CHAPTER TWO

SURRENDER ON THE TRAIL

CHAPTER TWO

I lift my eyes to the mountains–where does my help come from? 

My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

Psalms 121: 1-2

Yes, I want to go! Can I fit this into my schedule? Will Paul freak out? Will the boys be ok without me around?

I will be off the grid. OFF THE GRID—how wonderful that sounds. Probably no cell service.

Can we afford this? Isn’t camping supposed to be cheap? Oh, wait a minute, when is my period? I am NOT doing a cycle in the woods—no way.

JoAnn asks, “Whatcha thinking?”

“Um. If I can make family and work stars align, if I can borrow some equipment from friends who are into hiking, then I am all in.”

I have a few camping type folks in mind to ask. There is no budget for me to go hiking otherwise.

“Oh honey, no worries. How about this? If it is meant to be, it will be. We won’t force or pressure it to happen.”

Then my biggest fear pops up, “You know I am out of shape, right? I might be a slowpoke.”

“No worries,” she says. “We won’t rush. If you want to and get to go, then we’ll take our time.”

“Alrighty.  I’ll talk with the fam and get back to you.”

“Ok!”

JoAnn texts me a picture of the hiking plan:

BACKCOUNTRY CAMPING TRIP GUIDE. 

FOUR DAYS, THREE NIGHTS. 

HAWKSBILL TO SWIFT RUN VIA LAUREL PRONG. 

TRIP DESCRIPTION:  MOUNTAINS, STREAMS WATERFALLS, RAPIDAN CAMP HISTORIC SITE. 

The twists and turns over varied terrain and elevation changes are listed as if the line dashes on the map are no big deal. Easy peasy.

23 MILES – IF all goes as planned.

MAY 04, 2016

I wait for the right moment. I pace from the kitchen to the laundry room to the family room. 

More pacing. There is no right moment.

Paul rests on the couch. I eye him. After all these years, I remember the butterflies we shared when we pretended not to look at one another the first time we met in the Young Adult Sunday School class.

He had been a visiting college intern in his last semester. I was there that day because my campus minister challenged me to go back to my home church one last time before moving my membership officially to the church where I had been attending for months. Being there was me fulfilling a promise.

If I had my way, that day was just a formality. A box to check, then move on.

But someone caught my eye. Everything changed fast.

While dating, we celebrated our total opposite personalities—bragged about it even. I would say things like, “He likes a home to be organized.” Then he would say, “She likes a home to be clean. This should work out perfectly.”

Once married, simple differences like how to set up house overflowed into differences in how we view the world. Even though we see things somewhat similar, it became cumbersome to constantly translate the nuances. Over the years, we evolved from both wanting to prove a point when we tried to talk or argue to me agreeing with whatever most days. I grew tired of expressing, “We are saying the same thing.”

I still adore his broad shoulders. I like the way he smells like Lever 2000 soap–and sometimes after shave when we can afford it. I appreciate the way he nurtures and cares for our kids. The pictures of how lovingly he looked at both newborns are forever in my mind. He acts like he is going to be fine with Jacob leaving soon, but I am fairly sure he will struggle when departure day arrives.

I am both mad at him for 23 years of reasons and mad about him at the same time. Down deep, I love him in a way that is eternal no matter what. Our shared faith has been the foundation that did not crack although the metaphoric home built above the foundation is not as strong.

It is time. 

“I need to talk with you about something.”

He hesitates, “Oh boy.”

I take a deep breath and tell him about the trip opportunity. Then I get serious. 

“Look,” I say.  “I’m dealing with a few things.”

“Ok,” he says.

“My brain is fried. I need this hike to take me out of my comfort zone. I need to get away. Like, deep into the woods away both mentally and physically—something I can’t believe I’m saying.”

He turns off the TV.

I continue, “I am incredibly sad. Sad because Jacob is leaving. I am in denial that Ben is old enough to go to high school. And I’m angry.” Pause, “Angry at you.”

He says nothing but listens with his temples pointed in my direction.

“I am mad because it seems like you never made a solid effort to get a better job when I switched to non-profit work. I could totally accept if you tried and failed, but not trying is hard for me to accept.”

Shoot. I said the word never. We agreed long ago not to use trigger words like ‘you never…’ or ‘you always….’

We are silent for about 30 seconds. He has not moved.

I go for the summary, “So, two main things:  One, I’ve got to let go of this anger toward you. Going through the motions of being nice when I do not feel nice has worn me out. I need a break.” 

I exhale. “Two, I am super sad because we have to let go of Jacob. He is so young.” My eyes become wet.

“Basic training means we are not going to be able to talk with him for weeks. Then there may be times where he deploys to fight a stupid war that most Americans do not seem to know is still happening. Technically this kid is joining during a time of war. This is not like moving to a college dorm. Signing up for active duty is a change much more abrupt and final feeling. This feels like a sacrifice. I’m struggling with why our son? And, why anyone’s son or daughter?”

Paul is either tuning in deep or blocking my words to protect his own feelings.

I sniff. My tears are a steady stream now. “Plus, I may have to let go of the organization that I worked all these years to develop. I love what I do. It does not seem fair. Worse, I find myself mad at God for not providing. We have had too many years of financial strain. I picture going on this trip, sitting on top of a mountain, throwing my dreams off the side while saying ‘Take it and do your will, Lord. Take it. Take it all. I cannot carry these burdens anymore.’”

I whisper, “If word from the mountaintop is that I am supposed to let it go, then I will. Someone else can lead. Or, we’ll close the doors.”

Silence.

Then Paul looks at me for the first time, “Go.”

He has an understanding look on his face—not at all the look I expected. “Do what you need to do and have fun.”

That’s it?

I expected him to give me reasons why I should not go hiking given my lack of experience. No doubt, he would have multiple valid reasons.     

I take a breath. “Ok.”

His kindness and acceptance are a terrifying miracle. Um, maybe you should talk me out of this, Babe.

“I’ll send you a text of the hiking plan. If you want to help me plan or gather things, I’m open to your ideas.” Long ago the man was in the Army National Guard. I know he has outdoor survival skills knowledge.

He nods.

Later I tell the boys. Ben-Just-Ben shrugs, “Ok”. Jacob says he wishes he could go with me, but he is pumped about going to Texas soon.

I text JoAnn—I AM IN!

MAY 5, 2016

A group of us are going to celebrate Cinco de Mayo and our friend Deb’s birthday at the local Cancun restaurant.

After working professionally together for over a decade, Deb and I have accepted in recent years that we have become good friends.

I have not had a chance to tell her about the AT trip. It would be fantastic if Deb were going too. She would be wonderful addition to team camaraderie.

Last night and this morning, Paul and I began making a list of supplies needed. He also began giving me tips like, “Don’t set up your sleeping bag on a tree root. Look for a soft spot or spread leaves out underneath where you rest.” I have been thinking about details while still processing in my own head the fact that I am going at all. There is lots to do and not many days to prepare.

Deb, JoAnn and a social work intern, Courtney, are already seated at a long table when I arrive. There is room for other guests who will come and go as part of the birthday celebration. A boxed cake is on my end of the table. 

We exchange happy birthday greetings and food orders arrive. We also celebrate that Courtney is about to graduate May 14 from Xavier University.

My mind quietly thinks about the AT trip while people joke and chat. I do not plan to discuss the trip at all today since this is a gathering for other reasons. I want to tell Deb on my own when I get a chance.

One of the silent things I ponder is that the cost of this trip is an issue. I can’t make purchases. We have no credit cards and the debit card is stretched to the penny each month. I consider who in my neighborhood and friend circle might allow me to borrow equipment.   

Knowing where my mind might be, JoAnn interjects, “Hey Glenna. You’re going to need a good pair of hiking boots.”

Deb says, “For what?”

I am surprised. JoAnn must REALLY be over the top excited about this trip. 

All eyes turn to me. I answer, “Well, within the last 24 hours I’ve agreed to go on an Appalachian Trail section hike with JoAnn. We’ll be in the Shenandoah National Park area for almost a week.”

I look at Deb. My raised eyebrows ask if she would like to go.

Reading my nonverbal cue, Deb says, “That sounds fun, but my knees could not do that.”

Courtney, though, looks more than intrigued by the idea. She asks about the dates and if other women can join the team. Is she interested in being part of this idea?

“Are there bears in that area?”

JoAnn answers Courtney, “Oh yes. We will have to put our food in a Bear Bag, then use a rope to throw the bag up and over a tree branch away from where we set up camp.”

My eyes widen.

“Snakes?” Courtney asks.

“Yes, some poisonous. Some not.”

I start to think that Courtney going on the trip could be good. She is young and probably could run for help if we need it.  

Then an opportunity-to-help-look comes over Deb’s face. She says, “Boots!  A few months ago, I stopped by a shoe outlet in Louisville. There was a $7.50 sale on Swiss hiking boots that were originally priced $110. I don’t hike. They were not my size, but I couldn’t resist knowing that someone I know surely will need them especially for that price! What size do you wear?”

I reply, “9.”

Deb says, “I had no idea why I couldn’t resist those boots. This must be why. I will go home tonight and let you know what size they are.”

The table oos and ahhs. “This may be divine,” JoAnn says.

Then Courtney offers, “My sister is into this kind of thing. She has hiked a lot and has all the equipment. I can ask her for advice.”

I will welcome all the advice and divine intervention I can get.

As we are in line to pay for our food Deb says to me, “This will be good for you to get away after Jacob goes.”

I nod, “Exactly.” 

7:00PM

I receive a text from Deb with a picture of the boots—SIZE 9!

Glenna—WOW.  MAGIC BOOTS!  THANK YOU.

Deb—THIS TRIP IS MEANT TO BE.

If you’d like to listen to the Audio Version or support this creative work, click here for my podcast chapters.

Fun fact: I am beginning to include extra content that only can be found on the podcast.

Thanks for reading or listening! Check back April 4, 2021 for Chapter Three.

© Copyright 2016 Surrender On The Trail – Glenna S. Edwards

Scorpions & Snow Plows

The subconscious mind is a place for truth though we may not recognize it at first glance.

Three nights this week included the constant noise of a mechanical bobcat in battle with the snow. I felt gratitude for the man driving the machine 12 hours at a time. I felt challenged by 3am continuous “beep, beep, beeps” that prohibited my ability to sleep.

I have struggled with bad dreams and waking up a smidge anxious for months anyway. Changes and stress have a way of demanding attention even when waking hours seem fine.

This weekend I have been able to sleep. And, I have been able to tackle neglected writing projects. It feels good to dive in where I felt stuck for a long time.

I suppose no one takes next steps until they are ready. Creativity calls. Only some hearts answer.

Then last night in my dream I was with Hubby, a wheelchair, and we were in what I would call the universal church fellowship hall of the 1970’s and 1980’s. I bet you can visualize the paneling, folding chairs and posters that were hung on walls far too long. Church was done for the day. Hubby was pleasant but tired. It was time to go back to where we were staying in Florida. Bonus: it was a travel dream.

Then I look down and see a scorpion. It seemed bad. But was it? I wondered.

I went to get a church deacon type to help. A young person ended up walking in to confirm that the creature was what we thought.

We weren’t afraid. There were simply things that needed to be handled.

Once awake, I looked up dream symbols. Sometimes dreams are pretty obvious regarding what’s on one’s mind. And other times a random symbol stands out. I mean, it is not like I see routine scorpions where we live in the upper Midwest.

I found that the scorpion can mean making peace with a challenging situation and moving on.

So the scorpion symbol added up fairly well. Life is semi-hard. Mostly I give thanks for my problems because things could be far worse. I try to be happy in the right now. And, the moving on part is likely because I am able to work on special writing projects that have waited for me patiently.

Thanks for reading and sticking around all these years. The best is yet to come.

Valentine Antidote

It is that day when I promise once again that next year I won’t be in town on Valentine’s Day. I will be with girlfriends or on a beach, on a mountain top, anywhere else doing something–anything–not so ordinary.

Valentine’s Day is a double whammy. It’s also my birthday. Growing up, I loved celebrating with red hearts, white paper lace, pink streamers, balloons and all things Valentine.

As an adult, I realized many people have jumbled emotions linked to February 14. Happy feelings, angry feelings, dread, anger and so forth.

Then I married someone who expresses love inversely to what I anticipated. Let’s just say his first romantic gift was a bright yellow personal alarm to wear on my waist so I could pull the cord for it to wail and screech if someone nefarious came too close to me on my college campus.

We’ve worked it out. It’s taken a lot of tears and years. I’ve learned that the antidote to my occasional sad feels is to have less expectations, ask for something specific if desired, support or help others.

These days, ALS-21 plus a Pandemic make it so Hubby can’t get out to shop, or walk much, or feel good for a full day. I am happy simply when his words are kind. I like thoughtful and kind. Lately, I’ve been quietly thanking the writers of Call The Midwife. Hubby really likes that show. I call it his daily empathy exercise. Women have been through so much and that binge worthy series does not shy away from hard topics.

Speaking of writers, my feel better about Valentine’s Day activity this year was to support authors I care about. I directed Hubby to my wish list and he placed the order. I was excited to open the packages.

Janine Rosche is an author who picked me up off the floor when I received a bad news phone call at a writer’s conference. She prayed with me. Then I found out she was looking for a certain agent to meet. I am thrilled to say they met indeed and are three books into a successful journey. I now have a trifecta of inspirational romance to read:

William Klein’s book was lost in our move so I needed a replacement copy. This is a timely fictional story about a painful border experience.

And Jessica Terry is a writer that cracks me up with her Instagram stories. Like me, she was a basketball player in her youth. We’ve never met. I appreciate her work ethic and passion. So, I soon will read:

Who would you like to support? Someone creative? An organization that does something you value? Church? Someone elderly or ill? Doing a little something for others could brighten your Valentine’s Day. Earlier in the week, I called a couple people who I hadn’t spoken with in a few years. It was a good time on old fashioned phone calls.

Frequently, I think of the verse Love One Another (John 15: 12). Loving others does not result in only one direction of good vibes even when that should be our intention. When you love others, the good feels return to fill your heart and strengthen the weave of the universe.

Still in town,

P.S. Hubby also visited the Shari’s Berries website. Winner. Yum.

Still Here

There is “a lot of togetherness for families right now”, a friend said–knowing how people at home can get on one another’s nerves after nearly a year of social distancing.

I dream of hopping in the car and taking long drives. Drives that land me in other states, on a mountain or on a beach. The sound of ocean waves is high on my YouTube search list.

Our family is fortunate to have moved just in time to our condo where accessibility for Hubby is much better overall. Our youngest is attending college online this semester rather than returning to a dorm. It has been a comfort to know Son 2 is home when I mask up and go to work. If Hubby falls, Son 2 is here to help at least for now.

While things are far from perfect, I count blessings daily.

Hubby and I have opposite personalities. Often I either have a different viewpoint altogether or am mentally translating that we just said something similar in a different way. I usually recognize the style difference first while he argues his point. I wait, then eventually say, “we said the same thing” which he may or may not ever believe. This fact has worn me out for near 3 decades–long before ALS added to our mix.

I notice a lot of couples end up on opposite sides of the picket fence so I want to encourage those who end up as spouse, friend and caregiver. Caregiver is a twist of sour lemon, but you can carry on and survive. I even believe thriving is possible. Not there yet, but I’m considering what “thriving” might look like. Stay tuned.

Occasionally I have a little island moment epiphany. This week I was knocked over by the thought, “He’s still here.”

And, I’m glad.

I can still figure out how to hug him–awkward and on me to initiate, but it is possible. I can still ask his opinion about something. I can still find a moment to catch up about our sons. Once in a while something on TV makes him laugh, and that is my favorite few seconds of eye crinkling. Last night he was able to sit in a chair long enough to play a couple rounds of a board game. That was a win.

Still here is a lot better than not here.

So, we carry on.

Savor the Pour

Time to close the year 2020. I have written very little since moving into our new place this fall. However, I am beginning to feel a creative flow return.

Like many, I welcome 2021.

In recent days, I take time to enjoy the red tea pot that our son gave me a few years ago.

Whether adding hot water to a mug of chocolate or tea, it is the moment when the spout tips into the ceramic that I savor the most.

Steam, pour and stir. The stillness. The seconds just for me. The peace.

I feel mindful in those brief moments. Present and alive.

And that is my wish for you. May peace fill your soul.

Happy. New. Year.

But Not The Baby’s Wagon

Once upon a time, back when I thought I was tough, when I believed wholeheartedly that life will be what you make it, when I never cried at movies or much of anything besides a broken heart, my future husband and I took a road trip.

He played his favorite songs through the car cassette player. “Listen to Sammy Kershaw,” he said. “If we are going to get married, then we have to promise never to let this happen.”

The song was Yard Sale. The lyrics played:

Cardboard sign says yard sale
Real estate sign says sold
Family picnic table
Holds all that it can hold
On the grass and on the sidewalk
Well there must be half the town
Ain’t it funny how a broken home
Can bring the prices down

Oh they’re sortin through
What’s left of you and me
Paying yard sale prices
For each golden memory
Oh I never thought
I’d ever live to see
The way they’re sorting through
What’s left you and me

You left two summer dresses
In the backyard on the line
A lady just brought them to me
Says she thinks they’ll fit just fine
Well there goes the baby’s wagon…

By the time the baby’s wagon is sold, my lips are quivering.

Tears. What the heck?

And ever since that 19 year old day, I joined in on his idea of divorce not being an option.

When Hubby was diagnosed in 2017 with ALS-21, soon could no longer work, and he had to crawl if stairs were involved, I saw the dim light arrive over the home we once were determined to grow old in together.

I knew we’d have to leave.

And I knew our very real children’s wagon was in the garage. Do our sons need it anymore? Uh, no. Did we love it and use it a lot? Yes. That wagon toured the neighborhood many days, helped with Halloween, Cub Scout popcorn sales, and gardening.

I have cried about leaving our home for weeks while keeping my body sorting, packing, dragging, etc. Moving out of a home you’ve lived in over 20 years is more of a feat than a project. Plus, when leaving is a “have to”, the work can be extra painful. My heart resisted while my body ran the metaphoric marathon.

Then I learned that a 5 year old is part of the new family who bought our house. Turned out, she would like to have the wagon.

Take that, ALS-21! You can not have our babies’ wagon!

And that made me feel good. The wagon will live on in our neighborhood for a little while longer.

We are 4 hours into condo life without overlap with the house. There is a peace in seeing Hubby get around much better here. My mind & tired body will settle into the peace soon I hope.

Speaking of marathons, next Sunday Lisa Zupan is running 26 miles for two causes. One of the reasons is to help purchase a scooter and car lift for Hubby. If you would like to donate, click here.

God bless you through the many chapters of life.

Love,

Glenna

Goodbye, House.

Have fun, Wagon!

Grieving A Place

This may be the last blog I write from the home we have lived in over 20 years.

I knew the uphill battle of grief kicked in when random tears began showing up at various times of the day two weeks ago.

Anxiety woke me up in the mornings via a scary dream or a feeling of panic or a headache well before my alarm. If you know me, this is wildly different than my zero problems with sleep usually.

How will I manage the calls that need to be made? Will contractors show up at the new place or old on time? Have I packed enough? What still needs to be thrown away? How will I do this physically, at this point, mostly on my own in the time of Covid-19?

And then sadness: Our grandchildren will never walk through the same doors our kids did.

I tell myself it is just a place.

Then I Marie Kondo try to honor and thank the house for the time we’ve cherished together.

I pray. I dream of an easier lifestyle.

I feel nervous about the multiple pages of condo rules. There’s no vacuuming after 9pm, for example. I kid that I am moving into assisted living at 48 years old.

Then I try to visualize a much simpler way of being. The idea seems serene to soon be able to write or exercise over yard work any day of the week. I am leaving yard tools behind–that feels out of control for this girl! I ponder if friends will allow me to occasionally pull their weeds. Seriously.

I read author Bill Klein’s blog post about Change after a startled 5AM awakening. He writes “The trick in dealing with change is in fanning the flames of optimism and possibilities that exist. How do we get the mind to recognize the power of possibility to inspire the imagination to arrive at new possibilities when we are facing fear at its most daunting?”

So I will try to fan the optimism and the thoughts of Hubby being in a safer situation. It is scary to live here currently with stairs, etc. I am frightened when I leave for work, and I stress about missing time together in the hours I spend working on the house.

Soon all the rooms he needs will be handy. I like the idea that we will be able to leave the condo behind any time we want for a short jaunt or trip. In some ways, we will be able to spend more time together. The next chapter will be more manageable.

If I could flip the switch and be on the other side of moving and the other side of these feelings, then I would. Instead, life demands that one feel the grief for a little while.

There’s no way out but through. Keep going.

Love,

Glenna

Do The Work, White People

White People,

I feel like I’m in a game of “Not It!” with you. That’s what I think when I see people try to throw down a meme that misses the point.

If you want to do better & you want society to do better, then you have 2-4 jobs right now:

  1. Listen. Listen all the way. Listen without having a single thought about what you think about a topic. Listen to hear something new. Listen to someone who does not look like you. Do not say one word about what you think unless you have done the work.
  2. Read. Read something credible like a book that can teach you something that you never considered before. And you’re going to have to be patient. Don’t give up after two paragraphs like one of my friends who direct messaged me, “I don’t agree, and I just can’t do this.” Read all the way. Here are 3 books that I have devoured this summer so far. I could not be happier about the discoveries and glossary of terms that I am now aware of. In fact, some things that bothered me in the past I now have words and definitions for about why. I could not put my finger on certain concerns before, but now I can. I have plenty more books to read soon too.
  3. Watch. If you are not willing to read or listen to books from the public library or Audible, if you have no one in your life that you can really talk to in a way that you could learn something different, then Netflix has a bunch of Black Lives Matter movies picked for you. Or you can find some of the above mentioned authors or topics discussed on YouTube and in TedTalks.
  4. Support. Support people who know more than you do. Donate to or buy from Black led organizations. Go stand in support at a peaceful event. [Please wear a mask for the health of all.] Tell someone you care about them and you are here for them. I loved when my pastor said in a sermon recently, “If you’re not Black, then you don’t know.”

There is plenty to do if you really want to be helpful.

Do you ever remember learning how to be antiracist when you grew up? Did you attend an anti-racism class as a child? No?!? Of course not. Find out why. Now is the time to do the work of learning. It is not too late. Even one shift in the way you think will help you, your family and future generations. I read Matthew 18:1-5 while writing this and am reminded that we must humble ourselves and learn like little children.

I have witnessed or heard of many misguided moments lately. If you lead a company and you think oh, let’s get all the Black people in a room and ask them what to do, then I call “not it!” Yes, every voice is needed, but you may do more harm than good if you have not done your work. Here’s a key fact:

Systemic racism requires systemic change.

If you’ve done your personal work and you really want to end racism, then we have to change how we do business. This means required trainings, for example. Everyone can benefit from implicit bias and racial equity training. What if every policy and hiring is required to be run through a racial equity checklist? Real progress happens when we change every day practices.

It can be painful to see well intentioned people scurrying to do or say things while assuming they know what to do. You know what happens when you assume, right?

When you do the work in your own heart and mind first, then your next steps will be better.

Love,

Signature GSE

P.S. If you feel defensive or angry while reading this, then this post wasn’t for you. This was written for folks who truly want to love one another.

New Greeting & COVID-19 Writer Observations

Social distancing among the smart people was in full effect last week.

And darn it, I needed to leave my home to go to the rare event that was not cancelled.

I knew there would be a small number of people I’d never met, people who I want to know, people who are focused on a shared mission, people who agreed in an advance email that we would remain more than 6 feet apart the whole day.

I am a solid hand shake and smile person normally. What do I do now that COVID-19 is here?

I gave it thought well before I entered the ghost town building in downtown Cincinnati.

When I saw the first new-to-me person, I met their eyes with my eyes, paused my inertia way short of their personal space and gave a little namaste nod with a smile. No spittle.

We acknowledged the awkwardness verbally and moved to opposite corners of a large room to re-disinfect our personal tables. I made eye contact with other new people in other corners.

We agree from yards away that we are all good with continuous disinfecting and using a paper towel to open doors when it may not be not possible to prop open a door. Throughout the day I mentally lean in my eyes to their far away eyes to connect in agreement with certain things said. Or, to look away when I did not agree. Oh, and there were the pressed lips, eye brows raised “mmm hmm” moments when someone said something totally on point.

I felt like we got to know one another and accomplished our project over two days. Then I left to work from home as much as possible. Leaving and returning to the house requires a serious self-sanitize process. I am not messing around with what could hurt my family or anyone else’s family.

In this new pandemic world, there are observations that strike my writer/artist brain.

People find new creativity when traditional communication has been altered. Social media is a full spectrum of posts from the inspiring to funny to nice-attempt-but-missed to tasteless memes. Humans need their outlets.

When my brain will focus, I read the long emails that once seemed unnecessary or painful. Phone conversations are the golden prize. I try to have at least one every day. How many years has it been since a phone call about work or general friendship stuff has been relaxed and allotted time without being rushed?

I love hearing people talk about how they discovered that the word cancelled can be spelled appropriately with one l or two. Makes me think, Welcome to my world. I look up things like that all the time.

And can we take a minute to celebrate the creative IT staff all over the world? They have been prepping to help people work remotely for years. Information technology is its own special kind of art. You rock!

My prayers flow right now especially for healthcare professionals and for humans to remain well or to recover from illness.

I predict a post-pandemic automatic door installation surge in public buildings and the remodel of doorless bathroom entrances.

Let’s help others by staying home. We can do this, Earth People. Flatten the curve.

For those who can make time, please use a thesaurus to find other words for “unprecedented”, although I am not sure there is a better word for this time in history. Can we mix it up a little?

Oh, and it is “uncharted waters” not “unchartered waters”. It’s tricky. I know because I already messed that one up once or twice.

Love from a distance,

Glenna

Isaiah 26:20 ~ Go, my people, enter your rooms and shut the doors behind you; hide yourselves for a little while until his wrath has passed by.

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P.S. My hair dryer broke this week. Am I running out to buy a new one? Nope!

Please Don’t Kill My Husband

Yes, my title is a bit extreme. And yes, Please don’t kill my husband, is what I think when I see posts on social media about people not taking COVID-19 seriously.

Is that trip out necessary? Are you really stir crazy after one day at home? Have some Americans already tuned out to the reliable updates and articles about this illness?

Allow me to share an example of how being a little sick can become extreme sick for someone with underlying health issues. This story is from when everyone in our immediate family seemed perfectly fine. We had no idea anyone had a compromised immune system. We were young, healthy, had young kids, life was busy.

It was the fall of 2008. We loaded up our littles to head to Disney. In the airport, Hubby started to have the sniffles. Seemed like no big deal.

By the time we got to Florida I was beginning to worry about him. We attempted to carry on. He tried to fake like he was having fun for the boys’ sake.

Then in the middle of the night, he could not breathe. We had no car and no adult family who could help. I called 911 around 230AM.

The paramedics said maybe he should see how he felt in the morning. But Hubby knew something was terribly “off”.

We were supposed to be in the happiest place on earth, yet there goes my husband in an ambulance while I stay in Disney’s Old Key West Resort with our sleeping kids.

At 530AM I use my Nokia 3310 phone to call the hospital. The nurse on the other end says, “Can you get here soon? We are not sure he will make it.”

I was in shock. He had double pneumonia, a possible collapsed lung and was in ICU.

Sidebar: Disney was not helpful to this stressed momma during that time. This was a surprise given their reputation for customer service.

That horrible trip was 9 years before we knew Hubby has ALS-21. His weak immune system makes total sense now, but we had no clue then. It was a long week and then months before he felt decent again. We were lucky.

So please, if you can keep your possible carrier body home, please do. What may or may not harm you could be lethal to someone else.

Wash those hands. Clean out a closet. Wash your floors. Play board games with your kids. Read verses and share verses that provide comfort. Nap. Rest.

Pray that people take precautions now so that this does not get worse. I think there is a way to both exercise faith and practice safety for yourself and others at the same time. Remember all the healthcare workers who need us to flatten the curve.

Psalm 94:19 When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.