This one thing I do....

Every year on this day, I think of Marilyn Tello....


    Mammograms are NO fun; in fact, they stink!!  On top of that, I am sick to death of doctors, machines, and stripping down to my skivies in "public".  I hate it, I hate the fear and the thought of starting a new set of  procedures all over again.  I would cancel in a heartbeat - if not for Marilyn.

    Now, cancer does not run in my family - thankfully!!  I've always had clear mammograms with the exception of one little, tiny calicification that was removed a while back. But still... the thought of "what if" hangs over me this morning as I prepare to drive over to my appointment.  The place is actually lovely, and I'll get a flower when I leave.  Soft music, warm hands, smiling faces.  Still....

   I taught with Marilyn, and she was a force of nature.  Quiet, but PRESENT.  Everyone looked at her teaching with such respect and admiration, and her life was being with children. 

  And then, we heard she was sick.

  She kept teaching, kept living, kept fighting.

  She kept getting sicker.    And sicker.   And sicker.


   It's funny how one moment in time can stick with you and break
your heart all over again. I have three such memories of Marilyn.  One was the day she walked into the building for a visit.  I hadn't seen her in a while, and I hope with all my heart that my face did not reflect what I saw; she was dying. 

  Erin had been taught by Marilyn as a first grader, and when she saw her that day after school, she ran full blast into the arms of a woman she loved, only to plant her little blond head right into the area where Marilyn had had her mastectomy!!  It took Marilyn's breath away, but Erin never knew it.  Marilyn looked at me and smiled, and patted Erin's back, all the while about to collapse from the impact.  Such composure!!

   The other moment that is frozen in my mind is the last time I saw her.  She was hospitalized, and I went to see her.  Signs were posted all over the door, and I almost didn't go in, but a family member saw me and told her that I was there.  She asked me to come in. Had to mask up and put on the gown but when I went in, there she was, smiling and holding out her hand for me.   Gracious as always, calm in the face of the biggest storm she would ever face. 

   That day was many, many years ago.  Her daughter is grown with a family of her own.  Her loving husband has a wife now, and probably has retired from his own teaching career.  Life has gone on without her, but I truly doubt I am the only person who ever remembers her. 

    So, in just  a bit, I will drive over to my appointment.  I'll have lunch out, and do a little shopping on the way home.  Tonight, I'll get together with dear friends and watch the Spurs.  Tomorrow will pass, and the next day, and the next. 

   But next year, on this day - I'll think of Marilyn Tello.

The Day After Christmas

This weekend, we celebrated Christmas in Houston with Andy's family and our own. Everyone was present, with the exception of our niece, and so it was quite a crowd three little ones - a new generation - added plenty of joy to the season, as did having Mom and Dad still amongst us.
Christmas Eve found us enjoying a quiet day, capped off by a beautiful church service where Dana worships. Even little Bladen sang; his words known only to him, but his little voice joining in with fervor. They were captivated by the images on the large screen above them, and the candles lit during Silent Night mystified their little minds.

Santa came bright and early. We enjoyed delicious Gingerbread cake and Sausage Balls while we opened gifts. Too quickly, it was over. Later, we joined the rest of the LaMores for a wonderful dinner, games, and a giftcard exchange.
After worship the next morning, we enjoyed breakfast together, and then we headed home. Christmas was over, again.

So, we're home now, watching gift movies and finding places for Christmas treasures. The Seasonal music cds are stored away for another year, and soon the tree and stockings will be put away. Tomorrow, Andy returns to work. Life goes on.

I hope you all had a great holiday; I have had one to remember for a long time. Loved ones happy, well, and safe. The best gift of all.

Now, to the New Year!!

Time in a Bottle

On Saturday, Andy and I drove up to the Hill Country. We were going to a retreat being held at the camp I attended for several years as a teenager. Several members of our congregation were there, and were happy to see us walk in in the late afternoon.

The reason for our going was to see the minister who baptized Andy and married us in 1976. His wife was not with him, but it was a joy to walk in and see him standing there. Andy also worked at the church with him, and bought his first car from him - we KNOW this man!!

His sermon that night was on "investments" - not money, but investments in people. In his talk, he sweetly talked about our history together, and encouraged the others there to be sure to meet us. It was a joy to find connections with some of them; one worships in SA with some friends, another also worked through the Prison system when Andy was there, and yet another couple knew our dear friends, the Lassiters, from Sourjourners. A beautiful night all around!

As I sang along with about 100 of my brothers and sisters in Christ, some things struck me; one, how joyful these people were - many strangers to each other before the beginning of the retreat, yet joined in worship. They weren't there wanting "more" for themselves - in fact, I thought to myself how glad they might be to be away from all those wanting "change". This was their place - their heritage, their comfort. No discord, no turmoil. Just worship to their God. It filled me will sadness that at times, I probably caused those feelings in older members....

The other thing that I felt was a sadness that future generations of our brotherhood probably will never know the simplicity of our worship. Things seem to be moving fast right now, and maybe I am getting old, but I enjoyed how simple and pure the singing was. No worship leader, no projection screens - just old men full of joy and desire to lead us in song. God bless them!

..........

In the square of the camp stands a memorial to Archie Waldrum. He was my grandmother's minister in Alice, Texas, and the director of the session of camp I first and most often attended. He was director of the board for many years, and died a couple of years ago at age 92, on the way home from camp in an automobile accident. He'd had a great week, according to his wife.
The memorial will be walked past by campers for generations to come, and they won't have a clue as to who he was. Those of us who knew him will NEVER forget.