down and out

Kids are screaming, doors are slamming, pollen is ripping my throat out, and I sit here with a half eaten double lemon creme pie, left overs from pi day (3.14 p.s. thanks Dad, my butt thanks you too), undeterred typing my heart out.  I've got this nervous itch, had it since yesterday, kids need help with home work.  Man all I wanna do is scratch…..

And I am back.  I could sit here and give you ever alliteration for service, but I am going to save my hands and your mind.  It's plain; it's simple, my name is Auna Leigh, I'm 32 and I am a service addict.  It's a compulsion, a need to please, to lift a burden, to bring others love and I  can't stop.  It interrupts my family life, my marriage, my sleep, even my thoughts.

Almost two years ago, I sat in the doctors office barely breathing, as they read my blood oxygen report.    It wasn't good and I could see it in the doctors eyes….   "You should be hospitalized.  You didn't respond well to the first run of antibiotics.  I am going to have to either admit you to the hospital or give you a shot in your butt and make you promise that you will not leave your bed for five days." So I chose bearing my bum and humbly accepting my fate.  My dear husband just shook his head, "Pneumonia, really!? "  I knew it was bad and it had been bad for weeks, I was the one not getting oxygen to the point that my hands and feet were blue.  A couple days later I cracked a rib while coughing.

When I left that appointment I made two phone calls, one to my Mom and the other to my friend, old enough to be my mom, whom acted as if she was my mom.  Today her name is Martha, just as Martha of the Bible, sister of Mary.  She is my service bound sister.  Martha's the kind of lady no one can say "no" to, either that or she won't take "no" for an answer.  And when Martha serves, it's in style!  So I knew as I made this call I'd see her soon, pounding on my door.  What came next was something I will never forget,  because I was on deaths door, I may not have all my facts straight. Regardless this is a story that needs to land in someones ear…..

The first visit from Martha was with a frozen lasagna, big bag of salad and a loaf of bread.  She came through the door in a matter of minutes after I contacted her.   However miraculous this may sound the day that stands out the most is the day she kicked me out of bed!  She ordered me to take a bath but before  I got up she gave me one of her plush fuzzy towels and grabbed my dirty old ones.  She then proceeded to take off my weeks old, nasty sheets and then made my bed with her beautiful yellow egyptian cotton sheets (she knew I loved yellow).   I climbed in the tub, melted into oblivion and closed my eyes.  I soaked and pondered how she was still on earth, for she was a heavenly angel.  I thought of Christ washing His disciples feet the night before He was crucified. She was a typify of Christ, always abounding in good works.  When I made my way out into the kitchen she made me sit and then watched me eat Kneaders chicken noodle soup, because one of the many ways Linda (crap did I just type that, I mean Martha) knows how to please is a bag of Kneaders take out.  Martha also brought one of her card tables and put it by my bedside and draped it with one of her fancy table clothes, brought me her favorite cup that had a straw attached, Kleenex,  and a whole box of magazines, books and chick flicks.

Now I was a mother, not just a mom, but a mother of five very busy little kids.  My baby had just turned one and my oldest was nine, with three others scattered in between.  I was the nurse, not the patient.  I went all day long, up before the sun rose to wee hours of the night caring for these babies of mine.  But during that time I leaned, I leaned so hard I almost fell.  But by doing so I was lifted, raised to do better and be better.  I was inspired by not only Martha, but many women who came to my aid, with meals and child care, a phone call, breakfast in bed, draping me in mustard plasters to clear my lungs and coming to help my kids out of the tub when my pain killers knocked me out. 

Now being a self acclaimed service addict it was hard to watch others get their next hit on my account.  To see their smiling faces and the joy that radiated their frames made me feel good, but ever ready to give in return.  From my bed I watched my husband serve endlessly, exhausted, trying to keep it all afloat.  It nearly crushed me into a million pieces to see my children struggle, wondering if I was going to ever get out of bed.  

As a friend you have to be ready for others to come and help you.  When asked if they can bring dinner, say "YES!".  Some people are naturally good at this sort of thing.  Think of it as a gift of joy you are giving them.  Many, including myself, think as a newly independent child "I do it myself!".  The thing is, we probably can do it all on our own and most of the time we do, but sometimes it's nice to think about others.  We all need a chance to serve, to find joy through service.  Don't deny our friends that gift.   Don't worry about making it up to everyone who helps you, because God takes care that.