Reflecting the Light from Above

Her fingernails and toenails had all been soaked and clipped, and the pink on her toenails reflected the light from above. Satisfaction seeped from my soul.

"Ma-Maw, it's time to wash your hair." I smiled, encouragingly nodded. The long, frayed ends of gray hair were not her normal. No, she'd kept her hair short and tidy for as long as I could remember. I have one picture of her with longer hair, when she was 26.

"No. I don't need it washed," she said emphatically.  

"Please," I pleaded.

"Okay." The defeat in her voice broke my heart.

I had already set the kitchen table with my necessities—warm water, shampoo, towels. I'd have to work quickly. 

I walked her fragile self over to the kitchen slowly and carefully, and she sat down in the wooden chair. Though I counted it a privilege, I felt overwhelmed. I had been assigned a task by family and didn't quite know if I could pull it off. But I'd said I'd do it. And I'd do it. I'd try.

I had to think outside the box because she was too frail to get into the bathtub. Her back was too frail and painful to lean over into the sink. She could barely make it into the car to go to her doctor appointments. Going to a hair dresser deemed out of the question.

Why did I feel like the one deemed useless? I was scared. And I couldn't have her slipping on that floor. I couldn't risk another bone in her precious back broken.

I wrapped towels around her soft pink nighty and around the chair. Warm water gently poured from the pitcher in my hand's grasp over her precious hair. In the middle of the kitchen.

"It's cold." She began to pout and cry like a little child. But getting a glimpse of her as a child was precious. A smile grew across my face. It would be over so soon.

With the shampoo rinsed out, I wrapped her in warm towels, slipped a baby blue clean nighty over her sweet head, and led her back to her chair in the living room. Fresh and clean.

"Ma-Maw, it's time to trim your hair," I said as I combed her beautiful tangles. The first time I had ever cut her hair. Little did I know, it would be the last.

Every now and then, she'd utter, "That's good enough." Her patience was growing thin.

As I dried her hair, I couldn't wait to curl it, to mask the uneven layers by my imperfect hands.

"Ma-Maw, this is the last curl. Let me just spray it with hair spray, and we'll be done." In her weak condition, this was a traumatic experience for her. 

"There. All done, Ma-Maw." I smiled, relief seeping from my weary soul.

"I want to see it." She stood to her sweet feet like a spring chicken and walked with renewed energy down the hallway and into the bathroom. She looked into the mirror and smiled. "Thank you, Baby. That's real pretty. I appreciate you for doing that."

I couldn't refrain the giggles dispensing from my heart and lips ... her attitude had completely changed. It was the best idea she'd ever had.

When I look in the mirror, what will I see? Lord God Almighty, when you are done with me ... what will I see? Will I be pretty, like you? With all the bad trimmed away, will I be a reflection of you?

When you snip away the attitude, the self-righteousness, the holier than thou, the stubbornness, the hatefulness, the bitterness, the grudges, the anger, the feelings of uselessness, unworthiness, the feelings that you'll never get it right, the worry, the fear, the impatience, the unloveliness ... all the frayed, scraggly dead ends that don't belong on your creation—me.

Do you get frustrated at me? Do you giggle at me? Do you count it a privilege?

I do want to make you proud. You know I do.

Help me to work with you. Help me not to fight you all the way. Help me to get excited over change, no matter how traumatic. And trust that you'll do what you say. For it's one of the best ideas you've ever had.

Help me to reflect the Light from above.

~~~

Is there something particular you need trimmed from your life? Right now, I need fear and worry trimmed ... that's what I can see at the moment. How may I pray for you?

When you Long for a Margin on your Life's Paper

I don't go that way anymore. It scares me. It really scares me.

There are daily reports of horrid accidents. Mile long automobile back-ups due to tragic accidents. The fire truck pulled in that day to block the accident, and an elderly couple almost slammed into the fire truck. I saw it. Daily.

As I approach the walls, my chest tightens. My stomach tightens. My breath feels caught right up in the middle. It's probably one of my worst fears.

I had to go this way today.

As I enter, I tell myself, breathe. I tell myself, it's all for a good cause. I tell myself, you are going to get through this. The clearing is just up ahead.

I try not to focus on the wall.

Go slow and steady.

18-wheelers fly by me, in that tight space.

My arms tremble.

No one says a word.

When this road construction is finished, we'll have a new Walmart nearby and better highway access. All these walls will come down. Freedom. Life.

"Why do you hate the walls, Shelli?" I ask myself.

Well, O Soul, the walls are fixed. They don't budge or bend. They're too close. They trap me in. I feel squashed. I feel crammed. I feel fragile. I'm afraid I'll hit them. I'm afraid another will hit me.

I want space. I want space for error. I want a margin. A margin with no holes. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want to be the next one hurt. I don't want to feel pain. I don't want to die today.

O Soul, that sounds an awful lot like life. Wouldn't you agree?

We want a margin on our life's paper. One without holes.

But another friend has cancer. One is going through chemo. One just had a brain tumor removed and fears the fragments remaining will destroy her. One's son died in an auto accident on the way to Disney World. One hurts every time he eats. One's back pain is unbearable. One lives with daily unbearable dying pain and wonders when his last day will be.

And the path we take is often not our choice. We have to go that way ... today. The walls are fixed. And as we approach, our chests tighten, our stomachs tighten, our arms tremble, our breath catches.

We maintain our focus. We go slow and steady.

We cling to our Jesus margin—the beautiful spacious One with holes and only One to make us whole.

We are going to get through this.

The clearing is just up ahead.

Real freedom. Real life.



What frightens you? How do you press through the fear? Do you have a favorite Scripture of encouragement?

An Embarassing Display

“Shelli, you have about a 50% chance of conception,” my doctor said, leaning over my hospital bed. I can’t begin to relay the pain I felt or the tears I cried. For you see, having a family had been my childhood dream.

~~~

I'm blessed to be guest posting over at my good friend, Jeanne Takenaka's blog this week. Please join me over there for more of the story.

Blessed by you,
Shelli

Receiving your Child's Love can be as Simple as Making Peanut Butter Cookies

I'm not a great cook. My husband might whisper that to you behind closed doors. But there are a few things I make really well, like homemade potato rolls, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy.

However, I love to bake. Baking doesn't get an eye-roll from me, it gets a smile. I can make an apple pie with a homemade crust, I tell you. And I love to make cookies because I love cookies, but there are just so many ingredients ... it's tedious, messy, and none of us really need the extra calories, so I don't make them often.

But imagine my surprise to see a recipe from writer Kathi Macias for peanut butter cookies requiring three, I repeat three, simple ingredients. I thought, no way ... too good to be true.

Some believe that receiving a child's love/a teen's love is too good to be true. It's too time consuming. Too many ingredients required. It's tedious, messy. Well, we can't be good at everything, but we can be just good enough in a few areas to make a batch of homemade love.

So, I put this recipe to the test.

The ingredients are—

1 Cup of Peanut Butter—Butter up your child. Say what's in your heart. My 17 year old daughter looked so sweet on Sunday, so beautiful. In my eyes. Not only on the outside but on the inside, too. She approached me when I was getting ready for church and asked to take a selfie with me. My heart swooned. After church, I said to her, "You are beautiful." With her chin lowered beneath a bashful grin, she said, "Thank you, Mama." She knew I meant it, and the compliment made her day. She might even remember that moment forever. I certainly will.

1 Cup of Sugar—Give your kids sugars (In Texas, "sugars" means "kisses"). Last night, my youngest daughter was resting beside me before bedtime. My mind flashed back to the moment after she had endured kidney cancer surgery. She had just been wheeled into her hospital room, only 13 months old, and the nurse placed her on her tummy. My first thought was if I had just had surgery, I wouldn't want to lie on my tummy, on my incision. My baby girl raised up on her knees and hands, crying. It's a moment I hate. She was scared and confused and in pain, I'm sure. We quickly had her placed on her back.

Returning to reality and unable to contain the tears, I looked at my 15 year old and kissed her forehead at least ten times and told her how grateful I was for her ... for her life. As I laid my head back down, a moment passed, and she kissed my cheek.

Katelyn 2001 enduring chemotherapy

1 Egg—Be the egg-xample. Spend time with them, and they'll spend time with you. After sharing my novel's plot with my oldest daughter and seeking ideas from her, she wants me to help plot her novel. 

And after years of singing songs together, my youngest shares listening to One Direction songs with me. She's taught me every word of the sweet songs. "Half a Heart" is my favorite. You should give it a listen. It's sweet.

Mix well. Roll into one-inch balls, place on ungreased cookie sheet, and make crisscross pattern with a fork.

My youngest daughter helped me. We both love these peanut butter cookies so much so that as soon as we run out, we make another batch.

Bake at 350 degrees for 9-1/2 minutes.

A perfect batch of homemade love.

Do you like to bake? Do you have a yummy simple recipe that you'd like to share? What advice do you have for garnering true love from your kids, family, and friends or showing love to them?