UNFAILING HUMOR

               

        My parents just celebrated their 89th and 90th birthdays and they both exhibit great humor and a joy of living that infects everyone in their path. They are the ones who taught me to look at life with humor and joy. Last week as they sat visiting with family members after dinner in a restaurant, my father reflected, "Maybe I SHOULD consider Assisted Living..." My nurturing and quiet mother quickly replied, "You've had assisted living all your life!" The most humorous statements always carry an element of truth. I laughed hysterically at this one!
          You have to understand, my parents are not normal and I am well aware of that. It would never even occur to them to get depressed. They are way too busy spreading joy and laughter.  At joyous times they are quick to keep all of us (their children and our families) focused on all of the good and from whom it came.  Then when things are tense, my father can be counted on to raise our spirits. 
          For example, when my daughter was undergoing her 47 hour childbirth experience. I may have neglected to tell you that I was more than a little nervous for her health (after all, I saw the last season of Downton Abbey). After more than a day of waiting for his latest great-grandchild's birth my father finally asked me, "When this baby is born, how old will it be?" Instant comic relief! (at least for me, I'm pretty sure my daughter wasn't laughing yet). 
        They have been known to exit a nice restaurant after eating dinner and encourage those waiting in line with these words, "There's nothing left, but ya'll go ahead, enjoy!"  These kinds of comments bring smiles to total strangers.  The atmosphere just lightens up.  He gets a similar reaction on hot Texas days when he walks into an air conditioned building and confides to those he sees, "I don't believe the air conditioning is working out there."  

          So what happens when a man of such humor makes a public mistake?  Usually we share a public laugh.  I love remembering the time my father was the guest preacher at one of his best friend's church.  I happened to be a member there and my friend, Darlyne (the pastor's daughter and consequently also a long time friend who was like family) sang the special music before the message.  The song was so beautiful and worshipful. My father led the congregation in a prayer immediately after the music and thanked God for the church, and his dear, dear friend (the pastor) and the beautiful music sung by.....(extremely long pause) "The one whose name you know better than I".  In our denomination we don't typically laugh during the prayer.  But on this occasion, there was heartfelt, all-inclusive laughter right in the middle of the prayer. You should probably know that Darlyne eventually married my brother, David, and is an actual family member now. 
          I just wanted to let the world know what a blessing my parents are...to me and to everyone they meet. I wish them Happy Birthday!
           

OVERCOMING THE TOXIC CLOUD

I have a friend, let’s call her Debbye.  She marvels that everywhere she goes, she witnesses proposals of marriage.  She goes to a concert…the man in front of her drops to his knee and proposes to the woman by his side.   She eats out at a lovely restaurant…the couple next to her pledge their undying love and gets engaged.  My friend must go through life with a cloud of hearts and flowers hovering over her head at all times.

I have a cloud over my head too.  It does not contain hearts and flowers.  Whatever toxic substance it does contain produces an invisible target that can only be seen by an element of society that used to be called “perverts”.  I don’t know what they call them now (Probably political advisers).  I’m talking about those “strangers” who are reputed to wear trench coats and lurk in bushes waiting for an opportunity to play “Show and Tell.”  I refuse to get any more graphic than that.  I know what you are thinking…”She’s exaggerating.  She has never even encountered one of those weirdos!”  Well, I am NOT exaggerating.  I have endured this experience not once…not twice…but FOUR times in my life.

Let’s review the circumstances of these events to glean all the possible precautions that your loved ones should employ in order to avoid Mr. Exposure in the future.  I want you to learn from my mistakes!

Incident #1:  I was an innocent 9^th grader sitting under the Willow tree of my front yard in Texas one Saturday morning reading a book. Mmmm…I wouldn't think that the location or activity would be especially enticing to Mr. “I Left My Clothes At Home”.  But apparently that must be a big no-no. What seemed to be a casual activity for this pea-brained exhibitionist was traumatic to the young me.   Be sure to warn the 9^th grade girls in your life to never, ever engage in such risky behavior! (by risky, I mean reading outdoors in broad daylight)

            Incident #2: About seven years passed and this time I was a College Student visiting Italy for a mission trip in the summer.  Two friends and I were so careless as to walk on a sidewalk surrounding the Coliseum in Rome on our day off.  Senor “Trench Coat In the Bushes” was busily trying to greet us in his own special way. Now, I’m just baffled.  Again it was broad daylight and I have spoken to many friends over the years that did precisely what we did.  None of the others had the same encounter.

            Incident #3:  Fast forward another five years (see how these sneaky low-life’s wait until your guard is down?).  My husband and I lived in Florida and I was working very hard cleaning the windows of a house he was building.  If only I had not made a run to Publix for more Windex.  That must have been my wrong move.  Walking through the parking lot it took an embarrassingly long time to notice the little sports car that was rolling slowly forward, keeping pace with me. When I finally did, I could not help but notice the goofy grin on the driver’s face. It took a little bit longer to see the activity that inspired his expression.  May I mention that by this time in my life I was fast becoming a connoisseur of perverts, and frankly, I was just annoyed.

            Incident #4:  The final incident (Please, God, let it be the final one) occurred at least 20 years after the previous one.  I wrongly assumed that I had passed the age where the invisible target would entice the proudly perverted. This time the encounter occurred on the Interstate, yes, that is correct folks. Exposure at 70 miles per hour.  Again it took a long time for me to comprehend that the SUV that insisted  on keeping pace with me on the Interstate was doing so for a reason.  This time I looked directly in his eyes with my most bored and unimpressed expression, (noting his all to familiar goofy grin) and casually picked up my cell phone and dialed 911.   Suddenly, the vehicle that

wouldn’t leave me alone, all but disappeared, exiting the Interstate at his very first opportunity.

            So what have we learned about avoiding this degenerate element of society?  Apparently I am not smart enough to figure it out.  Perhaps you can help me come to a conclusion. But I did learn that the best possible reaction to such an event is not horror or panic, but bored disinterest.  I hope you never have to employ this response personally, but consider it expert advice from someone with experience!

THE ACCIDENTAL DRUNK

      
  Part of growing up at our house was participating in Summertime mission trips and choir tours.  Our four children, though not entirely angels (Okay, church friends, stop laughing), had many wonderful and fulfilling experiences through these spiritual opportunities.  As they got older, I was able to go with them as a mature chaperon... a voice of reason...a godly example.  This worked pretty well until I accidentally got my youngest daughter drunk on a mission trip. Oops.
      Since she is living out of state as a fine example of a grown up, I feel I can now admit this little error.  It was a completely honest mistake.  It all started when I tried to assist her in the midst of a panic attack.  You have to understand that although she is an incredible "Over-Achiever", who can do anything she sets her mind to, she had one little bitty weakness. She did not like boats. Not at all. Not any size or shape.  (It might have had something to do with not being in control, but I would never say that). Imagine her surprise when she discovered that the mission trip to the Bahamas for which she had committed, required that she travel on a rather sizable vessel over water. Yikes!  
        Her worries (and mine) diminished when she made the voyage from Ft. Lauderdale to the Bahamas without incident, and barely a ripple.  She was nervous, but handled it remarkably well.  She did not even need the motion-sickness medicine I brought along.  I had the forethought to get the kind that makes one drowsy knowing that if she had to take it she would fare better if she could at least doze off.  But the trip was so smooth she was fine.
         She spent most of the week (Spring Break) doing back-breaking construction work by day, and singing and worship in the evenings.
 

 She accompanied the group with her Djembe and sweet spirit all week long. 

       The day for the return journey was a bit breezy and overcast.   That factor alone had her anxious.  It was obvious the moment the ship cast off that my little girl would definitely need the medicine this time.  She was so caught up in her anxiety that she needed the drowsiness effect even more than the motion-sickness aspect of the medicine.  Our intrepid group got tables in a large entertainment/lounge arena.      I'm sure the comedian who was performing believed the large crowds were there to hear his routine, but the truth is that the weather was deteriorating and everyone was seeking refuge from the big fat rain drops that were now falling.  Most of the group was happy for the chance to relax after a week of enjoyable, but grueling labor.  But my poor baby was falling deeper and deeper into a full blown panic attack, and I was at a complete loss as to how I could help.  That's when I had my most brilliant idea.  I remembered that I had a prescribed bottle of a sleeping aid in my purse (to help me sleep on the floor of the church that week).  Of course, if my child took one of these tiny pills, she would fall fast asleep in one of the cushioned chairs of the lounge.  I confidently encouraged her to take one and waited for the magic to happen.
      The magic didn't seem like it would ever happen.  I noticed that my daughter's fingernails were gouging the skin of her arms where she had grabbed them so tightly. Finally I thought I would walk with her on the deck above and let her get some fresh air.  Surely that would help.  I put my arm around her (I noticed that her steps were not terribly even) and helped her up the little stairs leading to the deck. I pushed the resisting door open and almost got knocked over by the fresh air.  Yes, the winds had picked up, and the view of the horizon that I thought might be helpful was more like 
an out of control see saw.  (and wasn't it nice of National Geographic to capture it on film?)

  When her whimpering subsided, she began to show signs of sleepiness so I urged her to go back into the sanctuary of the ship's lounge.  We left the howling winds of the deck and carefully made our way down the pitching staircase.  It was becoming more noticeable that my child was having some trouble placing one foot in front of another.  Surely that was due to her tiredness and the ship's pitching movement?  We sat back down in our seats. 
       Almost immediately my daughter's head rested on my shoulder.  Ahh, success!  But strangely, as the crowd would laugh or respond to the performer on the stage, her head would rise up, and she would say things like, "Who let those frogs in here?"  And of course, being a supportive group, her
friends quickly learned that she was far more entertaining than the "comic" on the stage.   After several incidences of completely bizarre statements bursting forth from my daughter's mouth, I had to face the truth.  My daughter was drunk!  And I did it to her!  Apparently you have to be careful about the kinds of drugs you mix together.  Who knew? 
       It is ironic that my sweet little girl who would never knowingly put herself in an "out of control" situation, nevertheless experienced a drunken stupor...instigated by her mother...on a mission trip. Oh dear.  Please don't tell anyone!

THE OBNOXIOUS FACTOR: What they don't tell you

     

     You can't tell me it hasn't ever happened to you.  There you are, minding your own business and suddenly you are accosted by a proud grandparent. They whip out their accordion-pleated photo collection and proceed to describe what is right in front of your eyes, as though your feeble brain cannot comprehend the gloriousness of their offspring! Perhaps you have silently vowed (as I have) never to behave so blatantly braggadociosly. If you believe you are immune to such behavior, you need to be aware that you have never been told the entire truth.  Something very important has been withheld from you your entire life.  I am going to right this wrong, remove this veil of deception, and open your eyes to the truth of a condition that is undeniable, yet remains unnamed!  (Until today)

      Perhaps I can explain this phenomenon by describing how the symptoms first occurred in my own experience. My youngest daughter just gave birth to our first grandchild this week. (By this week, I mean ALL WEEK) She was in labor for 47 hours. No, this is not a misprint...47.  That is not relevant to the story, but I believe you should know this anyway!  When our sweet little granddaughter was born, an inexplicable change began to transform my husband and me. Do not think that this condition is a result of our proximity to this perfect little creation...it is not!  Sandra and Mark live in California (that is on the left side of the map for those of you who are geographically challenged) and Steve and I live in South Carolina (that is on the right side of the map)  We have not gotten our grubby paws on our little preciousness yet. So this condition is not dependent on proximity. The first symptom of this new, un-named condition was a re-calibration of our brain's compasses.  True north became our new granddaughter. I have named this symptom "Decedent Lunacy".  So whether driving in the car, or cooking at the stove, or even selling high tech sewing-embroidery machines,  my mind begins to pull irresistibly in the direction of this new paragon of perfection.  

      The second symptom of this condition introduces involuntary movement. I call this an "Image Spasm".  I first experienced this in the most embarrassing of situations.  I was showing a sweet young customer a $2,000 sewing/embroidery machine. The picture of professionalism and education.  Suddenly, I had the most compelling urge to pull my phone out of my pocket and show this customer (a complete stranger) pictures of my granddaughter!  I was appalled, and resisted the urge.  But with the realization of an addict facing his slavery for the first time, I discovered that this condition I had observed for many years was in fact, inevitable and completely involuntary!  Finally, I laughed and apologized, confessing my ailment to her.  But deep in my heart I accepted the fact that I had transformed into the thing I was certain I would never be...and had done so in less than 24 hours (less time than my daughter's labor, I might add).

      I have moved into a new phase of the condition that morphed from acceptance to enthusiastic cooperation. This is the most dangerous phase, accounting for such disasters as   major traffic jams and grocery store tie-ups when

grandparents completely disregard their surroundings and insist on displaying the images of their offspring. This is no longer an innocent "image spasm".  This has progressed into what I like to call "Grandiose Progeny Spectacle". 

        Unless an intervention occurs, my condition is unlikely to change.  But lucky for everyone around me, my granddaughter truly is the prettiest, most brilliant child ever produced, so I'm sure no one minds!

   

NEW LIFE BEGINS WITH A SPLASH

   

     It is Easter.  A day of joy and hope and remembrance.  We see new life all around us in the trees and flowers, and we celebrate new life in our faith.  In my denomination, when we make a decision to give our lives to the Lord, we symbolize it with baptism. I'm not talking about a half-hearted sprinkle, I'm talking about a full-bodied dunking. You can't sneak in a little baptism without anybody noticing, you emerge from the baptismal pool soaking wet!  It takes commitment, and courage.  It is a day of great seriousness and life-long meaning.  But by it's very nature it lends itself to snafus!
       I remember the Sunday I was baptized.  I was a child, and younger than most when I made the commitment.  It was a heart-felt decision and completely genuine, even though I was smaller in stature than most baptismal candidates.  They placed a large wooden block at the bottom of the baptistery  so that my head would poke out above the water until the time of the actual dunking.  (It is never good when someone goes under before their cue).  I excitedly walked down the steps of the baptismal pool, but the block was too far away for me to reach until I took a few steps.  Rather than wait in a dignified manner to be helped to the block I did what I always did in a swimming pool that was too deep for me, I bobbed enthusiastically from my toes as I swam/jumped to the center and my safety box.  I did wonder why the usually serious crowd was laughing, but I was too excited to care.  The rest of the event went just as planned.  I was thrilled.  It makes me happy to remember the funny moments like this because I happen to know that the inventor of the sense of humor is God, himself.  Don't you think it makes him smile when we enjoy life? 

       Since he is already in heaven with Jesus, I feel safe in sharing another baptismal story that took place long ago in Texas.  This is a true story and I love telling it.  Many Americans have heard of Sam Houston.  If you haven't just know that he is the guy that the city of Houston is named for and he was a Governor of the State back in it's infancy, and most importantly, the President of the Republic of Texas not once, but twice!  What many Texans also know is that he was a notorious womanizer and drunk.  He had a serious problem with alcohol.  Then he met a sweet young Christian girl who introduced him to a true relationship with Jesus Christ, and his life was radically changed.  When the day came for his baptism at the River (I heard the Brazos, but I don't know if that is correct), the preacher dunked ole Sam in the river and raised him up again saying, "Your sins are forgiven!"  Sam Houston looked the preacher in the eye and emphatically said, "Then God help these fish!"
It seems to me that someone like Sam really understood the gift of love from God.  Not one of us can really claim to deserve the new life that He offers, but I am so glad He offers it anyway!  There are many other funny stories that I have heard from my father (a missionary in Japan) and my grandfather (a West Texas pastor for many decades) of Baptisms run a muck, but let me finish with another river baptism story told by a former youth minister at my church in South Carolina.
        My sketchy memory wants to attribute this story to Rick Thompson who told us this happened to him when he was a young seminary student, pastoring a small congregation who did not have a baptistery   To the joy of the church, an elderly man in the community came to know Jesus and was to be included in their baptism at the river.  The man was quite old and frail, but excited to be baptized.  When his time came, he waded out to where Rick was standing. Not an easy task since there had been recent rains and the river was moving along at a brisk pace.  Rick grabbed his arm to help him in place and lowered him in the water proclaiming, "Buried to new life in Christ...." But as he tried to help the man up out of the water, he could no longer feel him.  HE WAS GONE! He frantically looked all around and suddenly 20 feet down stream the old man popped up out of the water!  Rick pointed his arm at him and confidently shouted, "Raised to walk in newness of life!"
         I love thinking about how much God must enjoy our moments like this!  On this Easter I pray that you will have a day filled with joy!
         

BATH TIME SABOTAGE

  
          I remember bath time with my little boys (15 months apart) who were one and two and a half.  Both boys were blessed at birth with more creativity in their pinkies than most people see in their entire lives. And yeah, yeah,  I know I'm biased, but that does not mean that I'm not accurate! Creativity is good when tempered with sound judgement.  May I say that a one year old and two and a half year old have not quite attained their good judgement yet?  But they did ooze creative (and dare I say...destructive) ideas that bounced off the walls like their happy meal toys.   Evening bath time was the joy of my day.  They splashed and played with their harmless water toys while I was able to gather nighttime diapers, footie pajamas, and their bed time books. One night I sat on the foot of my bed listening to the giggles and shouts of joyful laughter coming from the bathtub.  I was blessed.  I had three (later to be four) happy, smart children.  I loved hearing the laughter of the little guys.  

         When at least 5 minutes of uninterrupted laughter continued to erupt from the bathroom, my "Mommy Radar"  started to beep suspiciously.  Not a single argument for 5 minutes?  There was something amiss!  I poked my head around the door and was met with the most shocking transformation. The walls of the bathroom were covered with huge white globs every few inches!  Splat!  Here came another one!  I looked at Stephen and Preston proudly standing in what can only be described as a tub full of white gravy!  It was this substance that they were gathering in their hands like sloppy snowballs and heaving at the tiles.  Each Splat was followed by happy, congratulatory laughs.  What had transformed their bath water?   My eyes landed on the toilet and I had my answer.  A large sanitary napkin draped halfway out of the toilet.  I remembered that I had purchased a box at Sams large enough to last until menopause.  The previously unopened box was now empty.  I'm sure my creative geniuses opened the box delighted to find an endless supply of boats.  Then there was the added bonus that when submerged in warm water long enough, they turned into a white gelatin-like gravy.  Would the fun never end?
         I'm pretty sure that none of my parenting books had a chapter on how to react to sanitary napkin destruction.  Of course, now I know what I should have done.  I should have dropped everything and found the camera.  Think about how normal most family photographs look.  In truth, these are the moments that SHOULD be captured on film...forever immortalized.  But the shock and uncertainty that face a young mother at moments like this prevent the clear thinking that would have eventually led to the camera.  Oh well, trust me when I tell you it was a unique moment for our little guys.
         Have you ever tried to empty a bathtub full of gelatin?  It was a slow process that required Mommy to continuously strain the substance and throw the globs in a bucket.  Then the water would move about a half inch.  Strain...slap in the bucket....water moves....repeat.  As my little angels soundly slept the satisfying sleep of one who has accomplished much, I was still in the bathroom....strain.....scoop in the bucket....water moves....repeat.  The toilet wasn't quite as bad, but it was obvious that the plunger would need to be part of the toilet ritual for a few days.

          As I eagerly wait for the arrival of my first grandchild I finally feel free to release these stories.  It is too late for Sandra and Mark to change their minds.  The baby is almost here.  For those without children or grandchildren perhaps we should post these stories with this warning.  ATTENTION:  Contraceptive side-effects.  

THE NIGHTMARE EXPRESS

     When I think of Daddy Fogle in Marshall, TX, I think of a quiet, brilliant, self-educated and self-made Renaissance man. I think of gorgeous blue eyes with a perpetual twinkle and a sharp mind that did not diminish in his 97 years.  I would hate for any of the following narrative to besmirch his good name in any way. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to tell you that it was on the occasion of his passing, that our family innocently stumbled into a life changing, "hell-on-earth" travel nightmare.

      The logistics alone for packing up four children ages 4, 7, 8 and 13 into a Suburban with luggage enough for a week,  travel entertainment, dressy clothes for the funeral and bedding for sleeping in the car is a particular challenge for a Mom who might be described as "scatterbrained". Humph! (Did I mention 16 hours of driving?)   One secret weapon we carried in our arsenal of travel tips was to leave South Carolina in the evening, thus ensuring maximum sleeping time for our four sweet little angels. Steve and I would take turns driving through the night. How were we to know that there was a massive roadblock on I-20 for the purpose of drug screening? This means that our children had already been through an entire Disney movie before we even cleared the Columbia city limits.

             Finally, at 11PM we were on our way! By the time the "burb" got to Augusta, GA, all of the children and Mommy were already dozing.  Steve explained that he was stopping for a restroom break, and a snack to get him through the long night. I opened one eye to acknowledge his words, then sank back down into my lovely dream.  In the quiet interior of the car came Jessica's sweet voice asking if she could go to the restroom. Wasn't that just like our oldest to get permission first? She has always been thoughtful and responsible.  "Of course," I mumbled, barely moving my lips. Then, back to the bliss of deep sleep.  How rare to have a car full of such cooperative little sleepers!
     Eventually Steve got back into the driver's seat, and the gentle rocking of the Suburban as it cruised down the road ensured  that the rest of us remained relaxed. As the miles flew by, a smile curved my lips as I congratulated myself on the brilliance of our plan and the perfect ease of our travel as compared to those poor schmucks who insist on daytime travel with screaming, arguing little hellions.  I glanced back at the car full of blankets, pillows, and sleeping children.  My happy musings were interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of a siren directly behind us.  Steve was genuinely puzzled as he made his way to the side of the Interstate in Atlanta, GA. 
     "Was I speeding, Officer?" Steve asked in disbelief.  The Patrolman examined his driver's license slowly...suspiciously.  Finally he reluctantly handed it back and said, "I believe you left a child in Columbia county."  Now I knew that he was just mistaken.  "Oh no sir, she is right here!" I happily proclaimed as I reached behind me to rouse Jessica from beneath her big comforter.  Something was wrong!  My hand kept squishing down on the comforter, and NO ONE WAS UNDER THERE!! Suddenly, Jessica's sweet little voice flashed through my memory. Oh no!  We left her in Augusta, almost 3 hours behind us!  The thought of my beautiful, sweet little girl left alone at a convenience store/gas station in the middle of the night was painful.  The patrolman gave us the exit number, and phone number of the policeman who was keeping her safe, and sent us on our way....back the way we came. 
     Not only were we desperately anxious to be reunited with our poor child, but we realized that we were going to have to back track almost 3 hours, and then cover the same ground AGAIN.   It would be more than five hours before we could advance one more mile.  In our desperation we wondered, 
"would they be willing to meet us half way with Jessica?  If so, we would be reunited so much faster, and would not have to drive quite so far out of the way!"  
     We had a plan!  We got off at the very next exit to call the Sheriff who had our daughter.  A Waffle House parking lot with a phone stand looked like the perfect place to implement our plan! (Can you believe what we had to do in the days before cell phones?)  We stopped the car just two feet in front of the phone stand.   Steve opened his door to get to the phone and I also attempted to exit the car with little Sandra who sleepily informed me that she needed a restroom break. I bundled her in my arms, stepped out of the car, and was met with the flashing lights, screaming sirens, and screeching tires of at least three cop cars surrounding us. Seconds later, the deputies crouched behind their open car doors and shouted out orders. To Steve: "Keep your hands where I can see them and don't move!!"  To Me:  "Get back in that car!!" I attempted to explain that we needed to go to the bathroom, but he was not impressed, and firmly reiterated his orders.

     It seems that as word spread from county to county that we left our child in Augusta, the wording changed a bit to "abandoned their child".  This is never a good thing.  But add to that the recent event of Susan Smith drowning her children in Lake Marion and Law Enforcement was not going to let one more child be forsaken.  After an explanation from Steve, the deputies were extremely helpful.  They actually worked out a system where Jessica would be hopscotched from county line to county line by deputies from each jurisdiction.  They encouraged us to just wait there.  Hanging out at the Waffle House in the middle of the night was a treat for our 7 and 8 year old sons.  By the time our poor bedraggled daughter was reunited with us, her brothers were on a sugar high guaranteed to last the remaining 14 hours.  I just wanted to hold on to her and hear every detail of her experience, but she wanted nothing more than sleep! We drove through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana in a state of shock. In all likelihood,  at least three of our children were  screaming, arguing and hanging from the windows, but we were too shell-shocked and sleep-deprived to notice.
      To this day I believe Jessica (now a beautiful, married professional) would rather forget the experience.  But the experience is how many people identify us.  It was certainly the topic of conversation at the funeral in Texas.  People in at least two states tend to remember the event. 

      I have heard that once struck by lightening, a person actually has a greater propensity to be struck again than one who has not. I am here to testify that after loosing one of my children, we acquired the tendency to loose them all. Strangely though, that only happened when they were 13 years old.