by jphilo | Dec 10, 2012 | Reflections on the Past
Hiram and I had a hard time getting excited about decorating the Christmas tree. Maybe it’s because we don’t have kids at home to turn the chore into a magical event. But this year, if we hadn’t been hosting our extended family’s holiday gathering, we might not have put it up.
Call us Scrooge and Scroogette.
We had to divide and conquer to get the job done. I unpacked and placed other decorations in their traditional spots around the house while Hiram put up the tree and strung the lights and garland. Once he was done, I hung the ornaments.
Call me a perfectionist.
I hung the straw angel, given to us by my closest college friend on our first married Christmas, and the calico ornaments I made that year for our Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Then came the satin ball from our first grown up workplace, the now defunct Sky Ranch for Boys. Next came treasures our kids made when they were young: paper cup bells, construction paper wreaths, wooden frames around kindergarten pictures of Allen and Anne.
Call me sentimental.
After that were ornaments from former students, souvenirs from our visit to Alaska when the kids were 12 and 6, the funky retro Old Navy ornaments Anne and I found on clearance when she was in high school, and gifts from co-workers at Bryant School, the elementary building that was torn down a few years ago.
Call me blessed and thankful.
Finally, I opened the old shoebox and unwrapped the antique ornaments Mom divided amongst the sibs and me when she gave up housekeeping. Fragile glass balls she and Dad bought in the early 1950s. Even more fragile baubles she inherited from Dad’s parents about the same time. Trinkets I placed high on this year’s tree to keep them safe. Treasures that brought to mind the stories Mom told about their owner, the grandmother who died before I was born, as we decorated the Christmas tree each year of my childhood. Gifts that led to a change in my attitude and my name for Christmas trees.
I call them memory trees.
by jphilo | Jul 10, 2012 | Top Ten Tuesday
Yesterday, Hiram and I celebrated our 35th anniversary with a second post-op visit to the surgeon’s office and then lunch out afterwards. Maybe that doesn’t sound like much by today’s mega-party standards, but we enjoyed our celebration thoroughly. Here are the top ten reasons why:
10. We could have gone dancing if we’d felt so inclined ’cause we can both still dance.
9. The doctor said Hiram can go back to work, so yesterday was his last day of being footloose and fancy free.
8. Sometimes, when we tell people we’ve been married 35 years, they say we don’t look old enough.
7. Middle-aged lovers aren’t as gorgeous as young lovers, but they’re less angst-ridden and require less energy to be around.
6. The outpouring of God’s grace that enabled us to stay married 35 years shouts, “PARTYTIME!”
5. We still like being together.
4. Baby Milo or Shiloh Philo*
3. Anne and Kailen*
2. Allen and Abbey*
1. Our marriage has lasted 35 loving, stressful, challenging, adventurous years.
*The order of items 2 – 4 is interchangeable.
What is being celebrated at your house in July? Why is your celebration worth having? 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 | Jan 16, 2012 | Family
Yesterday afternoon, Hiram went for a run.
The event hardly seems worth mentioning when compared to news of the cruise ship that capsized near Italy, the secretary general of the UN chastising the king of Syria, the race for the Republican presidential nomination, or outgoing governor Haley Barbour pardoning more than 200 convicted felons during his last hour in office.
But Hiram’s run is worth mentioning.
Because this is January in Iowa, a month written off by most joggers as too icy and cold for running outdoors. But this winter, the roads are still ice free and the temperatures much warmer than usual.
But excluding the weather, Hiram’s run is still worth mentioning.
Because it is a grace beyond what many men my husband’s age have been granted. We are surrounded by evidence of this reality. Hiram cares for patients who can’t walk because of serious heart issues. The memory of my wheelchair bound, fifty-five-year-old father in the nursing home never leaves us. We are praying for friends our age and younger who’ve recently had knee surgeries and hip replacements.
But Hiram’s run is worth mentioning for another reason.
In the past year and a half, four friends have lost their husbands. One to cancer. One to suicide. One to the effects of Agent Orange exposure in Viet Nam. One to a brain aneurysm. Two of them were younger than Hiram. Two were older, but not by much.
But Hiram was alive yesterday and went for a run.
His run is worthy of more than a mere mention. It is worthy of thanksgiving, even when my alive-and-well husband who went for a run yesterday forgets to take out the garbage. It is worthy of gratitude, especially when his sweaty running clothes in the bedroom hamper make the room stink. It is an event for which I am usually not grateful enough.
Except for today, when I thank God for my husband who went for a run yesterday.
by jphilo | Sep 11, 2008 | Book Updates
I’m not a complainer. Maybe that’s not quite true. But I don’t complain all the time, just most of the time. Look at it this way. On a really good day, there are whole minutes when I don’t complain at all. Pretty impressive record, if I do say so myself.
This morning as I worked on a devotion for my book for parents of sick and dying kids, God kept me from complaining about my husband. Not that I complain about him all the time, and the devotion I wrote this morning should boost my record.
This devotion was for separated and divorced parents who need to lay aside their differences and communicate with each other for the sake of their sick child. Thankfully, a divorced mom was completely honest about the struggles she and her former husband had when their son battled leukemia. Because of her, I was able to share a story and give some advice to help other parents in a similar situation.
Hearing her family’s story and writing about it made me thankful for my husband. He endured with great patience my emotional, hormonal rants after Allen was born and flown away for surgery. Sometimes as I look back, I’m amazed our marriage held together. But it did, mostly because of his love and patience and forgiveness.
That realization put the kibosh on my complaining, least for today. But I’ll need another reminder tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that. Good thing Hiram’s still a loving, patient and forgiving man. Because of him our marriage will last.
