This just keeps on and on...

Associated Press

11:38 AM CDT, Sunday, October 5, 2008

Two more Ike victims found on Goat Island

GALVESTON, Texas -- Two more bodies have been found close to where Hurricane Ike thundered ashore, bringing the Texas death toll to 35 and the national toll to 70.

A search-and-rescue team Saturday made the discovery in debris fields on Goat Island, located off the devastated resort area of Bolivar Peninsula.  The bodies were taken to the Galveston County medical examiner's office.

Galveston County Sheriff's Office Maj. Ray Tuttoilmondo said he had no other information about the victims.

More than 1 million people evacuated the Texas coast due to Ike.  The storm caused flooding and deaths as far away as Pennsylvania and Illinois.

Please keep on praying for those who wait to hear about loved ones.

Until the next page turns,

Brenda

Dealing with loss, death, tragedy and disaster in our lives

Editor's Note - This is my current column for The Examiner, published in Beaumont, Texas.

Please forgive me if my column today is a little more personal than usual. When my editor and publisher asked me to write a story of encouragement and help for folks dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Ike on our area, I thought, “Sure, piece of cake. That is what I do. Been doing it for years.”

But I soon realized that I had to draw upon the deep recesses of my heart and soul to put words on paper describing the brutal truth of the matter and to express honestly the thoughts churning so vividly inside my own being. Perhaps a little background is in order here.

My mother, Flo Davis, suffered a massive stroke on Wednesday evening, August 13 after eating dinner with one of her close buddies and attending prayer meeting. She was rushed to the trauma unit of CHRISTUS St. Elizabeth Hospital in Beaumont and the family members and church friends began to gather for a long vigil in the surrounding waiting rooms. We were told that Mother had suffered the stroke, additional seizures and that she likely would not survive more than six or eight hours. As we stood near her bed, we watched in amazement as she fought and survived that night.

The next day our family was advised that not only had she had the massive stroke and the continued seizures, she had also had a heart attack and since she was 86 years old, there really was nothing more to be done. She had a strong living will and a DNR order on file and so we said our goodbyes in different ways and at different times. On Sunday our team of physicians came in and said that the final test had revealed a growing cancerous brain tumor, stage 4, that had likely caused the stroke and the seizures. We discussed hospice care and placed Mother into that program on Monday. She lived 13 days and nights without one drop of water and one bite of food as we watched, prayed and tried to remain strong. Watching her die was not an easy chore and she was a strong woman.

Being of sturdy stock and a compelling nature, Mother lived 19 minutes into her 87th birthday and went home to be with the Lord and her husband, mother, father and other family members and friends. I rather think she did it like she wanted to do it — making it until that birthday milestone. We planned a memorial service at my son’s church in Groves and while we were conducting that funeral, we learned we were under mandatory evacuation for Hurricane Gustav. As we left the church, workers were placing sandbags around the doors of the building.

We drove on to the Atlanta area where Mother spent the majority of her life and had a second memorial service there on Sept. 3. As my husband and I were making our way home to Texas after the service and taking care of some of Mother’s business and going through personal effects, we learned that another major storm was heading for the Southeast Texas coast and that we would be under a second mandatory evacuation from our home in Port Bolivar. We were never allowed back to our property and only had with us the clothing we took for the funeral and my nephew’s wedding, which followed on September 6. Hurricane Ike slammed into the Peninsula we had come to love and called home since our marriage, and for four days and nights, we did not know if we had a home or any possessions at all. Waiting it out to confirm or deny our thoughts was a most difficult time. On Wednesday, Sept. 17, Ted and I flew in a small, chartered plane over Bolivar Peninsula and confirmed what some aerial photographs had shown us. Not one shred of our home was standing and not one piece of our belongings — a book, a piece of jewelry, dishes, photographs, wedding album, tools, lawn mower, furniture was evident. It looks as though a giant machine swept the area clean in many areas and flung the contents out to the beautiful blue-green sea.

A slight wind was blowing from the north and the seascape was picturesque. The landscape, however, was quite a different story. Homes and businesses are gone, the Rollover Ferry bridge has been destroyed except for one lane that is partially there, and the Galveston-Bolivar Ferry landings have been breached. Friends and neighbors appear to be missing and there are widespread rumors of hurtful situations. Little information has been forthcoming about when residents may be allowed back onto the Peninsula to look for any of their belongings and we wait in areas without water and power.

As I drove into my sister-in-law’s home in Bevil Oaks, I saw a big, old oak tree that the storm had taken down here. The inside was quite hollow and you could literally see through the massive trunk. I thought for a moment, “That’s how my heart feels. Hollow. Empty. Open and vulnerable. Useless.” For a woman to be without clothes, jewelry and shoes and her photographs of a lifetime is almost unthinkable, but for me, the loss of my books is cause for deep pain. My office equipment where I wrote is gone. My children’s gifts have vanished. I cried over a particular seashell that I dearly loved.

In my overwhelming grief, I began to think. “Do I believe what I have declared and taught for a lifetime? Is God really on His throne? Does He know my heart, as well as those of many of my dear friends and neighbors, hurts? Does He know what His plan is for our lives and will He be there to help guide us through it?” Thank God, I know in my heart of hearts, He does, but I found myself physically tired, discouraged and bereft.

While in Atlanta, another of my sister-in-laws asked me to go and buy a particular book and read it and then let her know what I thought. For some reason, I took the time, went to a busy Atlanta area bookstore and bought “The Shack” by Wm. Paul Young. I was entranced and read every word of it in one sitting. I have now read it a second time and I do not know what you may believe about the writing, but it helped me more than I can say. I needed to be reminded of the personal relationship human beings can have with God the Father, Jesus, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I gleaned from the many writers of the past that Young quoted and found myself clinging to their words just as surely as neighbors of mine clung to pieces of wood as they floated on Ike’s raging waters.

Let me share just a few of the outstanding quotes, which have helped to hold my personal anchor in place the past few days. Mack, the central character in “The Shack” had experienced “The Great Sadness” in his life and was forced to learn to rely on his personal relationship with God. He said, “Two roads diverged in the middle of my life, I heard a wise man say. I took the road less traveled by and that’s made the difference every night and every day.” - Larry Norman with apologies to Robert Frost. In Chapter 8 of “The Shack,” Young quotes an unknown writer: “Growth means change and change involves risk, stepping from the known to the unknown.” “New world — big horizon. Open your eyes and see it’s true. New world — across the frightening waves of blue.” - David Wilcox. “Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.” – Albert Einstein. “Oh, my soul…be prepared for Him who knows how to ask questions.” - T. S. Eliot. And, one of my personal favorites in the book, “God is a verb,” a quote from Buckminster Fuller.

Mack had many struggles to overcome in his search for truth and in one place he was told, “You can kiss your family and friends goodbye and put miles between you, but at the same time, you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world, but a world lives in you.” - Frederick Buechner. I am learning that this is also true of possessions and the “things” of life. You can keep them through your memories and by remembering those that gave them to you in the first place.

A. W. Tozer, one of my favorite writers of the past, is also included in “The Shack.” Here, he writes, “An infinite God can give all of Himself to each of His children. He does not distribute Himself that each may have a part, but to each one He gives all of Himself as fully as if there were no others.” God loves you and He loves me as if we were the only children He had. We humans tend to limit Him so much because we are human. We are reminded that “earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.”

As I walked about the branches of the dead oak tree today, I chanced to see something growing on one of the branches. I reached down and looked more closely. There I found several little healthy looking acorns resting quietly as if nothing had happened to disturb their world. They appeared to me to be at perfect peace. I picked one for myself (the tree is going to be cut up and taken away today), one for my husband and one for each of my children and grandchildren, and I put them in my pocket. As I have worked today, I am claiming a wonderful new experience called life for each of us, and the tiny acorns are my personal symbols of hope. I needed something tangible to touch and feel. Things can be replaced — people cannot. I can get new shoes, new clothing and some other books and my life will be brighter, more productive and happier than ever before, if (big if, here) I allow God to make it so.

As an added bonus, (just like God to do this for His children) as I was walking toward our RV parked in Bill and Martha’s branch littered yard, I looked for her wonderful, old gardenia bush. Much of it was crumbled in disarray from Ike’s powerful wind, but as I picked up some of the branches, I saw one beautiful, creamy white gardenia bloom nestled amidst the brokenness. I carefully and tenderly broke it off and brought it inside with me to share its fragrance and hope throughout our lives. It reminded me, as Mack learned, God is indeed still on His throne and He does care for us. (I Peter 5:7) It is up to His children to learn to trust Him completely, even when we don’t understand, and walk by faith in His ways making certain our relationships with those around us are ones He can be pleased with for all eternity. He is good and He is always God. Be encouraged.

Mother is home in heaven now...

Flo Ella C. Davis, 87, formerly of the Atlanta area, died Tuesday, August 26, 2008 in CHRISTUS St. Elizabeth Hospital in Beaumont, Texas after suffering a massive stroke caused by a cancerous brain tumor 13 days prior to her homecoming.

Flo was born August 26, 1921. She was the daughter of the late Marshall E. and Lena Darby Cole. Flo, a graduate of Avondale High School, married her school sweetheart, Robert Henry Cannon, who was killed in action in World War II. Her husband, John C. (Jay) Davis also preceded her in death. Flo was a tireless community volunteer and loved life and lived it well. She will be greatly missed by family and friends.

Survivors include her two daughters and sons-in-law, Brenda Cannon and Ted Henley of Port Bolivar, Texas; Paula Davis and Eric Bonner of Monroe, Ga.; two sons and daughters-in-law, Dr. John F. and Pat Davis of Jackson, Ga.; James L. and Connie Davis of Monroe, Ga.; 12 grandchildren and 19 great-grandchildren; numerous nieces and nephews; two sisters and brother-in-law, Anna Lee of Stone Mountain, Ga.; Minnie and Donald Baughcum of Conyers, Ga.; one brother-in-law, Bill Talton, wife, Dot, of Chipley, FL; one sister-in-law, Ellen Speir of Jackson, Ga.; as well as a host of friends both in Georgia and Texas.

A memorial celebration of Flo's life will be held on Saturday, August 30, 2008 at 11 a.m. at Val Verde Baptist Church in Groves with visitation with the family following the service. Dr. Brent Stancil, Flo's grandson, will officiate.

A memorial celebration of Flo's life will be held on Wednesday, September 3, 2008 at 11 a.m. at Wages Funeral Home in Snellville. The family will receive friends from 9:30 until 11a.m. at the funeral home. Officiating will be Dr. Alan Baughcum, Dr. John Davis and Dr. Brent Stancil.

The family is asking in lieu of flowers, any memorial contributions be made to the newly established education scholarship fund in honor of Jay and Flo. All gifts should be made directly to the fund, John and Flo Davis Education Scholarship and mailed to Post Office Box 323, Port Bolivar, Texas 77650. Mother had been helping several deserving young people and we believe she would be happy to know that her work continues in this manner.

Wages Funeral Home of Snellville is in charge of arrangements.

Friday, May 23, 2008...from the beach

Hi there friends and relatives,

I've been enjoying hearing your comments about the new blog. It is fun posting news/events/articles and photos to share. Please feel free to pass the address on to your friends and relatives and to those in your email address books.

The new roof on the beach cabin is finished now and is certainly pretty up there. I had no idea the difference it would make.

The roofer gave us the paperwork and I was shocked to learn that the shingles were guaranteed for 30 years. I told Ted that it gave me a funny thought when I realized someone else would likely enjoy the balance of the good guarantee, unless we live to be really, really old. I've come to know that we must be grateful for every day of our lives and not to waste our time in worrying about the past or thinking too much about the future.

I've experienced five deaths in the past two months and because of what I learned during the aftermath of each, Ted and I spent one entire day getting all our life's paperwork in order. Living wills, power of attorneys, medical directives and regular wills all had to be completed, taken to the notary and signed in her presence. One of the last and best gifts you can give your family is to let them know what you want done in the event of your death and how your wishes are to be carried out in detail. It just simply helps eliminate needless confusion and heartache. There are excellent forms available on the Internet that can be downloaded and completed. Of course, if you are very wealthy or have lots and lots of assets, you might want to see a good attorney.

In honor of Memorial Day weekend, I am posting a writing I did concerning my father, Robert Henry Cannon, who died in WWII. I never saw my biological father and we only found out some time later after his death that he did receive a letter from home with a photograph and that he knew I had been born. May God bless every family who has made the ultimate sacrifice for America's freedom. It affects that family for the rest of each of their lives. I know that for certain.

The Dad I Never Knew

My Daddy was an army soldier
Who fought so America could be free
His giving up his life for us,
Changed everything for me.

When I was little and just learning
Love filled my life and years.
When I hit the teens head on,
There was struggle, thinking, and a few tears.

As I grew older and learned much more,
I found I missed him in the strangest places.
Wondering what he’d really look and be like
And trying to find him in all the strangers’ faces.

I wanted to determine if I was like him,
Or if he were more like me.
Did we laugh alike, smile the same,
Yearn to read and grow, whatever did he see?

My Dad wasn’t here for birthdays and graduation,
There was always just one empty seat.
He couldn’t walk me down the aisle,
Or my new husband and dear friends ever meet.

My little ones that I held so very close,
Never knew his tender touch or care.
His eyes never shone through a nursery glass,
And proudly said, "That’s her, over there!"

Choosing names like Grandpa, Papa, or Grandad,
Was never one of the many decisions they would make.
For us, it just wasn’t in God’s master plan.
And though it’s seldom voiced, there’s always a dull ache.

Reminding me of what life might have been like
Had he lived on through that fateful day of war.
But when all is said and done, in our tight family,
It only makes us all love America, our great country, more!

Although we gave what we sometimes think is far too much,
There are many others who gave the greatest of gifts, too.
So, here’s a warning -- best be careful when you are on our turf,
Of just how you treat Old Glory, our Red, White, and Blue.

For you see, it’s much more than a national symbol
Of love, acceptance, opportunity, pride, and very life.
Because of it, this child did not have an earthly father
And a young handsome husband was taken from his wife.

Many moments found him missing, and being sorely missed
Not just the night the yellow telegram came to our old farm door.
But hundreds of times when memory flecked across our heart
And made the vivid hurting pain a hard, biting, mean oozing sore.

Mostly wondering, wondering, wondering, what he would have done
How he would have acted and reacted, and where we would all be.
Would he have loved me as much as I love him, how did he look?
Are my brown eyes really his, and do I laugh and write on key?

Do my very movements and expressions bring back memories
And cause her eyes to fill ever so slowly with long unshed tears?
As she watches me in worship, in play, learning, and with the kids
And when I tell a funny story, is it his laughter my Mother always hears?

Those who knew him well say that he and I are just alike
I’m grateful, but yet I harbor a yearning to know if it’s really true.
Because, you see, having never seen him, I have no pattern
And I find myself "dreaming him up" almost out of the blue.

Oh, we’ve all gone on and lived our lives, found happiness and joy.
Raised our children, our children’s children, contributed to society.
Still, the haunting question oft rides through my mind and pricks my heart,
If he had come home from war, what would I really be?

Dedicated for Father’s Day to the memory of my dad, Robert Henry Cannon,
killed in action, July 2, 1943, United States Army, fighting for America…

…And in honor of wonderful Beaumont artist Herman Hugg who showed me for the very first time in pictures and in words where and how my Dad gave his life for he, too, was there on that hot, humid island in the summer of ‘43.

Until the next page turns,
Brenda

Be reminded that hope springs eternal for believers

When my husband and I arrived in Amarillo on March 7, most of the trees were brittle and bare with nothing but brownish grey twigs sticking out in every direction. What grass is here in the High Plains was also a brownish grey color with very little life left to behold by way of the visible eye. Dried out tumbleweeds rolled across expressway lanes and bustled into fields, gathering against the ever-present fencerows.

The terrain offered precious little hope for the beginning days of spring that were to follow in a few short days. The Texas long horn cattle seemed to be constantly searching for a few blades of green grass to eat and were very dependent on their owners to put out fresh hay each day.

It is no wonder that the folks who came to west Texas to settle this rugged land had to be made from sturdy stock and able to withstand terrible onslaughts of unpredictable weather, long periods of snow and ice and winds that are unimaginable until you’ve seen and felt them first hand. I had been hearing about the northern winds that blow up out of nowhere, but I now have experienced them gusting up to 30 or 40 mph and coming without any warning at all. On a typical day in early spring in Amarillo in the heart of the High Plains of Texas, it is not uncommon to have snow, sleet, rain, gusting winds and dust storms all within a 24-hour period of time.

The standard joke is “if you don’t like the weather here in the Panhandle, stick around and it will change soon.” A good half of the newscasts each night is dedicated to weather that might change or remain the same.

We’ve been here at our home in the Panhandle for a little over four weeks this visit, and lo and behold, things have changed drastically. We were down at the city administration buildings one day last week and I took pictures of beautiful pink crab apple blossoms that seemed to light up the parks and streets. Tulips and pansies were in competition for color and hints of spring in many of the manicured flowerbeds which surrounded the city offices. Those dry, brittle trees now had little green buds and tiny leaves shooting out all over reminding onlookers that God is still in His heaven and that He is still in control. The seasons change at His instruction and the beauty that we love and admire are gifts from His hand.

These reminders of new life, rebirth and springtime were welcome intruders for us and for several families we’ve spent time with during our visit. During those bleak days between winter and spring, one friend of ours was notified that his mom was seriously ill and hospitalized with little hope of recovery. Dutch left Amarillo and drove to Plainview to be with his beloved mother. The doctors said there was little hope and transferred her to a hospice service on Friday. On Saturday morning, we received word that she had died from her many different medical conditions. The three children, now grown, started to plan her funeral service and burial.

On Sunday morning, a mutual friend, came over to our house early in the day and said, “I’m so sorry to bring this news, but Dutch’s family has had another death. His 57-year-old sister, also named Brenda, had been the chief caregiver for the 87-year-old mother.

Dutch and his sister, Patty, were on their way to her home to complete the funeral arrangements when the phone rang and the brother in law said in a broken voice, “Brenda is dead. “When I went in to wake her this morning, I found her dead in our bed.”

No one could believe the news at first. It took a while to settle in and then the reality was just terrible. Brenda left three children and several grandchildren. What was left of the family now had two funerals and burials to plan for within hours of each other. Ted and I drove to Vernon, Texas and attended the memorial service with two flower-draped caskets at the front of the funeral home.

Two days later, our phone again rang with sad news. One of Ted’s former students had died suddenly of a heart condition. His 14-year-old son had found him dead in his recliner in Venus, just outside of Fort Worth. Jon had been an outstanding student at Tascosa High School, active in several organizations and one of Ted’s two state presidents in the VICA organization (now called SkillsUSA). He had been a ranking employee in the Texas Bankers Association and presently served as the budget officer for the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals. Death came so suddenly to the promising 45-year-old father.

We drove to Plainview for this service and spent time with the family and friends who were still in a state of shock over their loss. Three funerals in just a few short days brought home again the truth that life is not promised to any of us. Jon was 45, Brenda was 57 and Dutch’s mom was 87, but not one family member was ready to give them up to the grave.

As we drove home from the memorial service in Vernon, we began to notice the first signs of spring. Buds were on trees and bushes and there was some green in the grasses and fields that we passed. We were reminded once again that God is in control and that He determines everything that happens to us. Hope springs eternal for those who put their trust in the Lord. He is able to keep them in every situation and in every sorrow and to bring a new day of life everlasting. Our friends will see their loved one again if they put their trust in Christ. He has gone to prepare a place for us, according to John 14, and we are told in Scripture that it will be a beautiful place beyond our human imagination.


“My hope is as an anchor, both sure and steadfast…” (Hebrews 6:19)

Brenda Cannon Henley can be reached at (409) 781-8788 or at brendacannonhenley@yahoo.com.