It’s been said there are two varieties of people that tell the truth: drunk people and little kids. While that’s true, I know someone else who tells the truth, and she ain’t drunk and she ain’t little.

It’s Barb.

Some of you know Barb. She spent more years at the Co-op than I did, and it’s only people with Very Thick Skin that can endure a decade + in that place.

I don’t even know where to start.

I guess I should introduce you since you might not know her. She’s tall, with skinny little kildee bird legs (you can thank Gary Hicks for that particular detail). She’s got a grin a mile wide and dancing eyes behind gold rimmed glasses. We never ran out of things to talk about (sometimes it was a contest who could talk the most), because we were forever recommending books to one another. And chattering about places to eat. We shared a similar attitude about road trips: open the door and you’ll find us parked in the front seat. We love the beach, especially Charleston, and we constantly reminded each other of how much time before our next trip. Barb doesn’t sneeze once or twice-she sneezes five or six times in a row. It’s remarkable. I’ve never met anybody that customarily did that. But Barb does.

Once, after she’d retired, we met up for a girl’s day out. We went to Wasabi’s on Bearden Hill and then tried to decide what to do. It was such a nice day, we hated to be running around indoors shopping, and Barb said, “Hey! I know! I’m gonna take you to Grainger County!” So off we went. We hit every pig trail off Rutledge Pike and I saw lots of beautiful country. We snuck by her momma and daddy’s place, because if they saw us and we didn’t stop welllll….I don’t think Barb was too old to get her hind end popped. We went by her sister’s–the one who always asked Barb her opinion on her hair because she knew it would be truthful, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. We went by her old church, and a million and one houses her daddy built. I know I wrote about it on Facebook the day we went and I just found it by searching the words “Goat Trail”. It was November 19th, 2015. Here are two pictures I took.

Funny thing. That day I was participating in another kind of challenge: a writing challenge. It was day 20 and I was tasked with putting my music player on shuffle and write about the first three songs that played. Well, it’s ironic because what Barb picked for my sacrifice was to not listen to the radio while driving.

I ALWAYS listen to the radio while driving. Well, maybe not the radio, but music of some sort. But I wasn’t gonna cheat. I owe her that. And I had to drive to Knoxville for salamander training today. Knoxville has lots of redlights. And it’s boring to sit in traffic with nothing to listen to but the sounds of exhaust around you. I learned that today. I also think it heightened my sense of smell. But anyway. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t listen to podcasts or an audiobook or anything. Just me. And when Amber and Cynthia piled in with me to go to lunch, I warned Amber (riding shotgun) not to mess with the display. I was fasting the radio. So she immediately took up “Mock-ING-bird” (Remember? Dumb & Dumber?) I probably went to turn it on seven or eight DOZEN times today….and I found myself smiling, thinking about Barb. And saying little mini prayers every time. I wished she was there to listen to and I wouldn’t miss the radio so badly.

I think another reason we get along famously is because she raised an only child. She knows how much attention we need, and exactly how much to pet. Barb is a lot of fun, and a pretty cool mom, if I do say so myself.

But a couple of years ago, Barb got some Really Bad News. Yes, it was cancer. But she remained optimistic throughout the surgery and chemo and all the treatments she had to endure. She was hopeful, as one must be when fighting.

But just when she thought she was out of the woods, it came back.

And again she fought, more determined this time to really see it through.

And once again, it has returned. And once again she fights with this bright light and same ol’ Barb smile while her husband and son watch and worry.

Barb ain’t worried.

Barb’s got the faith of a million mustard seeds.

This is just a minor setback, interfering with her plans to go eat seafood at RB’s on Shem Creek, and reading till two o’clock in the morning. It’s aggravating, yes, but she’s not letting it get her down. Too many things to do and see. So now she goes to Vanderbilt to see the best of the best and get this taken care of once and for all. Barb’s got a might-as-well-be-grandchild on the way. Barb’s got a Sunday school class to teach. Her best buddy from the Co-op just retired too, and they need to get out and about. Barb’s gotta go, go, GO.

Lord. Come on. It’s Barb. BARB. You know Barb, she’s very faithful member of Beech Springs Baptist Church and a big fan of yours. I know your motives are not to be revealed in this lifetime, but it would be really wonderful if you could cure this cancer that’s taken a liking to my good friend. I get it, we all like her. But this isn’t a healthy relationship. Barb’s fighting, has fought, will always fight with a smile on her face and praising your Holy name. But hasn’t it been long enough? Everyone knows she believes in your healing hand and I really just wish these bunch of cells would take a hike. They’re not in a spot with a whole lot of room for error, so I would like to pray for her surgeon’s hand to be steady and sure as he gets every last little bit of microscopic anything that looks the least little bit abnormal. I pray for her recovery to be swift. I ask that she not experience any sickness after treatments like she’s struggled with in the past. I thank you for her wonderful attitude, always. I thank you for her friendship and her generous character. Thank you for blessing her with a loving husband, son, and neighbors. Thank you for her family, that she’s always been close with. I ask you to keep her safe in her journey to Nashville for the procedure and keep her comfortable as they make their way back home. For Psalm 103 tells us:

Bless the Lord, O my soul;
And all that is within me, bless His holy name!
² Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And forget not all His benefits:
³ Who forgives all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases,
⁴ Who redeems your life from destruction,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and tender mercies,
⁵ Who satisfies your mouth with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

I ask these things in Jesus’ name, Amen.

You know how when you’re driving down the highway and a police officer pulls out after you and you start worrying even though you weren’t speeding and you know your tags are in date and your lights work? And you can scarcely breathe for watching him and running all the scenarios through your mind? And if he does pull you over, you know it’ll be okay because you’ve done nothing wrong. You know how you can’t relax until he passes you or turns off? This is how I feel like it must be for Barb. She knows she is otherwise healthy and has a job to do here, and this is just slowing her down. She can’t help but think about it, because what else is there to think about when you’ve got that kind of diagnosis? And it feels silly to worry, because if the worst happens, is that really the worst? She’s been ready to go to her heavenly home for decades. But STILL. Not right nowwwwwwwwww…..

So join me in praying on behalf of this very special lady, who always made the Co-op feel like home to me. She let me cry on her shoulder one of my first days there when this lady really let me have it for not knowing what layer pellets were. Me and her and Robin piled up in the 1960’s era paneled one toilet bathroom and cried till we laughed and laughed till we cried. Y’all remember that? I do. She was in full throttle when it came to my wedding plans, and always up for a lunch date. We still have many more adventures to come, crepes to eat, and I know I haven’t heard all her stories about growing up in Grainger County. Get well soon, Barb. I’ve got a sunroof and a full tank of gas.