The Next Hell...

I know I'm not the only person in the world who's suffering, but on days like today - I feel completely alone, detached from the living, disassociated from the planet...all because of a migraine.

Maybe you've had a bad headache before, you remember the dull ache like an unwelcome dinner guest. You take a few aspirin or acetaminophen and in a little while all is well in your world again. That's not the kind of headache I'm talking about. Excuse me as I wallow in self pity a moment, but the need to express my profound pain and absolute weariness of it has driven me to this cliff of despair. I feel defeated.

For 25 years I have experienced something akin to a stroke several times a month. For the last 18 of those years I have taken prescription pills, nasal sprays, oral disintegrating tablets and finally, painful shots to relieve the massive pain that whispers its desire to take my life. This excruciating pain that lies deep in my head, often behind one eye ball or the other, mocks me. Tsunami-like waves of nausea accompany violent episodes of retching with painful attempts at speaking, breathing or seeing. Hearing, smelling, seeing; all torturous senses to a person with a migraine. The slightest touch or sound has me cursing life and begging for a quick end that never comes.

Even after administering the searing shot in my thigh, the pain intensifies the stroke-like episode for another 15 horrifying minutes or so. I can feel the burning sensation that is the cerebral vascular constrictor medication coursing through every vein, artery and blood vessel in my body. Only then can my clinched fists relax, only then can sweet sleep finally take me.

Several hours later, I'll stir, but I'm never the same. For somewhere in the misery that is a migraine, part of me has been stolen. Little pieces of my soul are sliced away with each episode and with it, my peace, my happiness and my hope. What's left of me is an empty, hollow shell that can't make a complete sentence and feels fragile, used-up and weary.

With no strength to cry, I sit. Already dreading the next hell within.

JUST JUMP!

Have you ever been there? You know the spot...

Things don't seem to be working out the way you'de like them to. You feel the worst is yet to come, but you're torn between this choice or that one. Indecision has you tugging at those last few remaining strands of hair on your pale, scaly, scalp and you're mumbling things no one understands or even cares about.

So, you do know what I'm referring to...

Great! I thought so.

Lean in kinda close as I say this. Words of wisdom from Betsy Randolph ain't free and they aren't spoken very often, so listen up...

"Just jump!"

Whatever your options are...slap them all on the table of, "just freaking decide" then pray, shake your bootie or your turtle rattle, spin around in a circle...do whatever it is that's gonna help you make the decision to move from where you are to where you need to be and...just jump!

Lastly

My husband, son and I, just got home from a motorcycle trip we took out to New Mexico to ride the Enchanted Circle. It's an 85 mile circle through the northeastern New Mexico towns of Angel Fire, Eagles Nest, Red River and Taos.
While riding out there and back, I had a lot of time to think. There were a few distractions to keep me from my artistic prose; traffic, curvy roads and an irritating song that played over and over in my mind. Funny thing is, I can't remember what that stupid song was now.
Dodging the bugs, shifting my aching hip from one side of the bike seat to the other, I watched Bronson and George riding ahead of me. I prayed (almost constantly) that God would protect them on our travels. I considered horrific scenarios where either or both of them would be involved in a collision and what my response would be. I could see myself losing it. Screaming, crying and shooting the offender. They'd be drunk probably or somebody texting and driving. I'd lose my mind if something happened to either of them, I thought.
Finally, I had to make myself think of something/anything else when my head began to throb and my eyes burned from needless tears. Silly, I know, but the truth is, we all must face the fact that one day we'll die. It's inevitable! I've prayed to go before the boys. I don't want to be here without them.
Then I learn that a friend of mine lost her husband today in a diving accident. I ache all over for her. No doubt she prayed for her husband's safety too. She probably told him numerous times in their 35 years together that she wouldn't be able to go on without him either. I sit here wondering what exquisite hell she must be going through tonight. What absolute misery she must be feeling. She's probably thinking of the last words they spoke to each other. She's relishing that last kiss, that last touch, the last meal they shared, the last everything.
Even though our vacation wasn't very pleasurable by most vacation standards, I'll cherish it for what it was; time spent together. Together we suffered through the heat, the mean cross winds that had us leaning our bikes and one way and our heads the other and we suffered through the stress of being away from home knowing someone was stealing our neighbors belongings and peace of mind.
We're home, together and safe. That's so much more than my sweet friend can say tonight. And while my heart breaks for her, I force myself to cling to our vacation memories; good and bad. I'm thanking God for His protection and for one more "last", should it be that.

Throw away your four-leafed clover!

Situation:  Memorial Day 2012, 0830 hours, Logan County, Oklahoma, just north of the city of Guthrie, an Oklahoma State Trooper runs the license plate on an abandoned vehicle south bound on Interstate 35. The vehicle comes back to a homicide suspect from Renton, Washington who had fled that state after killing his 17-year-old girlfriend. Before abandoning his vehicle, the suspect writes a note and leaves it on the windshield stating that he was going to get gas. After receiving a call from our communications center about the situation, I quickly posted the Washington state wanted poster on our Oklahoma Highway Patrol Facebook page. Within minutes, people were calling to inform us that they had already given the suspect a ride to gas stations in Logan County and Oklahoma City. As nervous minutes ticked away, we waited to see where the suspect would surface next. Ground units searched the area where the suspect was last seen, while OHP Aircraft flew overhead. The suspected killer had traveled halfway across the US in an attempt to elude his captors; there was no way of telling what lengths he would go to, to stay free.

While law enforcement searched for the suspect, reporter Adam Mertz with KFOR, news channel 4, telephoned me to inquire about doing a story regarding our search for the suspect. Adam had seen our OHP Facebook page and was following a journalistic hunch that the murder suspect was still in the area. I agreed to meet with Adam and give him a sound bite concerning our efforts. As Adam Mertz and his photojournalist, Mark Paris, drove from Oklahoma City to Guthrie to meet me, they passed an individual on the Interstate service road at Wilshire walking north bound. Adam noticed as they passed that the person walking, matched the description of the murder suspect. Just to be safe, Adam asked Mark (who was driving), to turn around and go back. When the men circled back around, Adam could clearly see that the suspect was wearing the exact clothes that were shown on the wanted poster, to include a green Seattle baseball cap.

Adam called for help and the suspect was quickly arrested. Now, the newsman was part of the story. Adam and I began to record our interview that would play later that night to thousands of people across the state. Smiling, he said with a nervous laugh, “I guess that I was just lucky.”

I’m not sure why I said the exact words next that I did, but I wouldn’t take them back even if I could.

There are defining moments in life when we are outright, no question about it, presented with a situation where we can choose to acknowledge our belief in God and His ever present presence in our lives or we can remain silent. No one forced fancy theological words out of my mouth that day. I could not then, nor can I now, buy into some pre-scripted “company” line about how we just did our jobs. I refused to say how coincidental it was that Adam Mertz just happened to see our Facebook page and download the wanted poster, or how he just happened to desire to do a story, or how he just happened to be on the same interstate at the same time and just happen to see the homicide suspect from a moving vehicle traveling at highway speeds (70 mph or better) or how he just happened to recognize the suspect from the poster. I didn’t believe that to be true, so I didn’t say that.

What I did say was this, “I do not believe in luck. I believe it was Divine Providence that made everything work the way that it did today. We are so grateful that we could capture this dangerous person before he harmed or killed someone in his desperate attempt to escape.”

On camera and off, my interview with Adam lasted for over an hour as we stood in the sun, sweating from the heat and humidity. I would learn later that night which direct quote Adam had chosen to use in his story.

You guessed it, he used, “Divine Providence.” But I’m sure that was just dumb luck as well.

Oh how He loves me!

God made these for me. Every detail crafted with a genius flare for dramatica. Pistils and stamens; tiny details reflect an enormous God. A God that knew me before He spoke the world into existence. He knew me, chose me and loved me. It wasn't because I was something special, it was because He could see the worth in the broken vessel I would become. He knew how often I would fail and deny Him, yet He loved me anyway. He uses the flawed.  

   He sends the tiniest of His creatures to show me His heart. So I search for God in the gardens and He reveals Himself to m  e there. I search for God in the endless stars and in the ever-changing clouds and in the deepest parts of my heart. He never fails to show Himself to me or shower me with His continual forgiveness.

And when He forgives, He restores; whiter than the whitest daisy petals, cleaner the the purest drinking waters. I'm so thankful to be cherished by the Creator, aren't you?

Betsy

Don't be a quitter!

I said I didn’t care, maybe I didn’t. I slid my hands inside the pockets of my hand-woven poncho and walked away, mad. Occasionally kicking a pebble or ant hill, I weaved my way through the scrub brush and yucca; back to the old metal shed we called a clubhouse. I threw myself down on the old tire seat inside. My butt hit the hard earth underneath causing me to arch my back in pain as I lifted off of the dirt, rubbing my 8-year-old jean clad bottom. “Damn it!” I yelled. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard me swear. But I was alone.

Everyone else had stayed behind on the bank of the dried-up river bed shooting BB guns at the Mexican kids across on the other side. Why hadn’t I stayed? Was it because I knew what we were doing was wrong? I turned my pistol over in my dirty hands, inspecting it. Opening the chamber, I poured in dozens of silver BB’s and slid the dusty chamber closed. I knew why I hadn’t stayed; I thought, as I raised the barrel to the sky, elbows bent in an armed pose I’d seen on TV. It was this worthless weapon I held in my hands. It couldn’t shoot ten feet, let alone the 50 or so feet it would take to cross the Burrendo River. In anger, I aimed the gun at the opening in the wall and pulled the trigger, sending a speeding orb away with my wrath.

I learned a valuable lesson that day as I sat alone in that chicken coop turned clubhouse. It’s one that has served me well all these years. For you see, that lonesome BB I sent soaring, hit the tin metal wall and returned to my unsuspecting face with much more force than I realized it possessed.

I was grateful for the tender skin beneath my right eye which caught the BB, sparing me the spanking I knew I’d get when I got home had it lodged in the eyeball it was closest to.

The incident taught me a couple of things. 1. Never haphazardly shoot when angry, and 2. Never walk away from a gun fight, regardless of how much or how little faith you have in your firearm.

Maybe

I know it's been a while, but I haven't had anything to write about. Or so I thought.
After speaking to my older brother by phone yesterday, I realized something dreadful. I have allowed  living to get in the way of life.

Making excuses for why I can't go here or attend that, I sink into my own world of busy "to do's" that won't change history if they have to wait. I rush to this meeting or that group, only to think about what has to be done before tomorrow; never really enjoying where I am at the moment.

I catch myself, eyes glazing over, listening to my husband talk about his work. I hear what my son is saying, but before his point is made my mind is elsewhere. My friend is telling me her dad is ill, but I hold up a finger for her to wait as I interupt her to take an "important" phone call.

One of these days, no one will be here for me to ignore. I'll have no one.

Maybe I'll change. Maybe I'll stop putting everything and everyone that doesn't really matter in front of the only ones who truly do.