Confessions of a Tow Truck Driver

It’s my first day heading back to work after an extended period of time off.  I commute a total of two hours each day.  I’m first in line at a temporary light in a construction zone on the Trans-Canada Highway . . . the light turns green . . . and my car stalls.  I restart it; put it in gear; and it stalls again.  Are you picturing this?

I immediately turn my hazard lights on and quickly jump out of the car to raise the hood as vehicles slowly start making their way around me.  Ah yes, the joys of being the one who is holding up traffic.  I’m fumbling around my wallet trying to find my CAA card and suddenly, there’s a knock on the window.  A young man is motioning for me to roll it down.  “If you put your car in neutral, I can probably push you over to the side.  This is a dangerous spot.  You could easily get rear-ended.”  I was so thankful to have some help that the sarcastic side of my brain didn’t have a chance to spew the thought, Really???  This is a dangerous spot???

Within moments, my car and I were gratefully huddled on the side of the road, with hood still raised and hazard lights blinking.  The sympathetic CAA agent is taking down my information when I hear another knock on the window.  This time it’s one of the highway construction workers.  “Ma’am, this is not a safe place to park your car.  You’re going to have to move it.”  I pointed to the raised hood as he listened to my conversation with the CAA agent.  It was then that he realized the stupidity of what he had just said and went back to what he was doing.

I actually laughed as I sat there waiting for the tow-truck.  What else could happen on my first day back?

Within a short time, my knight in shining tow-truck arrived.  And within a short time, I had an appreciation for him.  He clearly knew what he was doing. 

On the way to my mechanic’s garage, I told him just that – that he was very proficient at his job. 

“I’ve been doing this for ten years,” he said as he butted his cigarette.  “I’ve seen a lot.”

For some reason, I had never thought of it before.  Whenever I saw the scene of an accident and all the lights, I had always thought of police, firefighters, paramedics . . . but I didn’t even think of one of the lights being that of a tow-truck . . .

“After one particular accident, I had PTSD, which is post-traumatic stress disorder,” he said.   ‘‘A man had committed suicide at an intersection.  I had to stop doing those calls.”  You could almost see the reflection of the scene from years before in his eyes.

“Yes, I know what PTSD is,” I said.  A memory surfaced instantly of a soldier who had done numerous tours in Afghanistan.  He had told me of an incident where he had gone fifty feet into a minefield to save the life of a young girl.  In the next sentence, he desperately tried to convince his girlfriend that she should abort his unborn child, which could add more PTSD onto what he already suffered from.  Yes, I was very aware of PTSD, and its effects . . . . 

“What do you do for a living?” he asked, shaking me from my reverie.

 “I’m the director of a pregnancy center.  And part of what I do is to help men and women come to terms with experiences that they’ve had with abortion.”  - To prevent more PTSD from occurring . . . I thought to myself.

I told him about one gentleman in particular.  “A few years ago, a man attended the program who had suffered from bouts of depression.  He was married and had children but had years before, pushed a girlfriend to have an abortion.  The guilt led to a depression that had deepened enough that he had picked out which concrete bridge abutment would be the best to drive into.  And what speed he would have to hit it at for it to kill him.”

“I had no idea,” he said, shaking his head.

Me either . . . . 

The Contribution

November 16th at 9:01 a.m. will mark ten years of being Director at a Crisis Pregnancy Center.

I have constantly sought and asked God for his guidance, wisdom, and direction.  This story is one of those memorable times.

A few years ago, I was sitting beside a pastor at a church function and noticed a young woman.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something about the way she carried herself.  It was a quiet confidence.

I asked him who she was, then I made a bold statement I have NEVER said before. 

“There’s something about her,” I said.  “If I had the money, I would hire her.” 

I kept noticing how she conducted herself.  At the end of the weekend, she approached me to talk about her interest in volunteering at the Center.

She was taken aback by my response.  “I’ve been watching you throughout the weekend.  I want you to know that if I had the money, I would hire you to work at the Center.”

A few weeks went by.  A gentleman in one of the Center’s programs asked if he could donate.  We never want clients to feel as though they need to make donations.  “We have many, many, people who believe in what happens at the Center.  It is very kind of you to want to do that.  Why don’t you wait until after you’ve completed the program?  If you still feel inclined, you could contribute then.”

Weeks later, he recognized how much his life had changed for the better.  He insisted on contributing.  “I’m in a position to help,” he said. “Please tell me of a need that you have.”

I told him I would pray about it and let him know. 

A few weeks later, myself and two friends of mine, were on a motorcycle trip.  I received a text from him.  “Have you thought about a financial need I can fill yet?”

I felt uncomfortable with the request.  I had no idea how to reply. 

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know how to respond.  How much money are you talking about?”

We had stopped to fill our bikes with fuel.  He responded.  “I was thinking $25,000.”  I almost fell off my bike.

That night, I told my friends about the donation.  “I have no idea what to do with that kind of money!”

The next morning, we talked and prayed as we always did.  One of the stories I shared with them was about the young woman I had seen weeks earlier.

Sometimes, you need someone to help you see the forest for the trees.

“Melony, I don’t know what your problem is,” Becky said. “God has clearly shown you a person you should be hiring at the Center.  And now He’s providing you with the money to hire her.”

I prayed.  Hard.  God, is this what you want?  Am I hearing You correctly?

Within two days, I called the young woman and offered her a position.  She just happened to be on the roof of a house, helping her father shingle it.  She’s not afraid of hard work.

She accepted the position.  Here we go.  Lord, I pray you are behind all of this.

A few months went by.  The man called.  “I’d like to speak with you,” he said.  We set up an appointment for him to come in the next day.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said.

Oh great . . .  See!  You weren’t listening correctly!  What are you going to do now?  You’ve already hired this woman!

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said again as he reached into his pocket.  “I’ve changed my mind about the amount.”

He handed me a cheque.

It was for $50,000.

Rescued

“Friends love through all kinds of weather, and families stick together through all kinds of trouble.”—Proverbs 17:17 (The Message Version)

“That’s interesting,” I thought, as my friend Kate read from her devotion that morning.  It was the same scripture that had been revealed during a previous time of adversity.  She continued to read.  “If you have Godly friends, love and nurture those relationships as though your life depends on them, because it does.”

My eyes teared.  Kate is my best friend.  We have stood beside and propped each other up through some tough times.  Times like her daughter passing away in an accident in 2011.  Times like my son-in-law passing away two years later.  Times like both of us being ready to throw in the towel on the ministries that God has called us to.  She is a “friend that loves through all kinds of weather.”

Although the wind started to blow from the same direction it had the previous day, it was a beautiful morning.  Kate, my eleven-year-old grandson Alex, and myself were on a kayak trip on the Qu’Appelle river. 

The day before had already proved to be an adventure.  We had taken a couple of breaks along the banks of the river, but as we tried to find a place to camp for the night, there was nowhere in sight to get out.  The embankments were too high and steep.  Finally, after seven hours of paddling, we found a spot.  A herd of magnificent horses kept peering over the embankment at us.  It was their watering spot.  You could practically read their thoughts as they flicked their ears. “Yep, they’re still there,” they said to each other as they trotted away.

Alex was asleep early.  We had found wood for a fire and Kate and I warmed ourselves as shooting stars burned their way through the clear night.  It was breathtaking. 

“Grandma, I’m not feeling well,” Alex said after Kate finished reading her devotion the next morning.  Then he started vomiting.

We took turns towing him a few times the day before.  Kate’s kayak was longer and sleeker than mine.  Even when she towed Alex, it was hard for me to keep up. 

“No problem Alex,” I said.  “I will tow you.  All you have to do is sit in the kayak until we reach our destination.”  Kate and I looked at each other.  The long day before had already taxed our bodies.  So, she insisted on towing Alex, knowing we would reach our destination sooner.

After we launched, I started to become sick.  At one point, Alex and I vomited over the sides of our kayaks in unison.  I would’ve laughed, had we not been in this situation.

We kept going.  But every time we traversed an oxbow, there would be a long distance of the wind blowing straight at us.  It was strong enough that if we stopped, it would blow us back against the current.

The reception on our cell phones wasn’t great, but I managed to call my daughter, Jodie, to let her know we would hopefully be at a spot soon where she could pick up Alex.  But the reception wasn’t sufficient to load the GPS on our phones.  We had no idea how much farther it was.

I could see the worried look on Alex’s face.  His condition was not improving.  Things were starting to look bleak.

Kate steered her kayak into the reeds.  Her neck muscles were in extreme pain and she had an eye condition that was rearing its ugly head.  She felt as though daggers were being driven into her eyes.  She needed to keep them closed.

“Mel, I’ve lost hope.  I feel like I’m going to pass out.  I don’t think I can go on.”

It just got bleaker.

Kate was my rock.  And she was one tough cookie.  If she was losing hope . . .

I took one look at my grandson’s face.

“This is not a problem,” I said as I tied a rope onto Kate’s kayak, then mine.  “I will tow both you and Alex.  We will make it.”

No one said a word.  A strength from a deep, deep, place came out of nowhere. 

The wind continued to blow.  I could hear Kate and Alex’s moans as we rounded each bend, only to see another long stretch of river.  But we kept moving.  With me in front, Kate could paddle most of the time with her eyes closed.

Finally, the lake loomed ahead.  But the wind blew harder.  A building emerged in the distance, but it was miles away.  We would never make it.  Alex continued to vomit over the side of his kayak. 

“Grandma, what are we going to do?” he asked, his voice shaking.

I looked around.  And prayed.  “I’m calling Uncle Rod,” I said.

‘Uncle Rod’ is my other son-in-law.  Within minutes and without hesitation, he dropped everything.  

Time ticked away.  “Grandma, what if he doesn’t make it?  What if he can’t find us?”  Storm clouds started gathering overhead.

“He will be here.”

The sound of a motor was heard, and there in the distance, relief filled our hearts.  Rod, and my daughter Lindsey, were coming to rescue us and tow us home.

I didn’t realize how desperate it appeared to Kate until we were safe in the truck.  “Honestly, Mel, at times, I was ready to press the 911 button on my phone.”

But there had been three towropes before Rod and Lindsey arrived.  The rope between Kate and Alex’s kayak, the rope between Kate’s and my kayak, and the rope between my kayak and the Lord’s.

“If you have Godly friends, love and nurture those relationships as though your life depends on them, because it does.” 

It wasn’t a life-threatening situation, but it affected us deeply.  Kate had worked through some safety-based issues, Alex experienced the joy of being rescued.  Me?  My faith rope was extended a few more meters.

I had prayed that my grandson would have an unforgettable, memorable experience.

It was.

The next day, tears fell as I listened to a worship song, “The wind and waves surround me . . . I am tired, I am weak, I need You here with me . . .”

He was.

Sick Secrets

A few weeks ago, I was in the hospital for a colonoscopy.  I know, I know . . . too much information, but there’s a story here.

There were numerous beds in the room and we all waited, male and female, for our turn for the procedure.  A woman shared that she had previously had surgery for colon cancer and was in for a check-up.  She said that if the cancer returned, she would be heading to Mexico for alternative treatment. 

“There’s no history of colon cancer in my family,” she said, “so why would I have this cancer?”

I knew the question was rhetorical, but the look on her face said she was begging for an answer.  I said nothing, and it has bothered me ever since.  I wish I had told her a bit of what I have come to understand.  I don’t know her name.  But who knows?  Maybe by chance she will read this blog.

Ever since I was small, I had mysterious “heart pain”.  Mom and Dad would haul me off to various doctors, trying to find the cause.  I was diagnosed with everything from a heart murmur, to pericarditis, to angina, to a pinched nerve, even to having a muscle stuck between two ribs.  A sudden, intense pain would start in my heart area and would last anywhere from a few seconds to minutes.  I would be unable to move and would breathe shallow until it subsided.

The worst memory is of my sister and I on a ski trip.  We were having a great time until another “attack” started on the way home.  Our plane landed and my oldest daughter surprised us by meeting us at the airport.  The surprise, however, was on her when she saw me laying on a gurney, being loaded into an ambulance after I had collapsed.  In the hospital, a doctor came into the emergency room waving the paper from an ECG.  He promptly announced that I was having a heart attack.  I was thirty-seven years old.  I remember bargaining with God, telling Him I wasn’t ready to die.  Yet.

The “heart pain” continued . . . sometimes daily, sometimes weekly.

But it mysteriously disappeared when I faced my “crap”, all the nasty secrets that I had never shared with anyone.  Things like being sexually abused as a child.  Things like having an abortion.  Both of which, in my life, begot shame.  But shame cannot survive in an environment of nonjudgmental love.  My shame could not survive being spoken out loud.

It’s called disease.  Dis – Ease.  Therefore, if a person is not at ease with themselves, or in a deep, dark place feels shame, dis-ease can manifest . . .  I am NOT saying that everyone who has a disease has secrets!  God knows genetics, environment and a host of other things come into play.  But studies are showing that 85% of disease is rooted in unfelt and unacknowledged emotions.  Fear.  Shame. 

So, if you are the woman who was in the hospital room with me that day, before heading to Mexico for alternative treatment, I would encourage you to face any secrets in your past . . . find a trusted person you can share them with.  God will be there with you.  He already knows everything that has happened.  The disease might heal.  And if it doesn't?  The most important thing will be.  Your spirit.

The " - "

A few days ago, I visited my dad’s gravesite.  As I gazed at the tombstone, I was reminded of two things; the story of the "─", and a red walker.   

A man had visited his father’s gravesite and had taken his son with him.  His father and his son shared the same name . . . John Smith.  

“What do you think is the most important thing on this tombstone?” he asked his son.  As the son pondered seeing his own name on the tombstone, the father gave him a hint.  “It’s between the two dates.”  The son quizzically looked at his father.

“The headstone states your grandfather’s name, and the year of birth and the year of his death,” he explained.  “But the most important thing is the dash between the years . . . the "─".  Years from now, no one will remember anything about him.  No one will even know he existed, but what will count is what he did with his life.  His legacy will be what is left behind, be it good or bad.  If you believe in God, one day you will be asked what you did with your "─".

I continued to think about the "─" on Dad’s marker as I recalled the impact that a red walker had on my life.

Many years ago, I volunteered in a nearby nursing home.  My favorite thing was to gather the residents in the common area and read to them.

One night, I noticed a bright new shiny red walker outside one door as I knocked.

“I will call for someone to help me out of bed, Dear,” I heard from inside.

One couple lived together in the nursing home.  I said hello as they walked toward me, but their eyes did not meet mine.  They didn’t hear me.  They were fixated on the red walker.

The walker was red, and shiny, and new ─ the crème de la crème of walkers.  If BMW or Porsche had a walker in their line of cars, this was it.  It had a place to sit, a cup holder, the best brake pads, a place for "stuff" and a clear coat finish to boot.

Everything that I thought was important was flashing before me ─ hard work which would pay off in worldly possessions.  And the harder I worked, the more “stuff” I would accumulate; you know . . . things that would increase my sense of self-worth.

A lumped formed in my throat.  It was then that I came to realize that as life draws to a close, the things that seem important, like money, prestige, or power, will not matter.  If I'm lucky, I might have a room, a chest of drawers, and perhaps a shiny red walker. 

“Stuff” won’t matter anymore.  What will matter is how my life affected others . . . what will matter is what I did with my "─".

Flat Tires and Comets

:After becoming director of a pregnancy center, someone once said, “We want you to be a steady light ─ we don’t want you to be a comet streaking across the sky that is here for only a short time.”

There have been times when I have felt like I’m running out of gas.  So much so, that at one point, I thought about quitting at the center.  I called a mentor who is also a close friend.  She is my “go to” person when I need sound advice. 

“Where are you on a scale of one to ten with regard to your well-being for the following areas?"

1. Mental

2. Emotional

3. Physical

4. Relational

5. Spiritual

“I think I’m at a 6 for all of them, except spiritually I would say I’m at an 8 ─ but I’m having a hard time hearing God right now.”

She said if I was at a 6, my tires were 40% deflated.  She asked if I was okay with that.

“Yes, but I know from experience that tires don’t last long when they’re deflated.  And, of course, when tires are flat, you don’t go anywhere.”

As it turned out, I didn’t need to quit.  I needed a break.  And interestingly, big things started happening after the much-needed time off.  

Since then, I am forever cognizant of “burnout”.

At a recent conference, I listened to the words of a wise young man.  He told the story of a group of pioneers making the trek across the country to California.  They made sure they honored the Sabbath and rested every seventh day.  But they heard there were signs that winter was fast approaching.  An argument ensued.  It was decided they would split into two groups.  One part of the group would keep resting every seventh day, but the others would travel every day to ensure they crossed the mountains before winter.  Is the story of the tortoise and the hare coming to mind?

You guessed it.  The group that kept resting every seventh day made it first.  Why?  They had more energy to travel the six days per week . . .

That story resonated with me as I peered into my fuel tank which was, once again, running on fumes.

I decided right then and there to extend my upcoming time-off and take a summer sabbatical, no matter how much it cost me.  So as of 4:01 pm today, the resting starts.

Are you feeling tired?  Are you feeling like you’re hanging on by your fingernails?  Are you feeling like your light is extinguishing?  If you are unable to take an extended break from work, at least try to take one day off per week and RELAX . . .  Go for a walk . . .  Smell the flowers . . .  Look at the stars . . .

I plan on spending time looking at the stars and comets through my telescope.  I love comets.  But I don’t want to be one of them.

Broken pieces

We are all broken.  But for some, it comes in a different form.

A woman came into the Center to ask for advice.  She and her husband are contemplating adopting and she wanted to know what she could do to lessen the impact on the children.

She knew that I was adopted and that we have a program to help adults come to terms with their adoption experience.  We started it after uncovering research showing it’s not uncommon for adoptees to have unplanned pregnancies.  We wanted to help prevent this.  Not only do we have men and women in the program, but children as young as ten.   It has been amazing to watch them discover the feelings they didn’t know they had and the subconscious reasons behind some of their actions.  They begin to understand themselves.  They begin to understand that the truth does indeed set you free.

It made total sense to me that there would be unresolved grief in an adoptee.  Even though a child may be placed for adoption with great intentions, it does not mean there won’t be pain for both the birth mother, and the child.  I recalled asking a question at a function, “Would we tell someone who has lost a child to not worry because they can get another one?”  That would be incredibly unfeeling!  Yet that’s what we’re saying to adoptees.  “You shouldn’t feel any grief about your birth mother no longer being around – here’s another one to take her place.”  We take it even further by saying, “You should be grateful.” 

I am extremely grateful.  But I also recognized a very deep root of trauma in myself. 

Generally, we think it’s just a baby, and as babies, we can’t remember anything.  Actually that’s not true…

Apparently a human brain takes twenty-five years to become fully developed.  But the limbic portion of our brain, the emotional memory box, is almost fully formed when we are born.  If something traumatic happens when we’re small, we may not remember it, but we “remember” it.  It is fully stamped on our emotions and souls, hence the term – The earlier the trauma, the more the effect. 

It stands to reason, then, that there would be unresolved pain and that the person would have no idea where it was stemming from.

The woman and I talked about always “being with” the child in their emotions and thoughts, allowing them a safe place to feel and “grieve” without judgement.

At the end of the appointment, we prayed that God would give her great wisdom and discernment to enable her to be the best parent possible for her future children.  As we prayed, I told her of something I had written as I progressed on my own journey through the adoptee program at the Center.  In a letter to my birth father (never to be sent), I wrote, “I am almost through this…  I am almost fully restored.  I am no longer broken…. Psalm 31:13 says ‘I am forgotten, out of mind like the dead; I am like a shattered dish.’  I was shattered.  But God has been so patient with me.  He has glued all the pieces back together and we are together now just waiting for everything to dry.…”

Through her tears she said, “I know that these children are broken… but I’m praying that there won’t be so many pieces.”

One thing I’ve learned: If broken pieces are properly mended, the place of brokenness becomes stronger than the rest.

If you want to learn more about this issue, you can listen to this month's interview on The Rock.  It includes a big AHA moment that the interviewer had:

Melony with her monthly talk at The ROCK 98 Five in Yorkton, SK.

Rotten Houses

Last year, my husband and I decided to install new windows and siding on our home.  It was sixty-five years old.  An addition had been added many moons ago, but everything needed to be replaced.  We had kept putting it off….  We signed a contract for the work but decided to remove the siding ourselves to save $$$. 

It was eerie.  As the siding came off, spots were uncovered where windows used to be on the old portion of the house, and the old, old, original siding was underneath that! 

An analogy began to form in my mind of myself and others. 

When reminded of things that happened in my life that I didn’t like to think about, I would “board up the window” so that I wasn’t forced to look out of it anymore.  Of course, I hoped the board would never come off.

As we continued to remove the siding, I noticed some rotten boards here and there.  “Oh great!” I said, “These will need replacing which will add cost.”  Someone replied, “You don’t have to replace those – they will get covered with the new siding.”  Not a good plan.  Again I thought of the emotional wounds we have; “rotten boards” that we don’t think cause damage.  As long as it looks good on the outside….

The contractor began his work.  There was more “rot” than what had been anticipated, in fact, a large portion of one wall needed replacing, then another.  Others thought the porch smelled musty, but we could never smell it.  After the walls were replaced, the smell was gone.  THAT reminded me AGAIN of us refusing to look at our wounds.  Some of us emit such an odor.  As a result, not only do we make unhealthy choices, we can attract others who emit the same odor…

Some spots were so shoddy that in a few years, there would’ve been major damage.  So much so, that the house probably would’ve been abandoned.  (Read what you want into that!)  My husband and I had been in denial as to how bad it really was.

All the work on the house was frustrating and a real pain at times, but it was desperately needed. 

I am SO glad that I allowed God to become my General Contractor.  Having Him use various people to help me remove rotten boards has been painful.  But it was needed…otherwise my whole foundation may have collapsed. 

The house now smells great.  AND you can see clearly out of the windows, which are now letting in the Son.

Balloons...

As Executive Director of a Crisis Pregnancy Center, I see people in emotional pain. Every day.

One of the main focuses of every program that we have is for people to come to a place of forgiveness for those who have hurt them.  Sometimes, the forgiveness is for unspeakable things.  Sometimes, I don't sleep well after hearing these things.  

One of the questions I inevitably ask is, "Does God have any conditions in forgiving you?"  Typically, the answer is no, God has no conditions.  But does He?

In the Lord's prayer, we pray "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who have trespassed against us." 

Mark 11:26 says "But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your transgressions."  Ouch.

Whenever I think of this, a picture forms in my mind.  I'm holding a large number of helium balloons which will lift me closer to God.  But in my other hand, I have a hook.  And that hook is in the people that I have not yet forgiven for hurting me or my family.  As long as my "bitterness" hook remains, I will not allow myself to draw closer to God.  So, in reality, this is not about my relationship with the person who has trespassed against me.  It is about my relationship with God.  I need to pray for those who have hurt me, but if they remain unrepentant, they will inevitably have to answer not to me...but to God, the Maker of the Universe.

As I shared the picture with a man this week, a different image formed in his mind.  He said, "I'm getting the picture of two or three large helium-filled balloons which represent a few people in my life that I have not forgiven.  Each time I choose not to forgive, one of the balloons breaks.  If my bitterness continues to grow, soon I will have no balloons left..."

Suddenly, I had more incentive to forgive...