32 years...

Thirty-two years.

            I have been married for thirty-two years.

How can it feel like I’ve always been married, yet also feel as though the years have flown by? In the oddest celebration yet for us, Michael and I spent most of our anniversary apart, going in different directions for a shared purpose, our children.

Michael picked up the rented attire for our son Geoffrey’s wedding, and I headed to Thibodaux with Elise to get the cap and gown she’ll wear in next month’s graduation.

As we walked the narrow street on the side of  Nicholl’s bookstore, Elise was on the verge of tears when she said, “I don’t want to graduate. I don’t want college to end. I just want to put my four years on repeat over and over.”

While she was busy holding back tears, I thought of my own days on the familiar campus and all that had transpired since my own college days. Never did I imagine what the future held.

Despite the undeniable rough roads we’ve traveled, I’m grateful for my husband and each of the five children we were blessed to raise. And I really and truly mean it when I say that Michael and I had a wonderful 32^nd anniversary even though our bathtub leaked through the ceiling of the living room and we had to fix the brakes on one child’s car. We were too busy with wedding preparations to dine out and chose leftovers and takeout.  Personally, it was my favorite way to celebrate: actively involved with my children during the day, sharing our stories with Michael in the evening, storing away the memories at night, then praying for the strength to do it all again tomorrow.

With regards to our marriage, we’ve had better and we’ve had worse. We’ve endured sickness, and we’ve enjoyed health. We’ve been richer, and we’ve been poorer. And, thirty-two years later, we still meet hurdles. We still ask God for help, and He still meets us where we are, and shows us how to get to where we need to be. I pray that it will be this way, until death parts us.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

What are you crying out loud?

            It was a terrible condition.

            The disease which isolated its victims didn’t travel alone, for the mention of the word brought fear, dread, and despair. As soon as the first white patches appeared on the skin, terror swept through the unfortunate and his entire family. Leprosy.

            The leper was sent away, forever, without a kiss, a handshake, a hug, or even a pat on the back. No touching allowed. In addition, the leper was to tear his clothes, wear his hair loose and unbrushed, cover the lower part of his face, and cry out, “Unclean! Unclean!” should he ever come near the healthy. Doomed to a miserable existence difficult to call a life, lepers were forced to dwell outside of the community.

            Enter Jesus.

            Ten lepers saw Him. Despite their instructions, their past shouts of “Unclean!” and their present condition, they “called out in a loud voice, ‘Jesus, Master, have pity on us!’” (Luke 17:13.) Right here, in the middle of this scene, I want to make a note to pay attention to my vocabulary. To watch the things that come out of my mouth. To move from complaining to positive, faith-filled declarations. To realize my words frame my future. To move my eyes and my words from present conditions and look to Jesus for help. However, I don’t want to miss the end of the story.

            Jesus sent them to the priests to be declared clean, and they were cleansed on the way. “One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked Him… Jesus asked, ‘Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?’” (Luke 17:15-17)

            Before returning to his family and running into his now bright future, the grateful man bowed in worship to the One whose words changed everything.

            In a month dedicated to Thanksgiving, I want to follow in the steps of the grateful leper, bow at the feet of Jesus, and thank Him for all He has done. It’s a little easier this month, when my Facebook friends are daily posting their blessings. My personal challenge is maintaining continual appreciation and living with an attitude of gratitude.

            Now that’s a wonderful condition.                                  

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com

Looking Up

            I would have missed it had I not looked up.

            I had taken the four hour trip to Natchitoches for my daughter Lauren to see the house where her favorite movie was filmed. My sister-in-law Vicki met us there and we watched Lauren walk the grounds of the Steel Magnolia Bed and Breakfast, video the rooms, and nap on the edge of the pool before we decided to test out the swing and rockers on the front porch. And that’s when, in mid conversation, a substantial bird’s nest caught my eye.

            It was high up on a beam under the protection of the porch. A cool, shaded spot in the middle of a still hot Fall day. A dry place if the clouds decided to release their rain. A safe, well-built haven tucked in a quiet spot of a house that over the years has welcomed nineteenth century businessmen, family, friends, doctors, nurses, wounded soldiers, and even Hollywood stars who descended upon the oldest town in Louisiana to bring Robert Harling’s play, Steel Magnolias, to the screen.

            While there is little for me to relate to in that beautiful Southern Bed and Breakfast, I could instantly identify with the bird in the nest on the porch. From now on, whenever I read Psalm 84:3,4, I will think  of that moment when I looked up and saw it.  “Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young - a place near your altar, O Lord Almighty my King and my God. Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you.” Psalm 84:3,4.

            Like the sparrow, I seek a place to land. An escape from the heat of a trial, chill of a loss, a drought or flood of emotions. I need a place of safety to sort through the things life sometimes throws at me, a refuge, a quiet spot to let healing begin. I need a nesting place and I have found it in my early morning quiet moments before God.

I would have missed it had I not looked up to Him.

It's Fall Y'all!

            “I’ve been studying for four hours.” My freshman is making adjustments to the rigors of college classes.

            “Victoria, go outside. It’s a beautiful, cool Fall day. Do you want me to bring a patio set so you’ll have a place to sit.”

            “Yes, I was just thinking how much I wish I had one.” I chose not to mention that I tried to send a set when she moved in August. I think her exact words were, “I’m tired of moving stuff.”

            The next morning on the drive to Thibodaux I  listened to four chairs bounce against their coordinating table, and shared the road with sugar cane-laden trucks, another sign of the changing season.

            Yes, it’s finally Fall. This season people will travel hundreds of miles and spend thousands of dollars to watch the leaves change colors. Only God could herald in a new season with such beauty. While looking at the vibrant shades of red, orange, and yellow, it’s hard to believe these leaves are in the process of dying. They put on one more glorious show before they drop to the ground.

            People have different seasons, too. During the course of our lives, we may experience changes in jobs, schools, relationships, finances, communities, and even in ourselves. I have not always welcomed those changes, nor have I always displayed beauty while changing. I want to be different. As God brings new changes into my life, I don’t want to fight against them, but usher them in with the beauty and grace He magnificently displays in the changing of the seasons.

            Simply put, I want to do what Victoria did. Take a break from studying problems, embrace the beauty of the changing season, and adapt to the winds of change.

One Last Time

            I forgot.

            Navigating through the traffic to get there, circling the lot for a parking spot, moving from room to room for her to have tests run, back to the clinic to wait for the doctor, and not once did I remember the importance of the day.

            Dr. Yu entered the room, smiled and said, “Elise, this is the last time I get to see you at Children’s.”

            Then I remembered. The hospital services children from birth through 21 years of age. Elise’s 22^nd birthday brings a halt to the excellent care she has received at that facility.

            Over the past 11 years, Children’s Hospital has been the launching pad for many pleas for help. Those prayers haven’t been limited to concerns about Elise, but for fellow patients, children being wheeled down the hallways, and parents wishing for good test results. I can’t walk through that place without my heart being tugged in many different directions.

            After our visit with Dr. Yu, there was one more scan for Elise to get. We waited the few minutes it took for her to be called in, and as soon as the scan was completed we bolted for the door.

            Our feet had barely touched the parking lot pavement when the wail of an approaching ambulance caught our attention. It passed us on its way to the Emergency Room. Just that quickly I was back in time 11 years ago when I rode in an ambulance with Elise on that same route. The memory of that experience raced through my mind as I thought, our journey has ended, but someone else’s is just beginning. And there, right there behind Children’s Hospital, I thanked God for my child and prayed for the one now arriving.

            In 2 Corinthians 1:3,4 Paul offers praise to God, “who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”  I vividly remember the many people God used to provide strength and encouragement to us during our time at Children’s. I hope I never forget.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com