Laughter, Tears, And?

We had been to Paragould. That we all agree on. Each girl tried to recall what we had been doing, but  no one knows. And when surmising, each story is different. Angela thinks we might have been to yard sales. Juanetta thinks we went to eat lunch.  Deb thinks we had been to Bonanza, where, she said, we sat for a couple hours drinking sodas.  And I think we had met Aunt Dorothy fir lunch. One part of the story you are about to read makes me think Deb was right. But wherever we had been, we can all tell you where we were at. 

 As usual, when we George's get together we  laugh over everything and nothing. This day was no different. None of us remember what was so funny, but we laughed over the stories we told, then we laughed over our laughter, until we were breathless. Amid our hilarity Deb had to pull to the shoulder of the road for me to throw up, and of course that brought a fresh burst of laughter. 

There we sat with the passenger door open, as I alternated between throwing my guts up and joining the three of them in laughter. Angela, who was directly behind me, and pregnant, caught the wind when it blew through her window. She gagged and yelled, "Deb pull up! This is making me sick!" as she opened her door and started heaving and vomiting from the back seat, which brought fresh laughter from us all. 

The laughter continued to fill the car, and as I straightened I tried to compose myself. When pulling my door shut I turned toward Deb and my composure was short-lived. She was wearing slacks, and as I looked in her direction an artesian well erupted in her lap. I squealed with laughter, which caused Deb to relax and she released the full force as she peed on herself. 

Suddenly there was a yelp from the back seat as Juanetta exploded with laughter. She jerked her feet from under Deb's seat too late. Her feet and shoes were soaked. Our laughter continued for a while before we continued into town. Throughout our day someone would recall the way one looked, something one said, or just the incidents that happened and we would dissolve in peals of laughter again. 

I Thought You Knew

Deb was wearing a short skirt with tights to work at Penn Aluminum of Murphysboro, Illinois one day. She was a successful business woman and was production control manager there for fifteen years, until multiple strokes made her unable to work. 

When getting into her car, with both hands full, Deb stretched across the drivers seat to lay her purse and computer down. Then straightened and climbed behind the wheel. Deb noticed as she got into the car that her skirt had worked up, but thought she would fix it when she arrived at work.

The drive to her office was about fifteen minutes, then Deb got out, straightened her skirt, reached across the seat, picked up her belongings and walked into the front door. All the way to her office at the back of the plant Deb was speaking to each person she met. But when she met her normally friendly boss, he averted his eyes when she spoke to him. Deb said she snarkily thought, "What's your problem?" but silently continued, on toward her office . 

When nearing the back of the large plant, one of her employees caught up with her and motioned toward her skirt. In horror Deb looked down to realize that her skirt had worked back up when stretching across her car. And it was stuck there, around her waist.  She had walked across the parking lot, through the front office area, and most of the way through the plant with literally no skirt showing. 

"Humiliation" is a mild word to use to describe Deb's embarrassment that day. You would think, as much as she dealt with it that they would be old friends. But life doesn't happen that way. 

Later when Deb met her boss he had a large grin on his face, she asked him, "Why didn't you tell me?" To which he replied, "I thought you knew."

Flower Power

In 1968 and 1969 we were living in Chicago, Illinois and going to the church pastored by Rev. Robert "Bob" Prather while holding revivals around the area and Dad was helping complete the church building. 

We girls were asked to clean the church one day for service that night. We had to Pledge the pews, pulpit and piano, and quite by accident one of us noticed how pretty the tile floor looked when Pledge was sprayed on it. So after a lot of hard work we were very proud of how nice the sanctuary looked that night with floors shining. 

The Spirit if God filled the church as people started praising Him. A few of the men jumped up and down,  then started running the aisles. But the pledged floors weren't only pretty, they were slick, and as each one tried to run around the pews, they instead slid into the corner. 

When the preaching started a man on the front pew was clapping, yelling "Amen!" and backing the preacher. As the preacher said something really exciting the man leaned quickly forward in his pew, clapping his hands, with his feet sliding on the floor he slid forward out of his pew into the floor.

Another time we were getting ready  for special services that were scheduled.  The whole place was a beehive of activity with cleaning, carpentry, painting, plumbing and other tasks being done. 

Brother Prather asked several of us girls to paint the bathrooms. He had bought a mint green paint for the men's room and pale pink for the women's. If I recall correctly Connie, Becky, Sherry and we older girls were asked to do the painting. 

The colors of paint that were chosen for the bathrooms were pretty, but we girls decided to make it look nicer. So for the men's bathroom the cement blocks were alternately painted, one pink, one green throughout. We wanted the women's bathroom to look more feminine so we painted the blocks green with pink flowers. 

Brother Prather laughed and thought our work was nice, but considering that it was in the years of the "Flower Power" he bought more paint and asked us to redo it. 

Ditched

Juanetta and I rushed home to change from our church clothes into our uniforms for work. We had made good time so decided we could pick up a pizza before going to Rosé Care Nursing home to work the night shift. 

We were driving a van of Mom and Dad's and didn't notice that it was low on gas until it died on Caraway Road between the college and Matthews Street. We pushed it off the street onto the shoulder so we could walk to the fire department to call for help. 

After getting the van off the street Juanetta was walking on the side nearest the street and was slyly making plans. (Her look of innocence is very deceiving) We were talking and laughing when Juanetta gave me a push that sent me tumbling end over end, all the way to the bottom of the steep ditch. And as Nila so delicately states it, "My bladder cried tears of laughter."

Caraway was a busy street that night and very entertaining with a couple drunks staggering around on the ditch bank. Or at least that was what we looked like as I tumbled into the ditch and Juanetta was bent double with joy and laughter because she had "done it again." (This was not the first nor the last time, by any means,  that she had shoved an unsuspecting bystander into a less-than-desirable situation.)

Juanetta called home for help from the fire department while I tried to hide my wet clothes. Soon a car load pulled in to pick us up in a little Firebird.  No one wanted me to sit in their lap. 

Code Blue

The room was dimly lit and a deep, steady snoring was coming from Dad's hospital bed with a frequently changing, staccato-like snoring from the cot in the corner where Mom slept. You would occasionally hear an agitated flop on the cot as Mom flipped from one side to the other. We figured out that the noisy flop was a "somewhat silent" protest when we or people around us made too much noise and disturbed her sleep. 

Mom stayed with Dad continually and we kids rotated, two of us at a time were in his room to watch for any need he might have. To pass the hours while Dad slept we reminisced of days past, recalled how blessed we had been and worked crossword puzzles. It wasn't unusual to quietly ask one another, "What is a four-letter word that starts with an "I" and ends with an "M"? to hear Dad say, "Item." Or whatever the puzzle might be, when we thought he was sleeping. 

The smells of food made Dad sick so we would generally leave the room to eat. But one night I popped a bag of microwave popcorn and thought he wouldn't know, as he was sleeping. Shortly after getting it into the room Dad turned his head in my direction and said, "Get that stuff out of here." 

One particular night Mark and I sat near the doorway of Dad's room quietly talking when we heard, "Code Blue!" "To room 2016!" "Code Blue!" "To room 2016!", and almost immediately a wire-framed basket on clattering wheels with a heavy man running came down the hall and into the room next to where we sat. 

Hearing the "code blue" made our hearts stand still for a few seconds as we were made aware of how quickly things could change. Then we breathed easier as the technician and his basket walked out of the room and back toward the nurse's station. 

Probably fifteen minutes had passed from the last call when Mark and I heard, "Code Blue! "To room 2019!" "Code Blue!" "To room 2019!" and immediately we heard the clattering wheels of the basket and the slapping of feet as the technician panted past us. Again a few minutes passed and he walked quietly out again. 

At irregular intervals throughout the night we would hear, "Code Blue!" "To room 2016!" "Code Blue!" "To room 2016!" and again the clattering of wheels, and the slapping of feet as the technician raced toward the room number called. His face looked pale, he was drenched in sweat and he gasped for breath as his flagging steps sped by. Mark finally said, "That fat guy is going to look like an Ethiopian before the night is over." I almost fell off my chair laughing at his observation. 

He Careth

My grandson, Greg was about eighteen months old when he got sick. For two weeks he wouldn't eat anything, he couldn't sleep, he didn't want to be held or even picked up. The doctors couldn't find any cause for this and told Darlene that they were going to test for leukemia. We were to take Greg to a Children's Clinic the following Monday for further tests. 

On Monday morning when we arrived at the Children's Clinic I carried Greg and sat down while Darlene went to sign in. As she stood in line I sat  watching Greg lying in my arms  with fear in my heart, as I recalled the memories of the past.  His condition brought back the picture of holding another Greg, and another time. Greg was the namesake of my son who had died from spinal meningitis many years before. Then something caught my attention at the door.

There was nothing extraordinary about the woman who walked into the clinic. She had no rare beauty, there was no glow about her, nor was there anything ethereal about her. But when she stepped inside the doors, she caught my gaze as she paused and glanced around the large room. She looked from one person to the next as if searching for someone in particular. Then when her eyes met mine the woman walked directly toward me and sat in the empty chair at my side. 

As the woman sat next to me she reached into her purse. I didn't know what to expect as she pulled her hand out, but she was holding a notebook calendar.  She flipped it open, placed her index finger on one page and held it toward me. When I read the print that she indicated a warm glow came over me. It said, "Casting all your care upon Him. For He careth for you. I Peter 5:7"

In the time it took for the woman to do this she never said a word. But as she  put the booklet back into her purse, she lay her right hand on mine and said, "Jesus is healing the baby right now." and immediately got up and left. I watched her walk away, expecting her to  join another family in the clinic. But instead she walked out the door. 

Tears flowed freely down my face as I watched how Greg was suffering. But after the reminder of God's care Darlene's and my faith was stronger. The doctors saw Greg, did some tests and they told Darlene that he had a lymph node infection. They gave her prescriptions but told her she would not see any improvement for several days, and that it would be a couple weeks before he was well. 

The drive from the clinic to home was approximately twenty miles. Greg fell asleep on the drive, and slept all night then he sat up the next morning asking for food. His healing wasn't a gradual thing like the doctors thought it would be. It was an instant healing. 

The woman who came through the doors of the Children's Clinic that day may or may not have been an angel. But I do know that she inspired our faith to touch God for healing for Greg. 

Our Playground

From my earliest memories of our childhood the whole outdoors was our playground. After breakfast and chores were completed we couldn't wait to go out to play. Of course some days we were not in as much of a hurry to go out as Mom was for us to go. That was probably the only way she kept her sanity. 

Play consisted of many activities for us  George kids. We might be building houses from whatever material was available, building roads from old wooden soda crates, walking a barrel, jumping board , making stilts from the heavy cardboard tubes that a new linoleum came in, climbing trees, exploring the woods, swinging across a swamp, jumping from the loft of a barn, riding a two-wheel cart down a hill with no one steering it, cutting paper dolls from a Sears and Roebucks catalog,   or playing church.  The list goes on of the many fun and exciting things our play consisted of. We were very imaginative and could make something fun out of nothing at all. 

Playing Church:

Playing church didn't take many props and could happen anywhere.  We've had church on the steps of the cafeteria at Success school, in our back yard, in a deserted hen house with the coops as pews, or in a bedroom when visiting with friends.  The scenarios could be, and were, each very different from the other. But when children begin praising God, what often begins as play, becomes sincere as His presence shows up.  It was a time like this when we went to clean the church one day. 

When we were living at Cato we girls had gone into the church to pick up trash and put away song books one day and started playing church. As our service progressed our worship became real. God's Spirit made itself felt in our hearts as we prayed and worshipped. We sang, we preached, we wept and we testified about our need for the Holy Ghost and five-year-old Rhonda was filled that day. 

Walking A Barrel:

Seeing the grace and balance of kids today as they ride a rip stick is so impressive. It is interesting to watch how they sway back and forth to propel themselves smoothly forward with their feet never moving. It is much different from our balancing toys as kids. 

If you lay an empty fifty gallon oil barrel on it's side, and cautiously climb up onto it you can do a pretty good balancing act. It is much easier if you are barefoot, because your feet grip the barrel better than shoes, not that we ever tried it with our shoes on. 

After you are balanced on the barrel you can walk forward or backward then the contest begins to see who can stay on the farthest. It is usually easier to keep your balance by extending your arms straight out and swaying to one side or the other to maintain it. And when you lose your balance and fall you are likely to be ran over by the barrel. Walking a barrel was not as smooth and graceful as rip sticking, but we had fun doing it. 

 Jumping Out of Barn Lofts:

It was probably around 1962 the first time I remember jumping from the loft of a barn. We were visiting with some friends, the England's, at Leachville and were challenged by Darrell to jump out. Deb, Linda and I accepted. He didn't warn us about not bringing our knees into our chin when we landed, but we learned it quickly as we lay balled up on the ground in pain. 

We later moved to a large two-story house in the country near Leachville that had several out buildings. There was a chicken coop, a smoke house and a large barn. Since Deb and I were experienced barn-jumpers I suppose  we felt that we had to teach this skill to Rhonda and to Sherlyn, who was only five. 

On the ground in front of the barn was a large stack of lumber approximately six feet wide. So Deb and I were good sisters and warned Sherlyn and Rhonda to jump wide so they wouldn't get hurt. We were daring, but we tried to keep the fun safe. Evidently we were so intent on keeping them from landing in the lumber pile we forgot to warn them about their knees into their chin. That is one of the incidents that Sherlyn blames her problems on today. 

Jumping Board:

Another fun thing that Dad taught us to do as kids was jumping board. You take a twelve foot 2x10 board and lay it across an 18"-24"  block. One person stands on one end which causes the other end to raise up and the other person jumps onto it. The impact of a person jumping on one end of the board catapults the other into the air. Then as that one lands the other person is catapulted into the air. With good balance it is an exhilarating activity.

Dad and I were quite good at jumping board. He moved the board closer to one end to adjust for the difference in our weight and when his feet hit the board I felt like I was soaring high. 

Some friends, who were visiting us from California wanted us to show them how to jump board. So Dad and I were giving them an exhibition. For several jumps everything went smoothly and I felt the usual invigoration as my feet left the board and I sailed above their heads. Then, too quickly to act, my feet slipped at the same time Dad's feet hit the board and my balance was lost. When my feet left the board that time I was flipping through the air and landed sprawled nearby. 

Everyone who was watching the jump board exhibition said my head hit the ground first, with my body folded over it, and they were certain that my neck was broken. Dad picked me up and with everyone gathered around they rushed into the house to lay me on the bed, praying as they went. Thankfully I was fine after the incident but Dad would never jump board with us again. He thought he had killed me when I fell. 

Stilts from Cardboard:

When we visited with the Butler side of our family we had watched Dad and our uncles walk on "Tommy Walkers". (Tommy Walkers were stilts made from two long boards about two or three inches wide and an inch thick. You would  cut a block of wood and nail it to each of the long boards about eight inches or a foot from the ground, depending on your capabilities, then nail a small loop of leather to support your feet and a loop of leather to go around each wrist.)

We older girls had walked on Tommy Walkers before but we created a new style of stilts that proved to be more fun and took more skill. 

Dad was laying new linoleum in our house and the large cardboard tubes that it came in, were tossed outside to be burned later. We were quick to grab it and our imaginations went to work to figure out the best use for it. 

After several discarded ideas we hit on one that we all liked. One of us girls managed to sneak a knife outside and we cut the tube into sections, probably three feet long each. Then with two sections of the tube laying side-by-side we helped one girl to slide her legs into the tubes. Her feet were probably a foot or more from touching the ground and she could not bend her legs. With one girl on each side we helped her to her feet and propelled her forward until she was ready to walk on her own. Of course trying to walk in these was not as easy as the Tommy Walkers because you could not jump off if you lost your balance. 

Even when helping each other to stand and walk in our new stilts was hilarious. You can picture us as we lifted one to stand upright and her weight shifted forward, it threw us all forward. We ran forward to regain our balance and try again only to be  thrust backwards as we over compensated. 

#11

It Happened In Pentecost! 

It Really Did!

Sister Irene Chaney was a dear and respected pastor of a church in Grimsby, Illinois for many years. She told us many faith-building stories through the years, to which we could listen for hours. 

Sister Chaney told one story from when she was the youth leader of a church in Murphysboro. She said a young boy, in his early teens came into a youth service shortly before it ended one night. He told her that he really wanted to give his heart to God. They took him into a Sunday School room and prayed with him and God filled him with the Holy Ghost and then he asked to be baptized. 

Sister Chaney said she and the pastor told the young man that they should get permission from his grandmother before they baptized him. But the young man began to plead with them and told the following story. 

"I felt such a need to give my heart to God tonight that I begged my grandmother to let me come to church. But since I would have to walk five miles to get here, she refused, and sent me to my room when I insisted. After being sent to my room I climbed out my window and walked here. That's why I am so late. But I have to give my heart to God tonight and be baptized."

Sensing the urgency the young man felt, the pastor agreed to baptize him. Then he asked Sister Chaney if she would take the boy home and explain to his grandmother afterward, which she did. When they arrived at the house the boy's family were surprised to see him come in as they had thought he was in his room. 

The following day while at school the young man fell unconscious to the floor of the gym. He was rushed to the hospital and  a battery of tests showed that he had a brain tumor. The doctors determined that emergency surgery was his only hope and he was rushed to The Jewish Hospital in Chicago, Illinois. 

The mother and grandmother of the teen sat in the waiting room anxiously waiting for news about the surgery. After waiting forever, it seemed, a doctor came out of the waiting room with an astonished look on his face and asked, "Where did this young man learn the Hebrew language?" To which they informed him that the boy had never studied any languages, as he was just in junior high school. The doctor kept insisting that the boy had to have studied Hebrew. 

The grandmother of the boy finally demanded to know how the operation had gone. The doctor was taken aback and embarrassedly told them that they had not begun. 

The doctor explained that as they were starting to administer anesthesia the young man had aroused and began to speak to them in Hebrew. He said, "I and seven Jewish doctors stood in open-mouthed astonishment as the boy told us of the Jew's Messiah, of His birth, His life, His death and His resurrection, about the Holy Ghost falling on The Day of Pentecost, and baptism in His name. When he finished he closed his eyes and was gone." 

As told by the late Rev. C.E. George

For His Purpose

God had a purpose for having created me. In times past, I thought the original purpose for my life had to be discarded and a new purpose decided due to my sin.

 Today I began to think differently. The first day of the new year; the first day of a new way of thinking.

     

God knew while He was in the process of His six days of creation that my life would be full of faults. He knew that I would fail time and again. He knew that what He made me capable of being would not be what I turned out to be.

     

God knew before creation began that I would not be perfect.  But, He also knew that a strong love in my very being for His presence would cause me to keep getting up when I fell down.

     

God knew that an urgent desire to know Him more would keep me searching out His character, His thoughts, and His feelings.

     

God knew the broken vessel I would become. Though put back together time and again, and though the cracks are still visible, and in spite of the chips in my veneer which are easily visible to any who chance to notice.

     

God knew what I would be after all the heartache, pain, and broken relationships.

     

God knew what I would be after all the attempts to be the perfect Christian; the perfect daughter; the perfect sister; the perfect grandmother; the perfect aunt; the perfect friend; and above all, the perfect mother and wife.

     

God had a purpose for creating me after knowing all the errors I would make.

     

God takes pleasure in seeing me try to get up and walk again after falling flat on my face.

     

No, God didn’t enjoy seeing me fall; He didn’t enjoy seeing me err from His path. That was not what He wanted for me. But, He knew I would err; He knew I would fall. Yet, He saw a purpose for creating me, still.

     

God takes pleasure, not in the idea that I fall. But, the pleasure is from seeing me struggle to get up though my emotions are in shambles around me; though the blood is still flowing from the wounds suffered in my heart.

     

God takes pleasure in watching me wipe the blood, snot and tears from my face to try to see the path I have erred from; to see the obstacles that have tripped me up so the same one doesn’t cause me to fall again.

     

God takes pleasure in watching me try to live with arms wide open as He does; the hesitancy to love and trust others for fear of being betrayed.

     

God is always full of pleasure when He wipes the blood from my eyes because my arms are too heavy to raise.

     

God is ever present with a word of encouragement when exhaustion has overcome me. He takes pleasure in rescuing me from the heap I have become at the bottom of the deep, hidden chasm at the edge of my path.

     

God takes pleasure when He has seen me face the raging rapids, with confidence that I could safely navigate through them. Then after being dashed and beaten against the boulders, and tumbled through the tumultuous waves I have cried out for help to right my canoe and regain safety.

     

God didn’t always immediately rescue me. He knew it would build my strength and courage for the next problem or obstacle I faced by fighting and struggling against the waves. God knew it would cause my faith to grow.

    

God knew that unless I capsized I would always feel that I was in control. But, when seeing my own feebleness and helplessness; my own dependency upon His strength I would learn who was really rowing my canoe.

     

God’s purpose in my life is using the broken and battered being I have become.

     

Though I’m far from perfect, I’m learning that God made me because He needed a broken battered vessel to help someone else who is broken and battered, and too exhausted to fight on their own. Someone that “TOO MUCH” has happened to; someone that “TOO MUCH” they have suffered. Perhaps seeing one standing though others thought it impossible, will give them courage to keep trying. It doesn’t matter that stakes are driven in around me and I’m tied to them to assure that I stand tall. I’m still standing!

     

It seems impossible that God would use me. It is surely a joke that He wants me; that He has a purpose for me. But, it has been so from the beginning.

    

 No, I’m not a great prophet. No, I’m not an awesome singer. There have been no books written, or no songs sung to extol my glory.(That I’m aware of.) God has others to fulfill those purposes.

     

God created me to bandage the wounds of a broken heart.

     

God created me to wipe the eyes blinded by tears of the one who has been subject to abuse.

     

Today God is using me to point the way to troubled teen-age girls at Haven of Hope. To show them that they can rise above the abuse; whether physical, mental, sexual, or emotional. They can rise above the feeling of being unloved or unwanted.

    

 But, who knows what God’s purpose might be for me tomorrow, next week, next month or next year?

     

When I wake up tomorrow God may purpose for me to hold some soldiers head that is lying on the battlefield in the last moments before death. Or, perhaps His purpose might be in a foreign land giving hope to the child dying of aids. Whatever His purpose is for my life I can trust Him to guide me.

     

No, it hasn’t always been clear to me that God had a purpose for me.

     

Yes, there have been doubts and fears overshadowing any attempt I made to survive. At times I even thought my birth was an accident overshadowed by failures. But, God can even use my doubts and fears to His glory.

     Through it all God has been leading me to fulfill “HIS PURPOSE.”

(Written in 2007 while I was working with the Haven of Hope girls)