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| Low Cotton |
My mom had the wisdom to take me out to a field being picked one day when I was quite young. The farm folk, men, women and children alike, were straining to carry their impossibly heavy loads as they picked. I was shown what a cotton plant looked like and encouraged to pick a few bolls off of healthy tall plants. I remember clear as day my mom explaining that change was coming and that soon no cotton would be picked by hand. And it came to pass, yet the phrase "low cotton" is still in use by some of us old school southerners. Sometimes it explains the human condition so precisely.
My friend, Carol Taylor, found herself in some mighty low cotton about last year this time. Though Carol's father was my childhood dentist, I didn't meet her until she became the licensed local pastor at my "home" church in Seaboard, NC. Carol was the congregation's first female pastor and she quickly won over anyone who doubted the wisdom of allowing women in the pulpit. Carol drew keen insights from scripture, was highly relate-able and genuinely loved her church family. She followed her call and I came to know her as a mentor and friend.
Somewhere along the way Carol got diagnosed with melanoma. Instead of hiding her light under a basket, Carol took this diagnosis and became a voice of encouragement to the online melanoma community. She was treated and life went on. But when melanoma reared its ugly head again seven or so years later, she found herself with an advanced stage 4 case. She fought the good fight. She had brain surgery and dutifully took the disabling medications prescribed by her doctors. I visited her in some of the lowest cotton of her life, at Duke Hospital. She was tired, weak, and had no interest in eating, as the treatment had stolen her ability to taste. Soon her doctors sent her home, with a life expectancy of a month.
So, this past Monday, a year later, I hopped in my trusty Ford Flex, picked up my sister-in-faith Laura Brown in Seaboard and we headed out to Conway. Laura called Carol to let her know there was a surprise coming and her beloved husband, Mitch, let us in the back door.
And there she was, sitting comfortably on her couch! And the look on her face when she saw us was as joy-filled as a kid at Christmas! Laura and I looked the same! You see, Carol took that prognosis and went home. As it turned out, she went home to live.
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| Laura, Carol, and me |
Carol has continued to surprise and delight her family and community. At first she was confined to bed, then she learned too "scoot" from spot a to spot b, then she learned to transfer herself into a wheelchair. She regained her ability to focus and made her way back to her grateful online community. She has taken up painting. She gets out on occasion with the help of her husband and has even been able to preach a sermon!
Carol continues to let her light shine! The laughter the three of us shared must be a foretaste of heaven because her den was filled with such joy and light. Her wit, her joy, her presence! What a gift! And, ever the teacher, she gave me a little lesson amid all the laughter. "Relish life."
Carol then presented both Laura and I with a little painting each. She had created a gold cross on a bed of purple for Laura and she gave me a canvas of "helping hands." I have just the spot picked out in my kitchen to hang it; a wonderful reminder of our visit and a directive of sorts to continue listening to my own call.
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| "Helping Hands" |
I'm so grateful for that visit. That magical sunny afternoon with two of the most faith-filled people I know shored up my faith.
So the thing about low cotton? It's hard to pick. But it's still pickable. It can still grow fluffy white bolls, bursting into cloud-like clusters. There is still a yield.
And Carol? Well, she's got one hell of a yield.
Be devoted to one another in love.Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor,serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans 12:10-12
