Well, You're Not Gonna Believe This. (But You Can)

   Well, all of my life I've been accused of being "so nicey-nice"...and it was said in a not-so-nicey-nice way, either.

    I guess that title went out the window one day when my Mom and I were rushing around the kitchen like mad women, trying to get a special dinner ready for company that was expected momentarily (from church, no less). As usual, my five kids, two of them mouthy teenagers, ("NOOOObody tells ME what to do; I'm an individual!!! If I don't want to help set the table, I'm not going to...so THERE!") were making things even more crazy, like shoving the squalling dog down the laundry shoot,  not ducking when their brother threw a boot at them and it went through the kitchen window, having to comfort little Joe, who came screaming into the kitchen, "Thom stepped on my ear!!! BAW!!!"

   The next thing I knew, Mom, standing beside me said, "Peggy Ellen Ganoung! I never thought I'd hear you say that word, even if you had a mouth full of it!" 

   She wasn't more shocked than I was. 

   I think as I get older my patience has worn thin and seems to have gotten thinner with age, but I'm not praying for more! I have learned that one. The Bible says, "Tribulation worketh patience", meaning a ton of trouble can so overwhelm you, I guess, that after a while,  you just don't have the wherewithal to fight anymore, so I guess all's you are left with is 'patience'. So, if you ask for patience, you will get what causes patience...tribulation aka TROUBLE. We already all have enough of that.

   All that being said, lately, I find myself being impatient over the least little thing, not so 'nicey-nice'. Cappy, poor guy, has borne the brunt of it...despite being the cause of it (in some cases). In our tiny house it's hard to move around without bumping into the other person. Racing up the hallway with a tall load of laundry and turn the corner, I'll run smack into him, while he's standing there quietly praying. He's done nothing wrong, but I get all irritated. Then, being a burn survivor, I want no-one in the kitchen while I'm cooking, but all of a sudden a hand will reach around in front of me to get a glass of water and I involuntarily "spazz out" flinching and shrieking. I'm not proud of this at all. I don't like being jumpy and/or then taking it out on Cappy. No wonder he's been praying for me so much lately. 

   Last week, I was busily rushing around with Christmas. Cappy had been ill the week before, so going to the doctor, he learned that he had a slight case of pneumonia (again). Even when he's not ill, I dote on him hand and foot, because it's what I like and need to do. 

   He insisted that I go to church the next day, while he stayed home, trying to get better. That was the plan, but this particular night, the night before church, I wanted no interruptions to hinder the huge list of holiday things that I wanted to somehow joyfully accomplish. I didn't even want to stop for one of the many hugs that Cappy insists on during the day right in the middle of everything. (He is so sweet, tho'!)       While I was hurrying, I found a pair of sandals on top of the dryer that I needed to take to the bedroom and put away, before I scrambled onto my next needed task. I grabbed them and was on my way when I spotted Cappy patiently standing there in the kitchen smiling at me and wanting another hug..."Noooo!" I hollered and angrily stomped into the bedroom and plastered my bare foot onto the big thick, solid wooden foot of the bed leg.

   I heard the bone break, I felt the bone break and seperate, the sandals went flying. I fell onto the bed. This was not like the other times I had bashed my foot into this bed leg. This was sickening. This was bad. My howling brought Cappy right in, of course. He had to help me get anywhere that night. Saturday night...Christmas Eve, Eve. I did not want to go to the ER that night..."the road is already dangerous and tonight there are probably a lot of drunk drivers out celebrating, I'll wait until morning (Christmas Eve morning) and go then."

  I had a terrible time sleeping with my foot hurting so badly. Morning was worse with my foot swollen and black and blue. Cappy helped me into my chair in the den while we figured out our next course of action to get me to the ER, with him sick with pneumonia. We knew that our neighbors were mostly all out of town. Hmm. What to do. We called our pastor to ask for prayer and to explain that we wouldn't be there that morning and that we were on our way to the Emergency Room. 

   I had to ask Cappy to bring me this, bring me that, do this and do that. I hated asking him to do all that and him not well. I'd hate asking him to do all that even if he were well. How were we going to manage all this for the next who knows when? I have never done well with crutches, either. Lord please Help us!

   Cappy brought me a walking stick so that with it, he could help me get to the bathroom to clean up, etc. before we left. The pain was so bad that it made me sick to my stomach. He left me sitting on the potty and brought some clothes, then went out into the den to wait for me.

     While I was sitting there I dreaded the thought of the doctors manipulating my foot and the excruciating pain that would probably cause. I wished that I could just sit there on the toilet and go to sleep and wake up and everything would be fine again.

   "Lord," I prayed, "I know that you are not a liar; what You say is True. Your WORD says that 'signs and wonders follow those who believe', well, we are Your kids and we believe!" I told my foot, "Be healed in the Name of Jesus, by The Power of the Holy Spirit!"

  I could hear Cappy out in the den, "Google, muh sugar..."

    I wondered what in the heck was he googling sugar for? 

   Alright now, how was I ever going to get into the bathtub with my foot in such pain? Sighhh...was I going to have to ask Cappy to help me in there? Then I was sure he'd look at me. (Women of a 'certain age' do not want anyone looking at their unclothed body; not even their husbands.) 

   "Google...what is 'muh sugar...' something or other," I kept hearing from out in the other room.

  It was going to be bad enough to have to get up and stand there by the sink to brush my teeth.

   "Google, muh-sugarrrr..." 

    What in the world was he doing out there when I needed him in here to help me?

    I felt it was time. I 'felt' "it'll get easier with each step". 

    Really...?

   I struggled to get up with the stick and made it to the sink.

   Huh? What? No pain? None? Nothing!?? I stood there and felt like 'somebody' said, "Go ahead and stomp with it."  

    Seriously? I lifted my foot and (still no pain at ALL) lightly "stomped" it...shocked...it felt normal. Wait...how was that possible?

    Welllll....I marched right out into the den like a majorette, sans a baton, and paraded back and forth from the den to the kitchen several times while Cappy sat there speechless staring. 

   He said, "I need to tell you something...I was in here intensely praying so hard for you, then I knew you were in such pain that I asked, 'Lord, is it that you don't want to heal Peg's foot? And right away I heard the word, 'muh-shoo-gah-lah'. Plainly...very plainly. I never heard that word before, so I googled it several times and it means, 'ridiculous, foolishness'...the answer to my question. Like The Lord was saying 'That's ridiculous that I wouldn't want to heal her foot.'"

   I looked it up, but spelled it wrong. Mahshuga is Hebrew/Yiddish for things like, "Are you crazy?" That's a good one, Father!! 

  So, that's the truth. He still does perform miracles. He is our Loving Father. 

   As far as me, his daughter, and His teaching me (we are never too old to learn) that night, there was a slight twinge in the area of my foot (that I know was broken, but was now completely healed) as a "reminder to hold your temper". 

   With Your Help Holy Spirit, I will try to stay your "nicey-nice" daughter.  Amen