by jphilo | Jul 24, 2012 | Top Ten Tuesday, Uncategorized
Since Friday’s news of the movie theater shooting in Aurora, Colorado, the media’s been replete with horrific images and accountings of the terrible events of that day. The constant rehashing of such incomprehensible evil can quickly lead to despair and hopelessness. To combat those feelings, I wrote a list of the top ten kind and gentle things that happened in my life this past week. While they’re not sensational or newsworthy, they remind me that our good and gracious God is constantly at work, whether or not his actions make the headlines or 6:00 news:
10. A little boy who goes to our church gave me a smile and a big, wet hug at the swimming pool.
9. During our daughter and son-in-law’s visit, our new son insisted on doing the heavy lifting while he and Hiram hauled boxes from the basement to the second floor, fixed my clothesline pole, and cleaned the gutters.
8. After fire destroyed the local event venue where my friend planned to host her son’s wedding reception this weekend, the owners of a local car dealership offered to clear their showroom so the reception could be held there.
7. Arranging food for the family breakfast my friend’s hosting the morning after the reception took less than an hour because everyone I called was home and immediately volunteered to help.
6. When we suggested bringing our daughter’s birthday celebration to Mom, my brother and sister-in-law made it happen by graciously allowing us to invade their home and kitchen Saturday afternoon.
5. When my brother got home from purchasing a dozen ears of sweet corn at a roadside stand, he discovered the woman had given him 15 ears.
4. Ever since Hiram went back to work, his co-workers have been making sure he doesn’t strain his back.
3. During my daughter and son-in-law’s “vacation” at our house, she helped me wash windows. She also cleaned the house, and weeded the flower beds without complaint.
2. When the gas line on the daughter and new son’s car sprang a leak, the car repair shop fixed it in an hour and charged only $100.
1. A reader at my website emailed to thank me for writing a book about parenting kids with special needs. She then mentioned she’s Jake’s mom and the executive director of Caregiver’s Ladder, an organization with worldwide reach, which supports parents of kids with special needs.
That’s my list of the top ten kind and gentle things that made my little world rock this week. What’s been rocking yours and bringing you hope? Leave a comment.
by jphilo | Jun 4, 2012 | Family
The past two weeks have been tough at our house. The resident man of steel is laid up with back pain that’s tolerable when lying, sitting, or crawling, but excruciating when he takes more than a few steps. An MRI on Thursday revealed a ruptured disk with possible debris floating around. (That’s this layperson’s version of the medical jargon.) Today we meet with a neurosurgeon at 11:15 to discuss treatment options.
The first week, Hiram went through denial, depression, and anger. The second week, he adjusted to using a wheelchair around the house and adapted his activity to minimize the pain. He did research on the internet, created a list of questions to ask the doctor, and is eager to hear good and/or bad news about treatment.
During Hiram’s week of denial, depression, and anger I counted our blessings, stayed strong, rearranged my work to take him to medical appointments, and stayed on schedule with my writing. During the second week, Camp Dorothy, taking care of Hiram, and meeting writing goals kept me too busy to think.
But on Sunday, when the schedule relaxed, my natural impatience and overactive imagination reared their ugly heads during my morning walk. The hours until Monday’s appointment were ticking by with excruciating slowness. My mind wandered to the worst case spinal surgery scenarios, which led to denial, depression, and anger at at Hiram for pushing himself when he ran this spring.
Most of all, I was angry at myself for being angry at Hiram who’s enduring terrible back pain. And angry because my feelings aren’t much different than they were 30 years ago when our baby was in NICU from May 24 – June 8, 1982. How can I have grown so little in 30 years? Why is my faith still so weak? How can God love someone like me? Then I thought of a verse in yesterday’s prayer guide.
If we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot deny himself. (2 Timothy 2:13)
The verse helped me focus on who God is instead of what I cannot be. The situation didn’t change. The worst case scenario still loomed. But a little peace entered my heart. I hope it’s enough to last until our appointment later this morning. But if I falter, there’s more peace where the first batch came from.
Would you pray that I can find it?
by jphilo | Dec 16, 2011 | Daily Life
This gray December day,
darkness bears down
like a weight upon my soul.
Morning comes too late,
evening comes too soon,
and what light that comes is weak and faltering.
My shoulders bend beneath the burden of darkness,
my legs barely climb the stairs,
my gaze looks downward until a flash of color catches the corner of my eye.
There, in the south window,
a geranium is blooming,
its bright, pink face lifted to the light.
The petals rest on the windowsill,
separated from the cold by two thin panes of glass
and a cushion of air.
Not much protection for a plant,
not much daylight for a blossom,
not much hope for my weary soul.
Yet this splash of color is enough
to lift the weight from my shoulders
and make me smile in anticipation of light to come.
by jphilo | Apr 10, 2009 | Daily Life
Compared to the suffering of Christ on the first Good Friday, my personal sadness this day seems small and insignificant. I should be joyful, not melancholy, with the completion of Mom’s house sale this afternoon.
But when I walked this morning and thought about the decline in my mother’s health from Alzheimer’s, I was sad. She has always been an independent woman, determined, highly intelligent and resourceful. She deserved many more years in her house, I thought, more rewards for the sacrifices she made for Dad, my siblings, and me. The finality of the house sale made her illness real, immediate, depressing.
Though the day was sunny and hinted at spring, I grew gloomier and gloomier. But a spot of color close to the ground caught my eye when I passed my neigbor’s yard. The crocuses, encouraged by the sun and undaunted by the melting snow, bloomed cheerfully. Nearby, red peony shoots reached boldly toward the promise of spring and laughed at April’s chilly fingers.
The plants know the sun waits above the cold, black ground. I know the empty tomb waits in the shadow of the cross. Can I believe that goodness waits beyond Mom’s declining health?
The breeze touched the crocus blossoms. “Yes,” they nodded and whispered in the wind. “You can.”
by jphilo | Jan 10, 2008 | Current Events
“Do you ever think about death?” A friend asked the question in an email this morning. He thinks his son, who has been ill for a very long time, may be dying.
Yes, I told my friend, I think about death every day. It started when I was a kid, and I looked at pictures of my dad in his younger days – showing cattle, playing football, goofing around with his friends. That young man didn’t look like my dad. My dad sat in a wheelchair, weakened by multiple sclerosis. He grew weaker for thirty-eight years before his body died, but even as a kid, I knew that little bits of him died every single day.
When my son was born, my husband and I confronted death often. It almost tore me apart until God showed me the depths of His love for our baby, and I learned to hope in His promises.
Sure, I think of death every day. But I think a lot more about life when I face choices about what I believe and what I do based on my beliefs. Will I concentrate on the little bits of me that die every day or will I focus on the new life I receive? Will I fear death or love life? Will I ignore evidence of God at work in or will I acknowledge and submit to it?
As I think about death and life, the truth becomes clear. I can’t stop death. But I can choose to live in a way that honors the gift of life, the life God gave my father, the life he’s given my son, and the life of my friend’s child.
Every day, I think about death. But I choose hope.
