parenthood

Things to Say When We Die, AKA, “Gray Hairs in Hades”

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

I’ve been reading through The One Year Chronological Bible as published by Tyndale House (NLT). It’s been revelatory–listening to the Word has proven to be so much more impactful than I ever realized. It’s amazing how when you hear something, vs. when you read something, you pick up so many little nuances.

David gives his formal last words and final instructions to Solomon in 1 Kings 2:1-9. In this passage, he’s handing the throne over to his son during yet another arduous time in Israel. A different son had laid claim to the throne; Bathsheba came to David, as did Nathan, to tell him what was going on. David called his Solomon in and gave him a short speech that took a whole 8 verses…and verses 5-8 are pretty vengeful.

Meanwhile, when Moses knew his time had come, he spent 5 weeks giving his final speeches, handing his authority to Joshua, stressing the importance of keeping the commandments and the Law, and by begging the people of Israel not to forsake the path God had laid out for them…Deuteronomy is pretty much taken over by this monumental event, & Moses finishes it up by literally climbing up a mountain and dying. Pretty epic, if you ask me.

I’m struck by the comparison. Everyone thinks of King David as being this “man after God’s own heart,” yet his last words on this earth were vengeful: “And there is also with you Shimei the son of Gera, the Benjaminite from Bahurim, who cursed me with a grievous curse on the day when I went to Mahanaim. But when he came down to meet me at the Jordan, I swore to him by the Lord saying, ‘I will not put you to death with the sword.’ Now therefore do not hold him guiltless, for you are a wise man. You will know what you ought to do to him and you shall bring his gray head down with blood to Sheol.” (Deut. 32:8-9). MY DUDE, YOU JUST TOLD YOUR KID TO TAKE OUT AN OLD MAN.

And then David died! Just like that!!!! WHAT THE WHAT?!?!? “Oh, son, be Strong and show yourself a man, and keep the charge of the Lord your God (Deut. 32:1), yadayadayada AND GO KILL THAT OLD GUY WHO DID ME WRONG.”

ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?

Meanwhile, here’s Moses: “Happy are you, O Israel! Who is like you, a people saved by the Lord, the shield of your help, and the sword of your triumph! Your enemies shall come fawning to you, and you shall tread upon their backs.” (Deut. 33:29) Then God shows him the Promised land, and he dies. The end.

I don’t really have any deep, spiritual insights here, other than the fact that I am floored at the juxtaposition of the death speeches. If you would have asked me how I thought David would leave this planet, I would have probably said something like, “singing a Psalm,” and for Moses, something like, “swinging a tablet,” I don’t know, I mean, if I’d never studied it before. And I have–but for some reason, hearing it made it really stick out to me–they’re completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Moses is blessing his people; he’s challenging them, reminding them of the promises and the miracles, and he’s handing off his position after 120 years on this earth and a life that’s spanned a tremendous breadth of hope, heartache, and of an endless pursuit of holiness. He made mistakes; he got frustrated and angry, and he was fiery. He was a passionate defender of the hope he had, & he never stopped being the voice of the Father for the errant child of Israel. He loved his people and he loved his God without question…yet he never stepped foot in the Promised Land while on this earth.

David is looked at so often as a man of great honor…He’s a regular guy who became a king…a shepherd, a musician, a warrior, a refugee, and then a king. God used him in so many ways, but he also struggled with womanizing, anxiety, entitlement, etc. He was (like me and you and everyone else) a total mess. David is venerated…but why?

The fact that David lived his life the way that he did & ended it the way that he did, clearly shows a man who was flawed–proud, vengeful, and unforgiving–but yet, look at how God used him throughout! He uses broken vessels to change history…Our Messiah came through his line. What greater human honor could someone have bestowed on them?!?!

The story of Moses has always resonated with me. When I was 15, I had an argument with God over a promise I have yet to see fulfilled. I remember Him taking me to the story in Exodus 4 and telling me, “Who made your mouth?” It was then, for the very first time, that I took a look at the issues Moses faced. Whether it was crippling anxiety, a speech impediment, messed-up teeth; we don’t know the specifics of why Moses felt inadequate to speak in front of people; we just know that he did, and that God reminded him of Who. He. Was. It could have been neurodivergence, Tourette’s, a facial deformity–we don’t know. Moses was terrified. He felt inadequate…but God used him for amazing things that only He could have done.

Moses wasn’t a saint, either–he straight-up killed a dude for beating a Hebrew slave. Sure, it was a righteous anger but it was still murder, & it was wrong. He had a temper (& a fiery one at that!!!!). He went from being afraid to speak to leading over a million people through the desert and when it was his time to go, he, as the kids say, “left no crumbs.” FIVE WEEKS?!? His farewell speech lasted five weeks!!! From a dude who was afraid to speak in public!!!! Tell me God can’t break off fear and anxiety!! He may have to lead you through a desert to do it, but He can do it!!

These two death-tales have had me thinking about what I’d say if I knew my time was coming (it’s not morbidity. It’s a fact. Everybody dies.). I have faced my own mortality a few times (weirdly, I’ve never really taken it seriously) between bouts of heart failure, near-drowning, car accidents–it’s pretty amazing I’m still alive. But if I knew my time was coming–if you knew your time was coming–would you make your last words a commission of vengeance like David? Or would you challenge people to remember how far you’ve all walked with God, and how far He has brought you?

When my daughter passed away, choosing the verse on her tombstone was hugely important to us. We knew it would represent so much–maybe not how we felt at the time, but we knew we wanted a verse that would give us hope & point us to our Father every time we saw it. We chose I Samuel 2:2 “There is none holy like the Lord; for there is none besides You; there is no rock like our God.” It was important because it was her namesake; Hannah was named after the story in the Bible, and Hannah is who sings and prays this to the Lord after she has Samuel and dedicates him to God. She placed her baby in God’s house, and she praised the Lord as she left. That’s an incredibly difficult thing to think about…but our Hannah was with the Lord, and what else could we do without her, but to trust Him? He IS holy, right? He IS our Father, and He DOES love us. These words are in bronze, etched for the world to see. She is His…and I’m reminded every time I put flowers out, that we will all be together some day. That verse was put there as a challenge to us, as a reminder for us; it’s not there for us to grieve. It’s there because it’s true, He is real, & He is our HOPE.

For me, I could go either way. There are a few people I wouldn’t mind commissioning revenge on with my last breath, LOL–okay, not seriously–but the more I think about them, the more I reflect on my struggles with forgiveness and the more I realize I’m not yet ready to look my Savior in the eye. How can I be angry, when He has forgiven me of so much? I can’t keep these grudges. I’m sorry, King David–I’m not commissioning my kid to chase down a former manager or anything, even if the thought makes me smile like the Grinch. 🙂

I hope more than anything, if I have the ability to know my end is coming, that when I leave this earth that I do so like Moses–maybe not with like, 5 weeks of speeches, but maybe more like, 20 minutes to call people, tell them I love them, remind them Jesus loves them and that I’m okay, and to challenge them to stay on their journey of walking with Him. I’d hope I would maybe write something poignant, maybe get that novel off of my chest, and perhaps leave a legacy of quirky creativity and the stories of a life lived for Jesus and with Joy.

But maybe, just maybe, I’ll make it to the ripe old age of geriatric saltiness, and I’ll combine the two examples…I’ll challenge people with a final speech of spiritual maturity, calling them out to Love Jesus and Love People with the hearts we’re told to have…and also tell them to borrow that proverbial beer truck & run a few idiots over…bwahahahahaha….

We think about Moses like a grumpy old man with a smite button, ready to slam some tablets down; we think of David as a gentle shepherd bout, or as a sensitive-hearted worshipper. I think we have it backwards, and I think their farewell benedictions prove my point.

Moses was a weathered man who knew he was deeply flawed, yet he trusted God and he challenged his people thru his last breath. David gets labeled as a special kind of holy, because he’s called a “man after God’s heart…” but I think he gained that description based on the fact that he always came back when he slid away from the Law and the calling of God. He never abandoned his faith, but he never let go of his anger at those who betrayed him. He didn’t have the freedom he should have had in death, & he challenged his son to pick up his grudges and to carry out his vengeance instead of trusting God to handle it. David certainly sounds “smite-ier” when you think of it like that.

Then again…when you look back over Moses’ final speech in full, there are definitely some “smite” moments in there, so don’t think I skipped those parts. 🙂 I’m more taken aback by the length and content of Moses’ full speech verses David’s 8 verses, as well as the very last parts of what Moses says, verses what David says, along with our regular conceptions of both men. I hadn’t really thought about it before yesterday, & I think I’m going to dig into this topic next year at some point.

Meanwhile, should I get hit by said proverbial beer truck before my next erratically-written blog, I will share with you one of my favorite verses which, if I wasn’t hoping to be cremated, would go on my headstone or would hopefully be my last statement. It was my Senior verse in high school, and it has remained with me as a “milestone verse” in my walk with God:

“Oh Lord, You are my God; I will exalt You and praise Your Name, for in perfect faithfulness, You have done many things; things planned long ago.” –Isaiah 25:1

Honestly, though, my last words will probably in all reality be like those of Robert Charles Towery, who said:

“I love my family.

Potato, potato, Potato.”

Finally going to write about it…

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

There are a great many things that have happened over the recent months that have made me wonder how we are still walking the earth.
Like, when Paul wrote, “And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with Whom you were sealed for the day of redemption, (Eph. 4:30)”…how often are we doing just that? I read headlines and Facebook posts, and “news” articles, and moments in history that I never knew existed, and I feel like we should be wiped off of the face of the earth…We’re a terrible species of people.


I’m in a group on Facebook that sells leggings—LEGGINGS, people. Soft, comfortable, bury-me-in-them leggings—where one post about a pattern for law enforcement support blew up into the most hateful, racist, condescending, evil “banter” that I’ve ever read in my life. From LEGGINGS.

Christians are fighting with other Christians. It started with the mask-wearers vs. the non-mask wearers; now it’s somehow the “my freedoms are being violated!!!” vs. the “I don’t wanna die from COVID, and you’re an inconsiderate bastard if you don’t wear a mask!!” And yet all of them say, “Yeah, we love Jesus!!!”
“We support the police” is now equal to, “well, you’re a racist,” but “Black Lives Matter” means you’re either a lemming, a White Savior, or a militant. There is no “agree to disagree,” and there is no “middle ground.”
Blood is being shed, lives and careers are being ended, and #CancelCulture has taken over.A young man recently opened up an app on his phone, which told him his stock values had dropped to negative $750,000. He then killed himself…but what he didn’t know, was that the app had glitched, and the data was wrong. It was too late for this kid. He based his very survival on what was false information….he made a quick reaction to what he thought was truth, and now his family is devastated. I feel like this poor kid is indicative of our world right now.
We read posts, and we hear stories, and we react (and we post our reactions). We have knee-jerk responses to anything and everything, and we spout off our opinions or our dramatic rebuttal. We’re so quick to pick up offenses and to drag them around like roadkill that’s hung up on an exhaust pipe.

We do not stop and take the time to take things before the Lord in prayer before we make permanent impressions with either our mouths or our keyboards, and we leave a trail of broken hearts and souls in our wake.
There’s a reason why I’m saying, “we.” I’m guilty.
I’m totally guilty of a knee-jerk, biting response, or an embittered eye-roll, or even of being a part of Cancel Culture in my mind. And I guess because I’m not publicly sharing who and what I think should be cancelled, I tell myself I’m not playing a part in it, but I totally do. I have people and establishments that are 100% dead to me, and I’m not proud of it. Resentment and bitterness are suffocating, and they’re a chain I believe we all risk carrying around…
And our world is beleaguered with it.
Like the Dickens tale taught us, I feel like we’re all a bit like Mr. Marley, with our chains and our boxes dangling around our necks, but we’re too busy squawking like a bunch of chickens, looking at everyone else, to notice that we’re about to go under…We’re all tired, and we don’t even realize that’s why.
These chains and these burdens are heavy, and there’s nothing to make them any lighter.

Yesterday, we celebrated Juneteeth (which should be a national holiday. Mr. Trump, please make it so), and we took notice far more this year than in any other year, of the weight of that day: The End of Slavery in America.
The chains were broken, at least physically….but we all know they’ve lingered for generations even still.
I sat in our home group yesterday and commented that when I read the passages in Ephesians 6 about slavery, I wondered how we as a nation got it so wrong? I read in another post today about how we as white Americans “Disney-ify” the Bible to make ourselves the Israelites—God’s “chosen” people—when if we really think about it, we were more like the Egyptians, building our cities and our country on the backs of those who were stolen from their own lands.


Ephesians 6 gives clear instructions about slavery; the term, “bondservant” was a more accurate translation. There was to be a working relationship between master and slave, a mutual respect. It was to be more of a worker/boss relationship, than an abusive relationship. Our ancestors, who came here under the guise of religious freedom, twisted it so much (and I believe the biggest parts of that were rooted in erroneous translations of the Scripture by the Church of England at the time, who were in cahoots with the royals…everything was bought and paid and traded for, and I seriously question the authenticity of certain translations/paraphrasings of the Bible based on the studies I’ve done on the topic. I digress.). They twisted the Scriptures and used them to kidnap, abuse, and enslave people and to force our belief systems on them, to support their deceptive ideas. The irony of it all—religious freedom is used to enslave a race?!?—is nauseating, and the more I learn the history of the African American people in our nation, the more my heart grieves.
I wasn’t taught any of this stuff in school. I learned a little bit about slavery, but outside of watching Glory, I didn’t get it. The Tulsa Race Riots? I first heard about it last week. Ruby Bridges? I had to Google “little Black girl, integrated schools,” because I knew the story but I didn’t know her NAME. Juneteenth? I learned about it when I was 31. In going to a Christian school, one of the things I’ve struggled with as I’ve learned and read more, is that the history we were taught was so whitewashed. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional, and it was in the 80’s & 90’s. The truth remains, though, is that it was. There was a complete imbalance in the history of minorities and of women in what we were taught, verses the history of male achievements. What’s the saddest, is that I didn’t realize it until I was an adult.


There is a difference between rewriting history and writing history. I do not think the textbooks I learned from rewrote history, but I sure as heck KNOW they omitted history. I believe our history books need to be expanded to include the stories of the amazing contributions of women and of people of color. They need to even out the representation, and if that means our general history classes take 3 years to get through instead of 1 semester? GOOD. “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”—Santayana. My high school history teacher drilled that quote into my head, and I think it’s truer now than it’s ever been. The more I learn about the gross abuse that people went through at the hands of our forefathers, the more I see it coming back for another round….
Because we’re not learning.
We’re not learning to Be Kind.
We’re not learning to share Jesus.
We’re not learning to Love…
If anything, we’re getting better at hatred, and it’s so sad and it’s so scary.
I have a child to raise in this mess.
I have a responsibility to teach him to love first and foremost…to teach him to “seek justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly” with the Lord (Micah 6:8)…to know his own privilege and to use it to stop the mistreatment of another human being at any cost…
I have a responsibility to set the example, myself.


When Ferguson happened, I was, “All Lives Matter.” I was challenged by a few friends who were digging into Civil Rights, into true justice, who led me by example to really pray about it. I started reading, and listening, and having those Uncomfortable Conversations where I realized that I was wrong—no one ever said that all lives DON’T matter. I started to understand that Jesus left the 99 to find the one, and that That One Mattered to Him, so why am I sitting here with my arms crossed, clicking with the 99? If He cares about That One, so should I…and so should my son, and so should anyone that knows me. I truly believe that Black Lives Matter, and I can say that without being disingenuous.
I still struggle. I still struggle with stereotypes, and with using the wrong words, and with being so afraid to offend anyone that I won’t say a word during the Q&A portion of the endless Zoom courses on inclusion and diversity that I’ve sat in on over the last few months. I still struggle with the knee-jerk reactions and the type of mentality that you get when you live in a primarily white, rural area and where you’re oblivious to your privilege (which just goes to show you how privileged you really are—that’s another diatribe). I’m not the poster child of Woke White People, and I would never pretend that I’m on some kind of Civil Reform Bandwagon…
But my heart has changed since Ferguson. My heart has grieved since Ferguson…for the sights that I saw in the aftermath, for the anger that burned the city to the ground, and for the pain that boiled out of people..people that are fellow Americans, that feel betrayed by this country that brought their ancestors here illegally in the first place. That pain is deep, and it’s a generational wound that I cannot understand…but I can listen. The protests that are happening in the wake of George Floyd are different this time around (and not just because the case is so clear-cut, or because we’ve gone down this road too many times before). The spirit of the protest is different, and the violence that’s trying to sneak in is much more pronounced in how it’s deviant of the true heart of the message.
People are crying out for real, tangible, measurable change, and they’re sick of empty words and ideas. I don’t know if we’re willing as a nation, to put the work in that making these changes will require. My cynical side says we have no idea what we’re asking for…and my spiritual side says the only way any changes will come is by the power of the Holy Spirit.


God is grieving over our nation and our world. His very heart is grieved…I believe, and I hope with all of my soul, that this world is on its way to the Great Revival that I’ve heard was coming ever since I was a child…that the heart of people would be so drawn into praying for change that an encounter with Jesus Christ is inescapable…The Civil Righteousness organization (www.civilrighteousness.org) is covering our nation with prayers for lasting change, and for “spiritual, cultural, and economic renewal” by way of intensive prayer, Hope Rallies, fasting, and more…I am agreeing with them in prayer that we’re on the cusp of a national breakthrough, and that all of the pain of the last few months is like the birthing pains for a new nation that seeks the Lord’s face as we head into what I believe could be the last days…


Because we’ve grieved His heart long enough…and the burdens we carry, and the burdens our ancestors put on other people, are heavy….and His word tells us that His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.
It’s time to lay our burdens down, and to seek healing and revival in this land.

Stay little….just a little while longer…

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

He crawls up beside me on this couch where I’ve been recuperating for the millionth time…”Play with me, Mommy!”

He sounds off–my Mom-radar is triggered, & I covertly check his cheek for warmth. Nope, all good. He snuggles up. Evidently, “play with me” is Rico-speak for, “I’m tired, and I just want to use you as my giant pillow, Mommy.” I oblige. Even when he hits a sore spot, or digs in his dagger-like elbows to jockey for position, I welcome him to this space that he has made on my lap. 

He takes his glasses off, he pats my arm, and he floats back-&-forth between watching, “Meet the Robinsons,” & whatever 5-year olds dream of.

He really is beautiful.

He gets those eyelashes from his father. 🙂

I know that I have to be consistent, set rules, maintain boundaries. I have to have structure, schedule, education, etc….But sometimes? I just want to look at him. My little miracle boy…Gosh. He’s just such a gregarious, hilarious, mysterious little creature….he’s happy, sunny, and just plain glorious. He makes my heart smile in ways I never could have understood, and I am so, so grateful for him.

I was a big advocate of “baby-wearing” from early on with him. We started with a Moby wrap (thanks, Kat & Susie!), went to an Ergo, and finally, moved up to a Tula that can go up to 50lbs. He’s just now 40lbs., and because of my surgeries, I haven’t been able to backpack him like I was. And, although he still meets the size requirements, he’s 5, so there’s that. I’ve been purging the house, simplifying closets and storage,  etc., and when I cleaned out my car, the Tula was sitting there. 

I know I can get a good price for it.

I’m not ready to sell it, yet. 

I’m not ready to close that chapter. 

He’s growing up so, so fast…How can I save every moment? How can I hang on, but let go while he grows? He met his kindergarten teacher today, & I am more emotional than I’d like to admit. Kindergarten!!! But….but….He was just born, like, yesterd……oh…..

You start letting go the second you say hello.

Go to sleep, Beautiful Boy, and I will still be your squishy Mama when you wake up. Stay little just a little while longer…..

Recovery

/ Cassidy S. Cooley / Leave a comment

*Pardon any spelling errors. I’ve written this on my tablet, and I tried to catch everything, but I’m also on pain meds and trying to chase a toddler. Give the Grammar Geek a break on this one, LOL.

So, I’ve had a few people ask what in the world is going on with me?!? Well, surgeries 12 and 13 took place in November and December, and I’m in the recovery process. I had bilateral tarsal tunnel surgery and a plantar fasciitis (sp?) release, and a scar ressection on my left foot.

*Photo is 5.5 weeks post-op on right foot; I rejected the “dissolvable” sutures on the right foot, so the incision has stayed “open” since then. Basically, I’ve had a 5.5 week-long allergic reaction, which is not awesome. It looks really, really good, but is having a difficult time completely closing due to masceration. My left foot is 6 days post-op, and they used a different kind of dissolvable suture, so I’m looking forward to seeing the difference when they take the stitches out, hopefully, tomorrow.

How does this happen? Why did it happen? And why in the heck have I had so many darn surgeries in such a short amount of time?

My first surgery was complex wisdom teeth removal in 2004.  Since then, there have been 12 more surgeries on various areas (mostly abdominal), which is a lot over the course of 13 years. 13 surgeries–that averages out to 1/year, except when it’s not, and I have a year like 2013, when I wind up having 3 procedures within 6 months.  It really isn’t that much, compared to some people I know, but it sure sounds that way.  Each surgery has been difficult (we’re not made to be cut into), but most of them have had a pretty easy recovery time. I have tried to schedule the bulk of things around my work requirements, but occasionally, it hasn’t been possible. For these surgeries, I scheduled them around Thanksgiving and Christmas Break, so it has worked out.

The biggest wrench in the works has been that Jericho is ALSO on Christmas Break, so I’ve been in charge of him while I’m trying to stay couch-bound. That’s been a challenge, but fortunately, several friends have made time to come visit and lend a hand, or just make me laugh. 🙂 Things like this are why it is so important to build relationships; you never know when you can bless someone, or when you will need someone. With my work schedule, it’s hard to be the blessing to others that they have been to me, honestly…but I want to find a way to make that impact. Time really is the best gift you can give someone. 🙂

I’ve got maybe 5-7 more weeks of recovery. At this point, I don’t have to have physical therapy, but I may be seeking a second opinion just to rule that out. So far, my right foot, while hideous, is feeling better since I’ve been forced to rest it during the recovery of my left foot. Before that, though, it was really bothering me, and I am wondering if I gave it enough time before moving on to the surgery on the left foot? Time will tell. It’s not like I’m running a 10K anytime soon (or ever), but I do love to walk, and this holiday weight gain is SERIOUS when I’m just sitting on my ever-expanding butt. 🙂

And there you have it. Tarsal Tunnel is like Carpal Tunnel, but in your feet, which sucks. That’s what I’m recovering from. Pray for my husband & I, because this is stressful. I’m overwhelmed, as is he, and it kind of feels like the house is falling down aound my ears. It will be okay, but it’s a lot to deal with.

My neighbor is hosting some insane mega-party for New Year’s, which is the first time she’s ever done so. I’m not too thrilled about it (we live in an attached townhouse), but maybe it’s indicative of changes coming for 2018. Maybe it’s a sign to not take things too seriously, or to try something crazy or different. Maybe it’s a reminder that life is short–too short to spend waiting around in recovery, but long enough that you want to make sure you’re fully healed before jumping in for the rest of it with both feet broken?

Maybe I’ll blog again before Monday, but maybe not…If I don’t, have a blessed, whole New Year full of love, expression, and of getting to know the Lord in new ways. May you have fun, be safe, and remember the basics of toddlerhood: Wear your shoes on the right feet, share your toys, and don’t bite your friends.

Peace Out, Netskies. Have a Happy New Year!