It’s good to have an anchor.
I took this last night. My little point and shoot didn’t capture what it really looked like – dark clouds threatening, sun beyond. Below, the humble chapel on the hillside, one of my favorite places.
I’d like to write about the storms of life and how we need to be anchored on the Rock, but it’s Saturday and we’re off to get pet supplies for the coming new family members. Two bunnies. Have a great weekend!
It all started with a pain in my right arm. A sharp little stabbing like an imaginary nurse stuck me with with a needle. I rubbed it, fussed over it. I remember thinking, “Could this be a heart attack?”
Looking back now, I believe that thought sent me on the path for all that happened yesterday.
That was in the morning. I kept going with my day: fed the kids lunch, corrected Math-U-See papers. Typical homeschool mom fare. Susan spilled milk, sending a lake of liquid across the table almost ruining science and math books.
By 1:30 pm, I jumped on the Dell. Tweetdeck, blogs to check. I decided to try out the online Mango program for Spanish. It was fun trying to get the accent just right, I imagined speaking Spanish to new friends at church. I even sent out a tweet about it too. Traded DMs with Tanya Dennis about the Mandarin Chinese also available.
My arm was still hurting. More thoughts of doom. What the heck is wrong with me? More computer time.
Then – the numbness shooting down my right arm, the tingling as I stood up to find my cell phone because I knew I needed to make a phone call.
911.
By now, I was scared. My heart pounded as I dialed the phone. My arm – wow, it hurt. Still numbness and tingling. Jesus, I’m scared, help me. Don’t take me yet. Too much to do, kids still so young. Joe…
So I laid on my kitchen floor answering the questions of the calm 911 operator. Lucy sat on top of me, Edmund with the goofy questions because he’s six and has no idea what it means when his mother is breathing heavily while lying on the floor. Peter, outside. Poor Susan. Scared too, because in Serious Mommy Voice I directed her to call my mom and my husband.
This is it. I can’t believe this. Jesus, help me.
Quickly there was a gathering of strangers in my kitchen. One EMT grew to several, then paramedics. All looked a bit perplexed because by this time my breathing started to return to normal, my arm felt better and I was cracking jokes. (Because that’s what I do when I feel ridiculous, with everyone looking at me. Kind of the way I felt walking down the isle to get married. Everyone’s looking at me! )
On the way to the hospital, with all the sirens and lights creating this Red Sea effect on Rt. 31, I thought of the spilled milk and how Susan cried when I yelled at her. All that anger over an accident and protecting those stupid books.
How I wished I could go back to that moment to react differently.
You can guess the rest: the blood tests, chest x-ray, EKGs. I’m fine. No heart attack; not at risk for a heart attack either. I don’t smoke, drink, no strong family history. Medically, I’m as boring as a block of wood. By 9 pm, we were on the road home.
Diagnosis: arm pain. My diagnosis – and I feel silly admitting this after all the fuss I created yesterday – my arm fell asleep due to too much computer. I made this happen sitting at the laptop too long, combined with my knowledge of heart attack symptoms (arm pain, numbness, etc.), I freaked myself out when I felt the numbness. Calling 911 sent me into an “Oh, boy, This is serious,” hyperventilation-breathing fit.
I’m such a dork.
When I got home, Susan was still awake and I finally got to tell her what I was afraid I wasn’t going to get the chance to do. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” And she did.
Postscript: Just now, as I’m thinking how to end this story, to show you the impact of my fake heart attack and how I suspect it’s going to change me and my mothering, my four year old was scribbling on the wall with crayon.
Old me, before fake-heart attack me, would’ve yelled, pitched a good ol’ fit. The new me? Not one shout. It’s not about the books or walls, milk or crayon. It’s about people and love and forgiveness and mercy.
Hallelujah! It’s about Love.
***
Twitter and Facebook friends, much love and appreciation to you all. Often I’ve doubted what we have is true community, never again will I think that way. You proved yourselves with the retweets, replies, DMs, emails. Thank you, thank you. I look forward to the day we meet face-to-face, and if not here, with Him who has given you all to me for such a day like yesterday. Again, thank you.
If you are unfamiliar with the cross and why I think it’s beautiful, you can read the story of Jesus’ crucifixion at YouVersion.com. Plug Luke 23 into the search, that’s a good place to start. (The default translation is King James; click on the down arrow to select a modern text. I like NIV and ESV.)
Related posts:
What does it mean to be called by God?
How do you know if it’s God speaking or just a voice in your head?
Lord, what do you want me to do with my life?
The Echo Within: Finding Your True Calling by Robert Benson is a little book taking on a big subject: the calling of God on your life. I suspect this book will be given to many a graduate in June.
As a writer, I enjoyed following Benson on his journey to find what he was to do with his life. He bounced from job to job before settling into writing professionally. Much of the book is his personal account of how he found peace and confidence in the desire of his heart.
As much as I enjoyed the storytelling and lovely writing, I didn’t care for some of his advice. You know me, I can be… selective.
If it were me advising you about listening to the “voice within,” as Benson writes, I would be sure to tell you that it’s imperative to have the Holy Spirit within you first and that can only be achieved by knowing Christ. Benson does not make this clear when he writes:
There is within each of us an echo of the Voice of the One Who whispered us into being. We must listen for that echo and to that echo; we must listen fiercely and faithfully and fearlessly. Within the echo of the Voice that spoke us into being is the sound of our own true voice.
That last part on the end (the part I put in italics) makes me cringe. In the hands of the wrong person, or reader, it could be understood to mean “I am God.” Please don’t make me explain how wrong that thinking is.
I also didn’t care much for his ease with tossing around the term born again as if one can be reborn with every new discovery in life and personality.
Born again is a phrase we hear sometimes from church folks. It is a way to talk about their spiritual life, and I understand that. Born again is also a way to describe what happens when something begins to shape us in a new way.
Oh dear. What to do with this? *sigh* We church folk didn’t come up with the term born again, Jesus did. Read John 3. It’s all there. (And it’s important stuff, make no mistake. Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again.)
Okay, I think I better stop there or WaterBrook isn’t going to send me any more free books to review.
If you are inclined to give The Echo Within: Finding Your True Calling as a gift, I advise you to package it with a Bible. I’m just sayin’. You may read it and get a totally different vibe than I.
And the same goes for Facebook, but I’ll forgo the screen shot with that one.
My goal: Less noise. More listening. To Him.
maybe the scene would’ve looked something like this:
I love how the artist shows some folks fascinated, others not so much.
How would YOU have reacted?
