My Father’s House

Life has changed since the simple days of my childhood. I’m number seven of ten children born to my parents, Travis and Rachel. I grew up in a four-bedroom house. Needless to say, we shared bedrooms. I didn’t have my own room until I was well into my teens.

I’ve heard that love grows best in small houses and I believe it’s true. There was a lot of love in our little home.

Countless times, Dad grabbed his guitar and started singing silly old songs or tear-jerkers with all of us kids sitting around him as his captive audience. We learned the words to many songs. Most of us were singing harmony at very young ages.

Mom loved to cook, read and crochet. She was a master bedtime story-teller. I learned a few things from her, too.

Somehow, I turned fifty years old earlier this year. It sure did creep up on me. I can hardly believe Dad is now eighty and Mom is seventy-nine. Where has the time gone?

My husband and I moved to Tennessee in 1992 and Dad still hopes I’ll move back home to Missouri. I don’t assume ­-- he brings it up nearly every time I visit.

“So, are you planning on making your home in Tennessee or do you think you might come back to Missouri?”

Now, his memory is pretty bad and it’s difficult to hear him ask me these questions. Partly, because Tennessee has been my home for about twenty-five years. But also, because I wish it was that easy. There are jobs to think of and our children were raised here so this is their home, too.

The last time I visited he said, “You know we’ll do whatever we have to do to help you get back home. We always have a place for you. Whatever it takes, we’ll help you get home.” Then, right before I left, he reminded me again, “Don’t forget what I said.”

I held back tears as I sat in my car ready to leave my parent’s home. Dad stood in the garage waving goodbye as he’d done a hundred times before and I could barely handle it. 

How do I get back to my childhood and sit around singing songs in the living room again as he plays the guitar?

His generous words offering a place for me at home reminded me of our heavenly Father and the place He has prepared for His children. A place where we never have to say goodbye and there won’t be tears of sorrow but only tears of joy. I’m so thankful that when this life is over, we will truly be home.

My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? John 14:2 NIV

Blindsided by Suicide

My family didn’t know much about depression until my twenty-four-year old nephew, Brandon, took his own life two years ago. We were all in complete shock.

How could he leave in such a way? How could he leave his parents and siblings distraught and destroyed? What happened?

In High School, Brandon excelled in sports. He ran track and played football. He had his choice of colleges to choose from and though he initially chose to attend Stanford on a full-ride scholarship, he changed his mind and went to Kansas University to be closer to his family in Missouri. We were all busting with pride over Brandon. Not only was he going to college, but he was playing football and who doesn’t like college football?

He was red-shirted his freshman year which means he didn’t participate in competitive sport for the entire academic year. He attended KU for five years as a result. Unfortunately, he suffered injury after injury during his time at Kansas University. His freshman year, he broke his ankle and had surgery to repair it with a plate and seven screws. His sophomore year, he got a concussion and was knocked out. He had lines in his vision for a month and was unable to play. He even tore his hamstring which was reattached with surgery.

By his senior year he blew his right knee out and had surgery to fix it with a hamstring tendon. Also, he had a lot of bell ringer concussions that he didn’t report because he wanted to play. The last year injury was devastating because he was the starting running back and it was his year to shine. Before the season officially began, he was on the bench with another injury for his entire senior year.

Everyone was disappointed but Brandon was crushed.

He graduated from KU and went on to play football one more semester at Washburn University in Topeka, Kansas. There, he was the captain of the team and star running back. He had a great end to a difficult college football career.

A college graduate in search of a job, he moved home with his parents to the small town of Potosi, Missouri. No one seemed to understand his sudden disinterest in football. He’d wanted to be in the NFL for years but it was no longer an interest to him.

Recruiters called Brandon but he responded with, “I’m done playing ball.”

He told his parents that he felt like he had to be a gladiator and couldn’t do it anymore.

The last two weeks of his life, he spent almost all of his money. He traveled to see his best friend and former college room-mate, Ben, in another state who noticed Brandon was different and called his parents to let them know he was concerned about him. Brandon’s parents sat down with Brandon and had a serious discussion about the direction of his life. He responded to their concern by stating, “You two are my greatest blessings.”

He seemed more interested in going to church than anything else. He cried a lot and talked about God. He went to talk to his Grandpa (my Dad) about God and asked Dad to pray for him which he did. Some thought he might be feeling called into ministry. He’d become a Christian a few years earlier while in college.

On April 2, 2016 he left in his silver van to go to church. He’d asked his Grandpa to go with him and went to see him right before he left to see if he felt like going. His Grandpa declined the invitation and that was the last time any of his family saw Brandon alive. He never made it to church that evening for the revival. He drove off in the opposite direction.

I’ll never forget my sister calling me to tell me that she’d had to report him missing. I thought it was surreal –

Missing?

I lived in another state and had no idea how desperate the situation really was. I imagined he would be home any moment. There was no need to worry about Brandon. He was such a great kid and always made his parents proud.

But he didn’t come home and there was no activity on his cell phone. They’d picked up the last ping from his phone off a cell phone tower many miles away. A massive search for him was covered by the local news. 

Six days later, they found him sitting in his van by a river with a gunshot wound in his head.

Not all severely depressed people look like this, but there are signs.

You might think they are just acting strange, going through a difficult time, or trying to figure out what on earth to do with their life. But, please don’t assume they are okay. Ask them if they are depressed and even ask them if they are suicidal. If you don’t ask, you won’t know.

It’s hard to see depression if you’ve never been around someone who has fallen into it. Brandon always smiled and never complained. He didn’t necessarily look depressed. Although, he’d always kept his hair and beard trimmed, his mom noticed he stopped caring so much about his appearance. She thought he was simply growing his hair out to attain the popular man-bun. Looking back at his pictures, you can see a difference.

 

Brandon didn’t wear black clothes or stay in bed all day. He got up and went to the gym almost every day. He went mushroom hunting, shopping and spent time with friends. His parents noticed something was wrong but they just didn’t realize how urgent it was. Like most of us, they weren’t educated about depression. They never dreamt for a second that their beloved, educated, college football playing son was suicidal.

Have you ever heard of chronic traumatic encephalopathy, a degenerative brain disease also known as CTE?  If you haven’t, don’t feel alone. We had never heard of it either. Shortly after Brandon’s death, some friends and family asked about having him checked for it.

His parents requested they test him for it but unfortunately, due to the length of time he was missing, they were unable to test his brain for the disease which mostly effects athletes who’ve sustained head injuries such as concussions.

After learning more about the disease and how it causes severe depression and suicide, they are convinced this is what happened to Brandon. Hindsight is 20/20. Looking back after the fact, the signs of CTE were all there, they just didn’t know to look for them.

According to WebMD:

Suicide Warning Signs

Any of the following could be potential warning signs for suicide:

• Excessive sadness or moodiness
• Hopelessness
• Sleep Problems
• Sudden calmness
• Withdrawal
• Changes in personality and/or appearance
• Dangerous or self-harmful behavior
• Recent trauma or life crisis
• Making preparations
• Threatening suicide

If you have a loved one or friend showing any of these signs, take notice especially if they are an athlete or former athlete. Don’t be blindsided by suicide.

From the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline website:

We can all help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals. 1-800-273-8255

 

The Last Bike

I see the bike laying on the garage floor as I pull in. I slow down and stop before I bump it with the front of my car. My youngest son has decided this is the place to park his bike.

Its been there for weeks when he’s not riding it but I haven’t found it in my heart to complain. It’s been spray painted more than once and is almost used up.

I probably would have asked my two older sons (when they were still living at home) to move the bike and park it elsewhere. But not him. And not because he’s special or anything. It’s just that I realize this is the last bike. 

He’s the youngest of our three boys so we’ve had quite a few bikes thrown about. They’ve been laying on the garage floor, thrown on the sidewalk, left in the middle of the yard and taken apart to be worked on, or tires changed - everywhere. 

Next month he will turn fifteen and get his driver’s permit. He will become consumed with driving. I know this because of his two older brothers who have already left the nest. 

Soon, he won’t care about his old bicycle at all. It will become junk in his eyes, and end up abandoned beside the shed where it will rust and collect spiderwebs.

My oldest son is getting married a week from today. I thought I’d be emotional about that but I’m nothing but happy for him and Megan. They're going to make a great married couple and I can’t wait to celebrate. 

Instead, I find myself mournful over my youngest son hitting this stage of life. I can’t stop the tears as I grieve the passing of his childhood. It went by too quickly. He wanted to grow up and be like his older brothers. And that’s wonderful because they are good older brothers. I just wish I could turn back time and enjoy him again as a child.

So, I snap a picture of the bike. A reminder of a childhood almost gone and the last child almost grown. 

And I don’t mention anything to him about better places to park the last bike.

Mr. Google

Hi. My name is Melinda and I’m directionally challenged. 

It all started back in the seventh grade in Mrs. Griggs’ class. We were studying the direction of highways and I just didn’t get it. She found it odd that such a simple concept was beyond my comprehension. I did well in her class in every other area. 

I’ve gone the wrong direction too many times to count. It’s a running joke at my house that if I’m heading to Nashville then I’ll end up at Percy Priest Lake. Ha! That’s only happened a few times, though.

Before the GPS, I’d make my husband draw me a map showing me exactly which road to turn on. Right or left. None of that - North, South, East or West stuff – PLEASE! With his map in hand, I easily made it to my destination because it was laid out for me in detail in a simple way that I understood.

My GPS has stopped working so I attempted to use Google Directions in order to get to a friend’s house last night for a meeting. I put the address in and headed down the road with no worries of getting there on time since it was very close to where I live. I’d made an appetizer and it shouldn’t have taken me over thirty minutes to get there even with school bus traffic.

However, when I first put in her address, I looked at the map. I felt pretty certain where in the Goodlettsville area her house was located. So, when the directions had me going the back way, I thought I’d just drive to the main street in her town and figure it out from there. Big mistake. 

I ended up pulled over on the main street trying to find an address on a building to put into my phone so I could get back on track again. It was now the time I said I’d be at her house. I would be late. After two attempts to find my way from my new location using my phone, I grudgingly dialed my husband, Mr. Google, and asked for help.

“Give me her address,” He said. Then he asked, “Where are you?” Then I heard a low laugh and he advised me, “You’re way off. You need to get back onto Long Hollow Pike and head the other direction…” Of course, he then gave me landmarks to look for and which side of the road to turn off of, etc. I finally made it to my friend’s house for the meeting.

I would love to blame the issue on Google Directions because it didn’t speak the directions to me out loud and I didn’t want to be fumbling with my cell phone while I was driving. But since this has been a lifetime problem for me, I really can’t blame Google.

But I have to accept the fact that I am direction-ally challenged.

I think everyone is when it comes to getting through this life. We don’t want to follow directions. We think we can figure things out on our own and find our way. This is why I’m so thankful for God’s directions He left for us. I read them. I do my best to follow His direction. Because without them, I’m LOST. That much I know.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with My eye upon you. Psalm 32:8 ESV

PS. I’m also thankful for my husband, Mr. Google. 💜

Following

Growing up, I had a pesky little sister four years my junior. She seemed to follow me everywhere. If I wanted to go for a walk to get away from her or ride my bike, suddenly she wanted to do the same thing.

It was annoying to have someone following me. Trying to lose her was sometimes fun, though. 😆

It's funny that now-a-days everyone seems to want others to follow them. We see this daily in our news feed. Follow me on Instagram. Follow me on Twitter. Follow my blog. Follow me...follow me...follow ME. Everybody wants a following.

To those of us who have pages of some sort, followers are important. 😀

Does it cost us anything to follow someone? Not really.

Eventually, we may see too many posts or emails from them. It might get on our nerves. Then we simply "unfollow" the page or blog and move on with our lives.

All this following got me to thinking about Jesus though.

As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, He saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. "Come follow Me," Jesus said, "and I will send you out to fish for people." At once they left their nets and followed Him. Mark 1:16-18

He was the first person that I know of to ask others to follow Him. (hehehe)

When He asked His disciples to follow, they dropped whatever they were doing and followed. They left their jobs. They left their families. It cost them a lot to follow Jesus. But what they gained was PRICELESS. He is the one person that EVERYONE should be following.

As for my little sister, I wish there was a way to go back in time and enjoy those early years with her again. I'd handle it a bit differently and ask her to follow me. ❤

Like Him...

Recently, our first grandchild was born. It was so exciting. There were several other family members at the hospital awaiting her birth with us. One of those, was her Great Grandma, Gandy. We noticed she disappeared around eight thirty but didn't think too much of it until my son, who was in the delivery room, stopped texting me.

Something was happening.

Great Grandma Gandy came strolling back to the waiting room. Took her seat across from me and said, "I think I heard a baby cry."

There were other babies down the hall so we suggested it might be one of those babies she heard but she responded, "No, I had my ear to the crack of the door...listening."

I'm sure I gasped. But honestly, I was impressed. It hadn't even crossed my mind to try and listen at the delivery room door!

She was right. A few minutes later, my son texted me and said, "She's here!"

We were buzzing with excitement waiting for someone to come and give us more information. Like how much does she weigh? Does she have hair? Is everything okay?

Then my daughter-in-law's mother came down the hall and said that they had taken the baby to NICU. She was okay but having trouble breathing. It seemed she'd inhaled amniotic fluid into her lungs.

That's when our excitement and joy turned to concern. We expected everything to go well with her birth and planned on holding her that night. Instead, we visited with everyone in our daughter-in-law's room and realized we weren't going to be allowed to see the baby anytime soon.

Everyone was disappointed but thankful she was in good hands and that our daughter-in-law was doing well. So, eventually, we called it a night and headed home. We didn't see our granddaughter  or touch her. Holding her was out of the question.

The next day, we were allowed to scrub up, wear masks and visit our granddaughter in the NICU. We could touch her but nobody could hold her except for her Momma.

It was five days after her birth when we were finally allowed to hold her. By then there was some anticipation built up. 😍

So, when I held her with nothing attached to her, it was priceless. She'd just eaten so she was content and awake. I enjoyed her so much. It was more wonderful than I imagined.

Most interesting, was observing her little features. Her eyes and mouth look like Sydney, her Momma and she has her dark hair.

She has my son's distinctive little ears and the famous "Eye toes" that run on my side of the family. (They will pick things up off the floor if you're too lazy to bend down to get something. tee hee)

Those features are my son's. But they are also mine.  I know she's like him because of what I see in her. He got those features from me and I got them from my Dad. It gave me a wonderful feeling to see those same features in my granddaughter.

Surely, our Heavenly Father feels the same way when He observes His Son's features in us. ❤

Children's children are a crown to the aged, and parents are the pride of their children. Proverbs 17:6