MIRACLE #2 ... MY SISTER

 This is a portion of a "Grandma Cary" children story called "Angels".  Since I began to focus on miracles last week, and posted my accident event, I chose to share this one, too.  If any of you want the whole "Angel" story, I'd be glad to send it. This begins rather in the middle.

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...“You know what, girls?  I remember a time when I believe an angel was very busy helping my family when I was a little girl just about your age.  Want to hear the story?”

With her eyes rolling and talking fast, Makayla said, “If it’s the time you fell out of the car and your dad ran over your legs, but you ended up OK, we already know that story and you never mentioned an angel when you told us."

“No, it’s not that time.  It’s another time entirely, a couple of years after that, and it’s even far more, wonderfully more, miraculous.  But before I tell you, let’s get out of the kitchen – it makes me either want to work or eat, and I’ve had enough of both of those today.  Let’s go up on my bed.”

The girls headed for the doorway as Grandma Cary took one last glance around the kitchen and turned out the light.  The three of them headed up the stairs and climbed onto the bed, plopping down in the middle of the pile of pillows and pulling the comforter up around their chins.  The girls snuggled up against Grandma Cary, one on each side.  Then the story began pouring out of Grandma's mouth... and heart.

“A very long time ago, more than fifty years now, our family was traveling from Portland, Oregon, where we were living, to Tacoma, Washington, where we had piles of family -- aunts and uncles and lots and lots of cousins.  It was a trip of about 150 miles. In those days, It took much longer than it would now.  No Interstate highways back then and just single lanes.  Usually cars weren’t able to go as fast and, even if they could, speed limits were a lot lower.”

Miranda popped in. “Mom sure would have had a harder time driving then,” she laughed, and Grandma Cary shook her head and laughed along with her and Makayla.  Their Mom had a reputation as a pretty fast driver and everybody teased her about it.

“Back to the story, Miranda.” Grandma winked at her.  “We were going to Tacoma for Christmas, and it was a dark, rainy and foggy evening. I was 8, Niki was 3, and Patti was 2, Teri was about 10 months old, and Mom was expecting my sister Betty.  In those days cars didn’t have seat belts or safety locks on the doors and there weren’t car seats for babies. Mom says that Niki and I were sitting on the back seat and that I was holding baby Teri.  Patti, the 2-year-old, was playing around in the back, and had been hollered at a couple of times to stay away from the door. 

"Suddenly, Patti leaned on the door handle and disappeared out of the car on the passenger side.  I screamed about it and Dad hit the brakes.  It took a few seconds to get stopped, especially since – and this is the scary and strange part – we were going over a bridge.  There wasn’t anywhere to pull over.

“Not long ago when we talked about this for the first time in many, many years, Mom told me that somehow Patti, instead of flying outward from the car, and hitting the concrete side of the bridge, she bounced along the road and into the lane behind them.  A man driving behind us saw her fly out, and he stopped.  At first they couldn’t see her -- it was dark and foggy -- and then they heard her whimper.  The other man found her in the middle of the road and he stood over her and protected her until Mom and Dad could reach her.  Mom says that Patti had been wearing a heavy snow suit, heavy shoes, and a stocking cap.  The cap was gone, and her head was badly hurt and she had a wound on her neck.  The man told Mom and Dad that his wife worked in a hospital nearby, so Mom held Patti in her lap and Dad drove to the hospital as fast as he could.  Niki remembers Patti being all bloody, and screaming all the way to the hospital and in the emergency room. 

"Mom and Dad left Patti at the hospital with the doctors and we all went on to Tacoma about 60 miles away.  The three of us girls stayed there with an aunt and uncle so Mom and Dad could go back down to be with her.  Patti was only in the hospital overnight.  Even though she was pretty scratched up and had a concussion, they couldn’t find anything else really wrong with her, so the doctors sent her home.  Mom said Patti had bandages all over her head, and that she was really hurting.  She didn’t want anyone to touch her.  That’s really hard on a Mom, because when your baby is sick, let me tell you, you want to hold them and rock them and make it all better.”

Grandma Cary looked at the girls.  For once they didn’t have much to say.  They looked back at her with big, serious eyes.

“So, Grandma,” Miranda asked, thoughtfully.  “Where do you think the angel was?”

“Over the years, as I’ve thought about this accident, I’ve realized an angel must have been there to ‘aim’ Patti away from the bridge wall and somehow under or around our car and then softened her landing.  To land in the middle of a highway like that, and not have a car hit her, and to find her in the fog, and the guy to stand over her to protect her -- all that is pretty amazing. 

"When my Mom and I talked about this she said there must have been an angel, and believe me, Mom had never been an angel-thinking kind of person.  But when we wonder, sometimes, whether angels can see us and know what we’re doing and what could happen if they weren’t paying attention, all I have to do is remember riding in the backseat of the car and watching Patti fly out the door..."
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For many years of being caught up in our family generational addictions and much of the abuse, Patti struggled.  Niki and Patti have been in the Northwest all these years.  Niki, who had come to the Lord when she was 19, had prayed for Patti and sought to draw her to the Lord and free her from all she was buried in.  [I was rarely in the NW for many years and seldom saw Patti even when I was visiting.]  A few years ago, in her early 50s, Patti suddenly truly understood that the Lord would forgive her when she accepted Him, and that she knew He had protected her all those years.  The photo is one I took of them a year ago when I was out visiting and the three of us went "playing" together for a day on the Oregon coast.  Believe me, fellowshiping with my sisters is a wonderful blessing beyond belief.

MY GOD LIGHTS MY LAMP

SERIOSITY

Back in the 1950s, Mickey Mouse Club had a song that has stuck in my head forever.  These are the lyrics and, animal lovers, it is not nice IF it's not understood about the cat's 9 lives.

Curiosity, people say,
Killed the kitty cat one fine day
Well, that may be true but hear me say,
Here is what you do for curiosity.

Get the en-cyclopedia E-N-C-Y-C-L-O-P-E-D-I-A
Get the en-cyclopedia E-N-C-Y-C-L-O-P-E-D-I-A

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Now, as I aged and this song has rumbled through my brain, the word "curiosity" is not the one that fits my character.  It is a fake word:  seriosity.

I've walked through life with an intense look on my face and a driving force in my heart.  Both before and after my salvation, although I'm nicer now.

Sometimes, however, things happen that make me laugh... loudly, rowdy.  I have a very intense sense of humor, just as, mentioned earlier, an intense view of life.

Then occasionally God drops something in that makes me roar and never forget the incident.  This is one.

In May, 1992, I was taking a friend to a variety of places in Colorado and Utah to teach her a few historical and geographical aspects.  One of our locations was Bryce Canyon.  LOVE seeing that place.  

 As we were heading out, a group of people were on a flat, grassy area and they were feeding prairie dogs.  I'd never seen or done anything like that and had no idea I could do it.

But, I DID.  And feeding that little "dog", being touched on my hand, made me grin big time.  

And then, glancing a minute later, one of its family was coming out of the ground and I took a picture at just the right moment.

This week, one of my projects while visiting Susie in the "North" is scanning hundreds of photos from years ago.  When I pulled this batch out of the box and saw those "dog" pics, I grinned again.

Yes, "seriosity" is my character definition -- some people would consider it a defect -- but this makes me happy and so pleased that I could have this fun minute or so in Utah nearly 20 years ago.

Oh, and, just for your info... I am also a "curiosity" addict.  The song lyrics work the same way for me.

SO MUCH, TOO MUCH, NOT MUCH

“Why do you put so much on yourself?” asked my son
    when I told him I was "running away from home".

“I don’t,” I said, defensively, I’m sure.

        [but I do!]

I put on:
    others’ offenses
    others’ responsibilities
    the world’s cares, and
    the cares of this world.

I’m strong -- but not strong enough.

God knew that.

That’s why He told me to not put on:
    others’ offenses
    others’ responsibilities
    the world’s cares, and,
    the cares of this world.

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This poem was written a few weeks after 9/11 when depression suddenly overwhelmed me and I was preparing to drive 600 miles to the North Shore to restore my heart and mind.  As Steve indicated, I have tended to be muchly overwhelmed with responsibility... even when it's simply not mine.  In my present day, this life-long tendency has much reduced.  Instead, MUCH of my life is filled with blessings, and I am no longer a magnet that draws towards me nearly as much responsibility.

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Word Carnival:  Much.  [Would you have figured that out?  I think so.]

MIRACLE, DONCHA THINK?

When I had just turned 6 years old, the summer of 1951, still living in the “Birdhouse”, outside Klickitat, WA, a rather unusual event occurred.  I don’t think I knew anything about angels, except when I saw something about Christmas and the angels singing to the shepherds.  That would have been “it”.  However, I happen to believe they were very busy taking care of me.

My Dad was headed out for milk and, instead of heading to Klickitat, he went the other direction to a farm about a mile up the road.  He took me with him.  He was driving an old-style station wagon.

In that area, the Birdhouse, the other houses, the pastures, fields and farms were on one side of the road.  The Klickitat River was on the other, with just a few feet between it and the road, with only a grassy ditch and a few boulders before the rushing water.

Since we were driving north, that meant he would be turning left onto the farm.

Before we reached it, when I could see the farmhouse in the distance, I was thinking, “I don’t want to be left in the car.  I want to get out.”  To be ready, I held onto the door handle very firmly.

Well, Dad slowed down to turn left, the door handle went down, and I swung out of the car, grasping the handle.  The door opened wide.  I was scared, of course, but also thinking, “If I let go, I can land in the ditch and it could have snakes!”  So, I held onto the handle.  The door swung back towards the car, and I was forced to let go, and tossed under the car.  The car was moving slowly, since Dad was preparing to turn, but not stopped.  As a result, the rear tires ran over my legs, angling from the top of one leg to the calf of another.

My Dad hit the brakes, of course, jumped out of the car and over the hood to find me.  Before he reached me, behind the car, I had already rolled over to my stomach and was banging my head on the soft tar road and saying to myself, “Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid.”

There was a car behind us and it stopped immediately.  The driver was a teenaged boy that we knew.  “Bob”, 16, had been in Klickitat at the Swimming Hole, and was wearing only swim trunks, because he was heading home. 

He was embarrassed to be in this situation, with nothing else to wear, but he held me in the car while Dad drove [raced!] to the nearest town with doctors and a hospital.  Goldendale and Klickitat are about 20 miles apart, which wouldn’t seem like such a big deal in our present way of thinking, except, in this case, Klickitat was in the valley by the river and Goldendale was up on the high plains.  

This road then [and now] would have a section that was hairpin curving up the grade, a rock cliff on one side, a drop to the river.. sometimes hundreds of feet... on the other and no guard rails.  I expect Dad drove dangerously, to say the least.

When we reached Goldendale, Dad went to a Doctor first.  All I remember is laying on the table and having my jeans cut off.  You see, if nothing else, the fact that it was July, HOT, and the road covered with tar, my jeans were black from that soft road topping, and stuck to me.  The tire pattern was very clearly seen.
After the jeans were off, which I was angry about, because I liked them, Dad took me to the hospital. Next medical event was an X-ray. 

 Miracle?  My legs were not broken.  I had very few bruises or scrapes.  Dad was told that the reason my legs weren’t broken was because the angle was the only one that would have prevented that from happening.  The worst bruise?  My forehead where I had been hammering on the ground, angry at myself, because I was “stupid”.

I was in the hospital for 3 days.  They didn’t think I would be, or should be, walking and putting pressure on my legs.  Now, remember, in those days, especially a small hospital, when there was space in a room, under fairly normal circumstances, you would simply be in a room with whoever was there.  The room they put me in had an “older” lady and she was in some sort of recovery, but needed rest.  I anticipate that I drove her crazy.  I was supposed to stay in bed, but didn’t.  I climbed in and out, and, sometimes, jumped up and down from the bed.  Mom and Dad could come in the evening for a short visit, but I vaguely recall that they were told that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to.  Since I didn’t seem to need more recovery, they sent me home.  I don’t think I was ever back for a checkup.

Now, when I reached home, I think I actually settled down and rested more for a short stretch.

I have never had future leg issues.  My muscles and joints are usually painless, even 60 years later.  Compared to many of my family and friends in my general age range, that is pretty amazing.

When I think of the times that God protected me, knew me so long before I knew Him — DUH!!! — and had assigned angels to me, I expect this was one of the top ones; definitely not the first one, knowing my childhood seriosity history, but rather important, doncha think?
And, remember that time, recalling those amazing details, I always smile.  Big Time.

RAINBOWS BEYOND BELIEF

A Double-Rainbow from our Lord reveals 

His Double-Loving Heart 

poured forth for us as 

Promise and Promise and Promise

 of His Faithfulness.        

FUN IN SOROTI... REALLY?

Rarely did anything happen during my refugee work in Soroti that made all of us laugh.  But this one did.

I was on my way back to the YWAM compound after my office work.  I was on a bike -- "boda-boda"ing -- side-saddling on the back seat, my backpack on my lap.  My "driver", David, was on a main road and there were piles of homeless sitting on the roadside with lots and lots of fruits and vegetables to sell. 

Suddenly, I had a great idea.  A lady had a bunch of oranges... over there they are rarely orange, but are green.  I told David to stop and that I wanted 10 of them and I wanted him to do the bargaining.  She saw me, of course, and kept the price up a bit.  It came to 1,000// shillings.  The equivalent of about 50 cents.  So I agreed and gave her the money.  

I had David put my back pack on his chest, so I could hold the bag.  I stayed near a camp of refugees and always rode [or walked] through it on a path towards YWAM.

When we reached the path, the fun began.  I took an orange out and tossed it towards a group of men.  One jumped and grabbed it and laughed.  I tossed another, and another and another towards the folks who were gathered and hanging out together in different places; all of them exploding in joy.

By the time I was down to one orange, I made my own heart laugh and sing. You see, the moms with their new babies sat under small trees.  I had David stop the bike and I hopped off to take the last orange to this mom who, while breast feeding, certainly couldn't jump into the fun and playful mix. When I walked over and gave it to her, she grinned from ear to ear.  So grateful.

Coming and going downtown, they had seen me nearly every day for a few weeks.  We waved at each other; we smiled. Shortly after the "orange" event, the news came that they were planning to leave soon and head back to their villages with the hope that the rebels were gone and they could start to rebuild and replant.  And, the last small stretch that I was there, nearly everyone was gone, the camp almost vacant.  

Remembering our playtime, in my Soroti memory-filled brain, I can't help but smile, even today, years later.

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Before going to Soroti, from another part of Uganda, a missionary who had been in exactly this location for a few months ... downtown and YWAM... told me to not get involved with the people in the camps.  It would be too heartbreaking to see what they were facing day-by-day.   I didn't necessarily think her reasoning wasn't "reasonable", but I didn't think I could pull that off... I'm too curious, if nothing else.  Interviewing the abducted kids,  seeing the homeless, hearing doctors were being forced, over and over, to amputate legs or arms -- I DID cry, often, and was filled with sorrow.

On the other hand... in that few minutes when I tossed oranges and they jumped for joy ... how could I have ever felt remorseful for being a friend?