Linda G. Hill’s challenge is to write something on the theme of “hope.” We are to write with little editing. That’s hard for me to do. I don’t like to turn in rough drafts, but here I am, accepting the challenge and thinking I know I could improve this if it weren’t against the rules. So read away! The concept I am writing about is good, even if the style is not so great. I am ever so thankful for HOPE. Thanks, Linda. Feeling humbled, I’ll be around to read the writings of others.
Thanks Rochelle for the prompt and for keeping us all together in the Green Frog pool. For how others did it, go to link and click below the green frog. You’ll find it interesting to see how others handle this picture of the tree stump.
My heart breaks for young people these days. Those who never experience the picture drawing, winks, making peanut butter sandwiches, dreaming fairy tale dreams, carrying twigs together, codes (like every time Sammy cleared his throat in class, it meant I Love You) – all working up to that magic moment when they can hold hands! And finally get a kiss. Then comes love, marriage and the baby carriage.
Imagine believing sex is proof of an intimate relationship. Imagine thinking sex is love. Imagine seeing your guy with another girl after giving him the most precious symbol of your purity. Imagine making a choice of whether to marry to give your baby a legitimate name, or killing it in the name of abortion. Imagine being pregnant and the love of your life flies the coop. Imagine 17 girls getting pregnant in high school as a lark. Imagine having 14 children without a husband.
A special word to guys. Is your hero/mentor/model a sports star who brags that he has had 20,000 women. Maybe he “had” twenty thousand women, but he did not have one love. Does this headline thrill you, “The Top 15 Basketball Players Who Hooked Up With the Most Women?” If you are only a sex robot, you are nothing that approximately one half the world’s population could be if they sold out for that goal. Have you never had a woman love and admire you? What a loss.
And another thing, Men and Women, you will never find real love – the kind that takes a heap of forgiveness – without God in your love. He is Love. There is no love without him. Good news, He designed the whole love and married sex thing. You don’t have to be bashful about talking to Him about your sex life. If you have already messed up, He is the best at giving a new shot at getting things straightened out. Heaven knows, Sammy and I have had plenty of experience with that also.
This meaning of bed is to “ignore,” “evade,” or “not given attention” – I’m giving it the meaning of “ignoring the cause” such as lack of motivation, no jobs available, lack of education, addictions, etc.
I had a stubborn streak last week and decided I was not going to fill the sugar bowl in revenge for feeling that my service to my husband was unappreciated! It worked a little bit. He asked me to bring him the sugar and he filled the bowl. My rational was that the top is hard for me to take off the canister. Oh, let the voices be silenced; I know, I know, I could buy a new canister.
On this wedding anniversary I’m questioning “Why did I fall in love with Sammy?” and “Why have I filled his sugar bowl for 62 years?” I love him because he loves me, because he pleases me, because he fixes my tires, because he reads hard books for fun, because he fixes his own oatmeal, because he was so cute when he was twenty-four, and wonder of wonders he chose me!
Here are some snippets of our dating year. He drew pictures for me in history class. He went with me for fundraising. He didn’t laugh at me when I told a group that we were going to do a certain thing in “Feptember.”- I guess one of my “Bushisms” He stirred my peanut butter and syrup. He carried one end of a twig while I carried the other end. We had a “no touch” rule in our Bible school. I do confess to putting my hand over his while he was holding the steering wheel. Our chaperone was quite liberal. He left me a chocolate malt at the foot of the stairs. He took a lecture from the dean when he, Sammy, stood with his arms open wide while I pretended I was going to jump into them. The dean said that did not look proper. He sat with me on the pig sty. After about six months, he kissed me. Broke the rules. I was flustered. When he said, “Will you marry me?” I was thinking about the no touch rule, and I thought he said “Are you mad at me?” I said, “Why, no, Sammy.” Suddenly my brain got straightened out and I quickly asked for a little time to think it over. A couple of days later, he said I had had a little time, and I said, “Yes.”
To my Sammy, to my love, to my marriage – the excitement of the initial sparks, the roar of the burning flames, the stirring of sorrow-doused ashes, adding logs to the smoldering coals, the comfort of the glowing embers. And still, I say, “Wonder of wonders, he chose me!”
There were some other images but I think they happened after I was moved into a room. I was convinced at one point that a nurse was trying to poison me—some nurse probably trying to get me to take medicine. I saw faces as though I was looking through a book, a picture on each page. One page had two faces on it. I believe those were nurses who were assigned to me after I was out of surgery.
I cannot claim this experience, as related in Part 7) was peaceful. There were comforting moments or images but I was greatly conflicted by the pulling back and forth through the loop. It seemed like if I couldn’t safely stay on the first side, I wouldn’t be “me” anymore. That probably doesn’t make sense. At this time I marvel that for those many hours I had enough oxygen to my brain to come out still being “me.” Maybe that conflict came about by things I could hear the doctors say. Perhaps I knew they were have a difficult time keeping me here.
I’m glad I did not die. After the intense pain at the moment of the attack, I felt no pain and had complete peace. Folks were praying all around me. I believe that is the reason I am alive and still have a functioning brain! But if I had died, I don’t believe death itself would have been painful or fearful.
There were some very funny things happened in the midst of these 15 days in Denver. I’m running out of steam, but maybe I’ll rejuvenate and tell you some of them. I think they are posted somewhere maybe I can find them. But for now, this 8th anniversary subject is completed with this ending – a note I got from Shelly (a Denver cousin) who sent this to me today on Facebook:
Thank you for sharing. I was in constant prayer for you (as many were for you) and came to check on you at the hospital post-operation, once you were down the mountain. I sat and talked with Carl in the waiting room and most likely prayed for you(not that your experience was us, but just saying). It was only a few months after losing my dad so it really hit home. You were not alone one minute as you were on this journey as you had so many prayer warriors surrounding you, especially those who prayed in the spirit for you in other languages. You have been a walking miracle for 8 years now.
I believe you see that there was little chance of me surviving on that Saturday/Sunday except for the Lord’s intervention. Take notice of the fact that the attack happened about 4:30 or 5:00 and I did not get to the operating room until 11:30 I believe that was in answer to prayer.
I think it was more than a year before I could tell anyone what happened to me – what I saw/heard. I will try to give some details—most of which I have told few people, some I have told no one. Some scenes agree with others who tell of near-death experience. Some do not. I do not recall any chronological order to these scenes..
There was a tunnel; however, I had gone through a tunnel on the way up the mountain, so it ispossible that scene could have been planted in my head. It also could have other significance.
At the entrance to the tunnel was a mountain of rocky cliffs. A hand like Jesus’ hand was reaching down.
There was A sense that I was being dragged back and forth horizontally through a hoop. I felt like a balloon pulled back and forth through the hoop. I believe that was caused by my doctors working at keeping me alive. Sort of like they were about to lose me, then they would bring me back. I was greatly troubled over that for many days.
I could hear someone speaking a foreign language. I identified with it being spoken by a missionary. At this point I believe, some one was interceding for me. Either a foreign language speaker whom I probably do not know but through whom the Holy Spirit was working. Or, maybe more likely an English speaker who was praying for me in another language such as that referred to as a “gift of the Spirit.” I do have family and friends who would allow the Holy Spirit to direct them in this way.
I believed that I heard Carl, my son, consoling members of my family by saying that they mustremember that I had reached my goal by going to heaven. This was happening in a different room from where I was. Carl says he does not remember doing this although he was there praying with family. So I can’t explain why it seemed to me that he was consoling them as if I had died. Maybe to comfort my mind about my family?
I did see people I recognized who have already passed into heaven. I saw them in black and white as silhouettes would appear behind a screen; it was like they were around the corner behind a partial wall in an adjoining room. I don’t remember who they were but at that time I recognized all except a young girl who I was guess was about 12 or 13 years old. The fact that I did not recognize her makes me believe even more that this was an actual occurrence. I can understand why I might place certain people in heaven waiting for me, but I cannot believe I would have imagined a young girl whom I did not know.
There were two figures in the room with me which I recognized as angels. They were vastly different. One was the figure of a man dressed in bronze and gold somewhat like a Roman soldier, but he wore a helmet that looked like an English policeman would wear. I can’t visualize the helmet now; that’s as close as I can come to describing it. He was standing in the right-hand corner of the operating room at the wall behind me. The other figure was at the wall directly behind my head; it was a dull light similar to a solar light that might be in a garden. I recognized it as another angel. Doesn’t make sense, does it? If I had been making this up, hallucinating, dreaming, or whatever, wouldn’t you think I would have seen two angels that were similar? I believe one of those angels was there to take me to heaven if I died; I think the other might have been more of a protecting angel. I don’t know.
Now for another image. There was a man in a brown business suit who walked through the room. Of all these images that one seems the strangest. It would be easy to say I believe he was a third angel, but that wouldn’t be true. Who was he and why was he there?
A day or two later I am being asked the same simple questions. I laughed at the easy questions. She said, “Well, we need to know what you know.” I said, “I know everything. Well, not everything – but everything I knew before.” I guess they liked that answer because it was “get you well and moving” time! I made great progress; however, I was in ICU 13 days. I was placed with my doors open to the nurses’ station. Some of my nurses had been present during the operation. They were lovely about that. One told me that they had sent for Dr. Walker as soon as Life Flight went out. She spoke of how fortunate I was that he was available.
They gave me my heart pillow which I hugged during almost all movement. On my walks around the hall, many would comment about my progress. I could tell I was a “plum” to those folks. They knew a lot about my “miracle” that I did not know!
Anyway, after 13 days there I went to another floor to ICU Step-down. Main difference, my room was in a corner down the hall (a sure sign of getting well), and there I could take a bath.
I was discharged from there on Monday, July 15, and got home the next day. I came home with a large envelope of medical records and a taped visual of the operation to give my doctors here. Also I came with an oxygen tank, but didn’t have to keep it long.
I’m believe the doctors in Denver expected my doctors here to put me in Rehab but they (primary and cardiac) gave me hardly the time of day except to say it looked like I was lucky to be alive. I didn’t even rate a real check with the cardiac doctor; I saw his PA who made an appointment for October 23. Hopefully that shows how well I was doing not how poorly the doctors were doing.
I didn’t even pick up a Bible in Denver, but when I got home I tried to re-establish a Bible reading routine, but for nearly two weeks I couldn’t get past Ps 91 “he rescued me because I love him, He protected me because I know his name.” I’m glad. I do love him and know his name – Jehovah-rohi, God my healer. But I still don’t know Why Me, Lord, and not others who love him and whom he loves. So I’m back where I started, Why Me, Lord, what have I ever done, to deserve this blessing from you?
Next blog will describe the best I can what happened to my spirit/soul/mind during the time the doctors and nurses were keeping me alive.
Karen told me that almost everyone in my family hit the floor in prayer almost as soon as I cried out. She especially mentioned Mary Ann and Vonnell. For that I believe I lived the intervening hours to the Denver operating room. I don’t know who notified Facebook and my church friends, but I do know there were many praying for me for the next several days.
I am so thankful. I am amazed at the number of people who cared. I have a new appreciation for EMT, doctors, Flight team for their decisions to do everything in their power to keep life in me. I’m afraid I had bought into young people not appreciating their elders!
So I arrived in the operating room. The reality regarding all that has to be hear-say mostly from what the doctor told my sisters. The doctor said they did not have time to do tests beforehand so they went in “blind” to make repairs. The operation lasted 14 hours but the doctor said they got finished sooner than he had expected and he was confident that my heart was repaired and would be no more problem.
But the danger of infection was great. And there was need for close watch on me to avoid pneumonia. Apparently there was damage caused to the lungs, somehow causing much water in my body; I don’t know what I’m talking about in all this, but I have a “catalog” of hospital records to show something like that. Dr. Dimitri Kaufman (lung doctor) has written “Pulmonary edema, due to acute aortic dissection.” Dr. Walker, the heart surgeon, did say it was a near impossibility that I made it to the hospital alive and twice that that I got out of the operation alive. His diagnosis was “Type 1 aortic valvular dissection, severe aortic valvular insufficiency, and acute heart failure.”
My next move into reality was hearing someone ask me if I knew where I was. I responded correctly. Then she asked who the president was; again I responded correctly. Then she asked if I knew the season. I tried so hard to be right but I wasn’t; I said, “I think it’s winter.” She said, “No, don’t you remember – summer, Fourth of July is coming up.” I asked the day; she said it was Tuesday. I guess I flunked the test, because they must have sedated me again.
I want to pay tribute to wonderful people I have known, the wonderful country in which I live, the communities in which I have lived, the churches who have claimed me as their own, the God who sends shivers down my back when I really give him a portion of my time—well, maybe not shivers but tears flow easily in some of those most priceless times.
Hello. To various folks I am Neat’ne, Mom, Grandma Neta, Gramma, Aunt Neta, Aunt Noni, Aunt Neno, and Aunt Neto (lots of varieties from little nieces and nephews). To some I’m more like “Didn’t you used to be my teacher?” or “Don’t I know you from someplace?” To you, perhaps, I am a Fellow Blogger. Not “fellow” like a male or a guy, but “fellow” like a companion or an adventurer. I would choose to be Grandma Blogger, and have you pull up a chair, my website before you, while I tell you of some days of yore. I have experienced life much differently than most of you. It was and is a good life. I hope to share nuggets of appreciation for those who have gone before me and those who come after me. By necessity you are among those who come after me and I will tell you of those who came before. Once upon a time in a little house on a prairie - oops, change that lest I commit plagiarism - and change that “house on the prairie” to “dugout on the prairie.” So my story begins.