Facing Goliath

Today's sermon was about David and Goliath and how we all have a Goliath of some sort in our lives.  Right off the bat, I started thinking about several Goliaths in my life, but I knew my biggest Goliath had been breast cancer.  I thought about family and friends whose Goliaths have been alcohol, drugs, debt, infidelity, grief and other biggies, and I realized that some of the Goliaths in life are choices, and others simply happen to us.  And I know that I didn't choose breast cancer--it chose me.

If we're smart enough, we fight against our Goliath just like David did and with his same faith.  David chose a slingshot, some smooth stones and no armor, and he beat the giant down in spite of the fact that he was just a boy and untrained in the ways of war.  His story is one of many examples in the Bible where God equips those who are called to do mighty things.

As I think on some of my friends who have conquered the Goliath in their lives, I feel like one of the cheerleaders in their camps, and it's almost as if I have been part of the battle.  After all, we all need people to believe in us and to cheer us on.  Barry always told his youth groups to edify each other and to lift one another up, because without the support of our friends, life is tough.  Several of his youth who are now adults have made a point to tell him that they still remember to edify others in life.  Lesson well learned, guys.

Although I feel the cancer Goliath has been conquered in my life, I still have reminders of how it almost got me.  I get check-ups every three months with my chemo oncologist and my radiation oncologist.  I get a mammogram every six months, and I see my surgeon once a year.  And because my tumor markers have been elevated on two occasions since finishing treatment, I've had two PET scans.  All of this is to make sure that my Goliath doesn't rear its ugly head back up into my life.  I dislike going to the doctor, but I'm thankful for modern technology and for these visits "just to make sure". 

My next visit to the chemo oncologist is this Wednesday, and I'm anxious, just as always.  I'm trying not to worry about the "what ifs", because I've been living life like a normal person.  Even though I have a scar on my breast and under my arm, I have trouble at times with discomfort in my right arm, and the hot flashes are fairly relentless, cancer is becoming a distant, unpleasant memory.  I have truly moved on!

I remember it being such a surreal feeling that people could just keep on going and doing, having fun and living life when I was going through the tough days of treatment.  How could they?  I know it's  the same way my friend Becky feels right now as she misses her mom and my good friend, Glenda.  How can people go on and be so happy while others are in the midst of the pain of grief?

For any of us who are dealing with an insurmountable Goliath, until the battle is won, we wonder how people can go on as if life is normal.  Although my Goliath is gone, the memory certainly lingers.  And life has gone on around my battle, whether I've liked it or not.

Glenda--The Ultimate Cake Lady and Friend

We met Glenda Garver in March of 1997 when Barry came in view of a call to First Baptist Church, Marion. Mark Baber drove us to Glenda’s house to practice a duet for that Sunday’s service, and he introduced us to one of the feistiest and most loving individuals I’d ever met--Glenda.

I remember practicing our song while she played, but more than that, I remember her telling us that day how beautiful her grandchildren were and her showing us a new picture to prove it. She showed us a photo of a little girl with long, dark hair wearing a flowing white dress, and I remember thinking that this child was definitely beautiful. It was her Hannah. Hannah and our Kelsey were the same age, so I was very interested in my youngest having a friend to make her feel at home in a new community. And good friends they became.

Glenda also showed us photos of some of the cakes she had made for birthdays, weddings and special occasions, and Barry was in love with her immediately. She took him to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of icing and just handed him a spoon--it might as well have been elixir of love! And to this day, I can’t tell you how many wonderful, absolutely delicious cakes Glenda has made for our family. The most recent cake was for Kelsey’s senior recital at OBU in April, and people LOVED the cake. Once you had a taste of a Glenda cake, all other birthday and wedding cakes just didn’t measure up. No kidding.

Once we came to FBC, Marion, Glenda and I worked together over cooking teams for Wednesday night suppers, and I got to see a different side to her. We planned menus, and she would make trips to wholesale distributors or to the grocery store to make sure we had what we needed each week for the meals. She would do whatever it took to make things work no matter how much time or effort was involved. She cared about people and about helping others when she could, and I could always depend on her.

Glenda went on mission trips with Barry on several occasions, and all he had to do was to ask her to be in charge of food for the trip. No worries from that point on! She had the job covered, and the mission team would look forward to breakfast, lunch and dinner prepared by Mrs. Glenda. One of my favorite stories from a First Presbyterian, West Memphis, mission trip to serve at The Kitchen in Springfield, was when Glenda left a big plate of cake with Sister Lorraine (the founder of The Kitchen ministries). Glenda told Sister Lorraine (who was around 82 yrs. old at the time) she was leaving a big plate of cake with her to share with the other two sisters who lived at The Little Portion. Sister Lorraine said that she would, and the mission crew returned home from the trip. About a week later, Glenda and Sister Lorraine were visiting on the telephone, and Sister Lorraine told her that she had a confession to make. She said, "Remember that plate of cake you left for us and asked me to share with the other sisters?" And of course, Glenda said she remembered the cake. Sister Lorraine said, "Well, I ate the entire plate of cake myself and didn’t share a bite!" Yes, Glenda’s cakes were that good. And I love that a Catholic nun made a confession to Glenda!

Glenda was also a wonderful seamstress, and she helped countless folks with hemming and altering over the years. She was as stubborn as they come, and although she helped me on many occasions, she would never take a dime for the work. Even with arthritis problems, she continued to play piano and to help others with sewing projects.

One part of Glenda that I loved and cherished over the years was her sense of loyalty to the people she believed in. I always said I wouldn’t want her for an enemy, but I certainly loved having her in my corner. I knew that no matter what, if me or my family needed anything, she would do her level best to meet that need. That’s just how she rolled. She passed that gene on to her daughter, Becky, and Becky has been known to take in stray people and animals over the years. She is compelled to help others as part of her basic nature--just like her mom.

Glenda had a dry wit and she could dish it out AND take it. I think that’s why so many people loved her. There were countless, wonderful aspects of Glenda Garver, and there is no way I can do justice to her in this simple blog. She was an amazing person, and my entire family will miss her dearly. How do you fill a the gap when someone such as Glenda is removed from your life? I’m praying that God will give us all a peace that passes understanding and that time will heal.

One thing I do know, we’ll always have a special place in our hearts for Glenda.

Simple Life. Simple Pleasures

My Grandma Allred was my dad’s paternal grandmother, and at the time I remember her, she lived in Bismarck, Arkansas, in a small, wood frame house with a porch across the front and a small porch to the side. I guess I was maybe eight or nine, and I remember Grandma Allred being very old. She had out-lived several husbands, and we called her husband at the time, "Mr. Carpenter". I thought for a long time his name was "Mr. Cobbinder" because that’s what I heard when Grandma Allred called him. I feel certain they were both older than dirt, and he eventually outlived my Grandma.

Grandma Allred was a tiny lady with a face so worn from weather and work that I was never sure if the wrinkles were from smiles or frowns, but I think they were from smiles. She was pleasant enough to visit with, and she always wanted to give us some little something from her house such as a doily or some home-canned goods. We’d look at mom for the okay, and she would either nod or shake her head if we were offered a gift. You just never knew what you might come home with.

I remember my mom taking us kids to visit them every month or so, and often mom would help Grandma Allred and Mr. Carpenter by cleaning out their refrigerator, straightening the house and cooking them a meal. Both of them had very poor eyesight at this point, and I recall a small, open container of jelly with a spoon on their dining table on top of a lazy Susan with a few other condiments. They never knew about the steady stream of ants mom cleared off the table when we were there, and that she dumped out the jelly dish and replaced it with a sealed jar of jelly. She cleaned out some of the canned goods, too, that had gone bad. Grandma would give her jars of the canned goods, and often they had not sealed properly, and mom would take them home and dump the contents into the trash. The old jars were still good for canning, and some of them were so old, they had glass lids. The contents were often dark brown, but Grandma would hand a jar to mom and say, "Now here’s a jar of peaches." Or, "I believe this one is muscadine preserves."

On one particular visit to Bismark, my brother, Steve, and I begged mom to let us go down the road to a little stream to play, and it was shallow enough water, so we were fine. I don’t remember ever seeing a snake or worrying about any, but I’m sure they must have been around. The water was perfectly clear in the stream, and we saw perch everywhere. We waded into the water and actually began catching fish with our hands, but we had nothing to put them in. We ran back to the house to tell mom that we were catching fish with our hands, and she gave us an old white, tin bucket from the side porch (the kind with the red rim around the top), and we took the bucket and began to catch a dozen or so perch. It was so much fun, and we proudly returned with our bucket full.

Steve helped mom clean the fish, and she added them to the meal along with the vegetables she had already started cooking while we were fishing. She made a lemon cake that day, and I can still remember there being no cake mix and mom just making it from scratch with flour, sugar, baking powder, sugar, etc. and some lemon flavoring she found in the cabinet. How did she know those ingredients would make a cake? I believe that was the first day I saw how much talent and work and ingenuity it took to be a good cook and manager of what you had on hand. Making do. She made a lemon buttercream icing, too, with margarine, powdered sugar and the same flavoring--nothing from a can or a mix.

And then we sat down to a great meal of fresh vegetables, fried perch, corn bread, iced tea and hot coffee and then lemon cake for dessert. What a feast! It’s been many years ago, but I still remember the fish and the lemon cake from that day.

Barry and I recently drove past the place where the house used to be, and there is another house located there now. I still think about our visits, and I’m glad mom took us to see Grandma Allred during the winter of her life. It gives me a perspective on things that I might not have had. They lived simply, Grandma and Mr. Carpenter. And they didn’t mind eating perch from the stream or having a meal from scratch prepared by my mom. Simple life. Simple pleasures.