Last January I had the first surgery to repair my knee. When I knew more surgery was needed, I planned so carefully, everything I could, to get through it. I rearranged things I would use in the kitchen, and even my bed, to make aftercare easier.

It all hinged on one piece of equipment, a spreadout spidery looking thing called a walker, with handles and wheels, and a little basket to transport small things in. Part of it even became a built in make-do seat, which would help when I could go places again. But I was concerned about more important things, like getting myself to the bathroom, or to the kitchen, for food, or maybe some coffee.

If I could manage those things, visiting nurses and physical therapists were all I would need, to get well at home. Otherwise I would have to be in a nursing home, which I wouldn't even let myself think of. I have worked in many of them. Most of the caretakers there do backbreaking work, and care greatly about those in their care. But there's never enough of them to do all the patients need.

I checked with my healthcare coverage, and the hospitals' case manager person, to be certain this walker thing came home from the hospital with me, and was assured, indeed, it would be done. Everybody I asked about it passed me on to someone else. I do know how busy healthcare workers are, and really try to not make their work harder. But I did need this walker thing, if I was in my home, and it wasn't getting done.

So I'm back in my room after the surgery, wondering how to take care of this, and I reach over, and place my little "Bible Promise Book" on the bedside table, along with some other items, and try to not fret, but I am concerned. About that time someone knocks at my door, to come in, and before I can wade through the painkillers in me, to better understand, a voice so alive and friendly surprises me with "Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, who died for your sins?" It sounded more like it needed an exclamation point, instead of a question mark. I know, I know, in today's world, we're to walk gently about expressing such things, but this was the best thing I'd heard all day.

The voice belonged to an obviously God-loving nurse's aide, who wasn't timid about his faith. I asked him his name, and he smiled and said, "Charles, you can just call me King Charles". "Good", I thought, "a sense of humor, too" He asked if I had prayer requests, and I told him about the problem with getting the walker. He looked straight at me, and lowered his voice, and stated as if he really meant it, "You will have it before tomorrow is over." Then he turned and left my room.

The next day I still wondered about it, and each time somebody came to my room, thought maybe, but as it got later, I didn't have much hope, and tried to not think about it. After more hours clicked by, another knock on my door sounded, as King Charles announced himself again, while gaily rolling a new shiny walker, painted my favorite blue, and parked it by my bed, then just as quickly left the room. It was the last time I saw him, and I'll never know how he pulled off this act of faith.

Now I could relax, and let the pain meds soothe me. All I was worried about now was making certain this time there'd be no infections. I am sure I drove the nurses almost crazy about washing hands and not spreading germs, something any medical person shouldn't need reminding about. I just knew I was not taking an infection home this time around. And because of King Charles, I no longer worried about nursing homes.

I don't need to use the walker, but keep it, cause you never know what might happen. These past two months and a little more, King Charles' Jesus has supplied so many things. A neighbor brought fancy coffee several times. My dear friend from church brought home made meals, and lots of other things, and a great assortment of pens and other writing things, for a birthday surprise. Family did lots of thoughtful, helpful things.

When I was ready to work out supporting muscles at a nearby rec. center, at orientation I was the only person there, so the rec center person was like being my personal trainer, except I couldn't afford him, which really makes me appreciate this program called "Silver Sneakers". It's not like I'm lifting weights, but using the treadmill, and the stationary exercise bike seems to be helping this remade leg. I even earned myself a pretty shirt that has silver sneakers on it.

I have planned a whirlwind trip soon with one daughter to visit the other, enjoy Colorado Autumn, eating ice cream, and singing our hearts out as down the road we go. It's time to celebrate getting through the surgerys. Come October I'm scheduled for a repeat of CPR training. Should be interesting, since I'll be taking it with a group of Boy Scouts earing their merit badges. I already cleared it's o.k. to bring something to kneel on.

In going through my favorite book store, I found David Johnson and Tom Allen's "Joy Comes in the Morning" ... and other blessings in disguise". One's a senior pastor of The Church of the Open Door in Crystal, Minnesota since 1980. The other has pastoral evangelistic roles in The Christian and Missionary Alliance. This book was published in 1998, so positions may have changed. But it's so from the Bible, with thoughts like: "The Lord (in Matthew 5) is exposing the false security of the self sufficient" This is exactly what's tranposed in me, when I thought I could fix everything I've dealt with for half of this year. How like our Jesus, who should always be honored Kingly, that He sent an outrageous King Charles to get the point across to me.