Monday, July 5, 2010

For Such a Time as This

It was one of those weeks--a week where I had a carefully planned list of task to accomplished so that I could leave town the following week with peace of mind but a week where forces out of my control prevented even one item from being completed. Hurricane Alex brought massive rainfall for three days. My husband fell and cracked a rib so we spent several hours in an emergency facility. My sister called to say that my mother who suffers from Parkinson's stays in a state of constant confusion. My son finally informed me that he is unemployed but not to worry, he's joining the army. What's not to worry about there. And then I'd promised Deborah I would come and help her pack to move out of her apartment.

Deborah is someone I met at my retail job. Deborah didn't make many friends at work. In fact, she sometimes seemed to have a chip on her shoulder. She called in sick one day and checked herself into the hospital. Within a week, she was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer. I obtained her phone number, determined to stay in touch. During one phone call, she hesitantly asked if I could come and help her pack. In the midst of all her treatment and illness, she needed to vacate her apartment.

I'd spoken to Deborah earlier in the week to check on her and that's when we decided I'd call her after her radiation treatment to see if she was up to having me come and help on Tuesday. But the new number she gave me didn't work and the old number was disconnected. In the meantime, the rain started. Not just rain, but the torrential downpour that comes from hurricanes and floods all feeder roads and main routes of traffic around here. Even though Alex made landfall in South Texas, he was a huge storm spreading rain and spawning tornadoes across the south. Then my husband fell and cracked his rib so we spent Thursday evening in the ER, something never very quick. Finally, Saturday during my lunch break, I reached Deborah's daughter. She said it would be wonderful if I would go sort through the apartment and determine what to save and what to toss. She gave me the correct number for Deborah. After work, I checked with my husband. He'd just taken his meds and was going to lie down and sleep for awhile. We agreed that would be the perfect time to go to Deborah's.

I still couldn't reach her on the phone but her daughter encouraged me to just go on by there. Deborah was grateful, even thrilled to see me. I'd mentally prepared myself for an unpleasant situation since she'd described what the effects of daily radiation were doing to her. Her two room apartment easily qualified for one of those organizing shows. Piles of stuff covered every surface, the floor, the desk. Only the stove was clear. My heart sunk. Pre-rain and ER, I'd planned to arrive with gloves, boxes, and cleaning supplies but I had none of those for this impromptu visit.

I'm an organizing natural so I just put on my optimistic face and surveyed the situation. I found a pack of gloves, some trash bags, and a few boxes underneath a pile so I began sorting. Grandchildren's toys in one box, junk mail in the trash, a box for items to give away, one stack for current medical info, a memorabilia stack, and so we went for two hours. Deborah had lived in the apartment for seven years. And in seven year's time, she hadn't thrown away much paper. Her desk revealed a life spent surviving. There were countless slips of paper with numbers for possible job leads, old pay stubs, classifieds with jobs circled, legal papers for issues from not having enough money. I joked with her about using one notebook to write all her numbers in. She joked back wishing I'd been around for her earlier in life. We talked about all the jobs she'd had. Deborah shared that largely she just felt stupid and was treated as such. I suggested she had some learning disabilities and an inability to organized. She agreed.

Two hours later, the desk, the ironing board-made-bedside table, other side tables, the floor were clear, papers sorted into appropriate folders, dishes washed, and a semblance of order was beginning to appear. In the piles, we uncovered the cards mailed to her recently. My church sent prayer cards and there were cards from other Sunday school classes offering their prayers. But standing in the midst of the disorganization, I couldn't help but wonder, where were those people? Deborah treasured those cards and we stacked them so she could get them easily and reread them. Deborah even treasured the letter from the retail employer granting her a leave of absence for her illness believing it to be a personal letter. And then I realized: This is a woman who has not seen a lot of caring in her life.

And certainly prayer is a wonderful thing. But what Deborah needed was people. People who cared. Deborah was tired and in pain by now so it was time for me to go. She asked me to get her mail and three cokes from the coke machine to help with her nausea. She insisted on providing the quarters for the coke machine so to preserve some dignity, I took them. And then the tiny miracle happened. The coke machine provided the cokes and spit the money back on all but the last coke. It's as if God said, "Thanks. Have two drinks on me." Or maybe not. I doubt that God steals cokes but with no way to make the machine take the money and nowhere to leave the money, it felt like a gift.

I came home exhausted after eight hours of retail therapy from behind the counter and two hours of cleaning at Deborah's. I lay in bed thinking about Sunday, the next day. I need to pack my for trip and clean a little bit of my own house. But I felt a strong urge to return to Deborah's. I realized that the only furniture in her living room was a dining room chair, a side table, and a small table holding a television. I guess I missed the absence of other furniture because the room was full of stuff. One lone chair for a lonely woman to watch TV. My own worries aside, I was certain I was going back.

And I did. I rounded up a couple of friends and headed back to Deborah's. Wendy tackled the kitchen and the refrigerator with great vigor and the result was a sparkling kitchen. Julie tackled paper piles sorting current documents into neatly labeled folders, and I continued throwing away old paper, filling the give-away box, and generally cleaning. Two hours (six man hours!) later, I surveyed our work. While not completely clean, I believe we accomplished enough that her daughter and son-in-law could then move her into her new location with just a little more packing.

Why did we do this? I don't have a pat answer other than knowing that there really was no one else to do this. And as I prepared my lesson on Esther this week, I kept thinking perhaps I met Deborah "for such a time as this." Esther 4:14

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Scouting the Divine - The Good Shepherd

This week's study finishes part 1-- The Good Shepherd.


Through a visit with a shepherdess, Margaret Feinberg uncovers the significance of the many references to sheep and shepherds in the Bible. Psalm 23: The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He leads me beside still waters. Thy rod and staff comfort me.

Psalm 23

Did you know that sheep cannot find water on their own? That they will not drink from rushing waters? Did you know that shepherds were the young and the old and the women? Think David, youngest son of Jesse; Rachel, youngest daughter of Laban; Moses, old when he was sent to Egypt to recue the people.

So when, in Luke 2, the angels first appear to the shepherds, they were appearing to the least of society, a group on the margins of society, unable to keep the rabinic laws by nature of their profession, unclean and smelly from living with sheep. No wonder the shepherds were terrified. But God, in his wise, generous, and loving way, asked the shepherd to go, not to a huge palace, but to a manger, a barn, a place shepherds would feel at home.

I encourage you to attend even one of our Bible studies. Even if you do not have the book, you will still gain something from the discussion, and most certainly the fellowship will do you good! Join us on Mondays at 6:45 p.m in League City or Thursdays at 6:45 p.m. in Clear Lake.

Click for League City study

Click for map to Clear Lake study

Monday, May 3, 2010

The Landing

As boarding time grew nearer and my 3.5 hours in Birmingham drew to a close, the boarding attendant announced, "There is weather on the way. If you do not want to be here another 1 1/2 hours, please board quickly and find your seat ASAP so that we can leave the gate." Again, I was number 3 onto the plane. I love the Early Bird boarding option. The stampede followed me.

Lightning flashed as we buckled our seat belts. Too late. The orange vest guys who push the plane back are not allowed out during lightning. But that weather cell moved on in about 10 minutes and soon we were airborne. It was a too-bumpy-to-have-refrehsments ride. But again, I had a row to myself so I did not miss the peanuts.

Most of the passenger disembarked at Louisville. Only 3 remained to continue on to Chicago. However, there were 2000 people waiting to get on the plane. Did I mention it was the Sunday after the Derby. I suppose all were heading home after a weekend, abeit a wet weekend, of revelry at Churchhill Downs.

The airport was decked out Derby-style. Pots of roses every 6 feet down the concourse. Cutouts of Derby silks (those are the shirts the jockies wear) hanging in the windows. A band playing, although the song was the Tennessee Waltz. The Southern Bells were gone. They were there the day before handing out bourbon balls.

I spoke to the TSA agent guarding the exit from the gate area. That is a lonely job. They don't care who leaves through the front door. The mad house is on the other side of the wall for those trying to leave on a plane. So I chatted with her about the Derby. Turns out she owns a box seat by the finish line which she inherited from her grandmother or her great grandmother. She decided not to attend this year and sold her seats. For $17,000. No, there's no extra 0. My great grandmother probably made moonshine. I wished her well and moved on to ground transportation.

At the baggage conveyor belt, another mob of people waited for luggage but not from my flight. The rental car lady informed me that flights from Memphis and Nashville were diverted to Louisville because of the massive floods. I got my car, loaded my bags, and headed out in the rain in search of food.

I found my sister's favorite deli and called to ask for her order. Half an hour and seven sandwiches later, the five guys behind the deli counter gladly waved me on. I headed on to Lawrenceburg. I dropped the first order of sandwiches off at my sisters, visited briefly and headed on to Mom and Dad's. Mother was thrilled to get her Mocha Frappacino. That has now become a tradion. I bring her a frappacino on my visits. She cannot do much but she can still taste. So I bring her a frozen treat. My visit and Starbucks will be a good Mother's Day for her.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23gentleness and self-control. Galations 5:22

--Laura

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Between Jets

Travel time again. Home to Momma. Although there was a time when home to Momma meant good times and good food. The food is still good, it just that now my father is the cook and, on a good day Momma can sit in her chair, Parkinson's having robber her of her mobility. I always have some trip anxiety on this journey, which I try to make every two to three months now. I'm the "glue" in my family, which many wives and mothers are. We hold it all together. So I'm leaving the boys on their own for a couple of days. But they will be fine. They always are. And my mother is excited that I am coming to visit.

When I booked my jet flight, I opted to save a few bucks and ignored the "travel time" column--not something I usually do. So here I am in the Birmingham airport with an extra 3 hours on my hands. My first mission was to find food. Airports have come along way in the amenities they offer the traveler. After exploring the one concourse, I discover my choices are the Wall Street Deli or the Pizza Hut Express. Imagine that. A New York-based deli in the Birmingham airport. After surveying the deli choices, I opt for the cheese pizza. So $72 later, I choose to believe this is an opportunity to eat a delicacy that I rarely enjoy--pizza. I note they have Freshens Frozen Treats for the two-hour mark. (OK, it was really $8.45.)

My first decision of the trip was a good one. I opted to by-pass the curbside check-in line for the inside one. In case of lines, I choose to wait in air-conditioned, exhaust-free comfort. I was first in line inside. Really I was first. There was no line. (Who else is going to Louisville via Birmingham on a Sunday morning.) But as I get to security, I discover there are a lot of people going somewhere this morning. I take my place in line.

I know this drill well and have packed accordingly. My larger-than-3-fluid-ounces items are checked in my baggage. I wait patiently as people not so familiar with the drill dig out their baggies and unlace their shoes. The man behind me comments on my luggage tags. One is bright yellow and proclaims, "This is not your bag." The other is attached to my laptop bag and warns, "This is not your black bag." My turn comes and I grab two plastic bins. My allotted plastic baggie of personal 3-fluid-ounce items is just inside my zipped luggage ready for me to grab and drop in the bin.

I slide my laptop out and put in a bin. Next goes cell phone, small over the shoulder bag which will fit in the laptop bag so I meet the required two-item carryon limit, and my sweater. I wait until the last minute to slip off my platform flip flops and put them on the belt. I remember to hang on to my boarding pass. Woe to the infrequent traveler who in their haste to strip and fill the plastic bins to keep the line moving, drops their boarding pass in the bottom of the bin. That paper with the little red squiggle blessing from the TSA agents is more important than air when you are in that line.

Shoes on the belt, I tiptoe through the metal detector to avoid full-floor contact with my feet. Bare feet on that floor. Ew. I remember seeing a lady in line wearing socks with her sandals. It makes sense now. I would throw the socks away later. I pass inspection, grab my shoes first (shoes off last but first on the conveyor--key point) and slip into them. The person in front of me is still wobbling while trying to lace shoes and grab luggage off the belt.

The airports have kindly installed seating just past the gestapo maze as if to say we're sorry you had to go through that. I sit and slip all items back into their travel homes. On to my gate. I have only about a 30 minute wait to board. I sit in a comfy chair with a plug next to the chair arm for my last minute surfing.

Southwest is my fav airline. Even though they don’t have assigned seating, your boading pass is numbered. You can even pay a little extra to hold your place in line when you book your ticket. I whooped with glee to discover that I was A18 when I printed my boarding pass. They called A1 to 30. I took my place in line between posts A16 and A20. I was alone. There were two gentlemen at A1 and 2. The next folks were way back at A25. This has never happened before.

As the number 3 person to board the plane on its maiden voyage for the day, I had my pick of all but two seats. My Southwest travel strategy is to head straight for the back of the plane. I pick the third row from the back. Most people grab seats nearer the front of the plane, probably fearing that they will run out of choice seats at the rear and will have to turn around and head back up the plane against the flow. No one wants to do that. I score an entire row to myself, no one in front of me, one person behind me and one person across the aisle next to the window. An excellent trip.

I enjoy reading Spirit Magazine, the in-flight magazine for Southwest. It is full of interesting articles with quirky humor and inventive ideas. Take 3floz.com. A couple of women traveled together. One carried a small bag with travel-sized products purchased at multiple locations. The other brought two bags with her regular full-sized products. Together they created a web store featuring products of all brands that meet the TSA 3 fluid ounce requirement.

I just love stories of how people take a perceived inconvenience and make a business out of it.

So I’m thinking--right now I would love to rent a bed closet at this airport for two hours. I read somewhere that in Japan, the business travelers can now rent a tube room. Think rows of large PVC pipe stacked on top of each other. The tube rooms are equipped with wifi, sound, lighting, comfy bedding. They recognized some people just need a place to sleep. They don’t need all the extra room. I need a place to sleep.

How about gourmet take-in. You place your order at your originating gate and a meal from a local hotspot is delivered to your arriving gate. I would order fried pies from the Varsity when going to Atlanta. How about a quick nail salon - Hot soak, foot massage, and polish touch up complete in 20 minutes. Travelers need their feet taken care of. Even Jesus knew that.

So here I sit in the Birmingham Airport in the MagicCity refreshment center with a view of a Delta jetway. I think it’s time for the frozen yogurt and my Chuck Swindoll podcast. Perhaps I will nap between Birmingham and Louisville.

--Laura

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Spinach Salad with Orange Dressing

Dressing

1 cup cider vinegar
2 T (heaping) orange marmalade
1/2 cup sugar
2 t. dry mustard
2 t. salt
1 t. freshly ground pepper
1/2 t Tabasco sauce
2/3 cup vegetable oil

Combine the vinegar, marmalade, sugar, mustard, salt, pepper and Tabasco sauce in a blender container.

Add the oil in a fine stream, processing constantly at hight speed until thickened.

Chill, covered, in the refrigerator until serving time.


Salad

4 bunches fresh spinach, trimmed
6 Red Delicious apples, chopped
2 cups chopped walnuts
1 3/4 cups golden raisins
6 green onions, chopped
1/4 cup sesame seeds, toasted
1 pound bacon, crisp-fried, crumbled

Arrange equal amounts of the spinach on 12 salad plates. Drizzle with the dressing.

Sprinkle each serving with the apples, raisins, walnuts, green onions, sesame seeds and bacon bits.

Serve immediately.

Serves 12.

Adjustments: I did not put in green onions, sesame seeds, or bacon bits. Sometimes I mix vegetable oil and olive oil.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Greek Salad

Here's the link for the Greek salad. Since I got it from someone's specific website, I thought I should just link to it. There is a button for a printable copy on her website.

Enjoy! Laura

http://www.recipezaar.com/recipe/Kittencals-Famous-Greek-Salad-66596

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Island Chicken

1 can (8 ounces) pineapple chunks
2 pounds chicken pieces
2 tablespoons shortening (ok, I used oil)
1 can (10 3/4 ounces) chicken broth
1/2 cup white vinegar
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 clove garlic, minced
1 green bell pepper, seeds removed and cut in squares
4 tablespoons cornstarch
1/4 cup water

Drain pineapple chunks, saving syrup. Brown chicken slowly in oil. Add reserved syrup, broth, vinegar, sugar, soy sauce and garlic. Cover; cook over low heat 40 minutes. Add bell pepper and pineapple chunks; cook 5 minutes more or until chicken is tender, stirring occasionally. Combine cornstarch and water; gradually stir into sauce. Cook, stirring, until thickened. Serve with cooked parsley rice. Serves 4. Really serves more than 4.

Recipe from Lone Star Legacy II by the Austin Junior Forum