Posted on by kellyyarborough

My Sweetest Sorrow

Forty-one years ago today was the beginning of my “sweetest sorrow” or “the great sadness”.  I was seven, an innocent child, with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The cancer diagnosis came when I was one and my dad was thirty.  A mole mom discovered on his back.  They removed the mole and it was malignant Melanoma.  After successfully removing the mole they had to continue cutting around the perimeter.  Finally, after leaving a crater sized hole in my dad’s back, margins were clear.

He was told by doctors at the time if he didn’t have any recurrence for two years, he would be fine.  Close to the end of the two-year period, he had a spot on his leg.  The Melanoma had returned.  This time, however, it had spread.  Chemo would be necessary. So, the arduous process began.

Every month for a week at time, he would travel to Baptist Hospital in Winston-Salem for treatments.  This continued for approximately four years.  In late February of 1976 while waiting to be checked-in, he told my mom that he couldn’t feel his legs.  Immediately, they rushed him for x-ray.  A large tumor was pressing on his spine.  It was inoperable.  My dad was paralyzed from his waist down.  He knew the end was drawing near and wanted to be closer to home.  The decision was made to transport him to Pardee Hospital in Hendersonville.  This would be his home for the next seven weeks.

We would visit frequently.  My dad had a pull-up bar in his room.  He still had strength in the upper part of his body and could pull himself to an upright position.  We called it his “monkey bar”.

On the evening of April 4, 1976, we went to visit.  Daddy was very weak and didn’t have strength to pull himself up.  He talked and laughed with us like normal but then as we were leaving he asked me to come hold his hand.  He looked at me with his beautiful sky blue eyes and told me how proud he was of me.  He told me how much he loved me and then the very last thing was, “Honey, you’re the oldest and I need you to help your Mama take care of your sister and brother.  Now, you be a good girl and remember I love you.” Then he kissed me.

Here I sit, forty-one years later and it still rips my heart into tiny little pieces.  I was given a task by my dying father that I could not fulfill.  I was far too young to take on responsibility of my younger siblings but at the time, I was determined to try.  I wanted to do what my daddy asked me to do.  I wanted to be his good little girl and I wanted him to be proud of me.

It wasn’t long after he died that I realized that I wasn’t able to live up to the promise I made to him and I began to feel like a failure.  Yes, at seven, I was a failure, a flop, or at least in my mind.   Thus began the compartmentalization of my heart.  I took each hurt and disappointment and tidied it up and put it in a box in my heart.  I shoved and stuffed for as long as I can remember.  In my mind, I yelled and screamed at God asking “Why”?  Why did my daddy have to die?  Why did you not answer my prayer?  Why did you send someone new into mom’s life?  Why?”

At night, I would bury my head under my pillow and cry myself to sleep.  I couldn’t let anyone see my misery, especially not my mom.  It was much easier for me to conceal than to feel.   Because I was hiding my pain, my anger grew.  It was intense and, at times, quite explosive.  In fact, this anger I carried into my relationship with my first husband, my children and even with Terry.  Oh, I had control over it, most days, but when it came out, it was ugly.  (My kids can attest)  The sad thing was I never really understood why I had these horrible explosive outbursts and most of them happened over the most random incidents.

I didn’t understand until I read “The Shack”.  Now, before you tune me out because you don’t agree with the book, hear me out.  As I read the book, it was as if God was taking me back to “my shack”, “my sweetest sorrow” or “the great sadness”.  Just as Mack, in the book, learns how to trust God with his deepest hurt and pain, I had to learn the same thing.  I had to allow myself to feel the grief of my father’s death.  I had to learn to let God help me work through the feelings of worthlessness and failure I felt for not being able to fulfill my dad’s wish.  What I really had to learn was to get over the anger I held in my heart towards God.  This was a pivotal moment.  It was the recognition that my anger towards God for letting my daddy die was the reason I burned so fiercely with anger. I had to let that anger go.  The only way to let it go was to tell God all about it and allow him to begin the healing process.

Remember, I told you in my post, “Binding Wounds”, that most of the time we don’t want the wound to be pulled apart because it hurts too much.  Well, it hurt like hell.  I felt as if my whole entire soul was being ripped apart.  It was.  It needed to be.  I needed to feel the pain of being seven and losing a most beautiful life.  For the first time, I grieved.  I grieved not just the loss of my dad but the loss of my innocence.  Through the grief of “my sweetest sorrow” I began to heal.  I began to be able to feel the anger subside.  Do I still get angry?  Sure, I do.  I just don’t have the feelings of irrational rage.  Most times, I am able, with God’s help, to prevent an outburst before it happens.

For years, this day has been much harder than tomorrow, the day my daddy died.  It was hard because I never wanted to talk about what happened the night before.  I didn’t want to share my deepest hurt because it hurt too much.

My prayer through sharing this story is that it will help you to understand a little more of who I am.  I am wired differently and think differently because of the events that happened in my childhood.  My hope is also that my story will benefit others.

I am here today sharing this story only by the grace of God.

“The Lord says, ‘I will rescue those who love me.  I will protect those who trust in my name.  When they call on me, I will answer.  I will be with them in trouble.  I will rescue and honor them.” Psalms 91 14-15

 

Posted on by kellyyarborough · 2 Comments

About me…and why I write

Before I go any further in my blog, I think there are a few things that you need to know about me that will help you to better understand me and why I write.

First of all, I was born in Brevard, NC a small town in Western North Carolina.  After my dad’s death, my mom remarried and we moved to Columbus, NC, another small town. After  small stints in the Charleston, SC area and Bremerton Washington, I moved to Hendersonville, NC in 1992 and have been here ever since.  Clearly, I am a small town girl and the mountains are my home.

It is no coincidence that God has placed me in the mountains because each time I look at them, I am reminded of how much they resemble my life and my walk with Him.

I have been married for 22 years and my husband is the big personality. The one everyone in the room wants to be around. He’s magnetic.  He’s quick-witted and quite the comedian. He’s very spontaneous. He never changes.  He is the same regardless of who’s around.  He’s also direct and never shies away from confrontation. I am one very lucky gal and he’s definitely a keeper.

I have four amazing children, three boys and one girl and I adore them all.  Each one is uniquely different and I can hardly wait to share the lessons I’ve learned through having them.  And there’s also the fluffy, white Sammy dog.  He is currently dubbed “mom’s favorite child”  and there may be some truth to that accusation….maybe.

Writing for me has always been a release.  It’s an easy way for me to express my feelings and then draw a conclusion to what I am feeling.  Honestly, I can’t begin to number the times  writing has actually helped me see things from a totally different perspective.  I love to write and it has been a passion of mine since 7th grade.

The main reason for starting this blog is because over the past couple of years I have been approached by several of my friends who’ve asked or suggested that I start a blog. While I was very humbled and flattered,  I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. As I began to pray over it, God kept tugging at my heart.  I kept reminding him of all of my inadequacies and He kept reminding me that delaying obedience is actually disobedience.  It took two years for me commit. Yes, I am stubborn.

The thing you need to know is that I am not doing this for any reason other than to bring glory and honor to God.  You see his word tells me that, “We are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which he prepared in advance for us to do.”  Ephesians 2:10  (I will discuss in another blog.)  If this is the thing that he has prepared for me to do, then it’s my responsibility to comply.

My prayer is that you will find encouragement and hope.  I also want you to know and see that I am perfectly imperfect and it is only by God’s immeasurable grace that I am where I am today.  Without Him I would be nothing.

Posted on by kellyyarborough

All in a day

On Sunday, like usual, we drove to Greenville for church. (Yes, we drive 50 minutes to go to church. I will tell you why in the next post)

Before church we always go out for breakfast. Our customary stop is Tommy’s Country Ham House. If you haven’t been, trust me, you should go.  You will not be disappointed.

After church we decided to go downtown to  Falls Park to walk.  We had been walking about an hour when I suggested we sit down. Luckily we found an unoccupied park bench in the shade and started to people watch. Terry looked at me and said, “How long have we been walking?” When I told him an hour he replied, “No wonder my legs were getting tired.” We rested for a few minutes and decided it was time to head home.

When we arrived home, I started prepping for dinner. As I was finishing chopping potatoes, Amy said she wanted to go practice throwing.  She asked if we wanted to go. Terry was content to sit on the couch with Sammy. Obviously, I was not going to turn down an invitation to go with her.

We arrived at the field, only to find the fence locked.  The only way in was to climb the fence.  I’m standing there looking at the fence thinking to myself, “Oh, I’m not sure about this.  I’m not even sure I can do it.”

Amy was reading my mind. “Mom, it’s the only way in.  You’ll have to climb   Here let me show you.”  She said and climbed the fence with ease.  It was my turn.  It was comic but I managed after about 4 minutes. Whew.  I made it.

Once over the fence, Amy discovered that the throwing implements were not left in their usual place.  We had to climb the fence again.  I thought I would go first because in my mind, I thought it would be easier.  Not.  I didn’t make it the first time; however I did the next time.  I realized Amy was video taping and snap chatting the entire episode.  By the time we got in the car, I was laughing so hard, I was doing the “squirrel laugh” It’s the name my kids have given my laugh.  Normally when it happens anyone who hears it laughs too just because the sound is funny.

As I finished getting dinner ready, Alex and Amy were howling at Terry.  Amy had convinced him to do some snap chatting.  If you don’t follow her, you’ll just have to trust me.  He ain’t right.  He’s like a little kid and says the darndest things. For example, his face was in a rocket ship, and he said, “Oh, I’m in a rocket ship getting ready to blast off. Whee!”  Unfortunately, my description pales in comparison to watching the video for the full effect.

After dinner, we were still laughing over Terry and his silliness. Alex looks at me and says, “How did y’all meet anyway.”

“It’s on my other blog.  Didn’t you read it?” I said

Amy pipes up, “You have another blog?”

“Yeah, but it’s old.  Didn’t keep it going and I’m going to eventually transfer those stories to the new one.” I replied.

“So, are you going to tell us the story?” Alex asked.

Terry chimed in, “Let your mom tell you the story.  She remembers it better than I do.”

As we sat there and I shared our story, I realized I love it more.  It reminds me how fortunate and blessed I am.  I am humbled to I realize how intricately God was weaving our hearts and lives together before we met.

I was also reminded of the sermon we heard from Brad earlier in the day:

“Built to Last”

  • Nothing lasts by accident
  • Everything has sacrifice involved.  It is not cheap
  • It’s never built alone

At the end of the day, we had come full circle.  We had worshipped together.  We walked together. I climbed a fence and Terry blasted off in a rocket ship. More importantly, we laughed together.  Here we sat, at the dinner table as the day ended, with our precious children sharing our story that started 23 years ago. It’s a day that will be etched deep in my mind for a very long time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted on by kellyyarborough

His one and only

I’m a sap for a good love story. I am particularly fond of this one.

I guess you could say they’ve known each other their whole lives.  They were married far longer than they were single, 66 years 10 months to be exact. They met in grade school.  In fact, my grandmother and her brother had to walk about 3/4 mile to catch the bus.  The bus stop just happened to be at my grandfather’s house. Some may say it was luck or coincidence, I prefer to call it a planned intervention by God to mingle these two hearts together.

In time, their friendship grew into love.  In fact, my grandfather said, “She’s always been my one and only.  There has never been any other woman I have ever loved.”

As their love grew, so did their desire to get married.  The only caveat.  They were young.  He was 16.  She was 17.  Their parents didn’t object to marriage but told them they would have to elope to South Carolina.  They did.  On a balmy July day, Troy and Colleen along with their two witnesses, traveled from Hickory, NC to South Carolina and eloped.

This was the story I heard from my grandmother for years and years.  It was only the night before she died that I learned the rest of the story.

“Well honey, lets just say I grew up and became 18 quickly,” Popaw said.  My initial thought was he was simply saying marriage grew him up quickly.  The curl of his lips told me that it meant something entirely different.  Then it hit me.  I knew exactly what he was telling me.

“Oh my gosh, you lied about your age, didn’t you?” I inquired.

“One of us had to be 18 and I was the logical choice.  All I had to do was sign a document stating I was 18.” He replied.

“Are you kidding?  I didn’t know you ever told a lie.” I blurted.  Suddenly, I realized that this was his first admission.  They had never told anyone, not even their own children. “Of all the stories she told me, not once did she ever tell me your secret.”

In the stillness of the moment I could feel the satisfaction rising in Mamaw, even in her comatose state, she seemed satisfied that their secret was out and I knew it.

As we continued to talk, I realized that the majority of their formative years were spent together.  Here we were at the end of her life and he knew every detail of her entire life history.  And she knew his life history as well.  They had grown up together and old together. Their lives were molded together. They loved through thick and thin.  They were friends and lovers.  Being together never got old, they always found a reason to laugh and talk and love. Their lives had truly become one.

Finally the time had come for me to go. I needed sleep in the worst way and Popaw needed to be with her.  His beloved.  They needed to spend their last night together just as they had their first….alone with each other.

“Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.  It does not demand its own way.  It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged.  It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out.  Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful and endures through every circumstance…..Love never fails”  I Corinthians 13:4-8 NLT