Rigamortus Prayer Pig

This is a really funny but true story. Get ready to laugh. Okay, here goes...

It was probably January or February 2000 around 3pm. I had 3 children at that point in my life. Jeb was 6, Meghan was 4 and Reagan had just turned 2. It was raining and we were all headed to visit Daddy. We were driving to Bradenton from Okeechobee. ( If you are unfamiliar with Florida I will give a brief geography lesson. Bradenton is on the west coast between Tampa and Sarasota, and Okeechobee is 2 hours drive time straight across the state right above Lake Okeechobee. Rural, middle of nowhere, palmetto bushes, cows and wild hogs!)

The road conditions were a bit hazardous with the country 2 lane and the heavy downpour. The vehicle we were traveling in was probably even more dangerous. A burgundy Ford Explorer I lovingly referred to as the "Exploder." I am positive the tires were bald, the windshield wipers were shotty, at best, the right passenger window was held in place with duct tape, and when you went over a bump it would sometimes fall. My driver side door was held shut with a bungy cord. You had to get out by rolling down the window and opening it with the handle from the outside, after disconnecting the bungy cord. I could have pulled a "Dukes of Hazzard" move and just jump in and out of the window, but.... Explorer's are a bit high for petite moms that have a maximum height of 5'2'' with heels.

Can you say, "You know you are a redneck if..."

I promise I am telling the truth.

Now, back to the road. We were in a questionable vehicle and the road a bit "iffy." I could explain the atmosphere inside the vehicle, with a 6, 4 and 2 year old... but I am going to skip ahead and let your wild imagination just fill in the details. Whatever you come up with multiply it by 2 and you will probably get close to what was going on! I am also quite sure the decibel level was way above OSHA safety regulations. Huh? what did you say?

About 30 minutes into the ride, Meghan, my sweet little prayer warrior who was sitting up front with Mommy (before airbags people) she spots a dead hog on the road. He was rather large, black and white and just nasty looking. He was also dead as a doornail because he was stiff as a board. Hence, the word rigamortas.

"Mommy, look, it's a piggy on the side of the road. What is he doing?"

I could have lied to this blue eyed, blonde little angel...but, the pig was stiff! His legs were just sticking out there. He was so dead! I just didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to see her cry. she was so excited about the pig.

Mommy went with, "Honey, I don't think he is very well. I think he is sick, very sick. He may already be dead. Let's just not think about it."

"OH NO! He needs us to pray. Can we pray for the pig, Mommy?"

Not exactly the response I was expecting, but sweet. Alright, I will pray for the pig with her and she won't think about the pig and it will be fine. Yes, this will work. This will be just fine. Let's pray.

So, as I am driving in the pouring down rain, in a rolling health hazard with 3 children under 6 I started praying for a dead wild boar on the side of the road! I don't remember exactly how I worded the prayer. I had so many things spinning around in my brain and honestly,
roadkill wasn't exactly what I would have chosen to pray about. Knowing that this was one of those "teachable" moments you read about in those parenting books, I knew I had no other choice. Pray for the pig.

The prayer was said, and we continued on our journey. We visited with Daddy and headed back to Okeechobee the next afternoon. I never thought about the pig again. I slept just fine that night. I didn't pace the floor or worry about porky on the side of the road. Teachable moment, I seized it, sweet prayer we said it. Closure had occurred in my mind.

Little did I realize, the piggy story wasn't over.

Normal drive home. Well, normal for us. No major spills, no-one had thrown up, all body parts were intact and no rain on the horizon. Meghan was her cheerful little self. Things were going along just fine. We were about 30 minutes from our final destination. And that's when she noticed it.

The pig was gone!

Meghan started screaming at the top of her lungs. "He's gone, he's gone, Jesus made him all better. The pig got better. He's not sick anymore, Mommy!"

Sure enough, the pig was gone. No pig. We were in the exact place where we met Mr. Rigamortas. He wasn't there anymore.

Now I know what some of you may be thinking...wild animals could have run off with him, some crazy person could have snapped him up, no offense, I grew up in Okeechobee, it happens. There were a few scenerios that could have happened. Someone could have hit him with their car and he could have rolled down the hill!

In my heart of hearts I know what happened. The prayer and faith of my 4 year old had tapped into Jesus' power and that pig was raised from the dead!

So, that is how we came upon the Rigamortas Prayer Pig. I refer to it often with my friends. We have had so many laughs over that pig, but we have also increased our faith and seen how God works through prayer in a way we could never dreamed or imagined.

I mean, if you just could have seen how stiff his legs were............................................................

I Don’t Want A Fairytale, Just A Happy Ending

I used to have a cute, little, wooden, vintage looking sign that read in a whimsical font: Fairytales Do Come True. It was hanging above the door going into my master bedroom. I am getting ready to file divorce papers as I write this. Maybe the sign should read more like the title to this story.

I met him when I was 15. I obsessed over my true love for years. Through on and off dating, plenty of fights, kiss and make-ups, long distance relationships, 4 years of infertility, 5 children in 10 years, tons of overnight business trips, too many addresses to count, and “too little, too late” our 17 year marriage will end in divorce.

See, my fairytale was to be a stay at home wife and mom. Home-school my kids, have plenty of kids, even adopt a few, stay married forever and live close to the beach. (I used to want a llama, elephants, sheep, bunnies, and a maid...that was the “in my 20’s fairytale“, please! I woke up to reality on that one!) This fairytale was practical and plausible.

What I didn’t realize was, I was not in control. I should have figured that out with the whole 4 years of infertility. But see, that did have a happy ending. Five beautiful blessings from God! Something I will always be thankful for and give the Lord 100% credit!

Goal #1 Married to my High School sweetheart. Check.

Goal #2 Have a lot of kids. Check.

Goal #3 Live close to the beach. Check.

Goal #4 Home-school

Well, that will have to be a whole other story. God chose to give me strong willed children, and not exactly a home-schooling type temperament.
3 out of 4, not so bad.

Goal #5 Stay at home mom and wife. It took a little struggle, between self-worth, finances and discipline. MOPS {Mothers of Preschoolers weekly group) was also an integral part of the transition.
Check.

The only thing left was married forever and adoption.
Pretty good, huh?
I thought so myself.

Until. Until, no matter what I did or tried didn’t help.
No matter what or how I tried to control
EVERYTHING,NOTHING
Worked!

I sat in the shower just awhile ago crying and pleading with God. I made all kinds of deals with Him. I pleaded for normal, whatever that is. I told Him what I would give up. I told Him all the humanitarian things I was capable of. It was quite the scene. Sitting in a shower groveling with the Creator of the universe.

That’s when it hit me. The fairytale thing.

I thought of all my friends and the people I know of, not necessarily personally, but know of their story. They don’t have fairytales, either. I even thought of people in the Bible.

What about the woman at the well? Five husbands, that’s even something to talk about in 2009. I don’t think she had subzero refrigerator, either. Her water came from walking quite a distance, without Nike’s, throwing in the bucket, drawing the water and then carrying it back in a heavy jug. You couldn’t just walk up to the stainless refrigerator and press the ice and water button. Fairytale? Lifetime movie maybe.

There is a happy ending, though. In the Bible, that is.

The happy ending starts at the cross with suffering, continues with the resurrection and ends in Revelation when He rides in on a white horse!

Yes, I said, He rides in on a white horse. Here it comes. We do get a happy ending, we do!

I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean. Out of his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. "He will rule them with an iron scepter." He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written:KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.

Revelation 19:11-16

Sounds pretty fairytale like to me. The KING of KINGS and LORD of LORDS riding in on a white horse to slay the enemy with His sword.

Pain and suffering was not spared for Jesus as He walked the earth, why would we be spared. I guess there is no fairytale life here on planet earth. We do get a happy ending, though. Thank you Jesus. I will wait for the white horse and scrap the fairytale. Glass slippers sound very uncomfortable anyway!

Hearts

“Would God not search this out? For He knows the secrets of the heart.” Psalm 44:21

How many wish someone knew how broken their heart was? How many pieces is your heart in right now? Do you feel it is ripped, torn, tattered and bruised? Is there anyone who cares?
There is the child that may not understand all her letters or numbers like the other kindergartners and has changed schools twice this year and it’s only October. Her Mommy has an addiction and her “new” dad doesn’t act much like a dad should.
What about the teenager living in a house worth a half a million dollars, flat screens in every room, drives a brand new BMW and drinks every night alone in his room while he looks on the internet for love?
Maybe that single mom raising kids, working full time, having to make choices about whether to eat or pay the heating bill.
Who is sleeping in their car? A mom, a teenager, a dad, a son, a daughter, a baby, your niece, your sister, you?

The Lord knows the secrets of our heart.

He knows how upset you are about your boyfriend spreading those awful lies about you because you set a boundary.
He knows how hard it was for you to leave after he hit you.
He knows that you have a difficult time with that verse about feeding the sparrows you learned in Sunday school when you get your meal out of a dumpster behind that Mom and Pop diner.
He understands the pain you are in when you just can’t say no to the addiction and you want to so bad!

I don’t know the details of who He might bring into your life. I don’t know how He is going to take each piece of your shattered heart and take His super glue and put it all back together again. I don’t know how He wraps your heart in His hands and watches it beat again.

I imagine He puts it in a red velvet box and wraps it with the prettiest bow you have ever seen. He makes it new and gives it back to you.
He just asks that you guard it and keep it protected. Don’t just give it to anyone, choose wisely.

Maybe you should just give it back to Him…

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart…”
Proverbs 3:5 a

Cracker Barrel

“I’ll meet you at exit 172, there’s a Cracker Barrel, there,” and with that I hung up the phone. It had been a long 3 hour trip, but the kids were overflowing with excitement. It was during the holidays and this year they were bittersweet. We had just moved 3 hours away from our dream house on 2 acres and from friends and a town we had fallen in love with just a short 3 ½ years earlier. Anyway, we were meeting my oldest daughter’s best friend at the Cracker Barrel. She was coming to spend 4 days with us…everyone was excited, even me.

I am sure we were quite loud. I had taken the 2 little ones to the “potty,” and my son, other 2 daughters and Tori were all in the gift section of Cracker Barrel with Tori’s dad. We said our hello’s and goodbye’s and I was left alone with 6 kids, ages 3 to 13! No wonder every eye in the restaurant was upon us!

We were seated, got a booster seat with a buckle (a requirement) and ordered our drinks. People were still staring. I was beginning to feel somewhat annoyed. This is really not a horse and pony show folks!

My son, who isn’t always the most contentious type, pulled out his chair and it sort of went on the gentlemen’s foot. My son was polite, apologized and sat down. Accidents do happen.
This couple, the man with the injured foot and his wife with the laser beam eyes, were starting to take the noise at our table quite personally.

Now being the protective, don’t mess with my kids type of mom I started to get a little hot under the collar. At that very moment, though, I reflected on a past sermon. It was a particular story that touched me…you’ll have to wait for that one! Anyway, the Holy Spirit nudged me and I thought back to my days without children and my personal struggle with infertility. I thought, maybe they are annoyed because we are happy and my quiver is full and their’s is empty. Maybe, they just lost a loved one, my mind just kept coming up with scenario’s that might have left them bitter from life’s circumstances. Plus, going over there and chewing them both out would not have been a real mature example for my kids.

I summoned for our waitress, who was their waitress. I asked for their bill and asked her not to say anything about who paid it. I removed myself from the table, went and paid the check, I even left a tip. I came back to the table and told the kids. And added a big, “SHHHH! Don’t look!”
The table with the foot injury and laser eyes suddenly softened. Painful grimaces were replaced with 2 wide smiles. They looked around to try to find the payee…not telling. They inquired of the waitress again, nothing. Soon, the couple was holding hands.

My kids will never forget that story, I bet the couple won’t, nor the waitress! I had a choice that evening, and I have to say, I am glad I made the right one! Thank You Jesus!

Toddler Socks

I went shopping last night…all alone. Now, don’t go feeling sorry for me. It was quite a treat for me, mom with 5 kids! I listened to Christmas songs, looked at gorgeous decorations, viewed elaborate window displays, saw spectacular yards lighted up like Disney World, and even caught a glimpse of the Christmas boat parade when leaving the mall! It was satisfying, quiet, and peaceful, yet, a weird sense of unfamiliarity… I am never alone without my children!
With all this “quiet time” I was able to hear myself think. The mall seemed quiet for this time of the year. Everyone seemed to themselves, concerned enough with their own thoughts and preoccupations. In Gap Kids, an angry mom was returning a pair of socks, too small for her toddler. The socks had been washed and even with the receipt, and a very insistent mommy, the sales clerk was not budging on this return. They were face to face and “Mommy Dearest” was now beside the register in a sock tug of war.
I was busy finding p.j. sizes for a 10 year Christmas tradition with my best friend. (We get all 9 of our children matching p.j.’s every year!) This task can be quite daunting with children ranging in ages 4 to 18 at present! I had lucked upon the cutest pajama pants…red with black Scottie dogs! All I needed was 1 more size for the 4 year old and I was inquiring at the counter.
All my purchases were awaiting the total when I went back to check a size…”Entitled Mom” came and put 6 pair of toddler socks in front of my pile of goodies! Folks, this wasn’t “Return Mom,” this was a different mom in the same store with toddler socks! What’s the deal with toddler socks?
I do not believe in coincidences and this was not a coincidence.
There must be a message here for me in the toddler socks.
What is the Lord trying to say through 2 upset and distressed moms and 7 pair of toddler socks? There had to be a message.
Socks. Socks are basic needs. Socks for moms can even be a chaotic nightmare! Have you ever been responsible for laundering 49 pair of socks per week (that’s 78 individual socks), with sizes ranging from newborn to adult size 10 with every range between? (Now you see my primary reason for desiring year round flip-flop usage…it eliminates washing and drying and pairing 312 socks per month!) Socks also are a warm, cozy, simple pleasure in life. And personally, as a mom who has experienced labor and delivery 5 times… one of the hospital essentials is a brand new pair of socks! And for those parents that have “tag and seam sensitive” kids… again, the right brand and thickness of socks will either promote or hinder the morning routine.
Okay, so, what is the hidden message in toddler socks and harried moms?
Could the message be not to get unusually upset with the everyday necessaries in life to the point of developing an ulcer? Is it that we all need a laundry plan for our socks? Maybe, it’s that we all have a common bond…SOCKS…“we put them on 1 sock at a time..” Although, with toddler socks it can be more like a new Olympic event to get the socks matching and completely on the child within a reasonable time. Maybe it’s to appreciate those “terrific two’s…” I have a cousin I have been waiting to give a new pair of socks to for 3 years. She has had 3 miscarriages and I am sure she would love to wrangle with a toddler, purchase toddler socks, or even get toddler socks for a gift!
Lord, am I getting the toddler sock message?
What about those kids that have no socks? Maybe, holes in their socks, or not enough socks, socks that are too small, no-one to wash their socks, no-one to buy their socks, no-one to even care about their socks.
What about women who desperately want to be able to purchase a pair of socks and can not? Cannot because they have to choose between clothing and food. Cannot because they can’t get pregnant, have waited years on an adoption list, have lost their child to cancer or drug use or custody battles.

What about the moms that were buying the socks. They have money to buy designer socks. But they are angry and wounded and have lost the peace that can not even be enjoyed at this Christmas season. They may have money and prestige but no mood or peace. Their hearts are cold and hard like the “Grinch” with a heart that had grown 2 sizes too small.
Two sizes too small. That reminds me of the original scene last night at the mall. The mom returning the toddler socks that were too small.
I am not sure who won the exchange. Maybe the store clerk grew her heart 2 sizes too large and let the mom get a new pair. Maybe the mom walked away never to return to “Gap Kids.” I will not know the answer until heaven’s gate I enter.
I think I know the Lord’s message.
God will always let us make an exchange. Even if the merchandise has been washed and worn, shrunk or torn. He’s in the business of meeting our basic needs and growing our hearts 2 sizes just right. Returns need no receipt, no warranty, no extended purchase agreement, no 30 day policy or these parts not included. All we do is show up and ask.
The next time you see a pair of socks, wash a pair of socks, or have a missing sock; pray for the person wearing that sock or laundering that sock. Pray for kids without socks and moms and dads without socks to give. Maybe put socks on your Christmas list and include a prayer. I think we can all look at socks in a new way and remember the Lord’s message about “Toddler Socks.”
Merry Christmas and may your socks be hung on the chimney with PRAYER .

Paper Angels

In Isaiah 45:13 it says, “All your children shall be taught by the LORD, and great shall be the peace of your children.” I can’t think of a better way to get to that peace than by providing our children the basics. Every year there are thousands of children taken from moms and dads and put into the “system.” Kids need families not “systems.”

I happened on a tv show this summer entitled “Faith and Fame.” It is there that I witnessed the gut wrenching, yet inspirational rags to riches story of Jimmy Wayne. Now I knew who Jimmy Wayne was from country radio and also from having his first cd. I loved the song “Paper Angels.” What I did not know was his story. Wow, what a story. I have been quite dedicated to finding out every bit of information regarding that story since watching that episode of “Faith and Fame.”

I have my own story, too. I have been a victim of domestic violence and am in the middle of leaving that 17 year marriage. I have 5 kids and we have literally been penniless, homeless, stalked, harassed and put through the “system,” too . My story is happening every 9 seconds. My husband makes a 6 figure income, we have 2 houses in 2 different states, he drives a Bmw and is a high powered executive. Since leaving, I have had to work for the first time in 8 years, apply for food stamps, live in my parent’s 2 bedroom condo without any of our stuff, enroll the kids in a new school once again, change my phone# 3 times and say goodbye to my son who lives with my soon to be ex because there are no rules or boundaries at his house. (and that is just the tip of the iceburg.)

Paper Angels represent children who are in need. As a family we have always supported the Angel Tree each Christmas. There are so many of our children in need. My children are in need. Your children are in need. Our children are in need.
The tree seems bigger this year.

Let us bring peace to our children. Let us meet their basic needs. Let us gather together to help our widows and orphans. Let us see a paper angel and hold it in our hands. Paper angels were never meant to stay on the tree, they were meant to fly.

Blue Christmas

It’s very late…actually, it’s very early on Christmas morn, 1:39am to be exact. I am sitting on the couch watching the country music channel and Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” just finished playing. Sitting beside me on the table is a very blue stuffed Eeyore. I just had to move him because I couldn’t type without him getting in the way. It’s funny how “blue” can get in the way. It’s Christmas, but even at this most celebratory season, “blue” can just get in the way.

If you are a country music fan you might know Nan Kelly, a TV host recovering from Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. You might know someone closer to home where blue is getting in the way. Someone who is away from loved ones this Christmas. Someone who is suffering loss this season. Someone who is celebrating baby Jesus for the last time. Someone who will wake up to a quiet house on Christmas morning. I bet “blue” can get in the way of those scenario’s?

What about you? How is your Christmas? Is “blue” getting in the way? What do you do to move the “blue”? The “blue” I am speaking of is not a child’s stuffed animal you can pick up and just put somewhere else. Although, we try to just pick up “blue” and put it somewhere else, don’t we?

…when we pick up “blue” and put alcohol in its place.
…when we pick up “blue” and replace it with www. "something not so nice"
…when we pick up “blue” and exchange it for sweet, salty or sour.
…when we pick up “blue” and wrap it with a bow and give it curls.
…when we pick up “blue” and give it a name like religion.
…when we pick up “blue” and call it a “romance” novel.
…when we pick up “blue” and then pack it in the designer luggage.
…when we pick up “blue” and give it a makeover using anything green.
…when we pick up “blue” and call it anything but…

Again I will ask? What do you do with “blue”?
No-one wants a Blue Christmas.
We are all dreaming of a White Christmas!

The only thing I know to do with “blue” is to wash it whiter than snow with the crimson red color that comes from none other than the One and Only Master Craftsman, JESUS. He invented “Extreme Makeover.” And you can have one today.
No need to call Ty or wait for the cue, “Move that bus!”

He is there, ready and waiting. He is at the door knocking.
He has the demolition crew ready to knock down and destroy whatever it takes. He has contractors lined up to bring in quality material to re- build on a Rock solid foundation. He already paid your debtors, no notes or liens on this property. He even has a maintenance plan to keep everything running smoothly day to day.

It all starts with accepting the “red” that was spilled on the cross to change the “blue” to “white.”
No matter the strategy you have used to get rid of “blue”, if it doesn’t have the God + Jesus + Holy Spirit = Peace that passes all understanding Formula the “blue” will seep back in. No amount of alcohol, food, beauty, busyness, or covering up will ever get rid of “blue.”

You don’t have to live in New England to have a White Christmas.
You will find your White Christmas laying in a feeding trough in Bethlehem.

Embrace the Babe and you can say goodbye to the ever dreaded
“Blue” Christmas!

Charlie's Angel

Jeb, my only boy, was born 3 weeks early, no surprise to me. (He is the first born! They tend to be overachievers! ) He is handsome and smart. So smart. He blows me away sometimes. When he was 1, and I promise I am not joking, at age 1...he could do a form board puzzle in 30 seconds. His visual perceptual skills are amazing. I have so many memories of my "Rumby Bumby." When he was 8 months or so he loved for me to sing "You Are My Sunshine." He would grin ear to ear.



He was never a good sleeper. And for a first time Mommy, that doesn't help your ego.



I have a very fond memory when he was 3 years old of the sleep dilemma. It was right after Christmas and I was up making cupcakes to take to the hospital. I had a student, Charlie, in the hospital who was in a coma. Over Christmas break, he had a seizure and slipped into a coma and hadn't gained consciousness. I adored Charlie and right before the break I walked into my therapy room to discover a chocolate cream pie with a card that read "Merry Christmas. I love you Ms Beverley. Love, Charlie." In our daily conversations this tiny, wheel chair bound 12 year old with cerebral palsy had picked up on the fact that I loved Denny's chocolate cream pies. So, on my desk, set a Denny's pie he had talked his mom into bringing to me.



Now, back to my other little boy I adore, Jeb, my son. He would not stay in bed. I needed him to go to bed. I had to make these cupcakes. It wasn't going to happen, though. Okay, how do I get the cupcakes made with my 3 year old awake at 11:00pm? Give him something to do! He can mix the food coloring in the frosting! That's it. Here you go, Jeb. Bowl, frosting, spoon, food coloring. Take it away!



He stayed busy, made a mess, but stirred the food coloring and frosting like a true gourmet chef. The color was a little different. I can't even describe it, maybe, a teal, turquoise color would give you an idea. I had no choice, they had to be frosted, this unusual color would have to do. I needed to go to sleep.



We tackled the cupcakes and we won. 20 or so minutes later I had them loaded in a handed down corning ware dish. I searched and found the lid but something else was needed. I scanned the room. In the corner was a pile of boxes that still needed to be put away from Christmas. In the top of the box was a small rag doll type angel. Perfect. I can attach it to the lid. If the family ever needed hope from above, now would be the time, and an angel. Perfect.



Now, to put on the angel? Wait. You will never believe this. Maybe you will. The angel's dress was the EXACT color of the frosting! As I am writing this and remembering all the little details, it still makes me cry. How incredible is a God that would orchestrate such a thing?!



I took the cupcakes to the family the next day. I visited with them and saw Charlie. He was still in a coma. I kissed him and hugged him and begged him to wake up. He didn't listen, though. He went home to be with Jesus that night. His mom buried Charlie holding that angel.



I am so glad that I chose to let my son help me that night. As a mom with 5 kids and 14 years of parenting under my belt, I can't say I have always made good choices. I did that night, though, and the Lord blessed me, Jeb, Charlie and his family.



I pray that I will never lose that memory. It's a good one. It remids me of that Bible verse in Genesis, at the ending of Joseph's story. The one where God works it all out for good, what Satan means for bad.



I loved Charlie's Angels as a child of the 70's, I wanted Farah Fawcett hair, too! But when I hear Charlie and angel, it reminds me of the story I just told and it does my heart good. I hope you will remember this story about a boy named Charlie and an angel, with a smile. You might even shed a tear and say a prayer.