Fair Weather Rider

So if it ever cools off, I'm climbing on...and Big Blue will transform me into one of my many alter egos...Harley chick! If you see me, wave. If I don't wave back it's cause I have fallen asleep behind the handlebars. This lil baby has a cushy seat,  highway pegs to stretch my legs out  and cruise control. If you have never ridden you can't understand. If you are a rider, you will concur...riding equals freedom. There is a reckless, tingling sensation that crawls  up your spine and captures your spirit like a greedy lover. Once you feel the revolution of the motor beneath you, there is no going back. Similar to the deadliest drug available, you will be hooked with your first try. So I urge you to use caution. Don't throw a leg over a seat and plant yours on it, unless you are willing to commit to a lifestyle change. At least (if you are like me) a lifestyle change when the weather is just right. Not too cold, not too hot, not too windy...

The Greatest Pain

I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face. It was so misshapen, bloody and bruised. A fellow gun-toter; tall, strong and agile now lay motionless, helpless and broken. A motorcycle crash had landed him in the ICU, but how had it happened and who was to blame? It didn't really matter since it wouldn't change the outcome, but somehow focusing on the how seemed to help ease the tightening around my throat. I kept thinking of all the things I had never said to him. Like; "Thank you for always treating me with respect, or thank you for always backing me up, you are a good friend, you're a great partner or Jesus loves you and died to set you free." Why is it that I never got around to say those things? Why did I let fear or pride keep me from speaking the truth? Ashamed, I stand there by his bedside and pray that I will get another chance. I don't know if he can hear anything that I'm saying, but I begin slowly making amends. I pause while looking up into the eyes of his beautiful wife and I wonder what regrets she has. My heart begins to ache as I acknowledge the greatest pain of all mankind, regret.

Happy 4th!

Laying on my back on the still warm concrete, I shaded my eyes. Not from the sun, but from the debris that was falling from the fireworks that my husband and son were setting off. I marvelled at the colors, the sounds, the explosions. I love the smell of sulfur. Clapping and yelling for more I couldn't help but recall Independence Day celebrations gone by. My brothers, Brian and Brent, were dangerous with firecrackers. I can even remember some stink bombs or wildcats that were tossed into the back seat of a moving Chevy Nova in the wild west town of Enid, Oklahoma. Since we never wore seat belts, it wasn't too difficult to scramble and fight to get away from a smoldering device that had landed on or near a Levis, dock-shoed, Izod-wearing kid. Yeah, those were the days. Smiling in the darkness, my face lights up with more than the fizzle of another round exploding in celebration. Those days epitomized life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Happy Independence Day!

Oklahoma, you got to got to got to...love it!

Why do their little faces look so pale?

Why are they bent over as if they are trying to catch their breath?

The heat and the wind.

That's my plants excuse for everything. Personally, I hate both of them too, yet somehow the plants and I must endure to live in Oklahoma. Sure, I could move...but my Okie husband and Okie son would probably miss me. Surely, they would miss my complaints about the heat and the wind...

So I come home today to see all my little baby plants suffering from the horrendous conditions. I am so consumed by their plight that I can't even sit and relax after a grueling day at work (okay, not so grueling, but I was, "on duty" which means I was away from home.) All I can do now is frantically drag hoses around the yard to spray the wilting, pathetic flowers with water and curse the heat and drought.

Would it be wrong of me to call in sick tomorrow so I can stay home and water? 

In All Things...

I look across the living room at my 16-year-old sitting on the couch and wonder what my life would be like without him. I can not imagine it...I turn my attention back to a sobbing daddy on the television telling rescuers how much he appreciated them tirelessly searching for his missing three-year-old son. His, "Little Buddy," was found, but there was no life left in him. The tornado that demolished his house, killed his 16-month-old little brother and critically injured his mother and sister...had claimed another tiny soul...I feel so angry, I want to question God and ask why horrible things happen to good people, but instead...my heart can only praise Him for His goodness and protection...for me...and my baby.

At therapy today, I shook the hand of a dead man...

I'm undergoing hand therapy after finger and wrist surgery. There are days when I feel sorry for myself for always getting banged up or broken. There are so many things that I can not do anymore because of all of my injuries. I try to stay positive and tell myself that there must be a reason God has allowed me to go through all the things that have hurt me, but I'd be lying if I told you that I don't ever get down...that I don't ever cry.

When I am feeling that way, I try to stay home. Away from friends, family...any peering eyes that can detect my weakness. I don't want to be discouraged, but sometimes...I am.

Imagine my shame then when a man comes in to therapy with a brilliant smile on his face and a dead man's hands on the end of his arms. He is the recipient of a double hand transplant and he is the most amazing person I have ever met. After being severely burned and nearly dying, he lost the use of his hands and chose to undergo a risky transplant, never done before.

He gives God the glory for saving his life and for giving him his new hands. As he holds a hand out for me to shake, I look up into his eyes and take his hand into mine. I've told him what an inspiration he is to me, but as I feel his fingers close around my own, a tightness forms in my chest. My throat burns as I choke back tears and return his smile when he says, "Man! It feels good to do that."

I have learned that to give God the praise in every little thing that I CAN do, is all He wants me from me today.

What? Me, Scared?

Her ear piercing scream stopped me in my tracks. She had my attention and I dared not move an inch. I held my breath and froze, trying to decide how to escape unharmed.

I had seen the little family huddling together for warmth earlier in the day. I'll admit that I waited until the fussy mother had wandered off before I ventured over to see the triplets close up.

Their mother and father never got too far from them. It's not like I meant to do them harm. I just wanted to see their little faces and coo to them. I'm a mother too after all, I reasoned. I saw their red-headed dad across the way, "You are gorgeous!" I mouthed to him. He acted like he didn't understand. It was cheap flattery, I'll admit, but I'm a shameless flirt.

As I looked from one sibling to the next, I was amazed at their tiny, perfect features. "Aren't you just the sweetest things?" I asked them, not expecting a response. I got one however. In the form of one very angry momma. She let me know in no uncertain terms that I had better move away from her offspring without delay. She screeched, and screamed and laid down the law in a way that only a mother could.

I tried to explain, to compliment her on her babies, to praise her rearing abilities, but she would hear none of it. She raised her voice, so I raised my hands in defeat and bowed slightly as I backed away slowly from the silent, but wide-eyed little ones. My heart was racing, my breathing quick and shallow, she had convinced me that she would do anything to protect her young. She may have only been a bird, a cardinal no less, but a mother in every sense of the word.

A mother's love can't be explained with fancy words or rhymes
it's something supernatural and it's there for all times.
A mother's love goes beyond a certain parental bond,
it's like a raging river, yet serene as a still pond.
It's boundaries are endless and it's functions are too,
a mother's love are the arms that scold while cradling you...Happy Mother's Day!