Let The Lovin’ Begin

UPDATED: Go here if you’d like to contribute to For Kelli. Thanks!

kellisidebar.jpgSometime back in the spring or summer – I really don’t remember when – I started seeing comments from Kelli on my blog. I have no idea how Kelli found her way here, but I quickly realized that she cracked me up. And one night, when I decided that I was going to devote myself to visiting blogs I hadn’t gotten around to yet, I found Kelli’s blog. Her warmth and humor made me feel right at home.

Kelli is married to a man she adores, and they have two wonderful children. She loves the Lord, loves to laugh, loves her life. I think that, even in light of her circumstances, she would tell you that she is blessed beyond measure.

But the fact of the matter is this: Kelli needs a kidney transplant. Desperately. She is currently on daily dialysis, though she can’t continue with it indefinitely. She has made her way through the bulk of the process to become an organ transplant candidate, and on the medical end of things, the prospects look pretty good. She needs a donor, of course, but in terms of her being a suitable candidate, everything looks fine. She’s been poked, prodded, questioned and tested – and she’s passed with flying colors.

Kelli has been on my mind and on my heart a lot lately, mainly because I can’t imagine being the mama of two teenagers and knowing that death is a very real possibility if certain events don’t fall into place. I’m blown away by Kelli’s unflappable spirit, her ability to focus on the Light in the midst of the darkness. And when I read this post over the weekend, I knew that I wanted to do something to help.

I mentioned in a previous post that I am resolved to just love on some people this year. Why? Because God cares about them. And Kelli, for me, is at the front of the lovin’ line.

Next Tuesday, January 16th, I’m going to have a button on my blog that will link you to an Amazon Pay Page that I set up yesterday. What I’m going to ask – and I know that this is pretty bold of me, but I’ve never been much of a wallflower, anyway, so why start now – is that the people who visit my blog that day consider making a donation to Kelli and her family. I’m not talking big bucks here – just $1.50. And if you don’t feel led to contribute financially, that is perfectly fine – I think it would mean just as much to Kelli if you simply said a prayer for her. But if you do decide to make a contribution, you can make a secure payment using your debit card or credit card through Amazon’s website. The beauty of this set-up is that neither Kelli nor I will have any idea who donates – the whole shindig will be totally anonymous (and you can donate more than $1.50, by the way – that’s just the minimum amount that I set).

Kelli quit work several months ago because, honestly, work was no longer viable with her condition. Her family has their health insurance through her former employer, and that will run out at the end of this month. What I’d love for us to be able to do for her is to cover a portion of her COBRA payments so that she can be free from the worry of being cut off by her private insurance. We all know that sometimes when it rains, it pours – and on top of the COBRA pressure, Kelli’s facing some incredibly expensive post-transplant medicines, the adjustment to being a single-income family, and, more than anything, the realization that if COBRA doesn’t come through – and if she and her husband can’t show the ability to pay for part of the transplant on their own – she’ll no longer be a transplant candidate. Without a transplant, quite frankly, she will die.

Kelli didn’t ask me to spearhead this thing – she knew absolutely nothing about it until I emailed her with my idea and asked her permission. But since I feel led to do something – and since I have the tens of you to tell about it – I think we can really do something special to minister to Kelli and her family.

And you need not worry. I will not be coming back to you month after month with a new cause, with a new Amazon Pay Page, with a new request for donations. This is the only bloggy lovefest involving money that I’m planning for the next, oh, ever. Just consider the $1.50 as your lifetime BooMama subscription rate, and know that I’m going to donate all the “subscription” proceeds to Kelli.

So all that being said, I really hope you’ll participate. Whether we raise $10 or $100 or $1000, my prayer is that Kelli will feel the love of her brothers and sisters in Christ – and that somehow, even just by donating $1.50 – we can play a small part in helping Kelli receive the gift of life by way of a kidney transplant.

Feel free to grab the button (thanks, Shannon, for your handiwork) and post it on your own blog…and if you need the code so that you can link the button back to this post, just email me and let me know.

January 16th is For Kelli. I hope you’ll make a point to be here.

I’m Trying To Type And Wipe Away Tears At The Same Time

Read this post. And you’ll understand why.

I mentioned in Veronica’s comments that I don’t often cry when reading someone’s blog. But this morning I was overcome by the beauty of her words, the timeliness (and timelessness) of her topic, and, above all, the reminder of the transforming love of Jesus.

Go. Read. It’s a wonderful way to start your morning.

In Which I Am Resolved

Yesterday I had an industrial-sized bout of PMS, which meant that I spent a good portion of the day fighting off a full-fledged temper tantrum over all manner of Terribly Serious Issues. (For example: Alex ate around the edges of his biscuits. The edges are the best part. Eating around them makes no sense at all. How could he possibly have developed such a habit? Clearly I have Failed Motherhood.)

And then, to add insult to injury, I had to, like, share air with other people.

In short, I was a delight. Southern charm personified.

But wait! There’s more! When I dropped Alex off at his Sunday School class, he grabbed the door handle and would not let go as he Screamed Many Screams In A Fit Of High-Pitched Screamy Madness.

Since he usually walks into his classroom with a level of unbridled enthusiasm akin to what I feel when perusing the 75% off rack at Steinmart(s), I really didn’t know what to make of his reaction. He kept saying that he wanted to go to big church, no, he wanted to go home, no, he wanted to go to his class but not without mama, no, he wanted to eat cookies, no, he wanted Daddy, no, he wanted A VEGGIE TALES MOOOOOOOO-VIE, so I finally picked him up, took him out in the hallway, and snarled the following words through my gritted teeth:

“You have a choice. You can go in your class. Or we can go home. But if we go home, understand that you can’t watch TV, you can’t watch movies, and you can’t go with me to walk the puppy dogs. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand, Mama.”

“Oh, [trying not to hiss in the middle of the pre-school wing as such behavior is not a reflection of the fruit of the Spirit] I. think. you. do. You have two options. What’s your choice?”

He opted for his class. And when he finally walked in the room, he was all calm and nonchalant and “good morning, everybody” as he took his place in the storytime circle.

Meanwhile I had broken a sweat – complete with hair plastered to my forehead – and needed a serious dose of blood pressure medication or at the very least a stout shot of whiskey before I headed back to the sanctuary.

Happy Sunday, everybody! Peace and love of the Lord be with you!

I don’t know why I’m even surprised anymore when Sundays take a nosedive. I have long contended that it’s the primary day when the devil loves to get up in our junk, and yet I was somehow shocked when my child misbehaved, when I had a mental block about the sermon, when I found myself thinking about Why The Pre-Schooler Is On My Nerves instead of reflecting on the blessing of his little life, not to mention the goodness and mercy of God.

(And if your child has never gotten on your nerves, I salute you. You’re obviously not a human, but I salute you nonetheless, Friendly Robot-Type Creature.)

So anyway. Fast forward.

After church we went to our favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch, and Alex was obviously trying to win an award for Loudest Child Ever. I, on the other hand, was trying to smack down the mighty hormones so that my response to the Loudest Child Ever would reflect some semblance of patience. It wasn’t as easy as you might think.

A few minutes into our lunch, the manager of the restaurant came over to our table, mainly to speak to Alex. They’ve gotten to be good buddies over the last three years, and as the manager started to speak, Alex stood up in his seat, stuck out his little arm, looked at the restaurant manager and said, “Wait wait wait – I need to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” the manager asked.

Alex looked him straight in the eyes, grabbed his arm, and said (loudly, of course), “God! Cares! About! You!”

The manager was a little confused, not sure of what was said, so he asked Alex to repeat himself.

And once again the little man proclaimed, “God! Cares! About! You!”

He wasn’t so much on my nerves at that point. Mainly because I was trying not to cry in the presence of such overwhelming sweetness.

Now granted, the little man wasn’t trying to round up folks for a tent meeting. He was simply repeating a variation of the Bible verse they’d talked about in his Sunday School class. But the more I’ve thought about what he did, the more I’ve realized what I don’t do, the ways I let my boldness get swallowed up by my circumstances.

Alex learned that God cares about people. And he told somebody. He did something. He took that little bit of Truth, and he acted on it. He shared it.

I would do well to do the same.

So, I have one more goal for the year that I’m going to add to the list. Since right now there’s only one thing on the list (“Keep Moving”), I think adding something new is perfectly permissible.

And here’s the new goal: find some ways to love on some people.

Why? Because God cares about them.

The first love-a-thon is already in the works. God’s timing is good like that.

More details tomorrow….

Please Pardon Me While I Replenish My Electrolytes

Alex, the dogs and I just got back from our daily walk.

ONE HOUR AND THIRTY MINUTES after we left the house.

What can I say?

I zigged when I should have zagged. And we took a bit of a, um, scenic route.

Alex was a great sport about the whole thing. Mainly because he got to walk through a very big tunnel.

The dogs, however, were totally ticked off. Mainly because I wouldn’t let them chase the geese. Or swim in the lakes. Or catch the birds.

Anyhoo.

Moral of the story: Do not ever assume that you intuitively know where a golf course leads. Because you will be wrong.

Moral #2: Golf courses, apparently, are designed to be as hilly as possible. At least that’s what my legs started telling me around the 45-minute mark. And my legs are still just-a-talkin’, by the way.

Moral #3: Three year old boys have no limit to how far they can walk or run. However, thirty-something mamas who are just starting to get back into shape have a definite run / walk limit. And I believe I’ve hit mine.

I’ll be back later with my “real” post for the day.

In the meantime, I will be dousing the lower half of my body with some form of topical analgesic cream.

See y’all in a bit.

Read The Bible In Ninety Days. Really!

My friend Lori is starting a new Bible study this week, and you’re all invited to join. She’ll be leading a group through reading the Bible in 90 days, and the study gets underway this Wednesday. For more info, click here.

But You May Need To Hire A Babysitter While You Complete The Nomination Form

Earlier in the week I saw these blog awards mentioned at Kelsey‘s and at Mary‘s, but I’m just now getting around to checking the link out for myself.

Warning: it’s totally addictive. And trying to keep all the categories straight will make your head explode just a little bit.

But, it’s good bloggy fun. And, you know, something for me to do on yet another thrill-a-minute Saturday night in suburbia.

So, check it out…it’s a great chance to nominate your favorite blogs, especially the ones that may not have received much recognition in the past.

And as always: please, no wagering.