knowing

Sometimes, dear reader,  I know things I shouldn’t really know. Things I have NO way of knowing.

Hear me out.

I’m not saying I’m psychic. I’m not. I don’t see dead people. I don’t talk to spirits. I don’t see angels. None of that stuff.  It’s just that sometimes…out of the blue…I get these...well…nudges.

Little pushes. A thought will bubble up from the depths of my brain like a soft shell turtle popping his head out of the water and I’ll just know something I have no way of knowing.

  It’s from God, I surmise. It’s a mother’s intuition in overdrive. Although, to be frank, it started when I was a child. I have early memories of saying things and getting shushed by an adult saying “my word, child! where did you hear THAT?”. But I didn’t hear it…I just knew it. I learned to not say anything after a while. Learning when to shut up is a marvelous thing. I should really practice it more.

  One funny way it manifests itself is with Clint. I’ll get an idea of something to cook for supper. Swiss steak! I’ll think to myself. Stewed potatoes! Broccoli and cheese! I never make Swiss steak. Once a year, maybe. Clint walks in. “what’s cookin’?” he’ll ask and I’ll tell him and he’ll laugh.

“that’s what I had for lunch.” he  will  announce.

This happens so often that I will now call him to tell him what I’m thinking of cooking. A good 75% of the time, it’s what he ate for lunch. I have no way of knowing this. See?  

Once, Clint called and said “guess what I ate for lunch?” as soon as he said it, a picture of a beautiful piece of salmon popped into my head. I thought “that can’t be right. Clint HATES salmon.”

 But, going with my gut, I asked slowly “did you eat… salmon?”

Clint got very quiet.

“woman, I don’t know how you know that, but it’s creepy. Yes, I had salmon and YES it was good.”

  I won’t write the number of times I couldn’t get someone off my mind. Just be walking chickens and find that even when  I try to think of someone else or something else they keep popping back in.

  So I’ll pray for them and often I’ll send them a text or a message on facebook or call. Invariably, they are going thru some trauma or drama and are happy to know they were being prayed for. My friends are no longer shocked by this, they know that somehow God will give me that nudge, that push, if I am needed.

  Once, Clint invited a young couple to our house for a Sunday School class get together. They were new at our church and had a daughter Tara’s age. Everybody came over and we played volleyball and ate good food. I visited with the new couple a bit and after everybody left, Clint asked me what I thought about the husband.

“he’s the DEVIL.” I blurted out without thinking. Clint stared at me. “what?” he said. “he’s….he’s….trouble” I went on. “ He’s…. bad news. I don’t like him.” I stammered. “Why? did he do something? say something?” Clint looked confused. “no….he just…is…BAD.” I tried to explain but couldn’t. He had acted perfectly fine. He was nice and even funny. His wife seemed likeable.

  This man is now in prison for molesting a 14 year old girl after he was busted for selling meth.

What’s funny is, I have NO idea when the nudge will happen. I can’t make it happen. I can’t pray it into being. Things catch me off guard all the time. But sometimes, it comes together in a fruition that can ONLY be God.

  We went to Branson that July with a couple from church and their children. We had a week planned of Silver Dollar City and shows and good food. On day 5, I awoke from a sound sleep. I had been dreaming of my grandmother’s lake. I could see clearly the tree with the rope hanging from it. The ever present flat bottomed boat pulled up on the shore. The bank of the lake, rocky and steep. Something was wrong. The water was dark, the sky blurry and gray. I woke with tears on my face. It was 4 am. I touched Clint and he woke. “what’s wrong?” he said. “something’s wrong…at home….the lake..at granny and papaw’s…there’s something wrong.” I whispered. “I need to call and check.”

“It’s 4 in the morning!” he whispered back.

“Granny will be up, I know she will.” I said.

I got up and got my cell phone and went into the bathroom. Granny answered on the second ring.

“granny? it’s Lichea. I had a bad dream, a dream about your lake. Something bad had happened. Is everything ok?” I tried not to cry.

“why, of course everything is ok.” she said. Granny didn’t ask about my dream. It was unspoken that she did that too, that she just KNEW things. She didn’t have to set an alarm ever because she would wake on her own at exactly the time she needed to. I do that, too, waking up and sitting up on the side of the bed and reaching for my alarm just as the very minute turns, setting it off.

(once, dear reader, on a hot Saturday afternoon, I had a sudden panic in my chest. I got up off the couch and slipped my feet into my flip flops  and yelled to Clint “where’s my phone??” then I saw it on the counter and  I RAN to the phone just as it rang. I saw it was Tammie and I said out loud “this is BAD this is BAD” and dear reader it  was BAD, she had her one year old grandson in her arms and he was seizuring and Tammie was SCREAMING for me to come, hurry, 911, she said, panic in her voice…Tammie is a nurse, too and had her 2 other grandchildren with her and this seizuring baby…I drove so fast and picked up my other friend Susie and we just FLEW there so fast and we ran in past the ambulance and the baby was still seizuring and I yelled WHAT’S HIS TEMP??? and the EMT’s looked at me like I was a loony and his temp was 104.5 and I KNEW that’s why he seizured and we shouted PRAISE GOD FOR FEVER. A seizure from fever I can DEAL WITH, that means it’s not epilepsy or a tumor or some other scary thing. It’s a fever, a virus, just get the temp down and all will be fine … Then we got damp towels and fans and got his temp down to 101 and the seizure stopped and he sat up and asked for juice. We sat on the floor, all us women…the EMT’s staring….Tammie’s shirt soaking wet from the towels and his fever breaking and her tears. We cried and praised God.)

  Granny assured me all was well. It didn’t settle well with me, though and the dream hummed in the back of my head all day. I brought it up several times with Clint and he just patted me and assured me it was just a silly dream. “but, it was so….just…it was the lake, and something bad…” I tried to make my case.

  We were in our hotel room that afternoon, getting ready to go out one a dining cruise around the big lake. It had nice food and a show and we were looking forward to it.

  There was a knock at the door and John (the husband of the couple) stood in the doorway looking stunned.

“I’ve got bad news.” he stopped, not knowing what to say next. “they’ve been trying to get a hold of y’all all day. Sparky and Carolyn’s son Stephen was killed this morning.”

   Carolyn is one of my dearest friends. Tall and strikingly beautiful. Smart. Wonderful Christian. Sparky is one of those men like Clint, strong and solid and sweet and hardworking. Stephen was 16, just a couple of years older than Trevor. Stephen was one of those boys that didn’t mind letting Tara put makeup on him or playing tea party. He would bring Trevor cool stuff he had outgrown, like  a glow in the dark cup with the cartoon character “Mr. Bumpy” on it. (I have it still, dear reader….it glows softly at me every night from a cabinet in my bedroom after we shut the lamp off. It glows softly and I think of Stephen and how he glowed in this world)  He held the cup up to the light for Trevor, then they would dash to the closet and shut the door and marvel at the glowing cup. He was smart and sweet and handsome. He had just got his driver’s license and a job and was driving himself back and forth. Somehow, he had a wreck and now he was gone. Gone? No, not Stephen. They’ve got the wrong boy. It’s not our Stephen. No no no NO. The word no ran in a loop in my head.

  I fell to my knees, stunned. Trevor and Tara were wordless in their grief. We clung to each other and cried.

  We should have just headed home, but we decided we would finish out this day in Branson and head back to Arkansas in the morning, cutting our trip short. I remember very little about the boat, the show, the food. It’s all a blur of prime rib and baked Alaska…none of which I was able to keep down.

  We drove in early the next morning. We didn’t even stop at our house, we just drove to Sparky and Carolyn’s.

  Their driveway was packed and we made our way in thru the crowd. When Carolyn saw us, we fell into each other, sobbing and racked with grief, wordless, just keening and crying, no words, just sounds, the sounds of sadness.

  She had in her hand a small photo album. She handed it to me and said “these are Stephen’s favorite pictures. He went thru our pictures a while back and picked out the ones he loved the most and put them in this album.  They are wonderful.”

    I opened to the first page. I stared, mouth open. I looked at Clint, shoving the album  toward him, crying even harder now. Clint stared at the picture, stared at me. He held my arm as I felt the world spin, nearly throwing me off my feet. I felt hot and dizzy and sat down on the couch, holding the album, clutching it to my face.

  There stood 8 year old Stephen in the picture, standing beside Trevor. Stephen is holding a fish, grinning and so proud. Trevor is smiling and touching the fish. A day of fun, on a flatbottom boat, in the sun, drinking lukewarm soda and eating soggy sandwiches. Clint and Sparky on the boat, all the kids waving to the camera, Carolyn snapping pictures. What a good day that was! So fun. Such good memories. Trevor and Stephen, laughing and throwing the fish back into the murky water,  Trevor, smiling up at his hero, Stephen who never lost patience with him and played silly games and stood in the dark with glowing cups. Trevor and Stephen, standing in the sun, the old tree visible with the rope swing in the background.  

   (dear reader, this part makes me cry. give me just a moment. take a moment for you, too, because sometimes that’s all you have, a moment,  a snapshot, a nudge, a push, bubbling up from underneath dark water)

They are smiling and proud, Trevor and Stephen, and…. they are standing on the bank of my grandmother’s lake.