The book arrived last week. I can hold it. I can turn the pages. I can look on Amazon and see it advertised. It is all very solemn. I look at my name on the cover and wonder about the author. I admire the beautiful jacket cover. No, the figure is not Megan or me. The path is not Megan's Path. But it is symbolic of a path we all must walk one day - a path that is long and just wide enough for one, maybe two.
When God Comes Near - Waiting in the Miracle of His Presence is the name that took hold and stayed the course of the writing. It is a name put together from thoughts of friends, ideas from books, and personal reflections of the journey. It is what we did - we waited and waited on God. He came near, stayed with us, said "no" to our pleading for Megan's miracle of healing, gently loving us through her untimely death. That "no" is not easily accepted. That "no" is still painful. That "no" has to be dealt with every day in our minds and hearts.
Had I stayed with the "no" of God's answer, there would be no When God Comes Near because I would never have seen the life He offered me as he allowed Megan to come to Him. I guess now I can say God intended for me to write about it. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I could have stayed with my grief, consoling myself, angry, miserable, and unable to see any of the light that was always shining through my pain. That would have been me saying "no" to God. Had I stayed with the "no" there could be no transformation of suffering into honey. There could be no movement through grief, experiencing the stages, stumbling, moving, backsliding, crawling on through.
As I write in the Acknowledgements, it takes more than one person to write a book. I could put so many names above mine. As I look back, every time I was about to give up on the project, someone would come forward, take it out of my hands, offer their contribution, and hand it back to me, pulling me up from the "sea of despair." I now look at the finished product and marvel at what great people surround me! I am the luckiest woman in the world. I am grateful and blessed.
And now, you can purchase this book that you lived. Although, many of you have read my journal entries, I think as you read the 12 chapters, you will read an important story told from start to finish. It takes on new dimension in story form. It is for sale on Amazon for $19.99. You can order it from me for $16.00 plus tax and shipping. The easiest way to do that is to email me at marciagaddis@gmail.com and we will do business. I won't be working until next Tuesday, so give me a few days to process orders. Just be sure to provide the name of the person who will be receiving it. The book is also for sale at the Dogwood Shop at Peachtree Road United Methodist Church in Atlanta. Signed copies are available for $19.99 and a percentage of that sale will go to outreach ministries.
My website (www.marciagaddis.com) designer read the book and said, "You took me to your darkest places and brought me through victoriously."
I never wanted to go to those dark places. That we could be brought through victoriously is a miracle. I am living proof
I hope you will read it and let me know what you think.

Tribute To Megan

The following was sent to me yesterday. It was Megan's birthday and this was written three years ago by an 18-year-old friend of Megan. With her permission, I share with you:


"There is a person who has been a part of my life since I was born. Her name is Megan. Megan is 26 years old and has been my neighbor, my babysitter and my friend all of my life. I have been thinking a lot about Megan lately, despite the hectic pace of my life as I begin my senior year in high school. As I run during Cross Country practice each day, as I make college visits, start college applications, do my homework – whatever I am doing, often, my thoughts are on Megan.

Megan has recently been diagnosed with Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (CJD). Last Spring, while Megan was at our house, she told us that she had been unusually forgetful lately. She had recently been involved in two minor traffic accidents and, as she left our house that day, realized that she had locked her keys in her car. Since I have known Megan, she has always had an amazing work ethic. At that time, she was teaching elementary school full time, working on Saturdays in a book store and was house sitting and babysitting many evenings and weekends. Like her family doctor, we all thought she was doing too much and needed to take a vacation. As her symptoms progressed, Megan was tested for brain tumors, Multiple Sclerosis and other diseases. Everytime we got word that the tests were negative, we breathed a sigh of relief. We did not know that we would look back and wish those tests had been positive because, in most cases, there is some kind of treatment for those conditions. There is no treatment for CJD. The website says it plainly: “The disease in invariably fatal.” The typical time from onset until death is twelve months.

It is hard to face the fact that Megan may not be here on this earth when I graduate next Spring. Or she may be gone when I enter college. I have always thought the word “heartbreaking” is a melodramatic, outdated, useless word. I don’t feel that way anymore.

Sometimes when I think about Megan, I realize how lucky I am to be alive and healthy – something I never thought about before. Especially during this year of my life when my friends and I are all focusing on the next step in our futures, we never consider that the next years could be taken from us. We never stop to think that we won’t graduate, go to college, graduate again and go on. As busy as we all are getting ready for the future, who has time to enjoy a single day, an hour, a moment?

Other times, I think about all of the prayers I have said for Megan, all of the ones I continue to say. I have asked God for Megan’s full and complete recovery. From what I have learned about CJD, “invariably fatal” means that my prayers will not be answered. There is no one I know that deserves to live more than Megan. She is young, kind, intelligent, compassionate. She doesn’t drive fast, drink, take drugs – she teaches little kids in a low income school and asks us and all of her friends for donations of used clothes, books, computers for her students and their families. Why can’t our prayers for her be answered?

My family has spent some time these last months remembering all of the fun we have had with Megan over the years. When my sister and I were little, Megan would get every blanket and sheet out of the linen closet and build forts for us in our basement, despite my mom’s grumbling about the mess. She would create board games for us on poster boards, bake cakes with us, watch movies and play make believe with us. My parents would always call Megan on their way home when Megan was babysitting because Megan never got us to go to sleep when she was with us. My parents wanted a break from putting us to bed when Megan babysat but they never got one because we were having too much fun to go to bed.

As I grew older, Megan would come and stay with me whenever my parents went out of town. We would still bake cakes and watch movies, we would do something creative like paint pottery or bead jewelry. While we were together, we talked. Megan is a great person to get advice from. She really listens and she relates to what I am going through. She is not the person to take things too seriously or too lightly. Through the years, she has shown me that everyone has problems at times and most of them work themselves out if you do your best to be a good person. Megan told my sister and me about the times she embarrassed herself, the times her friends seem to turn against her, the times her sister and brother were annoying her, the times her parents didn’t have a clue about her life. All of those experiences had a very familiar ring to them.

I’m not sure I can identify all of the things I have learned from Megan. I think I will probably be discovering ways she has affected me for the rest of my life. There is no question that the diagnosis of her CJD has changed me. I will pause now and then during this busy year and be grateful that I am alive as I pray again for Megan. Problems that come up this year will be put in a different perspective. I will do my best to be a good person and try to be patient as problems work themselves out or fade in importance. As I continue through life, I will try to be creative and helpful like Megan has been throughout her life. I will try to be an example to a younger person as Megan has been – and will be my whole life – to me.

The last time I saw Megan, she hugged me and gave me a huge smile. She couldn’t remember many words so she didn’t say much, but I showed her pictures from my week at a Young Life camp in Colorado. She smiled and nodded her head and listened to me, as she has all of my life. I hope I showed her how much she means to me. I hope she knows."

Post Office Peace

Yesterday I went to the post office to mail something that would require several steps and a little time. I went mid-morning, thinking maybe the line would not be so bad. There were just six (!) in front of me and it seemed to be moving along. In front of me was an adorable three-year-old and we became fast friends. Her name was Olivia. She asked me my name and when I told her, she then asked why. That stumped me. She found a mailing adhesive strip on the floor and stuck and unstuck it to all the cabinets. Then she made a bracelet out of it. She gave a piece to me and I made a ring. We laughed at each other and before we knew it, she was leaving and it was my turn at the counter.

There was only one man working at the four-station counter and he could not have been nicer, faster, or more patient. His attention to detail and pleasant demeanor focused on me and seemed to not see the line forming behind me, the feet shifting, eyes rolling, and the body language that was screaming, "Hurry up!" Step by step, we finished. As I turned to leave and saw the 10-12 people waiting, I simply said to them in general, "I am sorry I took so long" and walked out. One man glared angrily at me and shook his head. I later saw him in the grocery and he avoided my line, barging in front of another next to me. There was no way he was going to be delayed twice in one day - by the same woman.

Anger. It spills out in places we don't expect. It transfers to situations that have nothing to do with the source. It even hides and waits to be resurrected. Sometimes it stays buried for years, only to fester and erupt at the wrong time and place. I was reading the verse in Acts that says, "I strive to keep my conscience clear." Thinking on those words, and asking God to show me what I needed to confess, He quickly reminded me that I had my own anger buried down deep in the bottom of my heart over the loss of my daughter - almost two years ago.

I was surprised. Caught off guard a bit. And so in my defense, I reminded God of what I had tried to do for Him through her illness. I had tried to be obedient. I read scripture. I had claimed God's promises. I had shared the story with the world. But as I defended my case, the truth came bubbling up and I began to see the real truth - that down in my heart, I held anger and resentment at God for not healing her. I felt great loss and despair of a frightening nature. I stopped in my tracks and confessed out loud to God, "I see it now. You are right - forgive me."

Then God said to me, "Through your obedience, your wrote truth. You shared what a life of faith looks like when you are blinded by despair. I, alone, kept you from acknowledging your own anger at me because it would have stopped you from writing. It would have sent you running into a cave. You are a such a little human, but I love you. The life Megan lived, she lived for me, not you, and I wanted this story told for my purposes. But you have to get rid of the anger or you will never have peace about it."

Peace is something we all desire, whether standing in a post office line, or the grocery story, or in the deepest part of our heart. We long for it - or at least we want to "just give it a chance" as John Lennon sang. We pray for it. We sing, "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me." But how do we find it? We ask for clarification from God above. We brace ourselves and ask Him to reveal whatever it is in our conscience that we are afraid to admit. But watch out. When He reveals it, we must obey or we will wrestle with it and our anger will show in all the wrong places.

I want to be like little Olivia - just three years old and content to take what had been thrown on the floor and make something out of it. Peace. She was content to wait in line for something too complicated for her. Peace. She trusted her caregiver. Peace. She looked around and smiled at the world, waiting and trusting as the day unfolded. Peace. Isaiah 11:6 says "A little child shall lead them."

Thank you, Olivia.

Book - Soon to be a Reality

I looked out the window to see lots of butterflies - monarchs and swallowtails everywhere, floating in the air and hanging upside down on the flowers. I think they gather in the late afternoon for their daily round-up of nectar - like we meet each other after work for a cup of coffee. In trying to give a name to this gathering of butterflies, I am told it is a "flutter" of butterflies. My first thought was that it is a "festival of friends" or a "choir" or a "company" of dancing butterflies. But flutter works. It means to wave or flap randomly - irregularly. Like the heartbeat of someone newly in love. Jittery, a little nervous, and pretty exciting.
It is not unlike my own feelings today as I take the final steps to make the book that I have written a reality. Hard to believe that three years ago, I began writing little updates to let family and friends share in the painful journey of the illness and death of my daughter. I continued to write after her death in September of 2008. In 2009, I "fluttered" at writing, flapping around irregularly, struggling with "how to write a book." I attended a writer's conference. I spoke with lots of knowledgeable people. I wrote and rewrote and threw away. Then in January of 2010, I committed to finishing the story and publishing it. By the middle of February, I finally felt I had written the story in a way that said it best. I then began to ask for help with the editing process from people I trusted and respected. Little by little, a book began to take shape. With the hand-holding of many people, it is done and ready to go to press with the title:
When God Comes Near
Waiting in the Miracle of His Presence
It is a story about hope. It is a story about faith when life falls apart. It is a story about choosing to believe in a God who was often silent, but always present. It chronicles the experience of receiving an incomprehensible diagnosis and waiting sixteen months for it to destroy the earthly life of beautiful 27-year-old Megan. And as the waiting continued, the writing progressed and wove itself into a thing of remarkable strength that helped me in my disbelief and despair.
As I say on this blog, I always wanted to write a cookbook. Well, this is hardly a cookbook. But my good friend reminded me that it really is in a way. He said it offers a recipe for walking through one of life's greatest hurts. Step by step, the book takes the reader from kicking and screaming in disbelief, to finding acceptance, and on to the discovery that suffering can be transformed into honey for others. Maybe that is what the book is - a small, transforming piece of hope that others can hold in their hand and read, discovering that they, too, can find hope and meaning through the valleys of life.
I continue to find quotes in Megan's papers. B.J. Hoff, the historical fiction author said, "I have learned to measure the ultimate strength of suffering, not by how much hurt it can inflict, but by how much of God's grace it will call forth." I look at the finished book, remembering all of the hurt, and yet, discovering the magnitude of God's grace that has been called forth throughout this time. Now I know that is the reason for writing and publishing the story. I hope you will read it and share God's grace.

In the Cool of the Day

The cool of a summer morning in my garden beckons me to work, work, work. As the sun comes up and the temperature rises, I move closer and closer to the shade of the porch and on into the cool of my home before the heat of the midday sun. The warming air feels good for a while, but some days the heat becomes unrelenting as the mercury climbs toward 90 degrees and above. And I run inside away from the heat realizing I am letting some things go in my garden. I become a fair weather friend, saying, "Ok, you're on your own now. I'm out of here. I have planted, fertilized, watered, and watched you. I cannot protect you from this heat. I'm sorry and good luck."
I make some notes as to what plants seem to do better in the extreme heat. Plumbago, my favorite blue annual from a more tropical region, is a perfect example of surviving. Maybe I will plant more of those next year in place of the petunias and impatiens who are screaming for relief. Their bright, happy colors have faded. I suppose they are a lot like people - they become somewhat pale and their veins recede further into their body when under stress. Preservation. Survival.
What makes us run when life get uncomfortable? Little things like the stacks of paperwork that needs our attention, or the laundry that needs folding, or the daily discipline of personal skills that need practice. Maybe it is simply writing a letter or calling a friend who needs our attention. We feel overwhelmed, overcommitted, and we run away from the heat of our responsibilities to find a cool place to find relief.
But finding what works to withstand the heat is a better option. Daily inspection of the garden does wonders for helping those struggling plants to survive. A little more water here and there, possibly some pruning or making a note to move something when the season changes will save the garden when the heat is unbearable. It applies to our lives as well. A quick, friendly call made, the paperwork sorted, work tasks and skills sharpened - whatever they may be - make for a meaningful day.
I ran into a friend the other day who is 86. She energetically told me that she took inventory at the end of every day as to what she had accomplished for good. She said she went over it with the Lord and allowed him to look over it as well and make recommendations or suggestions as to how tomorrow could be better. What if every day we began with the end in mind? What if we faced honestly the accountability of every part of our day? Would we be running or pruning? Watering or throwing out what was lost due to our own neglect? And at the end of the day, would we be willing to ask for and seek guidance from our Creator? Scripture says that God looked for Adam and Eve "in the cool of the day". He looks for us as well.

Garden Talk

The constant change in a garden makes me realize the speed at which this life moves. I wish I could put a video camera on the garden to just watch the constant changes that occurs. I wait each spring for the beautiful Siberian Iris to emerge. They pop up, striking in their royal velvet-purple, reigning victoriously over spring in contrast to the new beds of daffodils, and together they are a feast for the eyes for a few days. Then the daffodils fade, the irises lose their color and fade into the background, and all that is left is the green stems that held each perfectly shaped bloom. But the peonies open up and taking shape in another bed are the climbing roses, budding in peach and opening to white. They are like little bouquets climbing up the trellis. Below the lambs ears perk up, as if hearing that much is going on and it is time to wake up. As the roses bloom, the hydrangeas are just waiting in the wings for their turn on stage. It's like a grand concert - one that continues through the season with little intermissions between the array of colors. Watching it is music to my eyes - rest for my soul.

And then there are the vegetables. The sugar snap peas yielded five meals for two - that's not bad considering the row was only about five feet long. Now the beans are coming up behind them, chasing them up the trellis. Squash blossoms are everywhere and I am giving thought to frying some! Tomatoes are blooming and peppers are growing. But the granddaddy of them all is an amazing cucumber plant that threatens to take over the pergola. I love this plant. No matter how I train it to grow, it says, "Great! I like this way too!" The vine and leaves seem to be strong and healthy. And every morning when I come out, it has grown another six inches. Already I have picked two cucumbers and have visions of making pickles for everyone for Christmas. I love the way the tendrils curl and wrap themselves around anything that will support it. Healthy, content, and productive.

What is it about a garden that lures us, teases us, frustrates us, soothes us? The growing season is short. The weather can be unpredictable. Pests are just waiting for the right moment to attack. But when we start to see blooms and fruit, we are thrilled that something is coming from our efforts - however great or small they may be. Returning to my garden after a few days away, I was reminded what a gift the garden has become to me and how much I learn from the lessons offered there. I'm not that talented or knowledgeable, but I love to work and dig and plant. I love to pull up and plant again. I love to cut flowers and pick tomatoes - oh, please, let me pick tomatoes this summer!
There is a verse that says, "The earth is full of the goodness of the Lord." Looking at a garden is true expression of that goodness. Watching a bloom open or a vegetable grow is all part of waiting on God, watching Him work, hearing Him speak. Maybe that's it. We don't have much to say in a garden. We mostly listen. As we work, our minds and our hearts study and observe. We mentally take note of what needs to be done. We make changes. We move through and pull the weeds and water the dry spots. We prune the overgrown limbs, allowing for more light to come through. And as we carry out our silent work, God speaks to us. Our own silence allows us to hear better. He tells us how much He loves us and gives us guidance and direction. He shows us a better way and rewards our efforts. I love the way Alan Jackson sings about it:

I come to the garden alone while the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear the Son of God discloses
And He walks with me and He talks with me
And He tells me I am His own
And the joys we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known.

Walking A Dinosaur

While out of town last week, I went for my usual morning walk. It was a beautiful, cool morning in Kentucky and irises and peonies were blooming along the sidewalk. School buses were making their scheduled stops along my route, slowing everyone down on their drive to work. I was distracted, but energized by the new sights and unfamiliar surroundings.

On my return, I approached a mini-van pulled alongside the sidewalk. I slowed my pace and watched a mom helping her child get out of the car. He looked to be about four - maybe he was going to his sitter for the day. His hair was tussled and he was still wearing his bright yellow pajamas covered with big smiley faces. He reminded me of my son when he was four and how he loved wearing his Bert and Ernie jammies. This little guy was happily struggling with something that he was trying to get out of the car. As I got closer, he had what seemed to be a rope in his hands and I watched him pull and tug to get his possession onto the sidewalk. Finally his mom reached in and with a little help, out came his very own, large dinosaur-on-wheels. Evidently, the rope was the dinosaur's leash. As this little guy walked into the house, pulling his pet behind him, he would constantly turn back to make sure his dinosaur was obediently following. In they rolled, happily attached to each other for the day.

It was one of those scenes where your mind snaps a picture and you can't let it go. A painter friend recently told me it is called "artist eyes." Whatever it is, it dances around in your mind and you return home to paint it - or write about it. And as you mentally return to look at your mind's picture, you begin to think about what you have observed and then you mix it with what you know and it transforms into something meaningful to you - maybe even useful.

I pulled out the encyclopedia just to review dinosaurs and believe this particular pet was a Tyrannosaurus rex - you know, like Barney. The only one I can always remember is the Stegosaurus because he has the large "flower petals" down his back. To me, the others are not so distinct from each other - just big and a little scary and thankfully now extinct. But even though they lived about 150 million years ago, they still fascinate us. I love the photograph of my children standing in front of a dinosaur skeleton at the Smithsonian Institute, wide-eyed and truly impressed by the size of these prehistoric creatures.

This mental snapshot makes me smile every time I revisit the scene - a mommy and a happy child with a toy on a beautiful morning - that is basically what I saw. But I don't really know if he was a happy child - he just looked happy in those bright, smiley face pajamas. Maybe his parents were divorced and he was lonely and confused, clinging desperately to something he could control - his pet dinosaur. But the snapshot also sobers me. The thought of pulling a dinosaur on a leash offers another picture of pulling a heavy and cumbersome load. Some loads are small and we can mask them by wearing our bright happy faces. Some burdens are big and they are harder to handle, but we insist on tethering them to us, dragging them around. Oh, sure, they get in the way. Oftentimes they become the "elephant in the room" that no one knows exactly how to handle - even ourselves. So we pull it behind us, look over our shoulder to make sure it is with us. We have trouble getting around because of it. And it prevents us from moving forward in life. We cannot let it go.

Face it. Dinosaurs are extinct. Finished. They no longer have any power or presence in our world today. We don't have to face the return of Jurassic Park. We can rest fully at night, trusting that no dinosaur will step on our house and crush us while we sleep. But those personal dinosaurs are another matter. Our mind convinces us they exist and we must carry them around. What troubles you? Financial stress? A broken relationship? A career change? Loss of a loved one? Illness? Fear? A sordid past? Running out of smiley faced pajamas to wear? Is the leash of your dinosaur getting wrapped around your ankles and dragging you down? Or maybe you think you have conquered all your dinosaurs and pride - the scariest of all - has stepped in and made you your own god.

Unleash it. Let it go and start today to be the person God created you to be. Take the initiative to start with a fresh approach, looking ahead and not back. Be honest with yourself about who you really are in God's eyes. It is hard work. It is freedom.