She's Gone

I've known her for over twenty years, spent time with her on a regular basis for most of my adult life. Just three years younger than me, we formed an instant bond. A small gal, but she had a great capacity to bring much satisfation to my life. She was a precious gift to me; she met specific needs unlike any other.

We met when my first-born turned one, and she was with me to welcome each of my other three children home from the hospital. Dirty diapers, spit-up, sleepless nights, you name it, she was there through it all. Her gentle humming could sooth each of my babies to sweet sleep. And I loved her for that. We were a team. We were inseprable.

As the children grew and their needs became more complex, more challenging, she rarely complained, but boy, did she listen to my complaints. Those teen years stretched me to my limits, and I needed a listening ear more than ever. I would go on and on about this and that, perhaps filling her up with more than she could bear. I'm sure at times I was a burden to her, but she kept working hard to keep up with the lastest Ruch dirt.

Then came the ultimate test--three more children. She wasn't getting any younger and neither was I. There were days neither one of us thought we had enough patience or strength to keep going. Then one day she cried out. I asked her if I could help her in any way. It was my turn to give back for all she had given to me. I placed a call and sought wise counsel for her and her problems seemed to disappear for a while and our relationship continued on for the better part of a year. Until yesterday...

It was as if May couldn't function any more. She wanted to give up. I begged her to hang in there. "Come on, May, you can do it! I know my burdens have been heavy for you, but surely you can carry just one more load." But it was useless, she had taken her final spin in this crazy world and as much as I tried to help, I couldn't release her from the suds that were causing her to drown. So I shed a little tear, pronounced her dead, and went to tell my husband.

"Honey, I did everything I could, but our precious May Tag is gone. There's no time to grieve because right now I have too many loads."

So tomorrow May takes a trip out to the curb and then on to her final resting place. And I welcome KEN home. He is a large man, with a huge capacity (necessary with 7 kids) and hopefully he will give me many MORE years of satisfaction.

Baby Steps

She needed redemption unlike anyone I'd ever known. We sat a small round table, she on one side, me on the other. I was allowed to hold her hand, but when I moved closer to sooth her tears, the loud speaker jolted me back, "Mam, get back in your seat." I had forgotten the rules. I had forgotten where I was...

Driving to the prison that day my mind swirled. I had many things I wanted to say...none of which were kind. "What were you thinking? You've lost everything! How could you hurt your family like this? Drugs...you were selling drugs... in my neighborhood." And the litany of questions and accusations went on and on. I knew I needed help.

Lord, there are so many things I want to say, but I know my words are not the words she needs to hear. Help me.

And somewhere between my driveway and the razor wire, the waiting room and the metal detector, the tedious walk through tightly monitored steal doors and the little round table at which we sat, the Lord stripped my mind down. All I could do was listen.

And I gained the privilege of walking beside her as she took her first steps toward redemption.



Walking beside someone on their road to redemption is, humanly speaking, a futile task. It takes patience and wisdom beyond our abilities. Honest prayer is the first place to start. And the impossible becomes miraculous.