Jessica worked with my horse three times a week for close to two months and still he didn’t seem to improve. Although I couldn’t ride him, I loved walking to the stables to feed him carrots and apples. He was like an oversized dog following me around while I offered him treats.
A few weeks later, Jessica said, “It’s evident that something else has to be done with Prince. You really need to find someone who lives with horses and can work with him every day. I’m getting ready to go back to school and I won’t have the time anymore. Your horse was probably abused in his earlier years. He obviously has issues and he is going to need a lot of work to trust people. I know eventually you’ll be able to get on his back. I believe he was probably drugged at the horse auction. That’s why he came out of the chute with a rider on his back.”
I wanted desperately to be up in the saddle riding my horse. I began to pray, as I did in all circumstances of my life, “Jesus, show me what to do!”
Later that night as I arrived at the monthly Women’s Fellowship at our church, I noticed a new lady and introduced myself to her. As we talked, I told her about the problems with my horse.
“Just so happens I have a friend who has about twelve horses. She only lives about fifteen miles away. Why don’t we ask her if she can take Prince and work with him? She is a great horse lady. I have also been praying for her salvation,” said Lynn.
Lynn’s friend eagerly took my horse and promised she would do what she could with him.
Three to four times a week, I made the thirty-mile round-trip to visit my horse, but I soon realized it was more important to spend time getting to know my new friend. I shared my past with her and she too was open about hers. Soon she began to read my short stories, which included how the Lord had intervened in someone’s life. She talked about the wounds that kept her from receiving Christ’s love. My soul ached for her as I could still see the hurt she had never gotten over, and I prayed faithfully for her.
After six weeks, she told me the bad news. “Prince needs more work than I can give him. My advice to you is to pay someone lots of money because eventually they will be able to figure out his issues. I just don’t have the time or energy to do it. Another thing you can do is to take him back to the horse auction and sell him.”
Pondering the decision, Cary and I both decided to take Prince back and sell him. Surprisingly, it wasn’t painful to see him go. I knew God had arranged everything. I continued to visit my friend throughout the summer. We often went horseback riding on her horses and talked about her newfound faith.
“In the last few weeks I have done a lot of thinking. I know God brought Lynn and you into my life,” she said. “I have been praying and I accepted Jesus as my Savior. I think I am ready to go to church now.”
“I am so happy for you. It has become clear to me that God had other things in mind when I bought my horse. Having a horse is something I have wanted since childhood. He gave me my heart’s desire. But more importantly, he brought you into my life. He showed me your relationship with Him was more important than having my own horse. Although I am grateful for the time I had with Prince, I am even happier to have been part of reaping a harvest for God. “One sows and the other reaps.” John 4:37
42
My Mom
“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Psalm 139:23-24
Shortly before I sold my horse, I had been flying back and forth to Colorado to visit my mom who had been in the hospital for some time. She had been on dialysis for almost five years but recently had developed an infection and the doctors couldn’t find the source of where it was located in her body. It was a miserable time for her. Not only did she have to spend the summer inside, but also, she desperately missed planting her sweet alyssums, nasturtiums, and lovely white daisies. She wasn’t able to see her white and yellow roses bloom and watch spring turn into summer.
Prior to getting sick, Mom could often be seen on her hands and knees, wearing cotton gloves planting, and weeding in her small yard. She had to retire early because she developed kidney cancer and had to go on dialysis. She lived in a small trailer, raised her three, little white, Maltese dogs and spent most of her summers outside. Her cozy fireplace, as well as the television set, had become her best friends in cold winter months. Mom enjoyed her seventeen grandchildren who affectionately referred to her as “Nanny.” She continued to stay close to all her children.
My mother had been sober nearly thirty years through the help of AA. Whenever she visited us she willingly accompanied us to church and I believed she had accepted Jesus, although she was very private when it came to talking about her faith.
Heading to Colorado to check on my mom I knew she would be excited to hear about my horse. I went up in the elevator, found her room and hurried to her side. “Mom, remember that year I asked Santa Claus for a horse?”
“How could I forget?”
“Santa Claus didn’t bring me one, but Cary did,” I laughed and explained all the details.
She was so thrilled, “Oh honey, I am so happy for you. You have always wanted a horse.” We hugged and she fell asleep too quickly.
I went back home but less than two months later I flew back to see my mom with my oldest son at my side. After nearly three months in the hospital the doctors finally realized the staph infection she suffered from was called MRSA. It was life threatening because it was resistant to most antibiotics. Since Mom was allergic to antibiotics and her lifelong cigarette habit had also weakened her body, the doctors were unable to save her.
About a week before she died all of her children stood at her bedside. In her last days Mom appealed to us. “Promise me you’ll all stay together.”
“Of course, Mom, you taught us to take care of each other. We’ve never forgotten that,” we replied.
Fortunately, she had time to say her goodbyes to each of us. Pulling me aside, she said, “Debra, will you be okay?”
“Yes, Mom, because I know where you are going. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be okay.”
Although doubts still filled my thoughts, I refused to voice them.
I had to leave the next day and I continued to pray for a miracle for my mom. She had endured so much pain for so long. In the last days, she was unable to take morphine because of her allergies, and she endured continuous pain. My heart broke, knowing she was suffering so much. Tears filled my eyes, as I looked skyward, “Don’t let my mom suffer anymore, please Jesus. Please help her.”
Five days, later, I received the call I had been dreading from Mike, “Monica and I were with Mom till the end. She’s gone now.”
Weeping, I again appealed to God and begged him to reassure me. “I’m not sure my mom’s in heaven. Please give me a sign.”
Arrangements were made quickly and we headed back for her funeral. Mike asked my sister and me to pick out a poem to put on her announcement. We chose one called, In the Garden. It seemed appropriate, we felt it would convey Mom’s love of gardening. Friday, the day of her service, arrived. As we walked through the large mahogany doors to the funeral home the smell of freshly cut flowers permeated the room.
Mike began by reading aloud the poem. “Mom would have loved this, you all know how much she loved to plant and…”
Immediately my mom’s sister jumped out of her seat and went running down the aisle. “That’s the song your mama, and our daddy and I would hold hands to and sing when we were kids.” Then she began singing. “And he walks with me and he talks with me and tells me I am his own.”
We were surprised, as we had never heard the story before. Afterward, each person who came forward shared how Mom had positively affected their lives. If only she could have realized how much she was loved while she was alive.
The new husband of mom’s best friend went up to the podium carrying a l
arge, red chili pepper. “I didn’t know Inez very well, but I loved her sense of humor. The thing I remember most is every time she came to our house she brought a chili pepper.” He held it up. “She always made her favorite green chili dish for us.” He reached down and placed the chili in a bouquet of Mom’s favorite white roses.
It was a balmy autumn day when we drove to the gravesite. While we waited for the rest of the people to arrive, we noticed a graceful, wide-eyed doe and a buck walking timidly on the lush hillside, only a few yards from where my mom would be buried. The deer stood and watched us for several minutes before bounding away.
“Mom would have enjoyed seeing the deer,” I said, with a smile on my face.
“It would have made her think of her early childhood when she saw countless deer as a young girl where she grew up,” my brother replied.
The days that followed were filled with tears. My heart ached for my mom. I would burst out crying while walking through a grocery store or listening to an advertisement about her favorite game show or anything to do with flowers. At other times, loneliness would enclose me like a tight sheet as I realized I would never hear her voice again on this earth. The only consolation I felt at times was I knew my mom had loved us all to the best of her ability.
Although she made a lot of mistakes during our childhood, she had done her best to make things right and change her life, by living each day in recovery. We were all proud of her accomplishment, but I still needed God to reassure me that Mom was indeed in Heaven with Him. “Jesus said to them, I am the way the truth and the life, no one comes to the Father but through me.” John 14:6
As the hours rolled by, I continued to ask God for a sign. I had only been home one day when a beautiful autumn bouquet arrived from a co-worker of my husband who had never met my mother. I took a whiff of its delightful fragrance, and then placed it on the coffee table.
Later that evening I passed the arrangement and took a closer look. Tearing up, I showed my husband, “Look, there are six small red, orange, and yellow chili peppers mixed in with the bouquet. That’s odd!” My tears turned into laughter as I remarked, “Mom would have loved this. JP didn’t even know her affinity for chili peppers.”
Early the next morning, after getting the kids off to school, I grabbed my New Testament and raced out of the house to my Bible study group. Sudden sadness overwhelmed me as I stepped inside. My thoughts were never far from my mom.
The worship leader said, “Take out your songbooks, and turn to page five. I hadn’t planned on singing this one, but the Lord impressed this song on my heart this morning.”
We began, “And he walks with me and he talks with me and he tells me I am his own…”
Immediately I began to cry as I realized it was the same poem, In the Garden, my sister and I had picked out for my mom’s announcement and the very same song my Mom and aunt had sung as little girls.
Suddenly the words THREE SIGNS, popped into my head! God instantly opened my eyes. He was impressing on me, “I didn’t give you one sign-I gave you three.” He kindly reminded me of the song that had been chosen and it was no coincident the worship leader had picked it. The chili peppers on the floral arrangement had also been a sign and seeing the deer at Mom’s burial site confirmed it for me.
“Thank you, Jesus, for reassuring me. My mom is indeed with you in eternity.” I never doubted again! “The Lord redeems the soul of His servants, and none of those who trust in Him shall be condemned.” Psalm 34:32
43
My Big Brother
“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in Him, and I am helped; therefore, my heart greatly rejoices, and with my song I will praise Him.” Psalm 28:7
All my siblings and I stayed devoted to one another as adults and saw each other whenever we could. On October 30th, 2006, just four years after my mom died, I received some news that would change my life forever.
“Darlin, I have something to tell you,” Cary said. “Your brother Dave called to tell me, Mike was in an accident this morning and he’s gone.”
My heart turned cold, “No! No! Not my brother, Mike! What happened?”
“Mike was driving a cement truck and was going down a steep hill in a residential area when his brakes gave out. People heard him honking and waving his arm trying to alert them to get out of the way. Directly in from of him was a busy intersection and beyond that a row of houses. He must have been trying to miss them so he drove up on the curb and the truck flipped over. He died instantly.”
No words could express the grief that I felt knowing I would never see my brother on earth again. The next couple days were a blur. Monica, Rob and I made arrangements for Mike’s funeral. It was just too difficult for his widow to handle by herself. Cary, my brothers, and Mike’s oldest son, Brandon, had gone to pick up Mike’s ashes. As they walked up to the porch on an unusually warm autumn day, I stood outside waiting for them. Looking skyward, I noticed a red-tailed hawk soaring above, circling around and around Mike’s house. “Brandon look,” I pointed upwards.
“Aunt Deb, that is my dad’s favorite bird. I still remember the story he told me about when he used to catch and train them as a kid. It is unusual seeing one in a residential area. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one around here.”
We watched as the remarkable bird continued to circle for a few minutes right above the house, before he turned and flew out of sight.
At Mike’s memorial the next day, over 200 people attended, including a man named John Potter. Holding a child in his arms, he quickly ran up to the podium and grabbed the microphone. “This is my daughter, Aspen. She was in the house that day, the house that Mike, my Super-Hero, avoided driving into. I wanted to meet the family of the man who sacrificed his life for my daughter. If there is such a thing as a guardian angel, I believe Mike is one of them.”
Friends and family stood up and shared stories about my wonderful brother. We talked about his childhood antics, his generous responsibility in helping out his neighbors and friends, and his great sense of humor. There was not a dry eye in the place. Roars of laughter erupted as we watched a video depicting Mike’s short fifty-two years. Through his death, Mike became a hero, not only in the eyes of his family and friends, but also in the lives of those he had inadvertently touched in his untimely death. Even though Mike had not lived an exemplary life, God still allowed him to be remembered as a hero. He will always be thought of as a man who sacrificed his life for another.
Too soon we drove to the cemetery to bury my brother next to Mom. “Look,” one of the nephews, pointed out. “There is a buck, a doe and a fawn standing on the hilltop.” For some reason, we were all consoled at the sight.
A newspaper article came out the next day calling my brother a hometown hero. “Mike Griswold tried to turn the cement truck around rather than run into a busy intersection and into a row of houses. He truly was a hero.” Mike had always been our hero and we were grateful others saw him as one also.
Back home in California I found myself crying all the time. To me it felt much worse than losing any other family member, fortunately, it kept me close to the Lord as I depended on him to get me through each day. I was so grateful those years before when Mike lived in California I thought back to when he shared his conversion with me. “Deb,” he had telephoned me. “I know what John 3:16 means now come over I want to talk to you.” For God so loved the world He gave His only Son, whosoever believes will not perish but have eternal life.” The two of us sat together on his front lawn and talked about God’s love. It had been an answer to prayer. Although, Mike was always quiet about his faith, he never failed to call and ask for prayer and share what God was doing in his life.
Throughout the days and weeks ahead, I often thought of his family and prayed earnestly for them to find comfort in the arms of Jesus. Every few days I would look up from whatever I was doing and I would always notice a red-tailed h
awk soaring majestically overhead. It gave me comfort.
I began to reach out to Mike’s young widow, who had been a part of our lives since she was seventeen, even though we lived almost a thousand miles apart from each other. I wrote to her frequently, called her, emailed her, and tried to encourage her. Lynn finally began to reach out to Jesus and found solace in accepting Christ as her Savior. Mike’s daughter, Michele, was married on Father’s Day just eight months after Mike died. A year later she and Jack had a beautiful little girl and eventually added another daughter to their union.
Mike’s youngest son, Kellan was always quiet about his grief but finally learned how to live without his dad and found joy in his life once again. He was married in the Summer of 2017. Just nine months after Mike passed, Brandon’s wife gave birth to a darling little boy. He joined his older sister Demi. “Aunt Deb,” Brandon called. “We just had a baby, and we named him after my dad. Elijah Michael Thomas Griswold was born July 27 and he weighed five pounds, thirteen ounces.”
“Brandon do you realize Elijah was born on my dad’s birthday and 5/13 is Nanny’s birthday. That is no coincidence, that is a God-incidence!” I remarked.
“That’s so cool, Aunt Deb, it symbolizes all our loved ones who are in Heaven.”
A year after my brother was killed the neighborhood association where he died called my sister-in-law. They asked if they could erect a permanent monument in honor of Mike. It would sit on the hill above the road where his cement truck had overturned. Since it was on protected land it would always stay there without being disturbed. Cary and I just so happened to be in town that week and we helped Lynn and her kids pick out a beautiful red stone. She had the words, Mike Our Hero We Miss You, etched on it along with an eagle, a deer, and the Rocky Mountains. He truly was a hometown hero!
Something About Those Eyes Page 32