The Man

While driving on Saturday afternoon, I noticed a van parked in a driveway on the right side of the road. The van's rear driver's side door was ajar, and next to the van was a person lying on the ground. It looked like a man, and he was not moving. I slowed down and tried to assess his condition with a quick glance. I wasn't exactly able to do an extensive visual triage while zooming past at 40-some MPH, so I basically had no more information than I did upon my first glimpse. He was making no signal of distress, but I couldn't imagine why he would be there by choice.

Questions started pouring into my mind - Is he hurt? Is he conscious? Is he alive? How long has he been there? Hasn't anyone else noticed him? Why hasn't anyone stopped to help him?

I looked for a place to turn around, and decided that if he was still on the ground when I got back to him, I was going to stop and help.

The questions kept coming - Maybe someone did stop, and he told them to leave because...I don't know...because he likes lying on the ground on rough asphalt? It sure didn't look like he was working on his car. He must be hurt. Why else would he be there? Could he be some psycho trying to trap someone by looking injured? I don't think so - Why would he do that on such a busy street? I can't just leave him there.

I turned the car around, and saw that the man had not moved. I pulled onto a side-street walked over to the man. As I approached, I could see that he was, indeed, hurt. His head was bleeding. He was frail, and the appearance of his face and body indicated that he had some sort of physical disability. As I came to his side I asked if he was alright, and what I could do to help him. My heart broke for him - lying alone on the ground, unable to get up, bleeding.

I touched his shoulder gently and said "I'm so sorry. You look hurt. How can I help you? What do you need? Do you need me to call an ambulance?" I could not tell how badly he was injured, but he was responsive.

He spoke softly, so I had to ask him to repeat himself. He said "The house. Please get someone from the house."

I asked him if he would be all right if I left him there while I ran to the door. He responded with a weak "Yes."

As I ran to the door, I prayed silent, urgent prayers. I was obviously concerned for this man's physical well-being; but even more than the physical injuries he sustained, I was wounded by the pain and loneliness that I saw as I looked deep into his eyes. I longed to just pray with him and tell him of the hope of the Cross. But in the moment, I knew he was probably more immediately concerned with getting up off the pavement and into the arms of people he knew and loved.

I knocked and called "Hello?"

I heard rustling inside. "Who is it?" (Were they were asking me, or talking to each other while looking out the open window?)

I spoke through the door - "There's a man in your driveway..."

I heard a female voice respond, "Oh, yes, I know," as the door opened to reveal a young woman, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. Her attire was... Middle Eastern? Indian? She appeared to be either Muslim or Hindu, based on her flowing garments and modest headscarf. My ignorance prevented me from a more accurate assessment, and the tension of the situation precluded any extraneous conversation.

They knew he was there in the driveway, but surely they didn't know...

"...he's hurt," I continued. "He fell and hit his head..."

A look of concern clouded her countenance as she began to make her exit through the doorway. "What? Are you kidding me?"

"No, he's bleeding. He needs help. He asked me to come get someone..."

She gasped a little as she bounded out the door and passed me in her haste.

Two young boys followed behind me as quickly we made our way down the path, toward the driveway.

The young woman reached the man's side just before me, and called to the boys, as she knelt beside him. "Get the wheelchair from inside!"

The man raised up a little and began to weep softly as she drew close. They spoke to each other rapidly, in a language I did not understand. As he leaned his torso against her, I could see blood on the ground from his side, as well as his head.

I was searching for words. "I'm so sorry. What can I do? I wish I could do more to help. I'm so sorry."

The young woman said apologetically "No, it's fine. Thank you so much. We'll get my mother. It'll be fine. Thank you."

I stood awkwardly for a moment as the boys rushed back with the wheelchair. The woman said again "It's ok. Thank you." In a tone that felt like she was asking me to leave. Not out of ungratefulness or anger, but...something else. A sense of responsibility for the accident, perhaps? Embarrassment that they didn't know he was lying there injured? In any case, I could feel that they no longer considered my presence helpful. I reluctantly made my way toward my car as they gingerly began to help the man get up.

That is the moment when my heart was torn in two. OH, how I wanted to stay. When I stopped, what I wanted to do the most was to pray for the man. Not just to pray a private prayer between myself and God, but to communicate something of God's love to him in a clear, tangible way. I wanted him to know that God loved him. That is why I turned around my car and came back. Yes, I wanted him up off the ground. But the deepest ache in my heart was that he would feel a touch from the Savior. I wanted to speak the words of Jesus over him. But in that moment, with their hurried voices in the background, I felt like an intrusion into a private moment of family crisis.

Should I have stayed? Should I have asked to pray silently beside them until the man was in the house? Should I have spoken and prayed boldly about the healing power of Jesus, even if such words would have been offensive and jarring in the midst of their pain? These are the questions that I carried as I began to drive away, and that linger still.

Look At Me! I'm a Human Pincushion!

Abigail had a well-baby checkup and immunizations today. It was a little rough. She missed her 12 month immunizations (thanks to Yours Truly) - so today we had to do some catch-up. She had 6 (yes, six!) shots AND she had blood drawn for testing. The poor girl really was getting poked like a pincushion.

The sucker that she got in the lab helped her to forget about the pain. She really hasn't had much candy yet, and never a sucker, so this was quite the treat. As we walked to the car, I realized that I didn't want her alone in the back seat with the sucker. (Can you say choking hazard?) I pondered how to take the sucker away with as little trauma as possible, but I had no ideas.

Fortunately, when I put her in the carseat she became quite enamored by her band-aids, which were now in plain view and easily accessible. She actually dropped the sucker to investigate.



I snatched up the sucker and attempted to play it cool, but Abigail was on to my sly moves. She cried for a bit, but didn't get the sucker back until later in the day. She calmed down after not too long, and was soon zonked out in the back seat. She napped for a couple hours after we got home. A day like that is enough to tire a girl out!




Oh, for those who like details: Abigail is now 33 inches tall (98th %ile), and weighs 26lbs (84th %ile). Everything else checked out well.

The doctor made no mention of the heart murmur she heard at our last visit, nor did she say/ask anything about the testing she sent us to subsequently. She's not a bad doctor, but she hasn't exactly earned any brownie points with me, either. I can only remember one appointment when she actually asked "Do you have any questions?" Anyone in the KC Metro area know of a good pediatrician?

Walmart With Toddler, in Pictures

I knew it was going to be a rough day when Abigail got ahold of my shopping list and immediately stuck it into her mouth, tore off a piece, chewed it up, and spit it onto the floor. All this happened in a matter of moments while I grabbed a bag of bagels for the four (yes, 4!) teenage girls that will be staying with us for the next three weeks.
Since when are her arms long enough to grab things out of the cart while she's strapped into her seat?


So, I'm walking by the candy aisle when I start thinking I'm smelling puke. No, wait, that's not quite it, but it's bringing up olfactory memories of having the flu. I literally stop and look all around me, trying to figure out what it is. I pinpoint the scent-reference: It's Pepto-Bismol. But there is none of the pink stuff in the candy aisle. It's really bugging me that I can't figure this out, so I literally walk slowly down the aisle smelling for the culprit. (If anyone was watching me leaning into the shelves to sniff the packages, I'm sure they thought I was nuts.)
Lo and behold, I found the impostor: Wint-o-green Life Savers. I will never be able to eat them again. (Not that I ever did in the first place, but NOW - ugh, queasy just thinking about it.) Don't believe me? Go get some and smell for yourself. I'm tellin' ya Pepto smell = Wint-o-green smell.


Obviously, the shopping list was not the only victim of Abigail's rampant teething tirade. Poor box-o-Eggos got snagged while I was reaching into the freezer for some juice concentrate.


When baby gets fussy, I start acting like the cart is some kind of carnival ride. Wheeeeee! We're driving like a race car! Wheeeeee! Mommy's standing on the bottom rack and rolling with you! Wheeeee! (Yeah, strangers are really starting to look at me now - but at least it keeps Abigail from screaming like a banshee because She. Wants. OUT. NOW! Notice that in this picture there are no hands on the handle of the cart. Abigail is rolling freely down the aisle, with physical control of the cart completely relinquished to the forces of gravity, momentum, and the crazy wheel that won't go straight. This is the height of fun, people. She could cruise like that for hours. Her big smile is so cute, it almost made me forget that shopping with a toddler is work. Almost... But alas, we must go check out. And just when we were having so much fun.


Checking out is pretty much always a nightmare, because Abigail despises being still for more than two seconds at a time. Sitting still is bad enough. But sitting still in a cart that's not moving - torture! Being the genius mother that I am, I decide to let her play with the first item that I scan - give her something to keep her busy while I scan and bag the week's rations, you know?

(Yes, I'm a self-checkout junkie. Nobody packs my groceries the way I like them except for ME. I pack those babies full. Why is it that every time a cashier bags my stuff I end up with, like, 6 bags for 5 products. C'mon people - A plastic bag can hold more than three cans of juice! Anyway, back to the saga...)

So I scan a 64 oz. bottle of juice and set it in the cart next to her. I'm thinking - it's plastic, she can chew on it but can't get it open, it's perfect. Silly Mommy obviously didn't think that one through. Plastic bottles don't break like glass when they hit the floor, but they still bust open. That's about 20-some ounces of Welch's White Grape Cherry juice all over the floor. Oh joy!


We survive the check-out, but Abigail hasn't had enough fun yet. We have to stop and say hello to Barney. I don't feed the monster quarters, I just let her climb up on the seat. She has no idea that this thing moves if you put money in it - she just likes to sit there and turn the steering wheel. If I have anything to say about it, she'll never see Barney in action, and therefore I will never have to hear her beg me for a quarter to ride.


We make it to the car and I'm putting groceries in the trunk when I realize that when the juice-incident took place, I never found the lid for the bottle. Now I have an opened, 2/3-full bottle of juice with a busted spout. But by golly, I bought the juice so I'm taking it home. Improvisation is a required skill for motherhood. I managed to get the juice home without spilling a drop or staining my pants (or should I say, without staining my pants more...there's that nice peanut butter spot on my thigh.) Back home in the driveway, I did manage to spill the juice onto the roof of the car when I set it there to get Abigail out of her carseat. But it was a little spill, and it only dripped onto the seat a couple times.

Tomorrow, we tackle Costco.

Christina, Part 1

Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.

Meet Christina. She is my one of my bestestest friends in the whole wide world.

Lovely Miss Christina and I met 8 years ago. We got thrown together when we both joined a women's bible study on our college campus. I was newly saved, and highly un-sanctified. Christina had little patience for my tales of woe regarding the trivial, worldly concerns with which I was consumed at the time. Christina was bubbly and energetic in her faith. I found her to be infuriatingly cheerful and a little too eager to please.

Needless to say, it was not love at first sight.

Don't get me wrong, we never had any intent of malice toward one another. We saw each other as sisters in Christ and did our best to encourage and edify one another. But in the midst of that, it was also pretty clear that we often rubbed each other the wrong way. The. Wrong. Way.

I talked too much. About unimportant things. And cared too much about boys.

Christina was too loud. She sang to herself. And talked to herself. Loudly. In Public.

Despite our differences, we continued to try our hand at building a friendship. The road was bumpy, with the occasional head-on-collision.

Case in point: Christina was understandably frustrated by what appeared to be my utter disregard for the virtue of modesty during the early months of our accidental companionship friendship. Prior to encountering the Lord during the middle of my freshman year of college, I was rather preoccupied with garnering and keeping the attention and affections of the male gender. I was not promiscuous, but I liked to feel wanted. Despite my desire for subtlety, certain pieces in my wardrobe reflected that desire a leeeeeeetle too much. So, one day as we were leaving to go to dinner, Christina looked at my outfit and said “You look trashy – I’m not going to dinner with you dressed like that!”

Oh, no, wait. That’s not what she said.

She was genuinely appalled at my choice of attire, but showing appropriate restraint she probably said gently, “Are you sure that shirt isn’t too tight/too revealing/too (enter immodest adjective here)?” I tried not to be offended, but my worldly mind wanted to scream – “EXCUSE ME? You dare to question my judgment?” After a moment of internal debate, I knew that she was completely right. I acquiesced and changed my clothes before heading to dinner, and a short while later I threw away the offending shirt.

So began the next chapter of our friendship. For some reason, God made us vulnerable to one another. We were aware of each others’ weaknesses and needs, and we didn’t always like what we found in each other, or in ourselves. As I spoke, I could practically feel her picking up on what was happening under the surface my heart, and as we spent time together, I got pretty good at reading her heart too. The amazing part was this: Although we were uncomfortable when the capacity for sinfulness found lurking in our hearts was revealed, the Lord was teaching us to speak the Truth in Love, and receive godly correction in humility. We cared for one another deeply, even when we were annoyed up to our eyebrows.

Soon, we were unfolding the deep places of our hearts to each other, and finding not only weakness and need therein, but also beauty, joy, and love. Somehow, through the rocky beginnings of our friendship, we had each become lodged deep within the others’ heart. We were bound in a friendship like none other I had known.

Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. Prov. 27:17

Christina is now serving our country as an officer in the U.S. Army. She is stationed in Iraq. Please see Part Two>>>> to join me in prayer for her.