Author: Livin' What You're Given

“My dad passed away yesterday. I turn to page 78 and the top of page 79. Thank you for being you. I appreciate you.”

I stared at the words in an email that carried the subject line, “The page I turn to in your book.” I said a prayer for my friend. She was in deep pain from loss. I then read the pages she was referring to in my first book Dolores, Like the River.

“There were times I felt I could not go on any longer. It never failed that at those dark times, a letter would arrive from Dolores with a Scripture verse included. One of her favorites was from Ps. 34:18 that read, ‘The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.’”

I closed the book I had written over eight years ago and reflected not only on the words, but the time when I too felt a pain similar to that my friend now voiced. I cried as I remembered that time and Dolores’ gift of sharing comforting words in an attempt to offer a hand of friendship across a bridge only I could walk. And I thanked God that He had given me opportunity to share those words with others when they would need to rely upon a hand of friendship in a lonely journey.

When my husband, Keith, came into my office and asked what was going on, I read the email to him. He sat down and took my hand and said, “Well, I guess that is your answer then isn’t it?”

“What? What answer are you talking about?” I asked.

Keith reminded me that for several months I’d been asking God what my focus should be in terms of resuming my writing career. I explained to the Lord, because I wasn’t sure He was aware, that COVID had shut down all opportunities to market my books in person, and I wasn’t particularly inspired to keep writing. Without an immediate response from Him, I became increasingly reluctant to pick up my pen.

My husband kissed my forehead and went to answer a phone call. I was left alone with my thoughts, my questions and the reality that maybe, just maybe, I was discouraged because I allowed the purpose of my writing ministry to become blurred.

Oh sure, I always said it was God’s gifting of me that allowed this book to be written and it was for His glory. But when there was no movement on sales or events to promote the work for an extended period of time, where was that conviction? I questioned how God could possibly use my little books to help others without my earthly efforts to promote that work.

In the silence that often affords clarity, I saw that my husband was right. God was not only using my little story to help another hurting heart that day, He was nudging me to continue using my gifts to tell His truths through my own experiences. I needed to obey and answer His call. He will work out details of sharing the fruits of that obedience according to His will.

When I went to share this revelation with Keith, he motioned for me to come closer to him. Then he said, “Well she’s right here. I’ll let you talk to her.”

“Hi Laura. I just wanted you to know I’m sitting here reading Jesus in Shorts. I love this book. I read one story a day or sometimes more. They are very inspiring.” The voice belonged to a friend of Keith’s and mine who was calling about another matter but wanted to tell me what my second book meant to her. I thanked her for the kind words and then thanked God because he could not have been clearer in His directive; and as always, His timing was impeccable.  

As I reflected on these two events, I again committed to surrendering my gifts, and all of my intentions for their use, to the One who always knows how best to use them. I was humbled and in awe that He directed these two precious friends to make His intentions clear. I thanked Him that my little books and their stories were chosen, by Him and them, as the pages they turned to.

Copyright January 2021, Laura L. Padgett, Montrose, CO

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published

“Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page

The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page.

“Dance is absolutely not an appropriate art for worship. It is almost indecent to think about dancing in church. And on the altar? No, my dear, no.”

Like so many others in church, I was seeking permission from the leaders to bring my gift from the Lord in prayer, praise and worship. This strong rebuke left no room for discussion and no margin for doubt. My gift was not wanted or recognized as a valid worship art.

I went home and prayed about my encounter and asked God to release me from the dream of dancing with and for Him. After a few weeks, I submitted to the words of the church elders and accepted the fact that my art was not altar worthy.

For months I tried to bury the dream of dancing with and for God’s people. I even questioned Him about the reminders He sent in dreams and visions when I heard praise music. My mind always saw a dance. My feet refused to be still and my heart flooded with praise in the movement.

Then one Christmas I was listening to music on the radio and I heard the song, “The Little Drummer Boy.” The song is about a child who felt his gift was not worthy of the new king. Still he was encouraged to bring his gift to the cradle of the Baby Jesus too, and to give his very best.

I closed my eyes and listened to the story of the small, fictitious boy who brought his gift forward and offered what he had to our Lord. He played his best for Jesus, emphasizing his praise with every heartbeat, “Pa rum pum pum-pum” Oh how I identified with the little boy – shy, small and convinced he had gift poverty. But God said, “Bring your gift child, bring your gift.”

“I have no gift to bring
Pa rum pum pum-pum
That’s fit to give our King
Pa rum pum pum-pum”

My hurting heart heard the words and understood that no matter what anyone said, God defines “worthy”; and all of His gifts are worthy. I committed that day to always dance for an audience of One first. I surrendered my gift to Him knowing He approved it, and He would use what He gave me at His designated time. I just needed to keep dancing for and with Him.

“I played my drum for Him
Pa rum pum pum-pum
I played my best for Him
Pa rum pum pum-pum
Rum pum pum-pum
Rum pum pum-pum
Then He smiled at me
Pa rum pum pum-pum
Me and my drum.” Lyrics by Katherine Kennicott Davis, 1941

In the stillness of that moment and the peace of recognition, I knew the time would come for dance to be brought into worship. And it wasn’t long before it was.

Since then, I’ve danced from California to Ottawa in praise to Jesus. I’ve been in big churches and small, retreats and workshops – as teacher and student. God has used this gift to bless, heal and encourage others as each step brings glory to Him.

I never stop thanking Him for that moment when He used a secular tune to comfort and encourage me in His plans. And there are few mornings, after awakening, when I don’t walk into the presence of my favorite dance partner. He always takes me in his arms and we move together in prayer and praise. I sigh and hum, “Pa rum pum pum-pum.”

Copyright June 2019 Laura L. Padgett, Montrose, CO

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published

“Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page

The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page.

I have recently come into an understanding that I have less understanding, than I thought, about most things happening in my life. I also have been shown, by the need for bifocal eyeglasses, that my physical vision was not always clear. I often stumbled, bumped into things and could not read well (falling behind in my reading and becoming frustrated). When I finally took the advice of my eye doctor and purchased a pair of desperately needed bifocals, my world changed in many ways, not the least of which was seeing new spiritual truths. I wanted to share that story with you on my blog as some of my followers here are not with me on Facebook and other social media platforms, where I originally shared this little story.

I hope this little video blesses you today. With Christ’s love from me to you, I send my heart.

laura

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published

“Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page.

The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page

I wrote this story in the summer of 2016 originally and it appeared on this blog in early 2017. It’s funny how it is as relevant, or perhaps more so, today than three and a half years ago. It also is the lead story in my award-winning book, “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Short-Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments”.

See to it, brothers and sisters, that none of you has a sinful, unbelieving heart that turns away from the living God. But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called ‘Today’, so that none of you may be hardened by sin’s deceitfulness. Hebrews 3:12-13

I wasn’t sure what I found more oppressive, my fear of the dentist as I sat in the chair for my appointment or my sense of guilt at the way a disagreement with a friend ended the previous evening. That conversation weighed heavily on my mind. We were talking politics. This friend and I have been on opposite sides of most issues for over thirty years. In the past, we have always been open to different points of view and kept civility in our conversations. This is due, in large part, to our mutual love for the Lord Jesus Christ.

Our conversation began calmly. But before long we were talking over each other, insisting only one person could be right; and we ended just this side of exchanging personal potshots. Anyone who has taken a debate class knows an argument is lost when we resort to injuring others because it screams, “My position is weak as water, and the only way I can win is to distract you with insults.”

Still, passion is passion and it doesn’t always provide an exit ramp from the highway of self-righteousness. What’s worse, the unshakable posture, “I’m right,” will push us full-speed past the line of protecting dignity – ours or another’s.

I was pulled from my guilt-filled musings when my dentist, (a fellow I like very much), came to deliver that always pleasant shot in the jaw from a needle the size of a garden hose. During the injection I did my usual routine – remembered breathing techniques learned in childbirth classes, tried not to lose control of any bodily functions and prayed really, really hard.

After half my face and tongue felt dead, the hygienist began prep work. This process was complicated by my inability to get my tongue out of the way. I tried complying with her request to pull the pesky organ aside. But it simply was not a manageable task. I tried to apologize with words. That, too, was not manageable. I looked up helplessly. The hygienist laughed and said, “I know you’re trying, Hon. But it’s hard to talk to a numb tongue.”

I attempted a nod and smile. Instead I sort of just blinked and drooled at her. She patted my hand and together with the dentist we shared the space for an hour until completion of the procedure.

When I returned home, I sat down with my Bible, which I felt I didn’t have time to read prior to starting the day’s activities. As directed by my favorite devotional booklet, I turned to the Scripture passage of the day. “But no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison,” (James 3:8).

I squirmed in my chair when I realized God was talking directly to me about the previous day’s conflict. It was not only what I said, but how I said it. I was so bent on being right, I didn’t stop to consider that my words were hurtful. My tongue was untamed because it had become unruly and fueled by ego.

I mused about this, pouted a little and did the familiar three-year-old mental shifting from one foot to the other while pleading, “She started it, God. And besides look how everyone is acting right now. We are just so uptight and steeped in unkindness. What do You expect when we live in this world You gave us?”

I knew in my heart this was not going to fly with the Almighty any more than Adam pointing a finger and saying, “Yeah, well it’s all her fault,” got him off the hook for the Eden eviction.

God is very clear that it does not matter how others act, we are responsible for our own behavior. His kids are called to act differently, period. If there was a problem with my friend, He would deal with that. It was not my business.

After some time on the pity pot, I climbed onto my Father’s lap and asked Him to forgive me. I told him I would call the other party and ask her forgiveness too, when I could manage to get words out without sounding like I had just come from the neighborhood bar.

As the injection meds wore off, I was in a considerable amount of pain. The discomfort was not from the dental work sites, but from a bite on my tongue incurred when I couldn’t feel it. Again the Holy One nudged me.

I sat back in my chair with an ice pack on my mouth and shared a giggle (sort of) with God. “Oh, I see. When the tongue is numb it can cause great harm, to me and to others. That’s the poisonous part you talk about in James, right? Okay, I get it, Lord.”

The next day I was able to call my friend and offer an apology for my insensitivity. She accepted my amends and offered one of her own. We agreed to be more mindful of how we communicate in the future. We discussed and recommitted ourselves to our belief that we are never called, as believers, to be silent on important issues. Regardless of belief systems, we still have an obligation to govern our democracy – a blessing that many don’t have around our world. That’s made more difficult if we refuse to learn from others and resist engaging in respectful dialogue because our interest lies in protecting our own rigid stances.

We prayed over the phone and came away reaffirmed that relationships are more important than what one person perceives as right or wrong. After a lengthy conversation, we planned to meet for lunch the next week.

I hung up and returned to the same passage in James 3:8, asking God to help me remember this lesson. He assured me that Scripture, when taken to heart, proves to be the best practice for walking this world. God’s Word helps me speak my truth in love, lend my voice to important issues and respect/learn from other voices. But most of all, it provides a solid model for loving by leading my conversations without a numb tongue.

This was written for all (including this author) who cherish their friends enough to say and accept, “I’m sorry.”

Copyright February 2017, Laura L. Padgett, Author

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published

“Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the  tab for buying books on my home page

The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on  my home page

“That is just ridiculous. What an idiotic thing to do,” the tall man, standing next to me, muttered to his companion. He was referring to the construction of a ship called Vasa (pronounced Va:sa, with accent on last syllable). It is housed in the Vasa Museum in the Royal National City Park in Stockholm, Sweden that my husband and I visited last year.

Our guide, as we toured the museum, told us Vasa is the legendary ship built by the King of Sweden in 1626-1627. It was commissioned as a symbol of the King’s military ambition and designed to be a powerful war vessel armed with tons of bronze cannons. The Swedish King, Gustavus Adolphus, used the majority of the country’s resources to establish a powerful military presence in his campaign to occupy countries in the Baltics and defeat Poland-Lithuania during a conflict he initiated in 1621.

Formidable as she was, and no doubt ready to prove her superiority in battle, Vasa was unable to make it farther than 1,400 yards out of the harbor on her maiden voyage in August, 1628. Due to instability caused by unbalanced weight from heavy battle equipment in the upper portion of her hull, she sank moments after leaving port. Despite warnings, the King proceeded with the launch that resulted in destruction of the vessel and loss of lives. The ship was salvaged and restored as closely as possible to original form in 1961. Today it sits in a museum designed to house this piece of Swedish history.

When we returned to the U.S., I thought little about this story, and what it said about personal choices, until recent months that is. As things in our country/world have escalated in violence, division, uncertainty and fear, I have felt increasingly more combative as a means to take control of the uncontrollable events around me. Then one day while looking at pictures from our trip, I found the photos of this ill-fated vessel. In my quiet time with God, I began to reflect on Vasa, what made her unsuccessful at her mission and what lessons could be learned from her.

God called me to start noticing how I proceed with each day and to answer the following questions. Do I pour my mental and spiritual resources into being better than or more powerful and dominant in my encounters with others (including on social media)? Do I arm myself with the heavy battle equipment of judgement as I venture into the sea of other humans who may also be feeling the sting of division, uncertainty and fear? Do I have need to engage in struggles while thinking there are only two sides and mine is the right side? Do I sometimes ignore the warnings of God’s teachings and my wiser friends when I am about to embark upon a course that can possibly lead to the destruction of a relationship or distance me from the Holy Spirit?

Sadly, I must confess that on some days, if I’m being honest, I have to answer guilty to all of the above. But being aware of these characteristics has brought me into a new realization about choosing courses of action. I can set my face toward battle as a primary function of my day. Or I can hand off my cannons, my illusion of mighty control and my need to be right, to the One who fights my battles for me.

As Keith and I have traveled this world, learned from her people, listened to the stories and histories of others, I am enriched by what God teaches if I will first take a seat in His classroom. I don’t believe He sends lessons to shame or blame. I believe He wants me to release the burdens that can keep me from doing the work He has assigned for me. In this case I’m grateful for the lessons of a ship built centuries ago.

After all we have endured in the first half of 2020, recently I’ve begun to wake up each day, look in the mirror and ask, “Got Vasa today? Or is there another way to sail the seas of uncertainty, division and sometimes fear?” It really is a personal choice. I know I can’t do this by my own power. Trying to do so adds frustration to the complicated mix of things I don’t want in my life. I’ve found it’s simply about being willing to ask for help in releasing those heavy cannons designed for battle and destruction that keep me from enjoying smooth sailing.

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published:

• “Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers.
• The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

For autographed copies of my books, you may click on the tab for buying books on my home page and if you live in the U.S. I will sign and send a copy to you after you purchase one there.

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to each other.”

—Mother Teresa

“How can this be possible?” I ask my two table mates.

“How can what be possible?” replies one of my companions.

“You two sitting here, drinking tea and chatting like lifelong friends. It just isn’t possible and should not be happening. That’s all there is to it.”

“Why?”

I take a deep breath and try explaining what, to me, is obvious. “Because you are a . . . well, you’re a dog, and she’s a rabbit.”

“Yes, she is a rabbit and I am a dog. That’s true.” Dog empties his cup; then offers it to Rabbit who fills it again.

“By all that is natural and normal, you are enemies.” I speak using my most authoritative voice.

“Are we?” the dog asks.

I’m trying to decide if this dog is teasing me. At the same time, I wonder about the rabbit. I can’t understand why she is so calm. He could devour her in one chomp. “Yes. In the animal kingdom dogs chase and eat rabbits while rabbits run and hide from dogs.”

“How do you know that?” Rabbit asks, speaking for the first time. Her voice is not as soft as I expect. I’m surprised by the tranquil strength she exudes as she pours tea.

“I know because I have been taught that. Everyone knows that. It’s in books.”

“What are books?” Dog asks, leaning on the table with his forelegs pointed in my direction.

“What are books!?” I gasp. “Never mind that now. This rabbit should be running for all she’s worth, if she wants to stay alive.” Despite attempts to the contrary, my impatience laces every word.

“Should she?” Dog asks. The corners of his mouth turn upward in an almost undetectable smile that makes me think he’s just having a game with me. I know at any moment he’s going to put his enormous mouth on her tiny head and have a snack.

“What about you?” I ask Rabbit, imploring her to enter this conversation. “What do you have to say?”

Rabbit pauses and takes a deep breath. “I say it’s time for another pot of tea.” She raises one paw to attract the server’s attention.

“No, no, no. This isn’t about tea.”

Rabbit looks at Dog and then back to me. “Would you rather have coffee?

My bottom jaw drops to my breastbone and silence tumbles into my teacup. Dog sits back in his chair and eyes me. I begin to wonder if I’m the snack this morning.

I shake my head and return to my original question. “How can this be possible?”

Dog follows suit by repeating one of his original queries. “Why . . .” he begins while watching Rabbit as she pours more tea. “She has nothing to fear from me. She is my friend”

“Look, Mr. Dog. I mean no disrespect, but you eat meat, right? She is meat.”

“Yes. Do you eat meat?” Dog issues a full smile now in what I believe is canine humor meant to mock a less-wise human.

“Yes but . . .”

“Do you eat your friends?”

“Don’t be ridiculous; of course not. And you are changing the subject. You have nothing in common. You are enemies, plain and simple. You always have been and always will be.”

“I see.” Dog scratches his chin with one paw.

“We both like tea.” The sound of Rabbit’s voice startles me. I’ve almost forgotten she’s at the table. I jump, spilling hot tea on my right index finger.

“Ouch.” I put my finger in my mouth and sit in confused suspicion as I look from one to the other.

Dog uses his large, hairy paw to bring my wounded digit back to the table. He leans down and licks my new wound. His gentle touch dismisses my fear of being on his menu.

“We have many things in common even though we have many differences.” He looks around us. I follow his gaze. We are sitting at a small table outside a coffee house in the mountains of Colorado. We’re beside a clear stream carrying melted snow from high peaks that will provide water to the flatter lands. The waves in the water are various sizes. They flow at rapid speed, separate yet together, moving toward the same destination. They’ve no time to question solidarity.

My attention is drawn to three birds of different colors and sizes perched on a nearby tree branch. They perform a composition in three-part harmony that sends shivers of pleasure through my small frame. Dog nods as if he hears percussion in the little concert. I marvel at him and Rabbit in their unhurried, peaceful, shared relaxation.

Rabbit puts her delicate paw under my chin and lifts my head skyward. I gaze through green leaves and see an array of blue hues on an infinite canvas. The three of us follow movement of clouds chasing each other on their celestial journey. As we gaze upward together, I am brought into a secret corridor of their understanding. I become relaxed, at peace, content.

“I see.” I mutter. They are the only words I have uttered in several minutes.

Rabbit breaks the trance when announcing she must attend to her young. She departs under the brush and long grasses bordering the stream. Dog clears his throat.

“My humans will be concerned. It’s my lunchtime. I never miss lunchtime. You know us dogs must have our meat.” He winks and takes his leave.

My smile unmasks my joy of discovery, and I break into laughter. A voice interrupts my musings. “Honey, are you okay?” The voice belongs to my husband.

“Honey, wake up. Who are you talking to? Why are you laughing?”

As he nudges me awake, my eyes focus, and I attempt to explain. “Keith I’ve had the most extraordinary experience. There was a rabbit and a dog and tea and . . .”

“I know, Love. But it was only a dream. Tell me in the morning. It’ll be dawn soon.” He kisses my forehead and rolls over onto his side.

“No, no Keith. It was real.” My protests are lost as slumber recaptures him.

The clock says it’s a few hours past midnight, but for me it is already a new dawning. I get out of bed and move to the living room. Out of habit I reach for the remote control and turn on the TV.

A world leader is speaking to a cheering crowd of people. Those present raise their voices in enthusiastic roars of approval.

“We must never forget those different from us are our enemies. We don’t have beliefs, habits, or cultures in common. They’ll present a real threat if we allow them to bring their lifestyles into our country. I am telling you they will eat us for dinner if we don’t prevent it. It is them or us.”

Cheers and applause rise to an ear-splitting level.

“We must never forget they have always been our enemies. History tells us that. It’s been recorded in books throughout centuries. They will always be our adversaries. We’ll never see eye to eye or have common values. Why I bet they even eat different food than us.”

The crowd erupts in laughter and pumps their fists in the air. He joins them in both.

I turn off the TV, hug my legs into my chest, and rest my forehead on my knees. Keith’s right; it was only a dream. It just seemed so real to me. A tear comes to my eye and does its best to defy gravity but loses. I try to slow its progress by wiping it with my right index finger. The salty liquid stings and I pull my hand away. In the moonlight, coming from an open window, I stare at a little raised blister on my wounded right paw.

Illustration by Sally M. Cordrey, M.A.

It is usually my preference to write from the nonfiction lens. But every now and then, I step into the world of fantasy and/or allegory to express a creative idea. This story is based on a vision I was given by God four years ago by a river in Summit County, Colorado. It appears here for the first time on my blog. But it is featured in my book, Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Short Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments (details on how to purchase that book are below).  I believe, in this vision, God was trying to say that no matter how divided we seem at times, we have more in common than we think; and living in harmony is never impossible.

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published:

• “Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers.
• The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

If you would like an autographed copy of my books, please click on the tab on my home page for buying books. I will send you one after you purchase it there.

“To what will you look for help if you will not look to that which is stronger than yourself?”
—C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianityš

For all my healthcare brothers and sisters in this current COVID crisis.

It is very quiet in the donor room. I try not to imagine the sounds made only days ago by the six-year-old boy now lying motionless, lifeless, under the paper drapes that cover the sterile surgical field. Instead I move through the setup of instruments, sponges, and sutures.

It is hard to resist temptation to wonder if he played baseball, had a sister whose hair he pulled, or squealed with glee as he wrestled his dog. I push away the image of him fighting bedtime before saying goodnight to his mother. “I love you, Mommy.”

I call all my training to the front lines in the battle to silence my heart. I focus on the rhythmic hum of the breathing machine pushing oxygen to organs we will harvest and place in other children’s ailing bodies. Despite my intense focus on the precious little gentleman in our care, the machine’s voice stays on the periphery of the oppressive silence resting in the room.

The surgeon stretches his hand toward me. For a little more than a second, we make eye contact. He says nothing. I need no words. I place the scalpel in his hand, and it begins.

At twenty-six years old, I am a skilled and practiced surgical technician. I know this is not the time to attempt dialogue. I don’t expect the banter and camaraderie I’ve come to enjoy in other operating rooms and different situations. Gurneys carrying patients roll past the closed door but are of no consequence to me. I take no notice of chatter at the scrub sinks.

I don’t dare step from behind my mask of a honed technician, to ask the question that will reveal my humanity. I stay well-guarded in the busyness of routine. I move methodically, efficiently, thinking carefully about my task—the mental equivalent of moving one foot forward, and then the other. I proceed alongside the doctor who is also stepping forward with one foot and then the other. We have done this dance before. We know the choreography by heart.

This child is my patient. He has been declared dead by medical and legal criteria. But in this room, in this hour, under these lights, and with all I have, I offer the gentlest of care for his dignity. Touching a little leg draped with a sterile sheet I attempt to connect with his young soul and let him know someone is here. He is not alone in these last, silent hours.

The surgeon puts his hand out. I respond. I place one metaphorical foot in front of the other. My eyes are the only visible part of my face. I will them to continue scanning the field in anticipation of the physician’s needs and order them to lock their tears behind stoic lenses unclouded by cataracts of emotion while, with tenderness, I hold in gloved hands the sacred hush. I am one of the last to feel life’s warmth in this little frame. I am noiseless as I again touch the small draped leg close to where I stand.

At the procedure’s conclusion, I attend to legalities of filling out paperwork. I head to the locker room, strip off my surgical clothes, and step into the shower. With hot, pulsing water cascading over me, I wait for the answer that my youthful mind insists will come if I just keep asking. I rest in the void of the unanswered query. Weak and tired, I surrender.

There are people I work with who say we cannot always know reasons for some earthly experiences. Still, my coworkers believe a power greater than us has the answers. Tonight, like never before, my heart craves their faith, their wisdom, their understanding. I find comfort in the words they’ve spoken. And I allow those words to flow over me with the tumbling water and unanswered question.

When I step from the shower, I dress and leave before the rest of the OR crew gathers for our weekly pilgrimage to the College Inn for enchiladas and half-priced drafts. No food or drink tonight. Not tonight. I start the short walk to my apartment on the edge of the hospital campus. I am alone.

My shoulders slump with heaviness as I think, not for the first time, about the boy’s parents. Where are they? Do they know their treasured child was not alone in the end? Do they understand he was treated with tenderness and love even as we disconnected the breathing machine? Are they holding each other in the shadows of both losing and giving hope with the stroke of a pen?

I’m two blocks from the hospital. It is safe to cry now. No permission is needed; none is sought. I move on and am careful to place one foot and then the other. My thoughts return to the words of faith shared by coworkers. I sense a presence I do not know but welcome into my silent space.

Now it is okay to ask, “Why?” Only this one word accompanies me on my journey.

Tomorrow I will start a new day and return to work. Perhaps I will help alleviate suffering by assisting with a gallbladder removal or repair of a broken hip. Maybe I will witness the miracle of new life at a baby’s birth. But tonight, tonight I think only of the little boy who slipped from this world into the next with me at his side.

At home I sit bathed in dim light. I am motionless, pensive, in awe of life, with respect for death. And I remain very quiet.

Illustration by Sally M. Cordrey

Excerpt from the book Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-Five Short Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments, Copyright 2018

This story was written because a friend of mine, Patricia Raybon, and I sat having coffee one day when she asked what it was really like to work in the OR. I told her that it was fast-paced and most of the time it looked like any other work situation, with friendships and camaraderie among co-workers. That was, however, not the atmosphere in the transplant donor rooms.  As we spoke, I drifted back to my days as an OR technician and first assistant. I found myself telling a story I had never told another living soul. I was back at a table where I stood over forty years prior to this conversation. I was recounting a memory I tried to bury deep in my heart and soul, for self-preservation. Patricia asked if I had ever written this story and I said, “No.” I could not consider that. I could barely speak it. But this is a woman I admire very much and I’ve always listened to her as she is a wise teacher. She convinced me to write it. I did and then submitted it to a Writer’s Digest Short Story Competition. It won honorable mention in the contest. Since then, it has been published in my second book, “Jesus in Shorts.” It has never appeared on my blog before now.  God has used it to minister  to many people who have had to make the agonizing decision to donate organs of a loved one, especially a child, after their death.

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published:

“Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers.

The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

If you would like an autographed copy of my books and you live in the U.S., please click on the tab for buying books on my home page and I will send you a copy after you purchase a copy.

 And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” (ESV Matt 21:9-10)

What can a Biblical story from thousands of years ago mean to me today, other than signaling the beginning of a sacred season in my faith base? But that season has been interrupted in the sense of routine. I just spent my first Palm Sunday in over forty years unable to be with other believers, wave palm branches, sing songs of praise and gratitude. I, like millions of others, was denied opportunity to delight in the community of those who, like me, believe Jesus came to save mankind from spiritual destruction and separation from God.

But this past Sunday, I stopped to reflect upon the first ever Palm Sunday. I asked myself (not for the first time) what that may have looked and felt like. As a follower of Christ, I like to think only of those who were there to offer “all glory, laud and honor” to Him. But there were many in the crowd who felt anything but praise and gratitude for this man on the back of a donkey. Celebrating His entry into the Holy City was not on their ancient bucket lists.

There were those who insisted He was a con artist trying to attract a following and undermine or even overthrow the religious ideas of the day. Some in the government and law enforcement were, no doubt, tired of dealing with the disruptions He caused wherever He went. Perhaps those falling into one or both of these groups wanted Him to just go away. I imagine others were curious and wanted to know what was going on and what this stranger had to offer or teach them. Perhaps the inquisitive ones were confused by people waving greenery and declaring this man the son of a king.

But His followers believed He was exactly who He said He was, and He’d come to offer a new way of living, thinking and worshiping God. They also hoped for a deliverance from the oppressive political system of their day. They hoped for a new King of Israel. I’m not sure if they were struck by the irony that this king arrived on the back of an animal signifying peace and not straddling a powerful beast symbolizing dominance, as many kings of the day rode.

Regardless of what or how they saw Jesus, the question was raised and remains today, to believers and nonbelievers, “Who is this guy?”

As I pondered this scripture in my quiet time with God, I realized he does not ask me to figure out how others of that day, or this, define Jesus. God called me to look beyond the church celebrations, rituals and finery to see the Jesus heading to the cross. Then He asked me to examine who Jesus is to me, not to my neighbor or to my Christian siblings. He asked me to find a deep meaning that does not rely upon opinions of others, political approval or my quest to be in step with whatever crowd I am part of at any given moment.

God asked me if Jesus is indeed the one I want to praise and worship, even in the face of difficulties and loss. Is He a bother some days when I don’t feel like loving others or finding a way to be generous to those who think in ways foreign to my mindset? Can I still say He is my “all” when He disrupts my life, my plans, my agendas? Have I relegated Jesus to the gumball-machine God who responds when I put in my required time and effort in order to get my way? Am I willing to allow Jesus to change my bad habits and misunderstandings in order to be more like Him? Most importantly, am I willing to ride through my life with expressions of inclusion and peace, or prance in on the steed of arrogance to impress and conform to a world treating superiority as the ultimate prize?

These were not indictments from God, but they were questions He brought before me. I know God does not expect perfection but rather willingness to listen, learn and try turning from some of the things in my mind and heart that keep me from being the woman He wants me to be. And on days when it is beyond my humanity to be willing, He asks me to be willing to be made willing.

Not only in this sacred season, but going forward, I pray to be reminded of who I am, and whose I am. And I pray that with each day I ask to know Him better and seek to do my best to ask and answer the question daily, “Who is this guy – to me?”

This is a re-post of this piece I published in April of 2020. We were beginning to see life as we knew it unraveled by a deadly micro-organism we could not see but felt the presence with grief, loss and fear. In the midst, I again asked myself, “Where is Jesus?”” Again, I was called to look hard at who He is, who I am in Him and navigate with faith, knowing that He was indeed here with me, with us.

Copyright April 2020 Laura L. Padgett re-posted March 2022

If you enjoy the stories on my blog, you will love my podcast

Connect with me on Twitter @lauraleepadgett  or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published:

“Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page and you can purchase a book directly from me.

The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you live in the U.S. and would like an autographed copy sent directly to you, click on the tab for buying books on my home page and you can purchase a book directly from me.

Hummingbird Story-Pot

Shared with me by Kori Guy

       This is a story-pot about how the hummingbird saved the humans. In the Navajo way, as told by my clan (To’ Aheed Lii’ni) there was a miss-use of powers by the humans that the Holy People gave them.  They were abusing their women, and abusing their children, and the use of the water that they were given to bless themselves with and a miss-use of spiritual gifts as well.

       Because of the Holy People’s discouragement towards the Humans, the Holy People decided to remove all water.  Soon there was a great draught, and Humans began to be sorry for their miss-use of the gifts the Holy People had given them and prayed for forgiveness, and for the return of the water.  Eagle heard them and tried to fly to the Sun to ask for water to be returned. As he tried to fly too close to the sun, Eagle got burned in the process, and being discouraged, sadly returned to Earth, unable to find the water.  Hummingbird was touched by Eagle’s attempt to help the humans, so she decided to do what she could.  Though she was so small, she knew about water and Rainbow Woman being the main bringer of water, and, though the trip seemed impossible, she wanted to help the Humans. After all, they planted and cultivated the flowers Hummingbird loved so much, and because the humans loved flowers, Hummingbird could see they had some good in them still.

Hummingbird went to Eagle, helped him heal, and in return, asked for help to ride to the Sun.  Maybe if they worked together, they could find the water and save the Humans.  So Eagle offered his back for Hummingbird to ride on, to save her strength, and to take her as far as he could. When they got close to the Sun, Hummingbird took off, flying as hard as she could.  She wanted to do this herself, and knew just what she needed to say to the Holy People to show them that the humans were worth saving.

       Hummingbird flew into the Rainbow, took on the colors of the rainbow dewdrops and talked to Rainbow Woman. She promised that as long as there were Humans, she would fly to them, reminding them of the beauty that was within each of them, by showing them the colors of the rainbow, how water was precious, and how even though Hummingbird was the smallest of all creatures,  she could do the impossible. 

        Hummingbird was charged with teaching Humans that miracles are possible if only they believe and act is if it is done.  Rainbow Woman loved Hummingbird for her valiant heart and great self-less love, so she gave Hummingbird the gift of water to take back to Humans. Hummingbird and Eagle flew back to Earth with the water, plunging the crystal back into the Earth where it belonged, and warned Humans to always be careful with how they used water.  They were told to keep it pure and use it only for the most precious of uses.  Ever since that time, Hummingbird and Eagle have always been special messengers for Humans, giving us life and hope  and a special connection to the Spirit World.  They also remind us that we are to take care of one another, showing love and thoughtfulness, so we don’t lose the water again.

       This help they can give us only if we learn to ask for help from them, and learn to listen to the answers.  So are we listening to the Holy People?

Ahe’hee’ (Thank you),

Kori Guy- Dine’ Woolchoo’n (Navajo Quilt),

www.koriguy.com, www.HeartlineRanch.com

P.O Box 287, Chiloquin, OR 97624, 541-887-9013

In a time when we are being taught to fear others on all levels who are different from us, I find myself in frustration and spiritual dispair. Then recently, I ran across this story I was given years ago by my dear friend and Sister in the Lord, Kori Guy, Navajo/Cherokee To’ Aheed Lii’ni (Where the Water FlowsTogether Clan). Kori wrote this story down and presented it to me along with the hummingbird pot. I have never forgotten it. I wept as I revisited this story, held this pot close to my heart and prayed, “Father can we please remember that we are all precious in your site and should be precious in the site of each other. Please turn us from our wicked me-ness and return us to a heart of loving as you love, caring for as you care for, and respecting because you love and care for us so deeply. May we dare to work for the good of all no matter how small we see ourselves. Amen”

Connect with me, Laura Padgett, on Twitter @lauraleepadgett  or my Facebook Author Page

Check out the books I have published:

“Dolores, Like the River,” available at Westbow Press, Barnes & Noble, Amazon and all major online retailers.

The award-winning “Jesus in Shorts: Twenty-five Shorts Stories of Life-Changing Jesus Moments,” available now at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

If you would like an autographed copy of my books, please click on the tab on my home page for buying books. I will send you one after you purchase it there.