Another Husband for Mother

Mother continued working in a local hospital where she met another patient who fell in love with her. By this time, the divorce from Vernon was behind her, my sister and I were well into high school, and some of those six brothers were pressing on towards the teen years. No doubt Mother was feeling a little overwhelmed at the prospect of continuing as a single parent. One week before my high school graduation in May 1963, she married Kelsey. He was a good man who worked for the state of Arizona maintaining a stretch of unpaved mountain road out from Globe, a city about 80 miles east of Phoenix. It was obvious that he loved Mother and wanted to take care of her. He was even willing to be a father to the boys; but as time would prove, he came a little late to that task. Nevertheless, he did his best.

I was no longer attending a Nazarene church but instead had been invited by friends to an independent Bible church where I was growing in the Lord and had a strong youth group for fellowship. Through the influence of the youth pastor, I felt the Lord wanted me to attend a Christian school in South Carolina, so I made application and began working to earn money for college.

In July, Mother took my sister and the boys with her to Globe. Because of work, I stayed in Phoenix. They were enjoying an afternoon at Roosevelt Lake when tragedy struck. My seven-year-old baby brother, who had been sitting on a rock with Mother monitoring his every move, suddenly fell off the rock into the water and was immediately sucked down into a deep hole. Mother, who could not swim, instinctively dove in but could not reach him. She subsequently passed out and somehow floated to shore. My sister and brothers were witness to all of this. Miraculously, just as this was happening, Kelsey, who had been grading the road that day, was the first person on the scene. My brother’s body never surfaced, and divers had to be called out to retrieve it. Mother told me later that when she came to in the water, she knew she could not save Lloyd. The faces of all her children kept flashing before her face. She knew she had to make it to shore and save herself for their sakes. Seems there were lots of miracles at Roosevelt Lake that day.

It was at my brother’s funeral that I realized I had a different view of death than most people. Yes, there was a sense of loss, but I was excited that he was in Heaven with Jesus! However, that excitement kept me from fully entering into the grief my mother was experiencing in the loss of her child. Credit youth and immaturity if you will, but I soon learned the depth of her grief when I received a letter from the college to which I had applied. Without my knowledge, Mother had written the school saying she did not think it was a good idea for me to enter in the fall, that I did not have the finances and she could not help. The school was asking me how I wished to proceed in light of my mother’s letter to them. In her mind, she had just lost her youngest in death. Having her oldest go so far from home for college was akin to losing another child. Out of respect for Mother, I agreed to postpone college. In God’s timing, he allowed me to enter school in the fall of 1964. Through his faithfulness and provision, I graduated four years later. Only one other of my siblings has obtained a college degree.

Today there are six of the eight Roberts children still living. I am the only one who does not live in Arizona. Years ago, we lost another brother who had fought in Vietnam. He finished his tour of duty and returned home only to be taken in a freak motorcycle accident. God even brought good out of that loss as several of his organs were donated to save the lives of others.

During my college years I was greatly burdened for the salvation of my brothers. At night from my bunk bed in the dormitory I would cry out to God for their souls. Finally, in a breakthrough moment God gave me the assurance that each of my brothers would come to know him. As the years passed, I watched God fulfill that promise.

To those readers who have followed this narrative of my childhood, the message that I pray comes through is that God is loving in all his ways, deliberate in EVERYTHING he allows in the lives of those who belong to him – and I belonged to him before I knew him because HE had chosen ME before the foundation of the world! That baby girl conceived in sin and reared in poverty and abuse was at all times under the watchful eye and protecting hand of a loving heavenly father.

There is much of God’s grace that was manifested in the ensuing years of marriage and rearing of my own children, and he may allow the sharing of those stories in due time. For now we will stop this narrative and continue in another vein – all for the purpose of displaying his glory in order to bring “Light for the Night – encouragement for the dark places of life.” The Lord be praised!

Chicken Soup for the Soul

God always has purpose in whatever he allows into our lives, and this week God has shown himself strong through chicken soup.  It took a diagnosis of pneumonia to bring on the chicken soups that blessed me so richly.

The first encounter with chicken soup started on the way home from the doctor’s office when the friend who took  me there insisted on stopping at a local store of the chain famous for its chicken filets.  She was convinced their version of chicken soup would be just what I needed.  She ordered two large bowls.  I had my debit card at the ready when the worker announced the total, but my friend would not hear of my paying for the soup.  This friend had interrupted her day of preparation for out-of-town company to take me to the doctor in her car, and now she was insisting on paying for chicken soup.  Since I was still reeling from the doctor’s diagnosis of pneumonia, I accepted her gracious gesture with thanksgiving both to her and to the Lord.

This transaction took place late in the afternoon but too early for the supper hour, so the chicken soup went into the refrigerator.  When I finally got around to eating it, I noticed the noodles were of a different consistency than those found in Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup, the standard by which all other chicken soups are judged!  The chicken was chunky,  All in all, it was very tasty.   I thanked God again for the blessing of his provision.

It was not long before news of my illness had circulated through the church grapevine.  Members of my local assembly, a church that on purpose tries to function as a true Body of Christ, began calling with assurance of prayer and solicitations of “can I do anything for you?”  One lady announced that she had just made a pot of chicken soup and asked if she could bring some over.  This Godly lady has a reputation for her culinary skills, so I was eagerly anticipating her version of chicken soup, and she did not disappoint.  She arrived late in the afternoon of a very cold and rainy day.  This lady who suffers with great back pain inconvenienced herself to minister to my necessity.  Her simple gesture spoke volumes.  Her recipe for chicken soup contained rice, smaller-but-generous-in-number chunks of chicken and, best of all, it was hot and ready to eat.  This lady knows me well, and included in her delivery were a few chewy-gooey brownies!  How marvelous are the works of the Lord!

There was a third delivery of chicken soup from a close friend and confidante who took time from a busy professional schedule to be God’s instrument.  Her recipe for chicken soup included shredded white meat chicken, rice, vegetables and cream of chicken soup.  It was delicious and very satisfying over several meals.

Each recipe for chicken soup accomplished its purpose – it satisfied my need for nourishment and delivered all that chicken soup is reputed to deliver for upper respiratory illnesses.  Yet I was still struck by the diversity of each recipe.  Even the soup from the national chain was put together by someone, and the vision in my head is that of God superintending the selection of each ingredient, prompting stirring at just the right moment and supernaturally adding his own love and care to the mixtures that would minister so sweetly to one of his own.

As I write this on Saturday morning, the thermometer indicates I still have a fever.  I pray this piece makes sense and conveys how these simple, similar acts of kindness brought great blessing to my body and soul.  The recipes for chicken soup were as varied as the cooks putting them together, but they each accomplished God’s purposes!

The Lord be praised!