"Every man at the bottom of his heart believes he is a born detective."
(To be read in a low, dark, detective-like voice - like the narrator of a kids crime show)
It was May 7, 2014. The elongated shadows were showing that the day was almost over. Me and my companion had spent most of the day together, being interrogated by a host of individuals, intent on finding out who this Tiffany was and what her story might be. Each person came with a specific request, question, or hankering to give her some information, such as, what the chemo regimen was going to include, how it was going to start, the hope to finish in a few days, and perhaps how to order dinner from room service.
It was a new day for us. Neither one of us had ever been admitted to a hospital since we solemnized our relationship 14 and one half years ago (aside for the birth of four wee little ones) in the temple of our God. Though the excitement of the day came with trepidation, a caution to move forward. We weren't really sure what to expect and the multitude of individuals, doctors, nurses, etc, who came to talk to us quickly overwhelmed us. But, a break came in the interrogation; Tiffany's sister arrived. Her entrance gave us some sort of reprieve; that there was another ally who could intently listen and try to make sense of what all these various parties were getting at.
With her arrival, it gave me the opportunity to leave for a time as she would stay to take care of our dear Tiffany. I was to head to our humble abode and see if the children had infiltrated our home at the completion of their day at school and had destroyed the place.
They hadn't. Thanks to a meal that was provided by some good and friendly neighbor, the ravenous little people hadn't done much more than eat, and start to watch a picture show. I had no sooner arrived at home when I looked out the window and to my astonishment, a gaggle of young women and their leaders had penetrated the front yard and were in the midst of exterminating any unwanted plants, mostly in the form of weeds. They didn't get too far before I was out and among them. Finding myself surrounded, there was nothing that I could do, but assist them in undertaking their deed. They accomplished their mission in record time, eliminating the noxious weeds and leaving a grateful, but proud husband and father with a broken heart and the feeling of inexplicable humility.
In as quick as a time they arrived, they departed and left in their wake a front yard that had been a blight to the surrounding community and transformed it to a seemingly simple beauty and a home with nice curb appeal.
But our story takes a turn into more mysterious fare. You see, this said front yard was devoid of flowers. Plants yes, flowers, not so much. But, as life for this family had turned the way it had, flowers, nor the time to plant said flowers, was not found on the list of priorities. Instead, I had to head back to the institute that held my wife captive. She needed a companion, and thanks to good family members who graciously took the children, I was indeed able to go and stay with her. (See here and here to find out more about her stay). Leaving on a Friday evening, I went to stay with her for the course of about 48 hours. It was during this time that, like thieves in the night, somebody had come and planted a very plentiful and abundant amount of flowers, for upon our return home, Tiffany was pleasantly surprised to not only find the weeds gone, but in found my surprise exhilarating as I saw that in the weeds stead were these beautiful flowers.
And, here we are a few weeks later, the culprit has not been found. Oh, I have used my detective skills and have searched high and low. I myself have interrogated a few. But to my chagrin, no suspect has come forward to claim this as their work. Which indeed is a tragedy, for the flowers have truly brightened the front yard and the artist should get credit for their work.
And again, three weeks later from this just-described mystery, another clandestine act has happened. While Tiffany was again locked up in the infirmary, with me at her side, somebody, if not the original criminal, struck again. This time, with a heavy dose of machinery as they mowed our lawn. Once more I seek to find out who has done this act of service on our behalf. I hope to track you down and give you thanks.
But alas, this may never be. Sometimes (or in our case, often, as seems to be the case lately) we are flooded with these types of mysteries. There is just not enough time or personnel that I would need to find out the concourses of angels who continually serve and take care of us.
But if we could, we would thank them. For they are quite frankly giving us joy in what is lately a crazy journey through life.