Angels Among Us

I stood patiently in line waiting for my turn to register with the guard for another after-hours visit with my eighty-seven-year-old father at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Asheville. My brother and I had been tag-teaming visits with Dad since he had fallen ill two weeks earlier. As the guard took a man’s driver’s license and pressed it into the scanner slot on the name tag generator, I wondered if this new technology might have provided additional evidence of that miraculous night just two years ago…

“Kay, it’s for you,” the charge nurse called, raising her voice over the general clamor of the nurses’ station where I worked. Since my dad was having a patch repair on an old aneurysm site hundreds of miles away in North Carolina, I hurried over to take the call. This was to be a “tune-up,” an overnight stay at the most. The positive outcome far outweighed the risks, my brother and I had been reassured. I had been waiting hours for this call; the procedure had been delayed late into the afternoon.

“Dad’s not doing well,” Joe spoke with emotion. “They can’t stop the bleeding. His arteries are too calcified and they can’t get a good seal. They found a new aneurysm, too. He’s already had eight units of blood. Can you come?”

I rushed home to gather my things and make hasty arrangements for my teenage children who would be left behind to continue on in their school routine. This was the most painful aspect of being a widow and single mother—not having someone with whom I could share the burdens in times of emergency. I wept as I packed, grateful for the silent support of the children as they fetched important items and slipped them into my bags.

Soon after dark, I was on the road, navigating a different and hopefully faster route to the mountains by the glow of my portable GPS. Fatigue pressed in on me soon after midnight. I had been up since before five that morning and still had miles to go before I could sleep again. "Lord, help me!” I interjected into the outpouring of prayers for my father.

A short time later, I lost my way on a strange road with no paper map to reference. A pack of coyotes suddenly appeared in my headlights. The poor creatures flew in every direction across the hood and on either side of the windshield, taking out the front end of my car. Crying and shaking, I crept forward, too afraid to get out of the car to see what mayhem I had caused. The urgency of the situation overrode my concern for either the animals or the condition of my vehicle.

Wide-awake from the surge of adrenaline following the accident, I panned the GPS out until I located the main road. Eventually, I found my way back onto Hwy 25. Within an hour, I was handing my driver’s license to the hospital guard, sweat still drying on my hospital scrubs. I realized I had forgotten to change.

“Seibert… Seibert… yes, he’s in the Coli ICU. You just missed your mother. I’m surprised you didn’t pass her out in the parking deck. Hadn’t even been a couple of minutes,” he said as I signed my name.

I looked at him sharply. “Excuse me?” I queried, keeping my surprise in check. It was two in the morning. Perhaps I wasn’t hearing clearly.

“Your mother’s been here for hours. She just left,” he patiently explained as if he were speaking to a small child.

“You must be mistaken,” I replied.

“Nope. Remember the name. Unusual name. Came to see your father.” he insisted as he handed my license back to me.

I said nothing more about this, thanked him, and asked for directions. Within minutes, I was outside the locked doors of the unit, wondering if anyone would allow me to go to my dad’s bedside at such an hour. Just then, they swung open as an employee exited. Could she help me…?

One of the intangible benefits of working at a hospital is the professional courtesy that is often extended by members of other facilities. After a brief consultation with this nurse and her subsequent, “Wait here, please,” she disappeared. Soon afterward, a man ushered me to my father’s bedside, describing his serious condition and altered appearance as we walked. Disregarding the array of machines that were keeping him alive, I held my father’s hand, prayed aloud, and reassured him of my presence and my love. The team let me stay there for fifteen minutes; they once again needed the space to continue their intense battle for his life.

Numbly, I walked down the hall to the ICU waiting area. A spry, older man with a neatly trimmed Amish-style beard greeted me. He had been keeping a vigil over his dying wife in the glass cubicle next to Dad’s. We exchanged stories about our family members. Then, he began to talk about the woman who had stood in my father’s room at the foot of his bed praying for hours since his return from a second surgery that night.

“She’s been so wonderful to watch,” he mused with a smile, “Never in the way of anyone, just stood there praying the whole time. I can’t believe they let her do that. Was that your mom? A friend of your dad’s?”

I shook my head in dissent. I had no idea who this could be. All of my dad’s friends were too old to drive after dark. As for my mom… she died of a stoke barely two weeks after my husband was killed by a drunk driver. Dad and I had shared the widow/widower experience for the past eight years. It was one of the reasons we were now so close. Tears stung my eyes. What on earth?

The next morning, my brother and I convened in Dad's room. He was on a vent, heavily sedated, in critical condition, but still with us. I asked the nurse about the late-night visitor. As he bustled about the room adjusting tubes and checking monitors, the nurse remarked that the night staff had mentioned her, but he didn’t know anything more than that.

In the days that followed, I spoke with a number of people. Though none of them could describe the woman with any certainty beyond the words, “Calm, serene, beautiful, peaceful,” she was seen by many and questioned by none. Whoever she was, she had a presence and authority about her that allowed her to be where no one else could be—at my father’s bedside in prayer until the moment I arrived.

She was never seen again.

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Hebrews 13:2

Kay Seibert O’Hara
June 11, 2011

Do Not Die a Rebel Soul

God’s timing is precious and merciful, but it can also be just and final.

I feel as though much of America is in the midst of a brief pause, like that moment when a roller coaster reaches the top of the lift hill. In that instant, one is surreally suspended, able to feel the warmth of the sun and observe the scenery far below. It is the final moment of calm before the rapid descent into potential danger. That is the charm of roller coasters. You know you're probably going to exit the ride in one piece, but you can't be sure until it's over.

A pandemic is less fun and infinitely more dangerous than a roller coaster ride, but the surreal factor, that sense of waiting for the inevitable drop, is similar. While we do comprehend that some people are falling ill and even dying, the majority of us are still untouched and looking around in the sunshine. 

This moment should not be wasted. As a country faced with the specter of another month spent dodging COVID-19, our future remains unknown. Now is a good time to turn away from the cares and distractions of this world to soberly sit before the One that created you and ask, “Am I ready to die? Is my sin closet clean? Have I truly forgiven all those who have hurt me?”

More importantly, if you are not a person of faith or haven't given spiritual matters much thought, it might be prudent to finally hammer out what you do believe. 

April 1^st is known as Fools Day. The Bible states that only a fool does not believe in Jesus Christ, and those that do not believe will spend eternity forever separated from Him. The LORD says that He has revealed Himself through nature to everyone and none are without excuse. Though He requires sinless perfection and has judged all of us as having missed the mark, He is not willing for any to perish. Instead, He has offered the gift of eternal life through the sacrifice of his perfect His son, Jesus. 

Each of us has the freedom to receive or reject this gift. The choice is yours. 

C.S. Lewis once said, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks into our conscience, but shouts in our pains; it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world. No doubt pain as God’s megaphone is a terrible instrument; it may lead to final and unrepented rebellion. But it gives the only opportunity the bad man can have for amendment. It removes the veil; it plants the flag of truth within the fortress of the rebel soul.”

Do not die a rebel soul. Do not let this day end without distancing yourself from the foolishness of your prideful, independent nature. Confess your sins. Repent of them. Claim Christ and His promises today while you still can. Whether you are stricken in the coming weeks or remain to navigate the aftermath, you can receive the peace that passes all understanding today and the promise of eternal life to come.

Jim has. I have. Bill did. 

This passage from Scripture is carved on my late husband's headstone; it was his favorite. "Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest though this?" John 11: 25-26 (KJV)

I thank the LORD that twelve days before he was killed by a drunk driver, Bill O'Hara pressed the pause button, took stock of his life, and then did business with the LORD at the altar. He rejected the foolishness of the world, confessed his sins, and claimed Jesus Christ as his savior.

You can, too.

Kay O'Hara
April 1, 2020

In Harm's Way

Jim and I recently celebrated our fourth anniversary in Chattanooga. We took an early Sunday morning drive to the top of Lookout Mountain, discovered an obscure National Park site, and meandered through the neighborhoods that crested the ridge. Then we parked across the street from the venerable Incline Railway depot to catch a glimpse of the spectacular vista. Everything was closed, so it was quiet enough to hear the wind sighing in the trees.

I was laughing as we walked back to the car. Suddenly, we heard a booming bark in the distance. A large, shaggy dog appeared at the crest of the hill. He stood still for a moment and then charged down the street towards us with bared teeth. My mind registered his matted coat and lack of collar then flashed back to a dog that had bitten me on my way home from school as a child. Though my legs were not bare this time, my pants would still be no match for this dog's teeth. I made like a tree and froze.

Jim, however, was already in motion.

His response was automatic—a choreographed, wordless move. Jim stepped between the dog and me, turning me neatly behind him in one fluid motion. Now there was just him and this lunging mass of fur and teeth. Like the Horse Whisperer, Jim held out his arms and spoke quietly but authoritatively to the dog. As it circled us, Jim pivoted me out of harm’s way, repeating the same calming words again and again.

Then, inexplicably, the dog turned and ran back up the hill.

I looked at Jim in astonishment as he watched the dog disappear. Though he usually carries an ASP on his daily walks at home, Jim was unarmed that morning. However, he did not hesitate to protect me with his body. His response was instinctive, a reflexive action to shield me from harm. 

There are dozens of reasons I am blessed to be married to Jim Heinz. This is but one of them. Thank you, Dear. 

The Gift of Forgiveness

As a young widow, I attended an excellent grief group at my church. I remember the first time I heard Pastor Ike Rieghard say that part of the grieving process would be the need to exercise "extreme forgiveness." I was surprised by that. Yet, as time passed, I've realized that many who are impacted by different types of loss will experience numerous opportunities to forgive. The two are irrevocably intertwined.

People in pain are profoundly vulnerable. People encountering people in pain often wish to help, but their frame of reference or personal brokenness sometimes gets in the way. Instead of helping, their words and actions inadvertently hurt us. From the overflow of their hearts come the words of their mouths, and the fearful specter of loss loosens many tongues. They are desperate to understand the purpose of this painful event and may also be grappling with the secret fear that this circumstance could happen to them. Few are the precious friends who courageously walk into the room of loss as others are hastily walking out. 

For the widow or widower, there is also the barrage of endless, unmet expectations. You should have had more insurance. Mourned longer. Gotten over it sooner. Set personal grief aside and lived completely for your children. Seen a counselor. Taken meds. Lived alone with God and the memory of your spouse... forever. Kept a clone of yourself in the closet and been able to seamlessly accomplish the work of two parents without fatigue. Provided each child with a car, college education, and starter home. Been sinless, fearless, and superhuman. After all, since you are a follower of Jesus Christ, you must be like Mary Poppins... practically perfect in every way, right? 

Wrong. Oh, so wrong... 

As time passes, we eventually realize that we must also forgive ourselves for failing in more ways than we ever imagined possible as we blindly stumbled about in the throes of grief. How could we have fumbled the ball so badly when we were earnestly sitting at the coach's feet every time we could get to the locker room for instruction? Poor judgment is often amplified during times of loss, and one can be left with a mountain of self-recrimination. "I should have said or done this. I should not have said or done that. What in the world was I thinking when I..." 

The ability to forgive is a gift from God. Much like salvation, forgiveness is a free-will decision that we may either embrace or reject. Like salvation, forgiveness also has many cleverly crafted counterfeits hot off the enemy's forge. Only by drawing closer to the Cross can we receive the desire, humility, and courage to forgive and the discernment to determine whether we are choosing the illusion or the reality of true forgiveness. 

The first counterfeit is the all-too-human attempt of "one and done" forgiveness. "I will give you a second chance, but if you fail me again, we are done!" There is nothing Biblical about this impossible standard of perfection and a far cry from Christ's directive to forgive "seventy times seven."

Next is elephantine forgiveness. "You can ask for my forgiveness and pay me back many times over for what you have done. I will say that I forgive you, but I will NEVER forget this. Not only will I bring this up often, but I will also discuss your failure to meet my expectations with others. You owe me... forever!" 

Then there is prodigal forgiveness. "I will forgive you and restore fellowship with you if you say you are sorry and then show me repentance by your actions." This one is actually Scriptural, as seen in Luke 15, but even this magnanimous gesture is not God's best. 

The gold standard of God's love is unconditional forgiveness. "Though you are unable at this time to see your wrongful actions, and though you are unable to repent, ask forgiveness and turn from the error of your ways, I forgive you right now. I will keep no record of this wrong. I give up my right to feel hurt and angry. I will pray for you and will not rejoice in any further hurts you might experience. I will protect your reputation as if it were my own. Though we are still not reconciled, our story is not finished yet." That level of forgiveness is what Christ demonstrated on the Cross. It is the ultimate expression of love, for "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us," Romans 5:8.

Unconditional forgiveness is a challenging but attainable goal. It's 600 level Christianity that requires daily prayer and intentional effort. To quote my favorite author, Jan Karon, "Love is an endless act of forgiveness." May we all strive to humbly forgive one another just as we need to be forgiven. 

Kay O'Hara
December 14, 2017

Planet Earth: On Loan to Humans

They are sea lions, NOT seals.

I took two cameras and those children who were well enough to enjoy a sedate walk down to the pier in order to get a closer look. The sign said "DANGER: BEWARE OF SEA LIONS ON DOCKS." This, of course, was accompanied by sufficient graphic art to insure that anyone not possessed of the English language would be without excuse should they approach and consequently be maimed by a sea lion.

Ah.

At this point, I scanned the parking lot and waited for a native to show up and give me the inside story. A few minutes later, I hit the jackpot.

Apparently the sea lions migrate down here all the way from Alaska by the thousands (there are only a hundred or so at the moment--still a bit early in the season) to bask in the relative mildness of an Oregon bay winter. As to the specter of danger, they have been known to take entire chunks out of tourists stupid enough to "go down for a closer shot." The natives treat them with the type of respect one would usually accord a Polar bear. They give the sea lions a very wide berth, timing the morning departure of the fleet until most of the herd have headed across to a nearby breakwater for a change of scenery.

Now, I find myself wondering how the fishermen get off their boats at the end of the day and back into their waiting cars. With cattle prods? I think I may have actually made that inquiry at some point, but was drowned out by the incessant "ark, Ark, ARK!" in front of us. 

Amazing.

Wildlife. Everywhere we have traveled, wildlife! Elk goring golfers at Estes Park in August. Bears chowing down on back country hikers at Yellowstone in September while buffalo toss teenagers up into the trees. Now there are sea lions calling the shots down at the docks here in Astoria. Whew! The Northwest can be a dangerous place.

Of course, Atlanta has its own native hazard.

We call them fire ants.

Kay O'Hara
Astoria, Oregon
October 1, 2002

"Wait" is not a Four-Letter Word

"Love is patient..." 1 Corinthians 13: 1

To be patient is to wait. But for me, "wait" has been a dirty, miserable, four-letter word for most of my life. 

You see, I was a card-carrying member of the instant gratification club. Like Violet in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, I wanted an Oompa Loompa, and I wanted it NOW. 

Only recently--this year, in fact--have I been willing to disengage my impatient spirit and quietly wait upon the LORD's perfect timing. 

It took a brother in Christ and compassionate leader to teach me this lesson. Jim has gone on before me in this battle. He wrestled with God in solitude for years, doing the work of faith and obedience until this truth was revealed in his own life. 

When it came time to impart this wisdom to me, Jim stood resolutely and quietly through my chest-pounding, childish storms of angst and misery as I wailed for things that were clearly not yet in God's timing. Jim held his ground until I exhausted myself, then knelt beside me and gently began sharing the truth about the beauty of waiting on God.

I didn't want to listen to his words.

"Live in the moment. Relish what you have right now... don't waste a minute longing for what you do not yet have. Thank God for everything--all of it--today, whether it is provision, position, possessions, or relationships. Focus on His goodness. Embrace the abundance. Appreciate it. This is God's perfect will for you, right now. It is His best. If you don't have something, He knows that this person, place, thing, or experience you are longing for will not edify you yet--perhaps never will. Trust Him. Thank Him. Be at peace. Be still and reflect.

Kay, we are experiencing a banquet of God's wonderful Providence before us. Don't run past the other delightful dishes on the table in your haste to get to the dessert. The dessert is only a very small part of the meal. These other marvelous delights that have been uncovered and offered to us are nourishing, filling, and wonderfully tasty in their own right. Enjoy these for a season."

He was right. 

I am thankful for the forty miles between us at this season in our lives and the limited amount of time we have to be together. I am grateful for this seemingly endless "Saturday" in our relationship, where we must focus first on the continuing needs of the young people we are still raising. I am committed to wait with more patience, grace, trust. I will have faith in what I cannot yet see, and I will not hurry past the abundance that has already been placed for me. 

Coming Out of the Closet

Hi. My name is Kay O’Hara, and I am coming out of the closet. I am tired of hiding who I really am. 

Top of the list? I am a Christian. I believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and I had a personal encounter with the LORD thirty-something years ago that has forever changed my life. As a result of this, my worldview is one that often gets sifted through the Bible, which I believe to be Inspired and Inerrant. I prefer an eternal perspective, for I believe all of us are going to live somewhere—either in fellowship with the one true God or apart from Him—forever.

I believe in the sanctity of life from conception to the grave. Though I have fallen short of the mark, I also believe in one marriage between man and woman until death parts us. I am respectful and appreciative of how God designed men in general and filled with admiration for one in particular, and that is my husband, Jim Heinz.

I believe God has created from one blood all nations of men. Although our skin color and cultures may be different, He created you with a glorious purpose, and your value is no less than my own.

I am a flawed creature, who just wants to be more like Jesus every day: loving, forgiving, and humble. If you don’t know me well enough yet to know how sinful I am, just wait a minute. I am a broken person who has been at the helm in everything from failed relationships to financial foolishness. To be honest, although I believe in a perfect, sinless Savior I am not sure you could ever meet a poorer representative of what it means to be a Christian.

I do know how to say, “I am sorry.” “I made a mistake.” “Please forgive me.” I am often painfully aware of where I missed the mark, and no one is harder on me than myself. Having said that, hope springs eternal in me. To quote a lead character from Anne of Green Gables, “Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it,” and although I am aware that I will not pass through it without messing up, I sure want to try.

Lastly, I have been heartbroken about what this recent election revealed about the character and intolerance of many I know and a few I love. The results did not divide us. We were already divided but not being honest about it. Many like me were just too polite and respectful—sometimes even fearful—to say, “I believe in something different than you.” Back in November, I pulled the lever for Pence, because of my faith and values. Donald Trump—a relative unknown to me—just happened to be on his ticket. Now that both are in leadership, they are receiving my prayers, support, and opinion.

I interact with many people who don’t share my beliefs or orientation and am often challenged to rethink the validity of both. This is a good thing. Having said that, I don’t care to be disrespected or ridiculed for my faith or values. I have a low tolerance for bullying, meanness, and harsh language. I also believe in free but respectful speech. While your voice, contributions, and purpose matter, mine do, too.  

So this is who I am. Keep me or delete me, but in the interest of full disclosure, if you didn’t know these things about me, you do now. My name is Kay O’Hara, and I am done with hiding in the closet. 

March 8, 2017