How I Got Here, Part 53

Happy Monday.

Man, I get no respect around here. I leave y’all Friday with poor li’l moi rocketing down a hill to my certain death, and you all think it’s funny. Yup, just laughin’ your heads off.

Remind me not to ask for your sympathy if I’m ever on my deathbed.

So. Ron asked if I lived. Well, guess so. But here’s the thing. You wanna know what happened next?

I can’t remember.

Honest. Last thing I know, I was whizzing down the hill, straight for Mr. WFAB (Waitin’ For A Bus). Kathleen couldn’t catch me, no one else seemed to around, around WFAB clearly couldn’t care less.

Next memory has me in my room, shaking, calling my husband to try and figure out why the motorized cart won’t work.

In short, the whole scenario so totally traumatized me that all my memory of rescue is gone.

And you all laughed.

I have since asked my pals Kathleen and DiAnn what happened. I mean, curious minds wanna know—my own history. Evidently DiAnn was still in the area. Somehow she and Kathleen, when they saw I really was a goner, were given the divine strength to run like Superwomen, catch up to me, grab on to the cart and tug with all their might until I slowed . . . slowed . . . stopped. They must have been breathing like horses after a race. I must have been near catatonic. Well, evidently I was.

Yeeks. Surely ’twas an amazing scene. Wish I could remember it.

Still don’t know what happened to WFAB. The conference was just beginning that day. You think he’d have come up to me sometime during the weekend and said, “Hey, glad you’re all right” or something. But nope. I’m wondering if he really was an angel sent there to xray some super power to K. and D. Do angels work like that? Suppose not. Anyhoo, WFAB up and disappeared, and today I wouldn’t know him on the street if I saw him.

On the other hand, if I saw him, I might punch his lights out.

So. After death-defying rescue . . .

Idgit brain here called hubby, who patiently told her to flip the motorizing switch so go-cart thingy can zip me around Mount Hermon for the weekend. Idgit brain was incredibly grateful. And felt incredibly stupid. But, hey, I had Lyme. Great excuse.

As I told you Friday I managed to make it to meals and the book signing party that weekend—and that was it. As for my writing, Capture the Wind for Me was newly released. Third and final in my Bradleyville series. Thank you, God, for helping me write that book! That was the manuscript with the grocery store, and the bricks replaced around the store’s door after a tornado . . .

I know now why God allowed me that good week in the midst of such sickness so I could attend Mount Hermon. At one of the meals I was able to stand up (as best as I could) and tell everyone my situation. And the entire conference prayed for me. That was all part of God’s plan—allowing more people to be a part of praying for me, because of what was to come.

Because you see, more was coming right around the corner. Not all good. In fact, it would get worse before it got better. On the last day of the conference—the day everyone packed up to go home—I had to start taking my next round of medication. I’d been warned this one wouldn’t be easy.

Still, I never would have guessed how far I’d fall—and how fast.

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Read Part 54