You Had Me At Hello...

March 30, 1984...

Twenty-seven years ago today, I lay shivering on a freezing cold slab covered with a thin scratchy sheet in an over lit operating room at Golden Plains Hospital in Borger. (You can blame your big brother for the insult of having to enter the world in such a stark, sterile setting. Your big-headed big brother, whose cranial circumference required an alternate mode of entry for all who came after him. Namely, you.)

So there I was...lying flat on my back, looking up at the bright lights and listening to the beep-beep-beeping of machines. I remember trying to control my shivering so as not to shake the sheet off my naked bloated body. And I remember trying to act tough, as though the prospect of near-evisceration during unconscious sedation was old routine to me, by now. To say nothing of the fact that God was once again allowing me to accompany Him in one of his finest miracles...the miracle of birth.

Dr. Ingham - sweet Dr. Ingham - had come into my room earlier that morning. He had prayed with Dickie and I, and had given me a little pewter cross. That cross was now clenched tightly in my fist beneath my shivering sheet. Truth be told, assisting in miracles was nothing short of terrifying.

The anesthesiologist must have smelled my fear. He blinked at me over his green mask and teased, "What are we having today - a he or a she?" "It's a he", I said confidently...heretofore void of any scientific proof (excluding peeing on Drain-O, with inconclusive results). "And just what are we gonna call this little boy?" asked the doctor. I smiled, and in my best Moses-Coming-Down-Off-The-Mountain voice replied, “Jacob. His name will be Jacob.”

The doctor's kind eyes crinkled above his mask in obvious approval. And as the numbing anesthesia slowly seeped into my veins, I fell deeply asleep to the sounds of an operating room choir spontaneously singing, “We are climbing Jacob’s ladder…”



(Okay...so maybe they didn't quite sound like the choir in the video, but you get the picture.)

Hours later, I woke up nauseated and groggy and mumbling for my baby. They wheeled my bed up and down the halls to the nursery and brought you out to meet me. I wasn't at all surprised to learn you were indeed a 'he'. A furiously screaming, red-faced, 7 lb. 14 oz. bundle of wonderfully made Cooper-Haney DNA. They laid you across my chest - your face inches from mine - and I was swamped with the glory of you. I stroked your downy soft head and told you over and over how much I loved you, how very happy I was to meet you, and shh, shh, baby boy...please don't cry. At the sound of my voice, you immediately stopped crying. And there we lay...nose to nose. Eyes locked in wonder. Souls connecting.

Minutes passed before I heard a nurse say, "Would you just look at that face!" Dickie proudly boasted, "Yeah, he IS a good-looking boy." But the nurse said, "No...I was talking about his Mama. That's nothing but love a'shining on her face."

Love at first sight. Happy Birthday, Baby Boy.

Love Me Like A Rock?

In the wake of the horrible devastation in Japan, it’s not surprising to see people showing more compassion for each other...spending more time and effort focusing on the things that really matter. And isn’t that always the case? Doesn’t it always seem to take a global catastrophe to kick us in our collective butts and make us realize that the only reason we’re here is to love each other, to help each other along? At this moment in time, it doesn’t seem so important that the people of Japan don’t look like us or talk like us, or may not hold the same tenets and beliefs as ourselves. What matters is that their suffering has become our suffering; their loss has become our loss. Such horrific tragedies always make the world seem smaller by leveling the playing field of humanity in the name of compassion.

Once again, we find ourselves shocked at the reminder of how out of control we truly are. That even with the most brilliant minds utilizing the finest materials to create the most scientific structural designs - all it takes is one big shake of planet Earth to send our best laid plans splintering to and fro like so many tinker toys. God must surely laugh at our feeble attempts to ‘Save the Planet’. It is laughable, when much of the time we’re only making a half-assed effort to save ourselves. The truth of the matter is that this Big Blue Ball is gonna keep right on spinning long after we’re gone. This planet is in much better shape than its people. Like the irreverent comedian George Carlin said…we are but a “surface nuisance” and one day “the planet'll shake us off like a bad case of fleas”. Seriously, can you blame her?

Yesterday, my G-Boy Matthew excitedly introduced me to his new pet rock, Nick (not a bad looking feller, as pet rocks go). It was clear to see that my Mattman and his pet rock had forged a strong bond in their short time together. Nick was obviously being well taken care of in his little butter bowl of a home that was beautifully decorated with pink and red hearts (courtesy of big sister Mandie). Nick even had a leash so he wouldn’t wander off, or go sailing across the room as Mattman spun him round and round on the table. I watched as he spent well over an hour in total absorption with his pet rock. He would let Nick out of his little house to tinkle…put him down for a nap…and spent long moments intently teaching him all the important things that a pet rock would need to know. When I reached over to give Nick a friendly pat, Mattman pushed my hand away while patiently explaining to me that his rock didn’t want to be patted, he wanted to be left alone.

It warmed my heart to see my 3 year old grandson demonstrate such loving care to an ordinary chunk of rock with a silly drawn-on face. Even so, it didn’t surprise me when I asked about Nick today and Matthew nonchalantly shrugged his little shoulders. He told me that he had no idea where Nick was, then ran off to play with his rubber snake. Not that I was worried about Nick. I’m pretty certain he can take care of himself and reintegrate into the 4.5 billion year old planet from whence he came.

We are the ones that need taken care of. We are the ones that need to love each other enough, to value each other, to carry one another’s burdens. Because even if this world keeps on spinning and the sun keeps shining and the wind keeps on blowing...does it really matter if we don't have love?

Colour My World

There never was (nor ever will be) sweeter music for falling in love than the music of the 70’s. And fall in love I did…to the background of songs such as: You are the Sunshine of My Life (Stevie Wonder), Let’s Stay Together (Al Green), and everybody’s favorite: Colour My World (Chicago). Those three were mine and the Dickman’s favorite songs…the songs that underscored the friendship and love between high school sweethearts.

Even though I've never been given a satisfactory explanation as to why there is an extra ‘u’ in the title…the song that meant the most to Dickie Gene and Robin Lee was Colour My World. In truth, I really couldn’t say if it was the beautiful melody or the oh-so-sappy words...but it became Our Song. The One That Curled My Toes.

Our Song became even more special at our wedding in 1977. Standing at the front of the church with my soon-to-be husband, I realized something was amiss…my wedding was somehow going awry. When I tried to determine the cause, I wasn’t surprised to see the culprit was my soon-to-be-brother-in-law Jackie. I watched as he broke rank as Best Man and made his way to stand directly in front of us with his guitar. But it wasn’t until I heard the first strum of that major 7th chord that I realized the Haney Boys were surprising me at my very own wedding with my very favorite song. As Jackie gifted us with his beautiful angel voice, there wasn’t a dry eye in the chapel. (Although the snazzy baby blue tuxes might have caused a few of those tears.)

Throughout the years the Dickman and I have remained stupid about Our Song. Whenever one of us catches it on the radio, we will fall all over ourselves trying to call the other in hopes of relaying the last few notes over the phone. Unless, of course, the Dickman is in the Doghouse. Then I can't turn the darn radio off fast enough.

Music has always been a big part of my life, having been born into a family of singers then marrying into a family of musicians. These past few weeks have been an especially musical time in da hood. In between two Geezers Gone Wild dances, Jackie also played a solo gig at Marty’s Restaurant. We went to hear him a few nights ago, along with his wife Lili, my oldest son and daughter-in-law and their three babies: Mandie Lee, Matthew Cooper and Michael Thomas (the only fruit of my loins - so to speak - that has not been spoiled).

So there we all were, having a wonderful time listening to ‘Uncle Jackie’ while enjoying our meal...when I heard Jack say, “I'd like to dedicate this next song to my brother and sister-in-law, a song that I had the honor of singing at their wedding 33 years ago.” And once again, with the first sound of that major 7th chord, I was swamped. I looked across at my gray-haired husband holding our fuzzy-headed grandbaby and my heart grew five sizes too big as two sets of identical blue eyes smiled back at me. I stood up as Dickie and baby Michael came around the table to hug me,and somehow we all started dancing...


As time goes on, I realize just what you mean to me. And now, now that you're near...promise your love that I've waited to share, and dreams of our moments together. Colour my world with hopes of loving you.

It was a moment. A moment of remembering that soggy bride in the pretty white dress standing at the altar with her heart chock full of ‘hopes of love’ for herself and her handsome groom. And a moment of realizing that young bride could never have imagined all the bright and beautiful ways God would colour her world with the fulfillment of all those hopes.

Everything I Need

As the preacher was winding up his sermon, I was looking forward to returning to my warm house, crawling into my soft bed and indulging in a long nap. I noticed a lady walking through the door --- dirty, disheveled and wearing insulated coveralls. As she sat down in the chair next to me, I offered her my hand and quietly introduced myself. She shook my hand, nodded her head and settled in to listen to the sermon.

I attend an inner-city church, so having a homeless person show up for services is nothing out of the ordinary. But there was something about this lady sitting beside me...I couldn't stop thinking about her. Not a big believer in coincidences, I wondered at the circumstances that had caused her to be homeless, that had brought her into this church to sit by my side. I wondered how God was going to use me in her life today. I sent up a little prayer thanking Him for the opportunity and asking for direction.

The closing song was 'Shout to the Lord', one of my favorites. As we sang the last verses, these words lingered in my heart:

My comfort, my shelter,
Tower of refuge and strength.
Let every breath, all that I am
Never cease to worship You.
Shout to the Lord, all the earth let us sing!
Power and majesty, praise to the King.
Mountains bow down and the seas will roar
At the sound of Your name.
I sing for joy at the work of Your hands,
Forever I'll love You, forever I'll stand.
Nothing compares to the promise I have in You.

I glanced over at the lady after the song and saw tears in her eyes. Trying to win her confidence, I leaned over and said, "I really like that song, too. My husband is the drummer". She smiled at me and said, "Oh...that's your husband? I really enjoyed the music." I felt my heart sing at her smile, and said, "Is there anything we can do for you - anything you need?" She said, "No. I've got everything I need. I'm just sorry I was late and wish I had taken time to clean up before I came." I told her that is not what church is about and I was glad she was here.

As I made my way home, her words humbled me to my toes. I got it. God didn't send the dirty, disheveled lady to me for help. He sent her to help me. This lady had entered the church building with everything she owned packed in a few pieces of battered bags strapped to a pull cart. And she had everything she needed.

"Nothing compares to the promise I have in you."