Just say, “Help!”

My daughter’s meltdown was right smack dab in the middle of mine, and while my stalwart husband was quietly nursing his own wounds over a perplexing disappointment.  But thank God for the woods.

It was there I received a phone call from my child saying she was ready to chuck it all and drive straight home to Colorado.  We talked and prayed through some things and I told her to first of all not make any decisions until after Fall Break (during which she will spend a week camping with beloved family in Oklahoma) and secondly to call her best buddy and ask if she can come over.  Most important of all, we got rid of the poisons due to taking offense, including being offended by a Christian “minister” who insulted homeschoolers (yes, Rebekah was homeschooled) in her presence.  But back to someone much more important – a true friend, and the one I told Rebekah to call.

“I don’t want to bother her, she’s doing a report (or something like that)” was Rebekah’s reply.  “Call her!  She’s called you crying before and you came to her rescue.  She’s also good at rescue.”

So, as Rebekah called her friend I called mine, who has known and loved my daughter all her life.  “Could you just call and encourage her and pray with her?” I asked, knowing it was a done deal, and a good deal.

There’s lots more to this story, like how God showed off the very next day for Rebekah and with one blessing after another throughout the day.  I’m talking BIG stuff and REAL breakthroughs, and beautiful blessings.  Isn’t that so often the way when we think we can’t take any more – victory is around the very next corner!

I pondered how often we don’t ask for help when we really need it, when we really should ask for it, and how we do ask for help when we really don’t need it.  And when I talked it over with my brother, Cal, he said this:  “It’s an honor to be asked for help.”  

So, let’s not be always pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, and let’s know that it’s OK to ask for help.  Rebekah told me she didn’t like to call me when she was lonesome and upset, because she knew it would be hard for me to hear her cry.  “I didn’t want to put that on you,” she told me.  But she said that she’d learned her lesson, and wouldn’t be doing that any more.

Praise God!  How I HATE the thought that she would cry alone, all alone, so far from home.

I know God must feel the same way when we don’t come to Him with our troubles, and unburden our hearts to Him.

Thanks for listening,

Bev

P.S.  Speaking of asking for help, I haven’t posted recently because I have been trying and trying and really trying to figure out how to get back on this website – couldn’t sign in, and coudln’t figure out the problem.  Finally, I got my husband involved, and I’m happy to say he couldn’t figure it out for a good while, either.  But he did, and I’m posting again!

I have pictures to share very soon – some new decorating I’ve done.  I’m inordinately pleased with the outcome, especially as it cost almost nothing – there was great use of what was right under my nose!

https://1360khnc.com/

P.P.S.  Catch John and me, along with Crystal Lyons (crystallyons.com) tomorrow, Wednesday the 9th of October, at 8:00 am Mountain Time.  

We’ll be on https://1360khnc.com/  

“Well, who do you think is pretty?”

mannequin2

When my daughter Jane was ten and carrying on about the latest Hollywood sensations, John pulled a face at her taste.  “Well, who do you think is pretty?” she demanded.

“You.  Your mother.  My mother, my granny, my sister,” he replied.  Out of all the brilliant things John has said, that was one of the most brilliant.

That was years ago, but this morning I awoke thinking about how our society makes heroes out of quite and very unheroic women, at least as compared to those near and dear to me.  What, I wondered, would I say to anyone asking me, not who was pretty, but who was beautiful, heroic, worthy of praise and emulation in my life?

“My mother, my grandmother, my mother-in-law, my sisters-in-law, my friends, my daughters, daughter-in-law, and granddaughters.”

I remember my dad talking about my grandmother chasing a poisonous snake who was trying to escape under their house.  “You’ll not get near these children,” she shouted as she brought a garden hoe down on it, severing it’s head.  When I was little she used to put The Happy Goodmans on to play for me.  She deftly peeled what may have been the world’s best tomatoes (grown in her weedless garden) with her ever sharp paring knife, sliced them into thick, fat, juicy slices and served them to me with salt.   One day, I vowed, I would do that for someone.

tomatoes

But how would I ever emulate my momI’ll never be as strong as she is was my silent concern.  She never stopped moving except maybe once on “slow” days for a cup of coffee and a Lucky Strike.  She was up before us to put a fantastic breakfast (a platter full of meat, eggs, biscuits, gravy) on the table, to starch our jeans, and then off (for the second time) to her many-thousand chickens.  She was up waiting when I got home from basketball games (once it was 2:00 a.m. and there she stood, leaning on the kitchen counter for support, smoking her Lucky Strike).  She didn’t say “I love you” she did love.

coffee

And then there’s my mother-in-law who taught my manly man husband to cook, can, sew, clean, iron, and to always be clean, neat, and presentable.  So when our youngest, Seth, was born, John brought the older three to the hospital looking like little dolls.  The nurses went on about it.  “Who dressed those kids?” one asked.  I was bewildered.  Who do you think? 

“John did,” I told her.  “Well, I never!” she said.  “Just look at them.  All spit and polish!”  And so I looked.  Their clothes were ironed, Benjamin’s hair parted perfectly, the girls’ hair curled, their eyes shining.  In other words, looking like kids should look when they’re coming to see their new sibling and their mother.  Did other dads bring the kids to see mom looking any other way?  Evidently.  Talk about dumb as a post.

And who was to thank for that?  My mother-in-law.  Well, and John being smarter than a post.

And then there are my sisters-in-law (brothers’ wives) who stayed with my brothers through thick and thin, who are excellent mothers, citizens, and friends.  As for John’s sister, even when her life was falling COMPLETELY apart, she was fun, kind, and positive.  How many women “leaders” can say that?  These sisters of mine!  All of them are absolutely indispensable to the welfare of all of us blessed by their presences in our lives.  I really could never say enough about any of them.

I won’t even start with my friends, except to say that my dad was right when he said to me years ago, “Bev, you’ve always had truly good friends.”  Indeed I have.  They have filled gaps, dried tears, inspired, listened, commiserated, advised, and loved me through some pretty dark days.  Real women, that’s what they are.

And then there are my daughters, daughter-in-law, and granddaughters.  Let me just say right here that there aren’t a handful of movie stars in history as lovely as these young women, as brilliant, funny, kind, or true.

I’ve said all this to say that we might stop taking note of celebrities who we’ll most likely never even meet, and start celebrating those women near and dear.

little girl praying