like the man did the chair. You know how a good sturdy chair will hold you when you plot into it?--and comfort you?--and sustain you from falling to the floor?--as opposed to sitting in one that collapses beneath you? That's how Christ is with our lives. He's there to hold us.

We once pastored in Elba, Alabama, The Little Town With the Big Heart, and we had a close relationship with all the pastors. We used to take turns having meals at the different parsonages. At the Methodist parsonage one night, we all sat down at their Duncan Phyfe cherry ANTIQUE dining room suit (think Mitford novels), and Milton had no sooner gotten seated, than the old wobbly chair crashed underneath him. He was so embarrassed, and they had to run to the kitchen to get another chair. We all laughed, but we all noticed that all the chairs were kinda' wobbly.

But with Jesus, He won't crash beneath you. He'll ALWAYS be there to carry you and help you and sustain you and comfort you and cheer you.

That's what He's doing for me right now. That's what's going to get me through all this medical stuff PLUS a brain tumor.