You know the moment. The one where a person or incident crosses your path, turning you into toast. You instantly discern that there is no going back.
Cliff and I are hooked on the series NCIS. He loves the rapid action, and I am a student of the story and have fallen in love with the characters. How I wish I could scratch the acting itch I received in the womb as a guest on this show. Even if they needed a cadaver in Ducky’s morgue, I would volunteer and passionately embrace the dead man’s role.
Picture this-I lay totally still on the steel table. Ducky leans over me and with furrowed brow, says in his distinct accent, “Oh dear Kelly, you must reveal to me the mystery of your demise.”
He turns to his assistant. “Mr. Palmer, I am bamboozled. While there is no sign of entry, I suspect Miss Kelly is missing a major organ due to her waxy pallor. You do the honor, my boy.”
Palmer’s hands shake as he does the grisly deed. He reaches his hand into the my fake TV chest cavity. His glasses fog over and gasps, “Dr. Mallard, her heart is missing! Gone! An empty shell! How can this be?”
The veteran coroner pushes him aside and lunges his hand inside.
“Oh, Mr. Palmer, you were too hasty. Miss Kelly left us a clue.” He reveals a small slip, written on in crud crayon script. He reads, “I captured my grandma’s heart at first sight. Hers truly, Bren Carter Burns.”
“Aha! This makes perfect sense,” the good doctor exclaims. “Mr. Palmer, notice how the hands are curled to perfectly cradle an eight pound bottom. And, that little pocket between her shoulder and neck, it was created precisely for a baby’s head to snuggle into.” He pokes the neck with a pokey stick thing. “Her thorax shows signs of extensive humming of soft, soothing songs. Don’t forget to examine her right bicep, firm from lugging around massive volumes of baby pictures.”
“So, you’ve encountered this before?”
“Oh, yes. It’s actually extremely common. And, sadly, quite fatal. Rarely, does the perp leave a note through. ” He wiggles his hand back into the hole, retrieving a handful of other multicolored slips.
“Strange. It looks like several others have left their calling cards as well.”
Break for a Colonial Penn Life commercial. A little too late for my fake passing.
Yes, my warped imagination runs rampant again. Honestly, I can take or leave my new grandson.
As in–take him home with me, smuggled in my suitcase! And leave him only when they pry my fingers off of him!
It’s not the first time either. I’ve had my heart stolen on four other Johnson and Johnson baby smell occasions. With each one, it was replaced with a bigger one, even if there were a few hap hazard sutures from parenting heart breaks.
But, before they were even thought about, a bigger brown eyed thief, in a Kansas City Royals batting helmet, snatched it. Over 32 years, his grip has only strengthened—enough that he’s the lone reason I abandoned the grandmam rocking chair post three hours away.
How does a wife, mom and grandmam’s heart survive all mauling and grubby fingerprints of continually heart-nappings?
It’s the One that has taken up residence inside it. The One I trusted my heart with first. The One, who is constantly operating on it, renewing it, protecting it, and strengthening its beat. It’s his way of preparing it to continue being stolen until His love shines in my chest like Crayola colored confetti sparkler bomb.
Hopefully, it will be captivating enough that Dr. Mallard and Palmer will be compeled enough to investigate why.
May the Lord make your love increase and overflow for each other and for everyone else, just as ours does for you. 1 Thessalonians 3:12