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Fa La La La La

It is November 5th and my inside Christmas décor is up.

Why do people decorate early for Christmas?

I don’t know.

It is one of the few things in life I try not to overthink. I just like it. And, I can’t begin to speak for all people, but for myself, that really is the main reason.

I can tell you some things that are NOT reasons why I decorate early.

I don’t hate Thanksgiving. I love it. I love to enjoy Thanksgiving Day in the soft glow of a Christmas tree and think about the birth of Christ- one of the things I am so very thankful for in my life.

I don’t get into the commercialism of having lots of perfectly wrapped gifts or an Instagram worthy set of decorations. That doesn’t matter to me. My favorite tree- (there are three okay. Go big or go…well I am home…) – my favorite tree is the one Z decorated almost all by herself. There are lights hanging off the branches. The ornaments are clustered unevenly and the ribbon is covering up some of the ornaments. It is perfect.

I don’t care what anyone else does with their decorating. Decorate early. Throw the tree up on Christmas Eve. Have a tree AND a menorah. Don’t decorate at all. I don’t care. You do you.


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The Process

The Value of the Process

You often hear it said, “Trust the process.” At least in my work I hear it. Often, the phrase is said in response to a feeling of frustration. The reminder to trust that the structure of the process we are in the middle of will ensure we get where we need to be has been helpful to me at times. I have always thought of the process in this context as a set of steps to follow. We can’t expect to experience step 37’s results when we are on step 12. It makes sense and I think that way of thinking about process is a valid construct.

I also think there are other ways to think about it.

Recently, I had a follow up appointment for my shoulder with the surgeon. While I was waiting in the treatment room, I saw on the counter an implant like I have. It looked to me to be an actually working prosthesis, most likely used to show patients what their arm will be repaired with. For all I can remember, maybe the surgeon showed it to me the day I found out that life was changing in some ways forever. I don’t remember it though. That day is somewhat of a blur, filled with information about ALL THE THINGS I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO DO AGAIN.

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Before the Fall

Today I am 8 weeks post-op. I am beginning to feel more like myself in a sense. I think the fall I took on Feb. 20 forever changed me in some ways though.

I learned some things about myself and I learned some things about the people in my life. Some of those things were bad. Most of them were good. Overwhelmingly good.

At this point in my recovery, I am very close to getting some big pieces of normal back in my life and I am excited, and relieved to be here. I wish the recovery were faster, but that is out of my control. Apparently, one big thing we are waiting on is for my bones to grow around my implant, which makes it more secure and decreases the chance of it coming loose. With my injury there was so much damage that there was not a lot of bone left at the top of my humerus to attach anything to. We are relying on it being fixed in place inside the shaft of the humerus. It is, but bone growth will make it better and less prone to bad things happening. Bone growth is hard to rush.

Shoulders are complicated things. They move so many different ways. We really are wonderfully designed by our creator. My new shoulder, while it will allow me to function a normal life- drive, dress myself, etc., will never ever work just the way the shoulder God made did. I can never put my arm behind my back for example because the prosthetic could dislocate. I am incredibly grateful for the implant and being able to regain independence, but I will admit I feel- a bit feeble and old. I have to accept I will never scoop Zoe up in my arms again. I will never drag something heavy across the back yard again and I will never become a senior citizen body builder.

But, while I am here today, ready to get back to more of what used to be normal, I am reflecting on some events that happened before the fall.

There are times in life that you are able to look back in wonder and see a connection between events.

I am not saying that I was supposed to fall down and bust myself up. Maybe I was, but I don’t know that. I am however, amazed at some of the things that took place before the fall that afterward made a huge difference. Let me explain.

In October, I traveled to Phoenix with my girlfriends to attend my graduation and hooding ceremony. On that trip, I was really exhausted and afterward my friends pretty much insisted I go see a cardiologist and make sure my heart was working like it should. I talked to my doctor and she agreed I needed to go. So somewhat grudgingly I went. All the tests turned out fine and I was a little annoyed that I had racked up a few thousand dollars in medical bills for ‘nothing.’ Of course it was peace of mind and I got a new med that got my blood pressure really well under control but it wasn’t until I sat in the orthopedic surgeon’s office that I realized the full value of that visit.

The Dr. told me how bad my shoulder was messed up and said, “We need to schedule this as soon as there is an opening, but we will need to get you into a cardiologist for some pre-op tests first. That may delay us.” Then he described ALL THE TESTS I HAD JUST HAD DONE. I told him this in a quiet voice. He seemed surprised and asked why I had gone in to do that. I told him, you know, just to check and that I had bossy girlfriends who made me. He just sort of shook his head and said, “We will call upstairs and get those results and we can go ahead and schedule you.”

There were other things. A tablet I had purchased months ago that I had never used became a way to pass some hours I was prisoner in my recliner. It was a way to take my mind off the ever present pain and participate in this thing called binge-watching. Now I am waiting for the next season of The Crown.

There was a gift of a small aromatherapy spray called ‘calming clarity’ that I got on my Phoenix trip and sat on my bathroom vanity, untouched until after surgery when I put it next to me by my computer and began to use it daily to help set the atmosphere for beginning to problem-solve and think critically again.

Never used hand weights were needed for physical therapy. Non-slip shoes. A notepad to take to the hospital. Time and again both before my operation and since, small needs arose and I was able to put my hands on something already in my home to meet the need- things I often had never used and wondered why I had them.

I believe all of this has been a lesson in faith for me. Faith that God knows my needs and I do not have reason to worry.


I mean it could just be a whole bunch of coincidences.

But I don’t think so.

Reflecting on ‘Before the Fall’ I think there were so many things I didn’t even think of, not even on the radar as important, that God was putting into place for me. Preparing for me, if you will. He really does care for us and our every need. Why did He let me fall? I don’t know. I am not God. But I do know His hand has been on me every step of this journey, even when I was angry, scared, worried, unable to think because of pain, and unwashed because I could not shower. He did not turn away from me.

And I am pretty dang sure He is still doing this while I sit here unaware. His hand on my life and His angels all around. And, for you as well. Both before and after all of our falls.


Wishbones and Cranberry Sauce

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone and left me a bit reflective about two things: the wishbone and jellied cranberry sauce in a can.

I have written before I think about how my grandfather and I always pulled the wishbone after Thanksgiving and how it was many years before I realized he was breaking his piece intentionally so that I always won. I realized something else about that family tradition this year and I will come back to it. But first, cranberry sauce.

Now, as a good southern woman, bless my heart, I know that canned jellied cranberry stuff is much hated and oft maligned. I have even seen it referred to as the devil. I think that is pushing it a bit if you ask me- especially when it comes to Thanksgiving dishes as that honor clearly goes to Green Bean Casserole. (Just kidding. That one was for you, Stacy.)

Anyway, I love the canned jellied stuff and honestly, I never thought about why. I mean, it isn’t really all that great. It is sort of like eating a blob of something and it is overly sweet. Then this year, as I was opening up the can I bought for our Thanksgiving table it hit me: I love it because of my Mamaw.

Mamaw was, among her other many accomplishments and wonderful personality traits, a stellar cook. She would calmly putter around her kitchen seemingly doing almost nothing, and then as if by magic, an amazing meal would appear on the table. There was turkey at Thanksgiving. There was always a selection of fresh veggies straight from the garden in summer months and canned or frozen from the garden in the winter. And, there was always canned, jellied cranberry sauce on the holidays.

For as long as I can remember, ‘fixin’ the cranberry sauce was my job in the kitchen. I would do other things, like maybe help set the table or make the iced tea, but my favorite thing was to do the cranberry sauce. Mamaw showed me how she did it and forever after- and to this day- I follow the exact same procedure.

First, you open the can and then use a butter knife to loosen the blob from the can. You have to carefully insert the knife between the cranberry stuff and the side of the can and run it around without gouging the jelly. Then, you hold it over the dish it is going into- at Mamaw’s it was a divided crystal relish dish- I can still see it- and give it a little shake or thump and it will plop out all in one perfect piece onto the dish. This is accompanied by a sound sort of like ‘shhloop’ but really I don’t think the actual sound can be recreated with mere letters of the alphabet.

If you have freed the stuff correctly, it will even retain the little ridges that the can has. Next, you lay it on its side (if it didn’t already fall over, there is not a lot of structural integrity to this stuff) and cut it length ways down the middle. Then you cut each side into half-inch pieces and lay them out just slightly overlapped on the dish. That is it. This is the only correct way to serve jellied cranberry sauce from a can. Fight me.

Okay, the last thing after that was to show Mamaw. She would look at the plated sauce and smile and nod at me and I would set it on the table, where it made a nice pop of color among the other dishes. Usually my grandfather Alvin was waiting at the table, or he would happen by and pop one of the pieces straight into his mouth.

Yesterday, as I was slicing the cranberry sauce just so, I realized I love the stuff because of this small moment at Thanksgiving when I felt so connected to my Mamaw. Life is about connection. When I shhloop that stuff out onto a dish in my kitchen, I feel, for a moment, like I have that wonderful woman back in my life.

Of course I love it.

Same with the wishbone. I realized also this year, as I was freeing the wishbone yesterday for my granddaughter to pull, that this was also a small moment separated from the rest of the busyness of the holiday. It came after the meal was over and put away, maybe even the next day when Mamaw got around to putting up the rest of the turkey and could get to the wishbone. It was and forever will be a connection with my Alvin.

As we move forward to another Christmas, or whatever holiday you may celebrate at this time of year, I wish for you some of these beautiful jewels of time, some of these small precious moments that will stay with you, maybe even in ways you don’t fully understand. I hope that these moments hold joy for you and that you can take them out in your dark times to see the light, and beauty and love they are made from.

Happy Saturday. Always hoping and wishing for peace, during this season and all others.

Blood, Sweat and Tears

Blood, Sweat and Tears.

As you may know, for the last 7 years my team at work has created some sort of event for Breast Cancer Awareness. Breast Cancer has reared its ugly head on our team far too often (as it does) and so we began a tradition of finding a unique way each year to try and bring joy and hope to those who fight and those who love them, and to encourage people to get their mammograms and do their self-checks.

Last year, I had the idea to create a giant homecoming mum, as one does in Texas, for our annual event. Not just any giant mum, but a World Record Sized Mum. The rest of the team was enthusiastic and so we started the application process. It takes several months to get approved, submit your plans, get that approved, etc. We cleared those hurdles and started collecting stuff- flowers, ribbon, glue sticks… soooo many glue sticks, and one big cowbell.


Like it did so many things, the pandemic shut us down for the year and we decided to go with an online event last October. This past summer, we dusted off all our supplies, including the four foot round plywood base, and began the work of assembling the mum over the course of several Saturdays. The mum had to be made in a public place, and due to the pandemic, the Guinness folks approved a residence- but we had to be outside, in public. In other words, NOT IN THE AIR CONDITIONING.

Folks in Texas know what June, July and August are like here. For those of you who don’t know, let me say there was a fair amount of sweat involved in the mum days. My mom (we were at her house) kept us hydrated and even fed. The work was fun, but even though we tried to schedule most of it early in the mornings, it was HOT. In scientific terms, it was hotter than two hells rubbing together.

But, we got it done.

And it is a thing of beauty.

The mum measures in at over 20 feet long and the base is six feet in diameter- 4 feet of plywood with a one foot border all around. We had the official measurements done and submitted to Guinness and today we received notification that we are the World Record Holders! Yesterday the mum was transported via U-Haul (it was too big for a pick-up) to the main Arlington Public Library where it will be on display for the month of October. We even managed to keep it a secret for the better part of a year and a half.

In reflecting back on the whole process of ‘doing the mum’ today, I recalled the very last day we had the thing out in the heat. Architects from UTA volunteered to come take the official measurements on August 16. It was hotter than the surface of the sun that day.

My son had gone to Mom’s to help me move the mum to the ground and unroll all the streamers before the architects and witnesses arrived. After we got to Mom’s house though, I realized I had left the official witness statement forms behind. I sent my son to collect them and began working on preparing the mum alone. As I straightened streamer after streamer, I felt myself begin to get light-headed.

I was sweaty and over-heated and then I picked up a two by four we were using to hold the streamers down in case of wind and caught a splinter that bit into my thumb. It stung, but I had bigger concerns just then. I am telling you, all I needed was dramatic music. I felt I was in a race against time and everything was on the line. Probably that was the heat stroke talking. Anyway, my son got back and we got the mum ready, we got the measurements and the witness statements and packed everything back up and went home.

Later that evening I went to deal with the splinter. As I picked up the tweezers, I thought, well, there sure was a lot of sweat involved in building that mum, but no blood or tears. Then I got ahold of the splinter and yanked it out and a small, bright red drop of blood appeared.

Blood and sweat.

And, then came the tears.

I am so grateful to work on a team with people who care about their fellow humans, who sacrifice their time and comfort, and who make amazing, impossible seeming things come into being. The emotion of the moment overwhelmed me then as it does again today.

Happy October. Get your mammogram. Do your self-checks. Hold fast to hope.
Even if blood, sweat and tears are involved.

Almost Orange

Almost Orange

This year, pumpkins are growing in my backyard. We first had this happen several years ago after some seeds from a Jack-O-Lantern carving were dumped near a corner of the house. The next year, a vine sprang up adorned by brilliantly beautiful orange blossoms. I had to take to Google to determine what it was. The first, and only, pumpkin from that year was already almost orange when I saw it. My husband bent down and gently swept aside a large leaf, and there was the beauty, nestled in the grass, about as large as a softball. At that moment, I became a pioneer in my heart! The previously unnoticed pumpkin became something of an obsession and I checked on it several times a day. Even though I had nothing to do with the plant growing, I felt a sort of connection with the earth and the whole circle of life (cue the music…)

Anyway, in the fall we harvested it (does that even apply here? It was ONE pumpkin…) and roasted the seeds and baked the ‘meat’ (see, I am practically a farmer) and made a small loaf of bread with it. I felt that with those acts I had somehow sustained my family by drawing bounty from the earth.

I mean…

I know that it was just one little pumpkin and I didn’t do anything to grow it. I know this logically. But y’all it was just SO cool and that is how the coolness of it all translated into my psyche or whatever.

We threw a few of the pumpkin seeds back onto the same corner of the house outside and that was that.

Years passed. Zoe’s Halloween pumpkins so far have been painted, not carved and we have not have any more pumpkins growing in the yard.


This summer I looked out and saw a vine! In a few days, there were those beautiful orange blossoms again. This time I didn’t have to run to Google what they were. I knew. (I’m an experienced farmer now.) THIS year the vine has just taken off, in several directions and so far produced two beautiful pumpkins (that’s double the previous harvest if you are keeping track) and there is another one almost ready to pick, almost orange, and several babies I am hopeful about.

I go say good morning to the pumpkin vine every day, I water it, and I check on it at night. I mean, for one thing it sort of looks like it might take over the world, so I want it to know we are friends, just in case… But for another, I just enjoy watching the pumpkins grow and change. When I am watching closely, it seems to take forever, but then, one day I realize how much one has grown, and how almost orange it is, and then there it is – a whole, finished, beautiful pumpkin in front of me, ready to leave the vine and I don’t know what happened.

My little granddaughter starts Kindergarten Monday. MONDAY! As in TWO DAYS. And it mostly seems like she’s just suddenly orange. I know that some of the days and moments time seemed to stand still, but the years, as they do, have flown. She is too indescribably beautiful for words, completely her own person, and I still can’t quite figure out how I am so fortunate to have her in my life. Five years ago, I stood in the room while she was being born and felt my heart expand more than I ever knew possible. Whew! And Monday is barreling toward us. She has a special shirt, a sign, a new lunch box, all the ‘stuff’ that goes with a first day. I’m so excited for her! But I know that on Monday, when a new school year starts for me, part of my heart will be going to Kindergarten.

I hope this year is beautiful and sweet for all the students and teachers beginning again.

Happy Saturday.

Lost and Found

The last week has been a period of great loss for me and my family. If you have spent much time on the planet at all, you know what I mean I imagine. There come periods of time on occasion where it seems that so much happens all at once. Last night I lay awake for a very long time (mainly fueled by a prednisone prescription to treat bursitis in my elbow) and thought about loss, pain, and the gifts that grief can bring.

I had a big no for myself earlier this week. I had feelings of disappointment, but also, I was able to think about how we learn over time to take our rejections along with our wins. This kind of experience is part of everyone’s journey. There is no reason I should not have my own share and be able to own that without shame. One especially kind friend told me that she admired my grace in difficult situations. Wow. It helped me to reflect on the gift that came with news I did not want to hear.

While mine was not a romantic situation, it made me think of an interview I saw many years ago with the actress Uma Thurman at the time her marriage to Ethan Hawke was ending. The journalist (I use the term loosely- perhaps person with a microphone would be more appropriate) asked her something like, “You are so beautiful! How do you feel about having to deal with this being who you are?” It’s from memory so I am sure that is just the gist. What a horrible question right? The suggestion is that beautiful people don’t experience pain in love. Well, Uma took a beat, sort of drew up, gave the journalist a look worthy of a school teacher and said something like, “I can take my knocks like anyone else.” That always stuck in my mind. We all experience these things if we are lucky enough to hang around long enough.

This week, two friends of mine are letting go of their time here with us on earth. It is hard and painful. Because I am who I am, I need to write about it. You can read it if you want. Here goes.

I met Lisa for the first time when our daughters were in school together. It seems like another lifetime now. I recall I had some pixie stix- you know the sugar candy that comes in little straws- and I had given some to her daughter. Next thing I knew, Lisa showed up to see who I was and give me the third degree about the candy. I was puzzled and taken aback. I had not done anything wrong. I was unaware that apparently that type of candy could be a way that other, more illegal substances were sometimes provided to kids. Lisa schooled me on that with a great deal of clarity. And then we talked for a while and I remember at some point she said, “After getting to know you, I will allow the pixie stix.” What a funny, awkward, uncomfortable first meeting right? But over the years I saw her continue to advocate fiercely for the people she loved and I admired her for it.

Her home was always open. The first time I visited it, I sat strategically away from her cigarette smoke and she commented on it asking if I at least drank wine. I told her I enjoyed a nice red and she responded, “We can be friends.” You always knew where you stood with Lisa. We did become friends, and I respect so much how she was always true to herself. She is leaving this world in that same way. I will miss her. I will miss her honesty, her hospitality and the love she has shown my daughter and Z. She has filled a grandmother role in Zoe’s life and that loss for my Z stings a lot. So many friends and family will l feel this loss very deeply. What a gift it was to know her.

Another friend is finishing his fight with cancer. A friend I have known for a great deal of my life who, along with his family, was pivotal in many defining moments of my life that are part of the person I am today. A dear friend who was someone I could talk to about hard things over the years. A friend who happened to give me my first ever real kiss, one of those perfect, awkward, sweet moments that was just like it should be, with braces and too much roll on lip gloss. It was also our only kiss ever, but whatever. We were friends. His wife wrote this week so beautifully about their life together and the grace with which he is saying goodbye. What a gift to have lived your life in such a way. How fortunate I am to have known him.

Both of these friends taught me something about resilience, about finding joy after trauma and about leading an authentic life filled with love, faith and tenacity. And as I look at Saturday this week, I am filled with both grief and gratefulness for these dear people. There is no way to go through this life and protect yourself from all pain. But, how fortunate we are when we can see the gifts contained in the pain, and see the arc of a person’s life that has been well lived and have the assurance that someday, when it is our turn, we can make our exit with grace as well. And then see them again. I do believe that day will come.

Happy Saturday friends! Be brave in the face of grief, be tender with your selves and love each other, and may you find the gifts in every loss.

I love you all.


I think education in May is sort of like childbirth in that you have been carrying the year around for nine plus months and you are so ready to have it done. And also, there is that amnesia that helps you to forget what it is like, at least until May rolls around again. Every year as April draws to a close, I find myself mildly traumatized by the Justin Timberlake memes because May for teachers is like nothing else.

I am not complaining. No. May is an important rite each year. We have struggled and had our wins and made progress, even if it was messy sometimes. We have seen our students grow. We have dealt with a million situations we never expected and now here we are- nearing the end.

This year ends a year like no other in education. I lost count how many times I heard, and used, the word unprecedented to describe this year. It is the perfect word, but one I came to dislike as I yearned for a little more that was familiar and a little less that was unusual.

We trained brand new teachers in August remotely. These teachers entered the profession, built relationships and provided instruction from their computer keyboards. It is one thing to have experience as a teacher and shift online, and another to have your first year be, well, this year.

But here is the thing I am reflecting on at this moment: we have done it. We, all of us, have gone through this year, with all of its challenges and…unprecedentedness… and now we almost have it behind us. And honestly, I am in awe.

I am in awe of what teachers have been able to accomplish in the face of huge, unexpected obstacles. I am in awe of how administrators have supported their faculty and staff. I am in awe of how students and families adjusted as best they could to the large amount of big change this year held.

It may be tempting to feel a little battered and scratched coming out of this year, but I am choosing to feel grateful for it. I believe we all found reserves of resilience within ourselves that were larger than we thought they would be. I have learned so much that I did not plan to learn. For example, when you are in a zoom with 300 people, be sure you are on mute before you loudly blow your nose.

With the end of a school year comes a time to breathe and reflect. I hope that my friends in education will be able to find beauty in this year among all the challenges we were presented with. And, it is okay to be tired. You have done something truly unprecedented. Well done teachers. Enjoy the summer!



As many of you know, I had a procedure called a vitrectomy two weeks ago today. As part of that process, the doctor inserted an air bubble into my eye that helps to hold everything inside my eyeball into place while it heals. There are other things the bubble does too. It makes it not possible to see at first, and then later as it gradually dissipates over time, it makes it just… less difficult to not see. What I mean to say is, as the bubble shrinks, I can begin to see around it, depending on where I look. And depending on the light, because the edge of the bubble throws off some reflection, or refraction or something really irritating into the part of my vision that is actually clear. My depth perception has been gone. I have bumped into furniture in the home I have lived in for almost 30 years. Also, I got this cool neon green wrist band I cannot take off that says I cannot get on a plane or have nitrous oxide.

The bubble was supposed to last 10 days, but it is going strong here on day 14. Every day, I spend some time scrutinizing the bubble to try and discern if it is any smaller. Every morning when I get up and open my eyes, I hope that sucker is gone. Today though, is another day waiting for the bubble to dissipate.

And it strikes me that I have spent a good part of this last year waiting for other things to dissipate.

If you are reading this blog from somewhere on the planet, you know that hasn’t so much happened just yet.

It seems like this process of dissipation can take a very long time. But, sometimes, it can happen really fast.

Let me explain.

I am a little embarrassed to admit that in the last few months I have fallen into a not so nice habit in my prayer life in which I bring forth complaints to the Lord about certain people who are bugging the crap out of me.

The general theme of these prayers is something like: “God, please help _____ not to be such an a$$hole. Amen.”

Of course, I pretty up the language because I am speaking to the Lord- but He knows my heart and what I am really saying.


Has the Lord every interrupted you during a prayer? Sometimes when I have a long list of ask fors, I hear His voice in my head telling me something about how I am praying and what I am asking for. So, as I have been praying for these people in a way that I don’t think is too pleasing to God, He has been answering me with a message I will paraphrase in the following prayer scenario:

Me: Dear Lord, Please be with JoeBob and help him to have empathy and to…

God: Are you saying JoeBob is an a$$hole again?

Me: Well…Lord…you see… it is just that he is so..

God: Sherry, I made you and I love you. I gave my only son for you!

Me: Yes, I know. Thank you! It is the best gift ever. But I was just wanting to talk to you about JoeBob…

God: I made him too.

Me: oh.

God: I love him too. You are complaining to me about someone I gave my only son for.

Me: Um. Maybe… I am the one who needs help?

God: continue…

End scene.

Okay. I am not being facetious. Or maybe I am a little, but my meaning here is completely serious. Also I hold a strong belief, as I have previously shared, that the Lord of the universe has a wonderful sense of humor. He is also, among other things, a very effective dissipater. Because, you better believe the thought of Jesus hanging on the cross for the person who is annoying the fire out of me is incredibly powerful at immediately making my petty feelings dissipate.

Unlike my bubble. We still have some time together apparently.

I am trying to be patient.

Pray for me if you will. I am in need of dissipation. Not only for the bubble.

Happy Thursday Y’all! Love you. Thanks for reading.



Yesterday I had a chance to practice responding to challenges. And it wasn’t very pretty. I had missed a call Friday from the surgery center where I am going to get my next ‘procedure’ (that is a fancy older person’s word for surgery.) I called them back when they opened at 6 am yesterday. The very happy person on the other end of the line informed me that I had met my deductible (yeah… my cataract adventure racked up $8,000 out of pocket, up front. Breathe. I know) so good news! She only needed to collect 30% from me today, a mere $2112 and did I have any questions.

I sure did. But, not for her.

Well, because I had to use a mish mash of payment methods, by some miracle (really) I had $2200 available on care credit. (I am never going to be able to retire y’all.) Then she told me chirpily, “You have really bad insurance! (her words, not mine) But by the time you finish paying the other $4000 to the surgeon and anesthesiologist, you will be at your max out of pocket!!” I think I croaked out a thank you and hung up.

Then I got on a group chat with my best buddies. This is the place everything gets spilled, soothed, bitched about and prayed over. I cried. I whined. I panicked. In short I had myself a little pandemic style freak out. Then I felt better. I got myself to my vaccine appointment and finished the work day. Late in the afternoon, I decided I should be proactive so I called my doctor’s office and asked to speak to the billing department. I told them I could not afford anymore $2000 surprises and I needed to know exactly what I was going to owe and when. She told me the anesthesiologist would bill me in 30 days. Okay. I can deal with that later. For the doc, my 30% would be… $348!

Wow! I mean...that is still a hunk of cash, but much better than the amount the girl at the surgery center told me. So, I felt a little bit of relief.

Then, last night I got online to see if any of my poor, gasping for life credit cards had $350 credit left (I am being really vulnerable sharing this situation, y'all.) I almost didn’t check one of them, because I knew I had maxed it out with the cataract surgery. But, I looked.

The last surgeon’s office had issued me two credits for overpayment.

$278 and $48. I was only about $30 bucks short. Wow.

Ready? It gets better.

I looked down at my desk where there was some cash that my daughter had handed me earlier for Z’s daycare, and recalled her saying, “I got paid early. Here’s the extra $30 I owe you.”

There it was. Right in front of me.

As I read over this, I feel, amazed and then I don’t know why. I can’t count the number of times God has worked in my life in some way like this. I prayed a prayer of thanks and I said I was sorry I was worried and had so little faith. And then I realized, God made us and He understands our earthly minds. And just like Z is delighted and surprised when I do some small thing for her- and she runs and jumps in my arms saying, “Rainbow pancakes!?!? How?? You are the best Mia ever!!” That God our father may just appreciate that reaction from us too.

I’m not crying. You’re crying.

Okay, okay, I’m crying. But not from worry or fear.

Happy Tuesday.
Don’t forget to pray.
It’s just procedure.



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  • (Anonymous)
    6 Mar 2020, 12:04
    Overwhelming truth and acceptance. Only God can offer the comfort and healing for a broken heart, pain and grief. I love you forever unconditionally without limit my precious girl. My prayers are…
  • sherryville
    14 Mar 2019, 16:29
    I feel your pain. I also lost my Daddy few years ago and is a horrible thing to go through. God bless you ❤️I I’m praying for your family
  • sherryville
    12 Mar 2019, 05:11
    Thank you so much!
  • sherryville
    12 Mar 2019, 05:10
  • sherryville
    12 Mar 2019, 05:07
    Thank you thank you!! For some reason im just now seeing this comment! Yikes! I need to check my account settings. It dud get to me at a time I really needed it though. Much appreciated!
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