Category Archives: Heal

Fences, Friends, Counseling, Testimonials, Journals

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November 16, 2016

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Through It All

I had the privilege of spending last weekend on a Ladies’ church Retreat in Long Beach Island, NJ.  What a wonderful time!

We stayed in a large retreat center right on the water.  Our back door opened to a sandy beach and long dock over the water.  The view took my breath away and gave quiet respite to my soul.

Since breaking my foot in June, my leg and foot muscles have not yet returned to their pre-injured state, so I probably should not have eagerly participated in a pickup volleyball game wherein I wrenched my right knee.  It’s slowly healing, but I’ve learned my lesson.  Strength training and toning for me throughout the remainder of the year.

The best part was the testimonies.  Women of all ages and life stages came forward to share how God had worked in their lives over the years and how He still moves hearts and minds today.  Friend after friend got up and spoke about various trials and heartaches, joys and sorrows, pain and loss.  Some had lost parents or children, others homes and husbands.  One woman had been raped at knife point.

Courage and strength shone through their countenances as each described how the Lord had carried them in the midst of suffering.  Some stood in the midst of fire even as their shared, believing their Lord would continue holding them up by His mighty right hand, challenging me to trust Him whatever storms come my way.

I spoke about my family and some of the trials we’ve faced.  Then, my friend Ivette and I sang Through It All, an oldie but goodie by Andrae Crouch.  I’m pasting the link below – may God bless you through its message.

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November 11, 2016

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Heal, Home, Homeschool, Hope

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New Digs

Sorry for the posting delay.  After many months of inspections and papers, fees and transactions, assessing and phonically, we bought our house today!  And the best part is that we haven’t had to pack a single box because we’ve been living here for the past 21 months.

Sweet.

Truth be told, it’s not the house we initially would have picked to purchase upon our arrival to a foreign land, but God knew well and positioned us perfectly in the home He made available just for us in January 2015.

Looking back, it was amazing.  We’d had little time to find a place when Christian was offered his position in the Bronx, so we’d hopped online, trying to search out as many wonderful options as possible.

It came down to only two.  We quickly realized how hot the rental market was in our targeted demographic and that we should simply high-tail it out to NJ as soon as we could make an appointment with the realtors.

We snagged one definite and one maybe, so we threw the kids in the car and headed to River Edge.  Christian had eyed the first property, I the second.

We never saw the inside of “my” property, the one with the “maybe” realtor.  When we got the call that he wouldn’t make it, I was disappointed.  I liked this property much more because it had a swing set for the kids, a big yard, bigger rooms, newer kitchen, etc.  Everything about it seemed better.

On the Internet.

We did a drive-by while we waited for the other realtor and never looked back.  Feeling choice-less and vulnerable, we finally headed to our appointment.

The realtor was lovely.  Genuine, down-to-earth, and now a neighbor one street over.  The house was quaint, the neighborhood pleasant.  Christian sensed almost immediately that this was THE house, but it took me a little longer to warm up to the idea.

The fit is now undeniable.  Like a glove.

At first, it didn’t seem to make sense.  We’d traded one-third of an acre for a postage stamp, a two-story colonial for a modest brick cottage, and an organic garden complete with homemade compost for mere property borders of evergreen triangles and squares.

But today, looking back, I’m thankful.  God used this wonderful little house to help heal us.  When we rushed into our house after closing this afternoon, I experienced that same rush-around-the-house-and-kiss-everything feeling George Bailey had in It’s a Wonderful Life, appreciating anew the precious five feet of kitchen counter space and Abby’s walk-through hallway bedroom, the tiny living room and the cheap wall-mounted “hotel” lights on both sides of the master bed that swing in-and-out overhead.

Every detail has served us perfectly, smushing us all together, forcing us to constantly interact and love each other in new ways, further cementing our hearts together.  Away from the visual triggers, away from the constant reminders, away from the past we didn’t deny but couldn’t seem to escape.

Moving was a blessing.  We miss family and friends, but our hearts needed to heal.  Perhaps one day God will send us back to the Lehigh Valley, but for now, we plan to continue blooming where He’s planted us, enjoying our “new” home – and each other.

Many blessings upon each of your homes both today – and beyond.

 

Image source: Cliparts.co</a>

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October 29, 2016

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Crisis, Heal, Help, Hope, Uncategorized

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Love Walking

You would never have known I had purchased the plain black, somewhat saggy umbrella at a dollar store had you seen the radiant smiles emitted from beneath its cover.  My four-year-old and I giggled as I wrapped my arms around her like a mother pretzel and made our way into school all snuggled up, holding hands.

So sweet.

Abby tilted her head to the side and leaned into me, smiling, smitten by the beauty of the moment.  We sauntered slowly across the lot, savoring each step, making a memory.  As we approached the security guard, Abby glanced up at him.   She’d never before uttered a word in his presence, but today, she could not contain herself.

“We’re love walking.”

He had grinned at our approach, but when he heard her explanation, he nodded straight-faced.

“Love walking, yes.  Yes, you are.”

He and I exchanges smiles.  I floated to class with my Abby Mae, not wanting the moment to end.  When we reached her room, she pulled my head down and kissed me fast and firm.

“I love you, Mudder!”

I walked back to my car alone, remembering the countess times I’d crossed a parking a lot just to be with her.  That particular lot never saw rain.

It stood beneath The Children’s Hospital of Philadeplia.

Over the course of several months, this massive gloomy dungeon of a garage bore little light, happiness, or hope.  I will never forget the oppressive, smothering feeling that would overtake me as my SUV lumbered through the entrance, sinking lower and lower into the quagmire of emotion and unknown below.  The dim lighting, bland concrete walls, and blunt yellow lines provided no comfort, serving only to highlight my heartbreaking reality.

Parents from all over the world walked this very lot, not knowing whether their child would live or die.  The unwelcome enemy loomed around every corner, waiting to send families home with empty carseats and devasting loss.  We all prayed that today would not be our turn.

Some have loved and lost.  Some have experienced joyful discharge celebrations and have whisked their child away, never to return again.  Some are still there.

All of my family is finally home, praise God, but I still remember.   Every day I pray for the families going through hospital crisis, praying that one day they would finally cross the horrible yellow parking lot lines and carry their children home.

Yellow is Abby’s favorite color.  She loves yellow parking lot lines and relishes the opportunity to balance beam her way across them.  I find it ironic how her sunniness often defies all logic, the amazing way she brings quiet out of the corner, giggles to the lips of lonely, and joyous song out of sorrow.

Adversity has made her shine.  I checked my watch and sighed.  Only 8:32 am.  It would be a full three hours and five minutes until I picked her up.

May it be raining when I return.

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October 27, 2016

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Heal, Help, Writer's Block

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Back in the Saddle

Good Morning, Everyone,

My husband, Christian, has been gently prodding me to return to blogging.  I’ve missed it and have struggled to return.  I’ve also sought to understand my hesitancy to continue.

Over the weekend, I had the privilege of talking with both Christian and my friend, Kerri, about all of this, trying to wrestle through the muck and search out the reason.  My thanks to you both – the answer has become crystal clear.

I first began blogging while my children were hospitalized, viewing the blog as a necessary tool of communication throughout their stays.  It quickly became the go-to place for friends and family to stay in the loop as things unfolded, sometimes at a rapid-fire pace.

But it became much more than that to me.

Unaware, I began to share beyond the critical updates and information, eventually allowing myself to bleed all over the screen.  God used those 15-20 minutes a day to help me process the painful world around me, and in turn, the shared experience of my family’s journey allowed others to connect with an intimate part of themselves, a place perhaps rarely traveled but yearning to be known.

Feelings, fears, questions . . . nothing structured or pre-packaged, simply words from a mother’s heart, a desperate woman trying to make sense of it all, a human being trying to survive in the midst of raging storms.

Readers seemed drawn to my passionate approach to life and the way I processed each day’s events.  They liked knowing I’m not perfect and have to work hard to clean up my messes.  They stuck with me through not only the happenings but also the details of how God carried us through every minute of those tumultuous times.

The initial audience consisted of some friends and family, but many readers were previously unknown to us, wonderful people who came to care deeply about my husband and family, our circumstances and outcomes.

My audience cared about me.  And I them.  It was a relationship, not an info-blog.

I began drinkingfromthewell.com with more of a practical, help-centered focus for families, desiring to assist people of all ages and life-stages face a variety of challenges.  While I plucked out useful lessons I’d learned and passed on tools I’d gleaned, I felt stifled as a writer.  I found myself struggling to stay motivated and carve out time to post regularly, which stood in stark contrast to the days I looked forward to writing.

It flopped.

I think it’s partly because the type of writing people were drawn to on my CarePages blog wasn’t geared toward providing practical tips, developing a following, or building a writing platform as all of the blogger books recommend doing from the ground up.

It wasn’t me.  I like to touch the emotions of my readers while sharing mine, carefully cultivating a caring and valued relationship.

I also don’t think I was ready.  A lot more healing needed to take place before I could deal with the aftermath of the past several years.  We’d all experienced post-traumatic stress in various ways, and I think writer’s block was a symptom of mine.  Perhaps it was silly for me to try developing a new blog so soon, but the writer in me longed to run free.  After all the years of having no time or energy to type, I found myself paralyzed when the moment finally arrived.

I couldn’t let myself bleed while in desperate need of countless transfusions.  I like to bleed.  I need to be able to allow my thoughts, feelings, emotions, and desires spill down every page, dousing them crimson as they color the sunrises and sunsets of life.

But God has done an amazing work – in New Jersey, of all places!  He moved us here, we have no doubt, to heal us, to grow us closer together and closer to Him.  We stand on the other side of the mountain today, grateful, full of love, and eager to encourage others as we journey on, one day at time.

Together.

I invite you on our new, or shall I say continuing, ever-evolving journey, here at drinkingfromthewell.com.  Thank you for your great patience with me.

Especially my husband, who has often asked, “Haven’t you posted already?”

My response tonight will be, “It’s ablog time!”

Good to be back in the saddle.

Much love to you and yours,

Beth

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January 21, 2015

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DOUBLE CHECK

bills medical

by Beth Ann Morgan

If you’ve had to deal with medical and/or pharmaceutical insurance companies during your period of crisis, my guess is that at some point, you’ve received an unanticipated bill in the mail. The emotional jolt you felt may have proven quite unwelcome, especially in the midst of all your family was facing.

After catching your breath and feeling your heartbeat return to its normal pace, I recommend picking up the phone before heading for your wallet should you find yourself in this predicament ever again.

I always double-check.

Over the years, we’ve received countless bills for which we were either not responsible or were eligible for some other type of financial assistance. Miscalculations happen all of the time. Services are double-billed, billed to the wrong insurance company, billed under the wrong plan, etc.

It’s stressful to get an $883 bill in the mail two hours before you’re told that your child needs an emergency procedure. The time it takes to straighten out billing discrepancies is precious, and unfortunately, it happens all too often. For us, problems seemed to escalate after our children were discharged to home where we had no assistance managing bills from home care, medical supply companies, pharmacies, etc.

Even as I type, we are still waiting for a $300 bill to be resolved that is over 16 months old. Abby qualified for a special vaccine to protect her from RSV last year. Our pediatrician’s office did an amazing job getting the precertification taken care of, but the insurance companies are still going around about who’s going to pay for it.

If I had taken that bill and simply paid it upon receipt, we would have been out $300 that we didn’t need to pay. All of those “odds-and-ends” bills add up. We would have lost thousands of dollars over the years had we never checked them.

Sometimes when I called to verify, we were indeed responsible for the charge, and I submitted payment immediately. We have no problem taking responsibility for what we owe. We just don’t want to pay for anything further.

Especially when the stack of bills grows tall.

When in doubt, even the slightest inkling, give a call. It never hurts to double-check.

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January 17, 2015

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Heal

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SUGAR CUBE CASTLE

moms-castle11

by Beth Ann Morgan

Trying to find something fun to do on a cold January day? A box of sugar cubes, a little powdered sugar icing, and whatever candy you have on hand just might do the trick.

As a little girl, my family occasionally made sugar cube castles over the Christmas holidays, but I didn’t fully appreciate the experience until about three years ago when I attempted to construct a gingerbread house with my children. I should have waited until Daddy could have assisted with the assembly. We didn’t know when we would all be together next, so I’d decided to go ahead and get it done before Christmas.

Bad move.

I slathered the icing along the top of one wall. Four walls already stood ready to receive the roof pieces, but as I put them in place, it became painfully clear that something was wrong. The pieces kept sliding down, collapsing the roof and causing the icing to smear down the walls.

So, I’m not an engineer.

The next year, we found ourselves in the midst of another raging storm as the holidays approached.  I’d had roughly ten hours of sleep over the previous four nights, and my sweet children whipped open the front door with giggles, hopping up and down upon my arrival from the hospital.

“Christmas is almost here, Mommy! Can we please bake some cookies tonight?”

Bake? Tonight? There was no way.

I frantically opened my baking cupboards praying for something fun, easy, and exciting to fall out of the cupboard into my arms when my eyes honed in on a bright yellow box of sugar cubes. Sugar cubes! Memories flooded my mind as relief spread its warm snuggly blanket over my exhausted soul, allowing me to rest a minute in the eye of a raging storm.

Perfect.

No need for an engineering degree. A little powdered sugar with milk/water . . . a box of sugar cubes, candy. I covered my big wooden cutting board with foil, gave the kids a little direction, and watched them create a marvelous castle.

I had to turn away for a few minutes to take a critical phone call. When I returned, their creation took my breath away like the first glance at the world covered in white after the first snowfall of the season.

The castle was beautiful. Radiant, glistening and glimmering, as were their little faces, innocent, icing-covered, and full of joy.

We needed that.

We needed to accomplish something and see it through to the end. We needed to do something fun together, something lasting that we could see and be reminded of throughout the season. We needed something beautiful while an ugly reality threatened to undo all we held dear.

God knew what we needed, and He provided. Again. With sugar cubes.

Thank You, Lord!

 

photo courtesy of idratherbewriting.com

 

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January 13, 2015

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CAPTAIN GRUMPY SHEEP

PR_SoundOfMusic2

by Beth Ann Morgan

My children and I are watching The Sound of Music. Again. We must have watched this movie at least a dozen timesover the holidays to the point where I’ve dreamt that I’m wearing a dress made from olive green curtains and singing in a canoe.

It dawned on me only today why my children like it so much. Beyond the obvious beauty of the music and heartwarming story, I believe it’s the remarkable transformation of the Von Trapp Family that has captivated my own.

A devastated widower and father of seven attempts to carry on with life as usual, a man whose powerful position allows no room for grief of his severe loss or compassion for his children’s. Their prolonged pain and obvious dysfunction moved John and Hannah as question after question poured out.

“Mommy, why did their mommy die?”

“Why doesn’t anyone smile at their house?”

“Why is the daddy a Captain grumpy sheep when he’s got so many children to love?”

Over the past several weeks, the sheer emotion of the story served has served as a powerful springboard for much conversation here on Cherry Lane. We talked through the family having to quickly leave their home without warning and how scary that must have been.

We could relate.

We talked about how the children’s hearts hurt terribly, but even though the daddy probably wanted to, he couldn’t help them with their hurts because his heart hurt, too.

We could relate.

We also shared about how confining the convent must have felt to Maria’s spirit, one that simply wanted to run free and sing at the top of her lungs all of the songs she was created to sing. My sweethearts hopped off the sofa and ran around the coffee table, letting loose in a way that restrictive hospital settings do not allow.

So many opportunities to delve into the deeper issues of the heart. Relatable, enjoyable, family-oriented. An all-around winner for any family that needs something fun to do together.

We highly recommend this wonderful classic.

 

Photo courtesy of Profiles in History

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January 10, 2015

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THE BEST CALL

clarita

by Beth Ann Morgan

Ever have one of those days when everything seems to be falling apart, and then, you get “the call”, the one your heart has been waiting for, the one that helps you carry on in spite of the ordeal ahead of you?

As I held my little girl in my arms one terrible spring afternoon, I knew she would not survive until morning. The doctors had run all the tests, knew what was wrong, and needed time to figure out the best way to fix it.

Time was a luxury sweet Abby Mae could not afford.

Tears muddled my window view of the brilliant reds and yellows lining the pavement below. Abby’s breathing sputtered and spattered, her body fidgeting and wrenching on my lap. For the millionth time, I checked my phone.

To my surprise it rang, startling both Abby and I. It was my dear friend, Helen. I answered, relieved to hear her voice. I gave her the quick update and then waited to hear her response. She’s a doctor, so I guess I thought she would say something profound or have a question or suggestion. What she said comforted me more than anything I have ever known.

“I don’t know what to say, my friend.” Pause. “I just had to call.”

We cried together. Neither of us said anything for a long time. The “being together”, experiencing the painful shared burden, no matter how far the distance between us, was powerful. No fancy words, no needless sentiments.

“I don’t know what to say.” She said it again. “I just had to call you – I love you and Miss Abigail so much! We are praying.”

I thanked her as my husband entered the room.

After an emergency surgery at 11 pm, Abigail survived, thank God. The call of my friend was pivotal to my being able to get through the entire situation. Simple love extended when it mattered most.

May God help me be such a friend to others in their times of need.

 

photo courtesy of clarita

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January 8, 2015

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HOW TO GOAL PLAN DURING EXTENDED CRISIS

bosela

by Beth Ann Morgan

How does a goal-oriented person face the New Year with hope of accomplishing anything in the midst of an indefinite season of crisis? The answer I found for myself during our most trying seasons wasn’t necessarily the one I wanted, but it was the one I needed.

A doable list.

I started my New Year with my annual list-making ritual. I’d always loved to set goals and looked forward to it, the creation of my personal road map for the coming year full of exciting adventure and activity.   I would spend all morning propped up in bed, praying and writing, remembering and learning, hoping and dreaming. By the end of it all, I would have a neat, one-page vision to help set my course and motivate every step.

It was never a question of if but rather when all of the items would get done. With joy.

However, this year proved different, as had the last.   Nearly every goal had gone right out the window, and as I sat with my yellow legal pad and G-2 pen, I struggled to find something attainable to record.

What was the point of making goals if I couldn’t achieve them?

Many of my previous goals had revolved around writing, things to accomplish around the home and in my family/ministry/relational life. After living out of suitcases in the midst of complete upheaval for years, I had to accept that none of last year’s goals had been met and would not be met . . . for a long time.

We no longer participated in ministry outside of our immediate family. We couldn’t keep up with all of the relationships we had enjoyed prior to crisis. We weren’t often home, and I wasn’t writing anything except our hospital blog, struggling to get even a few hours with my children, let alone meet my fancy pre-planned relational goals.

I wept.

I realized I needed to make a choice before the voracious monster of frustration latched its ugly talons on my withering spirit. I could either keep writing lists of unattainable goals, or I could prayerfully jot down a couple of somewhat attainable goals pertinent to my current season of life.

I chose the latter. And it set me free.

Free to focus on the here—and-now. Free to live fully today instead of pushing toward the fantasy of tomorrow. Free to love without distraction.

I kept my list simple.

1) Love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength.

2) Love my neighbor as myself.

Both kept me plenty busy but deeply satisfied. I’ll never fully master either on this earth, but the very pursuit of them wrought new and beautiful meaning to my goal-keeping. Not that I wasn’t already trying in my own way to love God and others, but my overall focus shifted from accomplishing tasks to loving well.

I’m forever grateful for the change. Even though I’m at a place today where I can add more tasks to my list this year, I’ll always keep these two goals at the top.

Everything else is secondary.

 

Photo credit courtesy of Bosela

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December 22, 2014

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TAKE 20 MINUTES

OTRAS (4)

by Beth Ann Morgan

It’s all too easy to turn into a machine when things get tough. Days can go by without a decent shower, nutritious food, and solid sleep. No time to process the raw emotional journey, no strength to complete more than the most basic of chores. Go, go, go until sheer exhaustion forces you to collapse, only to find yourself waking the next morning with reality thrusting you into the same mode of survival.

I would encourage you to take 20 minutes.

I remember the first time I realized the value of doing this shortly after heading in to see John one day at the hospital. After driving for an hour and 15 minutes, I felt keen disappointment when the unit clerk informed me that an emergency surgery was underway in the pod, and I would not be allowed to see John for at least another 20 minutes.

“You’re free to go wherever and get a little time to yourself. I’ll announce it over the loudspeaker when the procedure is finished.”

I thanked her and then shuffled back down the hallway. All of the rushing around earlier that day and fighting the traffic, then hurrying upstairs . . . and now to sit? I didn’t know what to do with myself. I admit, I was shocked.

I remember heading to the waiting area and sitting for a full ten minutes. Just sitting. I watched the siblings of patients play, parents and grandparents exchange nervous conversation with tissues in hand, anxious bystanders mumbling into cell phones and running their fingers through their hair.

Compassion washed over me as my eyes filled with tears.

I got out my journal and began to write for another ten minutes. I poured out my heart like water by writing my prayer to the Lord, praying for every broken heart in the room, for every sick and hurting child, and for God to help us all.

Your days and nights might seem to run together, but give it a try whenever you can. Set your timer for 20 minutes. Let yourself sit and do nothing. Allow your thoughts to happen. Pray. Journal. Mediate on a Bible verse. Whatever it is that helps you process what’s going on around you.

And when the timer rings, you’re done. I personally find myself refreshed. My circumstances probably didn’t change, but my load has lightened a little.

I pray yours will, too.