Missions – From My Heart

The glass, automatic double doors slide open and close, time and time again during the course of the five-hour time frame where I stand front and center as a navigator and helper to those entering MD Anderson Hospital. There are many who, like me, consider MDA a familiar place as they have undergone treatments and follow-up visits for several years or have stood by the side of a loved one undergoing treatment for a lengthy amount of time. On rare occasions, I have visited with patients who have been under the care of doctors in the MDA system for twenty plus years. However, every single day, hundreds enter the front doors for the first time with those closest to them in tow with a look of frantic desperation, tears, and sadness. The appearance of being lost, confused, and the question of hope is more often than not embedded on their facial expressions. This was true for one such woman this week as I stood in my usual place, watching patients and families pass through the doors of the greatest Cancer treatment center in the world.

“Good morning!”, I said to her as she hesitantly approached. Her husband was only two steps behind with a folder full of lab results and scheduling paperwork under one arm along with his iPhone in hand, scrolling with his thumb, obviously hoping to find that he was in the correct building. Each of them with their own set of concerns; he, trying to insure a timely appointment arrival and she, wanting someone… anyone, to assure her that she was going to survive her recent Cancer diagnosis. After exchanging pleasantries, I asked to see her appointment schedule. Her husband was more than willing to pass the responsibility over to me as it can all be very intimidating and overwhelming to a new-comer. I flipped through three stapled pages until I found the correct date, time, and clinic address which read: Thoracic, Elevator B, 9th floor, 9:15. My heart sank as I quickly swallowed, took a deep breath and raised my head. Under their seemingly dazed condition, I decided to personally escort them to their first appointment to guarantee they did not get lost in the maze of elevators and corridors, further adding to their anxiety.

On the elevator ride to the 9th floor, I learned that the couple was from Alabama and had just arrived in Houston the night before. Obviously exhausted and frazzled to the last nerve, both were reserved in their conversation. The elevator door opened and the three of us stepped off with me in the lead. During the next twenty-five or so steps, I prayed for strength, peace, and a word of encouragement that I might offer to relieve the couple’s burden. As we rounded the corner on the left, just above our heads was the official signage hanging from the ceiling, THORACIC. Once again, I prayed, “Lord help me to be a comfort”.

The hospital has upgraded its check-in process to an iPad system. It is pretty straight forward as one is asked to enter basic information. However, for new patients, the sight of a computer screen in their already nervous, concerned condition can be very daunting. The husband and wife looked at each other as if to question which one was going to attempt to sign in. I chuckled with them and offered my assistance to enter her information to which they again gladly accepted. After I pushed the “send” button, completing the process, I turned to them and said, “Okay, you’re good to go. Just make yourselves comfortable until they call your name. I want you to know that you’re in the best hands and you’re going to receive great care here. I actually spent nineteen months in this very clinic with my mom.” They both looked shocked and relieved to hear these words coming from me. The woman asked, “What kind of cancer did your mom have?” I replied, “Lung cancer.” She responded, “Oh, that’s what I have! How’s your mom doing now?” With a smile on my face, I looked straight into her eyes and said, “My mom is beautifully healed”. Her face lit up as she wrapped her arms around me. Giving me a big squeeze, she said, “That’s wonderful!” As I was locked in her arms, I glanced over her shoulder at her husband. With tears in his eyes, he winked at me as if he understood. His wife was still smiling as she released her arms from around me and turned to take a seat in the waiting area. Having completed God’s assignment, I headed back to the first floor to take my position at the front door.

This week, our daughter, Lauren sent a photo via text message. The caption read: “Just found this. No telling what’s inside. We are now carrying a mason jar full of cash, which is in the car for the homeless men at the stoplights.” I had to zoom in on the photo to read fully the message written on the side of a white 5-gallon bucket with a sealed lid, in purple marker. Our now, seven-year-old granddaughter, Kiersten, had obviously written it with great care, “for the orphans”. Kiersten has felt the need to give to orphans and the hungry ever since a baby chick entered her life on a beautiful Easter Sunday when I stepped out on a limb as a grandparent. On a whim, I decided to give our two grandchildren baby chicks for a fun Easter surprise.

Lauren and her husband, Neil along with our grandchildren, Kiersten and Gatlin lived in an urban subdivision where farm animals are not allowed. Being found out by one of the rule-abiding neighbors would surely mean a ticket from animal control and probably an appearance in the city court before the judge. However, worse than my fear of those particular consequences, was the fear of my son-in-law who was raised in the same type neighborhood environment and did not fully understand or appreciate the connection that our family has with farm animals. He was surely going to be less than tolerant of my decision to present two live chicks to his children without his consent.

As severe as the possible outcome could be, I made the decision to go forward without the prior knowledge of Neil or Lauren. I decided I would simply ask for forgiveness after the camera caught both of my precious grandchildren’s smiles of delight when they opened the Chinese take-out boxes containing colored plastic grass and peeping, yellow, fuzzy balls of wonder. There is nothing more joyful to me than watching their faces light up over something that I do for them. Kiersten was 5 at the time and Gatlin was 2. This could be the perfect plan or the perfect storm and only after giving them their gifts would the plan or storm be revealed.

I handed the children each, a small box and made sure that the talented photographer, Pappy was ready to capture the moment – a joyous occasion, or “Murder on Tenth Street”. As Kiersten and Gatlin opened the white folded boxes, little did any of us know what would be in store in the future. After all, I was only giving them chicks to bring myself pleasure at the sight of their excitement but God had a plan to use this moment in a way that none of us could have ever imagined.

Neil embraced the Easter chicks with skepticism but jumped right in to support his children by building a chicken coop decked out with laying boxes, warmer lights and heavy duty lumber for protection from neighborhood dogs and cats. The chicks grew, as did my chicks, Kiersten and Gat. With all of the growth taking place, Lauren and Neil decided to move to a larger house with acreage where the chicken operation continued to expand from two chicks to ten fat, fluffy laying hens.

The job of feeding, watering, and gathering eggs is the responsibility of Kiersten and Gat. They take their chicken care very seriously. Kiersten believes that her chickens are “the happiest chickens in the world” and that her chicken’s eggs are “better than medicine”. The hens produce four to five eggs per day. The egg production has developed into many cash paying customers who enjoy the range-free, golden yolked eggs that are hand delivered to their door with love. Having exposure to orphan care and the homeless due to their Pappy’s work with orphans in Bogota, Colombia, and their parent’s instruction of scripture, Kiersten’s and Gatlin’s hearts grow daily with the love of Christ and His love for orphaned children and others in need. As they receive payment for their deliveries, Kiersten and Gatlin give all but the amount that it takes to buy replacement chicken feed to orphan care and feeding the homeless.

Next week, fifty orphans will receive school supplies in Bogota. The orphans will be unaware that God used two baby chicks and two small children in Magnolia, Texas who were willing to cast their bread on water by selling eggs door to door to bless them with much needed educational tools. While the 5-gallon bucket remains sealed, I am certain that the inside contains gifts to orphans from children in America who began to listen to the voice of God when they set their eyes on baby chicks in Chinese take-out boxes on Easter Sunday two years ago.