I was up most of the night last night unable to sleep.  My dad, "poor grandpa," was taken to the hospital once again.  He has so many health issues, and many are untreatable due to congestive heart failure.  I believe the Lord was preparing me.  I don't think he has much longer to be with us.  When he is gone, I will have only my dh and children left as family.  My siblings, although healthy enough, have abandoned both of us, and have chosen to ignore the fact that they have a father or sister who loves them.

I am ok with all of that, really.  It's nothing new, and the Lord has comforted me so much lately and He has made it all alright.  In fact, even now I feel his Holy Spirit, His Presence, hovering all around me.  He is so near. 

I was sharing about my dad on the phone with a brother here in town this morning when I began to cry.  I know I'm loosing my dad.  He is suffering and I am hard-pressed to watch it.  I left that call and walked into the Dollar Store to pick up a few things for dinner, when a man spotted me, and all of a sudden he whispered, "Jesus loves you."  I'd never seen him before.  He didn't know I am a pw.  He didn't even know I was a Christian. 

I began to cry again, and told him that my dad was dying, and that I have been crying off and on all morning about it.  It is hard for me to stop the flow, once the tears fall.  He grabbed my hands, and he, his wife, Ester Ruth, and I, began to pray for the Lord to take my dad on home, and stop his suffering.  Right there in the Dollar General Store, we prayed for my dad's ultimate healing.  Isn't God amazing?

My heart is heavy, but my spirit is full.  The Lord is carrying me, and I am resting in Him today. 

You know, it's one thing to trust the Lord when you are young and strong, and your whole life looms in front of you like a giant play, where you are the star, and the scenes are ready to be walked out, but it's another thing to trust Him when you are growing old, and you are weaker in body than you have ever been before, and your bank account is low, and your past stands out, more than your future.  Yet, in all these things, I am more than a conqueror.  My DAD loves me.  He IS Jehovah Jirah.  He will not fail.  He is sending help--sending them to, of all things, the Dollar Store for me.  I am safe.  He is making a way, and a comfort. for me.  Hallelujah.

I have not written here in a long time, and want to update and check in so you all don't forget about me!!  (just kidding).  Much has happened to me that I have not shared with you ladies.  Here are some of them.

~I found my family on facebook, that is, my siblings, my brother and sister.

~My dad became so sick that I thought he was dying, and asked me to find my siblings.  He wanted to apologize to them (my dad and I have been estranged from them for a very long time)

~I asked them to come so he could apologize.

~I never heard back from my brother, my sister agreed to come, then decided not to come, then sent a note saying she felt no obligation toward her family whatsoever and "unfriended me" from her facebook.

~through all this drama I found my niece, now grown, and she came to us for Thanksgiving dinner.  We love her, and she loves us.  That is pretty cool.  She needs a loving family, and my children need a cousin!

~my dad is starting to become better.  It looks like he is going to survive this time.

~my 2nd dd has made us very proud by getting a good part in a play put on by Ohio State University branch here in our town, and has won several soccer awards as the mvp

~my children continue to bless my life, and love on me.  They are such a joy.

~I have found that through these experiences the hurt that I have carried over the rejection of my siblings has lessened considerably, and really, has vanished.  I realize that it is not, and has never been about me, but about them. 

I suppose I will have to tell my dad that my sister isn't coming after all.  He needs to count his blessings anyway, since he has us, and we are a loving, intact family. 

I hope you ladies have had a lovely Thanksgiving.  Now, on to Christmas.  Be blessed, today. 

Hugs and Kisses,

moma

My 2nd dd, Julianna, who will be graduating this year, wrote this poem for an English paper.  I loved it. 

Where I’m From

I am from African Drums and Pianos

From worn out hairbrushes, old computers, and grease lightning

From broken garage doors and pooped plastic swimming pools

From the poor mans pennies picked, dried, and placed in a homemade tan vase

I am from playing soccer and scoring goals

From Queens of the playground, renting movies on Fridays, and 6 hour long phone calls

I am from clearance aisles, huge exaggerations, and miscommunications

From long Christian missions trips and Sunday services at the house

I am from Chineke Gozie Gi and Aharum Gi Nanya

I am from “May I be excused please?” and “Take your plate to the kitchen.”

From African stew and rice, Apple Pie, DQ’s Bananas splits and Foo Foo

I am from “Praise the Lord this is Julianna speaking.” and “Don’t forget to do your chore.”

I am from Moo Cow, thumb sucking, and getting out of bed to knock on Mommy and Daddy’s door

From head banging and monster nightmares

From high IQ’s but low incomes

I am from Mansfield, Ohio 44906

I am from December 5^th 1991

While we are on the subject of names.

When my dh and I first married, he tried hard to come up with the name he would call me.  Apparently, in his culture, husbands and wives seldom call each other by their given names.  They pick out a name that they only call one another.  His parents called each other "boy friend" and "girl friend,"  respectively.  I always thought that was sweet.  My dh decided to call me Love, 23 years ago, and has called me that since.  In our entire married life, he has only called me Donna 2 times. He was really, really REALLY mad at me when he did it.  Thankfully, it hasn't happened in a long time.

It has been very appropriate, since over the years his constant and steady love for me has been a rock for me, a place of refuge.  It has helped me understand the love God has for me as well.

I, otoh, felt the need to do the same.  So, having given it a bit of thought, and since his name is Eleazer, I decided to call him "Lazer" because I thought he was a powerful person that could zero in pretty quickly on others and where they were coming from and all that.  From that I began to call him "Laze." 

Nobody but me can call him that.  Occasionally others, especially young people, would hear me call him that and try it.  Let's just say that it didn't fly.  They never tried it twice. 

It's rather fun to have a name that only I am allowed to use for him.  He is my Lazer, but not anybody else's.  So there!  hee hee

Tomorrow, the names of our 5 children.  I love to talk about their names. 

My brown-skinned dh and I went to visit my dad who was sent by ambulance to the hospital this evening. We arrived there before anyone saw him, even though he had been there for about an hour.

A man walked in, did not greet us, or talk to us, and sat down. He looked "official" and my dh asked him if he was the doctor. He said yes and asked who we were. My dh said we were his family. Then the doctor asked him,

"How'd that happen?"

My dh recoiled right away, and asked him, rather bluntly, why he thought that was so hard to believe.

At this point I suggested to the doctor that he tread carefully.

The doctor then glared at me.

I told him that I was his dd and that this was my dh.

He sort-of started talking to us a little bit more reasonably, but not really. He complained about the nursing home sending him with no info and he had no idea about him or why he was there or any of his history. We had just arrived ourselves and only knew that my dad had a temperature that would not come down.

The doctor frankly told us that the nursing home sent him there because they didn't want to take care of him. Then he began to ask us if we understood what he was facing, with the way others did their jobs.  He "guessed" that my dad had pnemonia, then he changed his mind, saying he had a urinary tract infection and was dehydrated. 

They took my dad away for tests and I asked the attendant at the desk to call me when they decide to admit or to send him back. She refused, telling me to call and find out. She did write down their number.

I called the nursing home and spoke to my dad's nurse, who had just gotten off the phone with the hospital who said they didn't know anything about my dad's condition, not even his temperature.

Is it me, or is this really ridiculous?