Bob's Story

Based on a true story.

Bob's Story As I Know It

He'd started the day with $3 in his pocket. He'd worked at the same place for 30 years. He is married, but drugs and alcohol on the part of other family members have left him broke and broken. He can no longer pick up the pieces of the life he once knew. So he chose to follow the advice of wise counsel and start over. A friend and former co-worker promised help to find a job and a place to stay while he got back on his feet. It was a humble offer, but the promise of stability and hope was too great to refuse.

Not having a car to make the greater-than-70-mile journey was an issue that could hold him back no longer. He started walking east. He was used to walking. To the store, to work. The hours rolled by and the Tulsa skyline began to fade like the past he was leaving. He willed himself not to even look back. The decision was made, he was starting over. Leaving it all behind.

Cars zoomed past him, still, he walked. Sweat poured down his face as the afternoon sun beat down on him. Thankful for his hat, he trudged on. Three dollars doesn't go very far for something to eat, but he was much more concerned about water. A Monster and a gallon of water would get him out of town. He had no idea how far it was to Siloam Springs, but he knew he could walk a little further.

By evening he was hungry, tired, lonely. Ribbons of road stretched endlessly before him. He'd never been to Siloam Springs. He had no idea how much further he needed to go. He'd turned his phone off to save the battery. He didn't need to know, it made no difference, he just had to go. So he walked on.

A police officer stopped to question him. He did not relish telling the story and explaining why he was walking so far. Perhaps a bit of hope for help along the journey came to mind. But it was a fleeting thought. The officer wasn’t interested in helping him, just keeping his people safe. Convinced Bob was not a threat, the officer went back to the rest of his duties. Bob kept walking.

No one else stopped. Cars passed by. Some moved over to the other lane, others didn’t. The wind was a nice break from the heat. Sometimes he wondered how far he’d come and how far he had to go. He began thinking about his options. He knew he could not walk all night. Maybe he’d make it all the way to Siloam before he was too tired to keep going. What if it was further than he could walk? Would it be safe to sleep alongside the road? That was the plan, to just curl up on the grass and rest until he could keep going. He had long since given up hope that someone would stop.

Cars passed, he walked.

He saw brake lights. A car pulled over up ahead. A tinge of panic swept over him. He was too tired to fight. It was dark enough that he could not see. The vehicle seemed to back up a few times, then it stopped. He walked slowly. Hope began to drive out the fear. He walked a little quicker. He approached the car and began to make a path to go around it.

A tiny figure of a woman jumped out of the car and offered him a ride. All fear left him, and he agreed. His weary body melted into the passenger side of the car. It smelled faintly of old smoke and sickly sweet deodorizer. A computer bag, purse and some other shopping bag not filled with food were all he saw in the Jeep. She seemed kind. Anyway, he was too tired of walking to be afraid. She was talkative but guarded. He was distracted. Finally, he realized she was asking his name. Bob. He told her he was walking to Siloam Springs. The questions came. She was making conversation. It was work. He wasn’t much of a talker.

He asked how far it was to Siloam. As she explained he realized just how far he still had to come. Relief. Thankfulness. The reality of the situation. The weight of the decision. The consequences. The hope. The sheer exhaustion. Like waves, these thoughts and emotions washed over him. The miles flew past now. He imagined walking each one. He began to open up and tell of his day. She was easy to talk to as most strangers are. But she listened. She spoke of God. There was a confidence about her in the way she spoke about HIm.

“He wanted to bless you today, Bob. He has plans for you.” He said nothing. The periods of silence grew longer as she drove. She was thinking. She shared that she had been in Tulsa to see her father in the hospital. She, too, had had a long day. She, too, was tired. Earlier she had mentioned that her exit was not the last on the turnpike. That there were a few miles before it ended then miles more before he would reach the Arkansas border. His thoughts returned to where he would sleep. How he would walk the many more miles to go. He was too grateful to ask her to go further. She was deep in thought, her hand occasionally still touching her phone which she kept tucked under her leg. She offered him her phone charger when he mentioned that he’d turned his phone off to save the battery.

She stopped to pay the toll. She fished five bills out of her purse. She fed three into the bill changer and paid the toll. He wondered why, if they had a machine that could take bills to give change, they didn’t have a machine that could take bills to pay the toll. She handed him the two other bills. He was confused.

“You are going to need money.” she said, “It isn’t much, but it is more than you had.”

He tried to refuse but she insisted, telling him of how just the other day someone had helped her out.

“When you get on your feet, you can do this for someone else.”

Bob stammered out a thank you. There was no pity, no judgment in her words, just an expectation and a desire to help. She seemed so sincere. And she had made up her mind.

“I’ll take you all the way to Siloam.” She said. “That is where I go shopping, and I know the main streets, but your friend will have to give me directions to where he lives.”

Bob was speechless. He was not expecting that. They drove on, and she laughed, telling him again that she had never stopped to help a man before. How she had forbidden her daughters from stopping to help men while they were alone. She spoke highly of her husband. How he loved to help others. He wondered if she was just talkative or if she was mentioning her family because she was still a bit scared. She called her children to let them know she was going to be later than expected. There was a guardedness in her voice that she tried to hide. She was definitely a little concerned about the decision to help him.

“I just can’t imagine you walking all this way. I’m so glad I stopped.” She said it as they reached some hills. Of course, she had known they were coming. There was nothing in sight for miles. Bob was glad he hadn’t known how far it was.

“I’d still be walking.” He said. “I’d have been walking for days.” He said it more than once. The idea dawning and taking root deeper and deeper each time. “And no one else stopped all day.” He was so very thankful. He hoped she knew it. He wasn’t much for words or expressing emotions.

In Siloam, he called his friend. The friend gave directions. It took a few minutes for them to realize the friend was not in Siloam Springs, but further away in a place called Tontitown or Springdale. He kept saying both. His directions were fuzzy, but he mentioned a gas station and a highway. Bob had no idea where either of those was, but she did. She sighed. She was so very tired. She thought about Bob and how far he’d walked. She agreed to take him on down the road to meet his friend. It was more than he could have hoped for. His gratefulness was genuine. She wondered about the friend. She hoped she wasn’t making a costly mistake. She prayed again and again. In every span of silence, she prayed.

They talked easier now. A friendship forged by darkness and long roads and no radio. The drops of silence became fewer. Still, she talked more than he did. He figured that was probably true of most people. She said it again, that God must have wanted her to help him. She wasn’t trying to push it on him or even get him to believe it. She stated it as fact. It was obvious SHE believed it. Bob wasn’t sure about God, but he’d never met another person like this woman. They talked of politics and children and life. Most of the time she asked gentle questions to keep the conversation going, or made general observations to spark a new topic. Bob wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and he was tired. But he was glad to answer her questions. It was what one might call a pleasant conversation. He hadn’t had many of those lately. Life had not been pleasant in a long time.

They met with the friend who was waiting to meet someone else he owed money to. The friend was on a scooter of some kind. He explained that Bob could not ride on it with him to his house from there, and asked if she’d bring Bob to his house after he paid his friend. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Bob was apologetic. She put him at ease.

She had felt a disquieting wave of unrest wash over her as soon as she met the friend. That didn’t take any kind of special dispensation of God. The friend was restless and jumpy. His greeting reminded her of a stereotypical used car salesman. Everything about him was insincere. The story was that he was meeting a friend from whom he had borrowed money from. He was going to meet this friend at her work, give her the money he owed and get some computer parts from her. He was supposedly fixing a computer for her. The friend was supposed to be at work at 11.

At 11:15, they were still waiting. She began texting her husband more frequently. She was getting nervous. She prayed even more earnestly in the silences. For her own safety. She did not trust this friend. Bob seemed to sense her thoughts and tried to reassure her that this friend was a great guy. She suspected this friend was not a great guy.

The friend was talkative without saying much. He bragged of being disrespectful of law enforcement and knowing how to push their buttons. He told of stories of mutual harassment. He mentioned offhand that he was a felon. She mentioned offhand that all of her husband’s family was in law enforcement.

She prayed for protection over Bob. Was he leaving one drug-riddled hellhole for another?

Finally, the friend was able to make the exchange and they were ready to begin the next leg of the journey. And again, the story changed. The friend said they were going to a place called Canehill, AR. She mapped it on her phone. She sighed when she looked at the time it would take. Bob apologized again. She smiled a weary smile. She wanted to help him make his new start. He was already a step behind, and how could she leave him there with miles and miles to go?

The friend explained that he was going a different way. “I can’t go on the highway on my scooter,” he said. She offered to follow him.

“I live on a dirt road,” she said. “I know about back roads.”

But of course, that would not do. The friend was afraid he’d go too fast for her and lose her. By this time she knew the friend was trouble. She knew there was no convincing him otherwise. She agreed and they set out. Talking, silence, talking, silence. Perhaps the silence felt deeper this time. They turned off the highway onto smaller and smaller roads. She turned onto a tree-lined road and dipped into a bank of fog. She really hated driving at night. She was out of ideas of things to say and questions to ask. She had been up since 5:30 that morning. She was tired.

“I am sure God wanted me to help you. He wants to bless you today.” She didn’t know why she said it again. Who was she trying to convince? This time Bob said, “I know.” She smiled. The GPS voice broke the silence. Thank God for GPS.

She remembered when they’d just moved and the first time she’d gone to the airport to pick up her husband after he’d been away at work all week. Her phone had lost signal and she had no idea which way to go. She had been so scared driving on unfamiliar roads hoping for a sign to tell her where to go. Being lost is the worst feeling. She clung to her phone and was grateful for every bar of signal. She wondered if she'd be able to keep signal and get them to Canehill. Bob remarked that he had gone completely out of his coverage area. His phone was useless. Perhaps he could sense her thoughts, or perhaps he was just also happy to see each turn illuminated as they made their way deeper into the darkness of the night, careening toward an unknown future.

They arrived before the friend and waited. At 12:19 they called him. He said he had stopped for gas but would be there in 20 minutes. She stayed. At 1:00 they called the friend again. As if to answer, a single headlight appeared. The friend pulled up and began making arrangements for Bob to ride with him on the scooter the rest of the way. Bob turned to the woman and thanked her. She offered him a blanket to keep him warm for the rest of the way. He refused. She wanted to tell him to get back in and make other arrangements. But she didn’t. She turned the Jeep around and reprogrammed the GPS on her phone. “Home” was all she had to say.

“You are on the fastest route.” Came a familiar voice. “ You should reach your destination by 2:05 a.m.”

Looking Back

I'm sitting in a hospital room listening to my father breathe. He's just gotten out of surgery. I've done this before. In January he had open heart surgery after having a stroke while visiting me in November. I'm comfortable here in this hospital. In a sad kind of way. I know which floor is the ICU floor. I know where the coffee makers are, the bathrooms. Somewhere there is a maternity floor, I bet. A much happier floor than the ones I am familiar with. On the fourth and fifth floor, people usually talk in quiet voices. Tears and red, puffy eyes are not uncommon. People are generally nice to strangers here on these floors. But within families emotions can run rampant. Emotion drips from the ceilings, it settles in the waiting rooms like fog above our pond out back.

I'm not really the emotional type. But I have my moments when every little thing makes me want to cry. The past four months have been like that. My friend Debby calls it being "emotionally wealthy." It almost sounds pretty when you say it like that. I know people who make emotionally wealthy look graceful. I'm not like that. I don't really "do" emotions well except for happy and excited. Those I do really, really well!

Today was not bad. It was sort of emergency surgery, but as far as surgeries go, it is one of the easier ones. He is high risk because of his recent open-heart surgery and subsequent very slow recovery.

So I've been here today, trying to love on him, trying to love on her. Just to be with her while we wait. Surgery was later than expected and longer than expected, but it went well. His gallbladder was gangrenous. It should have been pink, but it was swollen and black. It was dead, infected, and making him very sick. The surgeon showed us pictures and said he should have had it removed years ago.

Years.

I remember after his open heart surgery his blood work showed infection but they could not find it. He was constantly sick to his stomach. Even before surgery, he'd complained of nausea. He didn't feel great. But it didn't seem too bad. Nothing like the pain he had Saturday night which led to his ambulance ride and eventual admittance.

Inside his body was a horribly infected organ that was slowly hurting him, but no one found it until it was almost too late. A tiny poison growing and growing, killing the gallbladder, threatening to kill him.

Makes me wonder, did this contribute to his slower-than-expected recovery from heart surgery? Is this the infection they could not seem to find? Was this the reason food seemed to make him sick and never tasted good?

He's been on antibiotics more than a dozen times since January 3. He's had C-Diff from all the antibiotics. Could some of that have been avoided if we had known about his gallbladder?

But what I really wonder is what will change now? Over and over he has said he was too weak and didn't feel good enough to do things that would help him recover. Medical professionals hinted that he was depressed or not trying. That there was "no medical reason" for him not to be recovering. What if they were wrong? What if he was just sick? Oh how that is my hope. Oh, how I long to see my father up and walking and playing with his grandchildren. Oh, how my heart wishes!

I can't help but find parallels to our Christian walk in this. Sin in one little tiny part of our life threatens to kill us. It hampers our spiritual life, making us weak and ineffectual. Yet we don't go to the great physician to figure out the problem. We become complacent with things being "good enough" and we don't realize that sin is slowly killing us.

The Psalmist put it like this: "Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."

Oh, Lord! Help me to see. Cleanse me of any gangrene in my spiritual life. Renew my strength, and lead me in your way. Amen

My New Bullet Journal (BuJo) Is NOT that Creative

I'm sold on bullet journals. I'm on my second. I've upgraded. Sort of. This one is not so creative. I'm OK with that.

When I was in High School we had a major assignment in my English class. It was worth a huge amount of points, and if we did not make a good grade on it, we could not pass the class. I don't remember the exact details, but we had to gather newspaper articles that displayed a great number of literary devices such as onomatopoeia, alliteration, allusion, etc. It seems like we had to have a crazy number of articles, like 100, but it was probably more like 30 or 40. Still, a big deal. It took hours and hours of time. Each article could only show one thing. It had to be highlighted and we had to point out different things for each article like where we got it, etc.

So I completed the project and turned it in, and although I had demonstrated my knowledge of each concept and had enough newspaper articles, even though I had everything required, I got a D on the project.

I got a D because I had folded and torn the articles instead of cutting them out.

The edges were not neat enough.

They looked like this:

Horrid, right?

What, you had to look closely to see that it was torn? You expected some crazy jagged edges? Yeah, that was my parent's reaction too. I won't go into details about how that all played out, but I will say that to this day it does not bother me to fold and tear a page. I actually have taken great pleasure in tearing pages and pieces to go in the various planners and notebooks I've made in the way-too-many years since high school. I don't know why I get pleasure out of that or why I even still think of that project.

Anyway, I don't care about how things look as much how they function. BUT, colorful and creative = happy. I wish I could draw better. Or decorate better. You will understand why we've lived here for several years and my house is still undecorated when you see my journal pages.

My bullet journal isn't like other people's bullet journals. I am not an artist.  It is closer to a planner than many bullet journals I've seen. But it works so very well for me! It gives me the flexibility I have never had in a planner. I love it!

I have recently upgraded my bujo to a half-size three-ring binder to give me even more flexibility because my projects are constantly changing. This way I can take out and add in sections at a time.

I have a crazy way of keeping track of where things are - I do not do page numbers. Flexibility is the key to keeping me organized.

I use colored paper, stickers, washi tape and even paper clips to tell me where to go to find information. You see, we expect page numbers to go in order. But not colors, stickers and washi tape. So if I move stuff around, I can still find it!

I'll show you what I mean.

My first section is "Personal Planning"

It isn't all that pretty, but it is completely FUNCTIONAL. As you flip through my bujo, you will come across a page with washi tape that says, "He is the ultimate..." - you know that is where I keep my Bible Study notes. When you get to a green page, you know that is where my personal notes and journalling pages begin.

That brown page? That is my "books to read" page, I did try to get a little creative with it. Books I want to read, are listed on the spines of the books in the bookshelves. (Yes, that is what this is supposed to look like.) As I read the books, I color them in. You can see I have two books currently being read. They are both on church growth, and they are great to read together. Two perspectives on the same thing. Down at the bottom, I have two books with titles. I've bought them, but not started them yet. So far I have them in groups - I may do one area of the bookcase for each area of my life. I may not.

My "menu planning and shopping list" page features sticky notes. I can make up a shopping list as I go through the week, but I don't have to take my bujo in the store with me. I can slap that sticky note (or two or three) onto the back of my phone and go in each store.

This is my second calendar iteration. I'm not sure I am completely happy with it, and my husband noted that it took WAY too long to make. But I do like having the days and the habit tracker together on a two-page spread like this. Hubby suggested that if I end up liking this layout I will have to make a template that I can print off each month. He is so right. Of course. 

I am also not super happy with having to look up to the top of the page to see what day of the week each dates it. I'm sure I'll fill that in soon for each line. 

The reason I like this two-page spread is that it gives a complete picture of what the day looked like. For instance, if I have dental appointments or co-op or something like that which takes hours of my time, I know I won't get everything done. And I need not feel guilty about it. But if there is nothing going on and I don't get stuff done day after day, then I might need to drop some tasks or something. 

Also, some of these tasks are not necessarily a daily habit or task. I mean, it is OK if they are not done daily. I might need to put them in a different color or something. As I said, it is still a work in progress. BUT, seeing the appointments AND the habits gives a good picture of the day.

I have about a gajillion projects I want done around the house. No, really. Yes, that is a real number that means infinite. :-) [Not really.]

I'm keeping the list here along with ideas. The paperclip on this page tells me to look for the matching paperclip which gets me to that part of the "Home" section. I'll also paste in here the paint chip colors of the walls in rooms I've completed. This helps me find artwork for walls and stuff like that. 

In my "Homeschool" section, each class has a cardstock divider page (without a tab). Over the summer I will do the bulk of my idea gathering in this section. I will have the majority of the kids' work in Schoology, so I won't really write actual lessons here, but I will have planning plans and task lists and inspiration and those kinds of non-lesson planning things.

I have a tab for my volunteer work at church. Kids' Praise lessons, the plan for our upcoming child-led worship, camp notes, worship and class notes and fundraisers I do for church stuff. Right now I'm planning a garage sale for this weekend and two martial arts classes as fundraisers. Later this summer we will have car washes and perhaps some other events to raise money for kids to go to camp. I used to direct a craft show every year. I prefer one big event to these many small ones.

The last tab is for other projects. Because homeschooling, co-op, church and camp stuff isn't enough to do apparently. So I am helping advertise our local homeschool convention and running the creative arts contest for that event. That ends in June. At that time I will plan a family vacation and that will probably be all I can do for a while.

The very last thing I have in my bujo is an envelope for receipts. I want to get on a budget and I want to track expenses by category. I'd like to have a price book (in my bujo) of the things I buy all the time. SO, one step toward that goal is keeping receipts. Baby steps.

Pretty boring for a bujo, but I'll get more creative and add doodles as I have time. For now, I'll be thankful for functional.

The Problem with Lying

My husband and I eloped in college. We were madly in love, planning a wedding for September, but decided to elope in January.

We didn't tell anyone. We continued to live in separate dorms.

After our wedding, for years and years, we still didn't tell anyone and celebrated the September date as our wedding anniversary. About five years into our marriage, we decided to have a child. We were living in Dundee, Scotland, serving as missionaries.

Now you need to know that the subject of your wedding date rarely, if ever, comes up in regular conversations. And generally, since we celebrated the September date, it is all we ever talked about. WE saw it as our wedding date.

But, officially, on the marriage license and in the eyes of the State of Oklahoma, our anniversary is January 25th, NOT September 1st.

After our daughter was born in the local hospital there in Scotland, it came time for us to come home. We had to get a birth certificate for her and a Consular Report of Birth Abroad.

Somewhere along the way, someone asked us if we were married and the date of our marriage. And somehow - perhaps it was a case of sleep-deprived brains or just out of sheer habit, we put down on some form that our marriage was in September. We DID have a wedding then, but there are no official documents for that date. The marriage license says January.

Did you know that when you apply for a passport for a person born outside the United States you have to submit the parent's marriage license along with the child's Consular Report and Birth Certificate? Yes. It is true!

And ours don't match up. Now, this has not been a problem thus far. The documents are for different things, so it has gone unnoticed, but still, it could someday be a problem. Every time she sends it all in, I'm sure some bureaucrat is going to notice and reject it.

How will we handle that? I'm just imagining the conversation we will have with the records office over in Dundee.

Me: We gave the wrong date on our chid's information. We were actually married in January, not September.

UK Government Employee: You forgot your anniversary when filling out an official government form? No, that doesn't sound suspicious at all.

Me: (laughing) Yeah, I mean, ha ha, guys forget their anniversary all the time, right?

UKGE: (not laughing) ...

And that is the problem with lying. Either you do it so poorly that people find out or you do it so well that you believe it yourself.