When Good Goes Bad March 2015


I have been totally overwhelmed with the love and care of so many friends and family members since the passing of my husband Steve. One never knows or understands the depth of God’s grace until they need it most. He sends his angels to care for us in the form of those friends and family members. But we, as humans, sometimes have difficulty in distinguishing the good from the bad.

One of the first instances of good going bad had to do with the protective nature of my three sons. First, they had an alarm system installed for my security. One of my sons equipped me with pepper spray and a device that is a flashlight if I push one button, and then it becomes a Taser if you push another. Another loaded my pistol and refreshed me on how to use it. The first mishap involved the alarm system.

Steve had given me several nice Christmas gifts and then handed me money for massages. I had scheduled one for a recent Saturday afternoon. That morning I discovered my Smokey, my horse for the past 17 years, dead. I spent the remainder of the morning finding someone to bury him. Although that didn’t set the mood for a relaxing massage, I went ahead since I had the appointment. I turned off my cell phone, or so I thought, so as not to be disturbed by it. About the time the massage began, my cell phone rang. I said, “Just let it go. I’ll call the person back later.” The ringing persisted. About the time it would stop, it would immediately start back. Finally, I told the masseuse to hand it to me so I could see what was going on. The first missed call I saw was from a dear friend Jenny, who can’t do enough for me. She checks on me every day, brings me food, and does any good dead she can think of.

Below her number were the alarm system number, and then the numbers of all my emergency contacts listed with the alarm people. I called Jenny first. “I did it. Your back door was unlocked so I let myself in and set off your alarm, “she said. I called the alarm people and told them to call off their dogs. Needless to say, I left the salon more stressed than when I came.

Soon after, my youngest son and his family came for a weekend. My youngest grandson Tyler saw my defense devices on my bedside table and asked what they were. I told him how neat the flashlight/Taser was and started to show him how to turn it on. I thought I had it pointed away, but no. I managed to Taser myself. I’m just thankful it wasn’t the pistol.

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