Keith had another surgery this morning. In the past almost six years now, he has had 11. These 11 included a few biopsies, a few out-patient, and a few major, three to four hour challenges.
He is really remarkable (but don't let him know I said that!) He goes in to every surgery with a smile on his face and more than a few wise-cracks for the nurses and doctors. Today he told his dad that the doctor had to remove some of his sense of humor, but it was okay because there wasn't much there anyway. I know because I have seen it over and over again...it's there...and there is a lot of it!
His newest gag is asking if he could get a Bergan Mercy Club Card to acquire frequent patient points. He figures with as many doctor appointments, tests, scans and surgeries he has had he would be a Platinum Card holder and at least two of his past surgeries should have been free. Nice concept, but I really don't see it catching on.
The nurse today was a young, very sweet Marian girl who happened to know my niece Korie. (Keith's brother Mark swears all Catholics know each other because we always seem to run into someone I know.) He had her laughing several times and most were genuine laughs, not the "feel sorry for the sick guy and giggle every now and then" responses he has gotten in the past. She said that he was a great patient because he made the day fun. I'm not sure how many nurses get to say that.
He remarked about the lovely and stylish blue surgical caps that must have been a real fashion craze since almost everyone was wearing one. (Not me, of course, because I am never in style!) He told an older gentleman waiting for his wife and holding her purse that he should reconsider the color choice of his purse, it didn't match his outfit. He asked about a discount if he provided his own surgical tools, then said it was probably for the best when they declined, since he only had a putty knife. I usually tell him, "You are so weird!", to which he responds, "Well, at least I didn't marry weird."
He takes little if any pain medication, but always has a very convincing, very pathetic little moan when asked how he is. The poor nurse believed him and rushed to his side which only fueled him for later.
Keith always tells me that he refuses to worry even a minute about something he has no control over. He chooses to make the best of the situation and because of that, he leaves the radiation room, chemo unit and operating rooms a little brighter than when he got there. He would never want to hear that he is dealing with cancer heroically, he insists having an illness does not make him a hero and there are plenty of people in the world worse off than he is. He simply puts his faith in the Lord, and laughs instead of crying, smiles instead of frowning, and jokes instead of complaining.
I keep saying that this surgery is going to be "the last one." So far I haven't been correct. No matter what, we know that we go day by day, step by step, joke by joke and if one last time turns into one more time, we'll deal with it and Keith will think of a few new witty remarks to remind us all that laughter is the best medicine and faith in the Lord is the best cure.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Filled to the Brim
Packing the car to leave for vacation is no fun. The only thing less fun is packing the car to go home from vacation. Every one of us needs a suitcase, the boys (including Keith) insist on taking computers, videos, video games and video game systems. We have a bag of toiletries, 2 golf bags, a cooler, a few bags of grocery items, camera bag, a pillow or two…all to fit in the cargo space plus one seat of a mini van. The van was filled to the brim before we had even picked up Jake from Maryville and before Keith encouraged Caleb to take his guitar.
I remember traveling when I was young. We had a huge wooden carrier attached to the top of the station wagon as we headed to Ponca State Park. In addition, every inch of space in the car was packed. The floor where Mom’s feet were supposed to be instead held snacks and a cooler of pop, her purse, a jacket, a pillow, a bag with band-aids and wet cloths, a package of napkins, cups and plates and a garbage bag. I still am not sure where she put her feet…good thing she was short. Mom would complain that she was crowded, throwing out the occasional “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, there is too much stuff up here!” But, she would never give up being the one in charge, the one to feed her kids and make them happy with cookies, crackers and chocolate.
When Mom died, she wanted a private visitation...just us kids and Dad. The night before the service, my sister Geri called everyone and told them that if they wanted anything to be buried with her, to bring it the next morning. I declined…she was taking my heart, what else could I send?
By the time my family arrived, all my brothers and sisters and their families were there. As I walked passed the coffin, I couldn’t help but notice the many trinkets and bobbles that were carefully chosen to be given to mom. There were t-shirts and small volleyballs, letters, pictures and photographs. Memories of her gambling and travels to Mexico, her favorite angel statues…PILES of items from the over 50 in attendance. When I reached my chair next to Keith, I got the giggles and the harder I tried to stop, the worse it became. My sister, Lindy, turned back,
“What in the world are you laughing about?” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“I just can’t help but imagine Mom looking at all that stuff and saying, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, can’t I even take ONE trip without everyone’s junk being in the way? It’s my last trip, I’m going by myself and I still have to squeeze in!”
Lindy, laughing at this time added, “At least it isn’t all at her feet!”
Within minutes the funeral director came in to the room, cleared all the items away from the upper part of the casket, opened the bottom half and carefully placed it all at Mom’s feet. Lindy and I couldn’t contain our guffaws and we shared the joke with the rest of family, giving everyone a much needed laugh on a day when great sadness loomed.
Every time I pack the car I think of Mom. Every time I do anything I think of Mom, but especially at vacation time. I am reminded that every trip we make, we take with us all those things we think we will need. We take back with us all those things plus a life-time of memories, which is probably why we seem to have so much less room on the return trip. Those memories fill us to the brim, cramming us a little bit tighter together on the way home. Those memories will be what we will all take with us on our final trip Home. We won’t need snacks, cold beverages, t-shirts or photos, we will simply take the joys that fill our soul, the Lord’s outstretched hand and off we will go, to join the drivers, navigators, families and friends who have taken the trip before us.
I remember traveling when I was young. We had a huge wooden carrier attached to the top of the station wagon as we headed to Ponca State Park. In addition, every inch of space in the car was packed. The floor where Mom’s feet were supposed to be instead held snacks and a cooler of pop, her purse, a jacket, a pillow, a bag with band-aids and wet cloths, a package of napkins, cups and plates and a garbage bag. I still am not sure where she put her feet…good thing she was short. Mom would complain that she was crowded, throwing out the occasional “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, there is too much stuff up here!” But, she would never give up being the one in charge, the one to feed her kids and make them happy with cookies, crackers and chocolate.
When Mom died, she wanted a private visitation...just us kids and Dad. The night before the service, my sister Geri called everyone and told them that if they wanted anything to be buried with her, to bring it the next morning. I declined…she was taking my heart, what else could I send?
By the time my family arrived, all my brothers and sisters and their families were there. As I walked passed the coffin, I couldn’t help but notice the many trinkets and bobbles that were carefully chosen to be given to mom. There were t-shirts and small volleyballs, letters, pictures and photographs. Memories of her gambling and travels to Mexico, her favorite angel statues…PILES of items from the over 50 in attendance. When I reached my chair next to Keith, I got the giggles and the harder I tried to stop, the worse it became. My sister, Lindy, turned back,
“What in the world are you laughing about?” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“I just can’t help but imagine Mom looking at all that stuff and saying, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, can’t I even take ONE trip without everyone’s junk being in the way? It’s my last trip, I’m going by myself and I still have to squeeze in!”
Lindy, laughing at this time added, “At least it isn’t all at her feet!”
Within minutes the funeral director came in to the room, cleared all the items away from the upper part of the casket, opened the bottom half and carefully placed it all at Mom’s feet. Lindy and I couldn’t contain our guffaws and we shared the joke with the rest of family, giving everyone a much needed laugh on a day when great sadness loomed.
Every time I pack the car I think of Mom. Every time I do anything I think of Mom, but especially at vacation time. I am reminded that every trip we make, we take with us all those things we think we will need. We take back with us all those things plus a life-time of memories, which is probably why we seem to have so much less room on the return trip. Those memories fill us to the brim, cramming us a little bit tighter together on the way home. Those memories will be what we will all take with us on our final trip Home. We won’t need snacks, cold beverages, t-shirts or photos, we will simply take the joys that fill our soul, the Lord’s outstretched hand and off we will go, to join the drivers, navigators, families and friends who have taken the trip before us.
Saturday, 24 July 2010
The Path Less Traveled
My family just spent a wonderful, hot, humid and busy week in Branson, MO. My whole clan was there, including Tim and Molly and the twins, which was a great treat. Keith's mom and dad made the trip, as well as his brother Mark and sister-in-law Kathy, their two kids Ethan and Emily, her brother Gary and sister-in-law Daina and three of their girls Tanna, Toni and Tiffany. It was quite a group all sharing a six bedroom, six bathroom house that slept 22 thanks to sofa sleepers and roll-away cots. It may seem odd to some to spend so much time with in-laws and actually enjoy it, but we have vacationed together for several years now and still speak to each other at the end. One year, 12 of us traveled in 1 36' RV to Atlanta. Georgia...but that is a blog of its own!
Branson is full of activities and each one of us had particular favorites we wanted to do. Keith was intent upon seeing Noah, the Musical. Tim and Molly wanted to rest and play with their babies. Jake, Dan and Caleb wanted to spend as much time as possible on jet skis. I love water sports, but wanted to walk at least one of the many trails that climbed up the hills and down by the lake. I got my wish when the boys went golfing early one morning. Tanna, Toni and Tiffany wanted to see the sites while getting some exercise and decided to hit the trail with me.
The trail was narrow, contained over 300 stone steps and went on for about three miles. We saw caves, shale rock formations with water running down the sides, lots of bugs and more spider webs than the girls cared to see. I led the group. mostly because walking through webs didn't make me scream! According to Branson's visitor sites, over seven million people visit annually, but judging by the overgrown trail, not many hike while there! We were stuck in traffic jams up and down the strip, so it is obvious that the preferred mode of transportation is motor vehicle. I can't imagine not getting out of the car and exploring the natural beauty that is accessed directly behind the Dick Clark American Bandstand Theater.
As I was walking through the Lord's handiwork, I couldn't help but think that we didn't know much about where we were going. We knew the trail eventually came to a dead end, because we read it on-line. We didn't know if we would come across any obstacles, wild animals, other hikers...we were walking with faith that no matter what we encountered, we could handle it. At the beginning there were signs, directing us and warning us that the steps we took going down, would have to be climbed up on our return trip! There were few markers along the route, until a large red sign warned us the trail would soon end. Tiffany was nervous and wanted to turn around, certain the forged trail had already come to end. The others girls convinced her to go on. A good distance later, we saw a big sign, impossible to miss or misunderstand: STOP, The trail has ended, DO NOT CONTINUE PAST THIS POINT! We rejoiced at making it to the end, and headed back confident that even the 316 stairs awaiting us wouldn't be a problem.
Life is a lot like hiking. We don't always know where we are going, when it will end or what difficulties we will find along the way, but if we stick together, encourage each other and look for the signs that the Lord gives us, we can make it and have fun a long the way. If the way is hard and we lose our footing, it is all the more reason to celebrate when he get to the end. The easiest of walks aren't usually the most memorable. I plan to take the path less traveled more often!
Branson is full of activities and each one of us had particular favorites we wanted to do. Keith was intent upon seeing Noah, the Musical. Tim and Molly wanted to rest and play with their babies. Jake, Dan and Caleb wanted to spend as much time as possible on jet skis. I love water sports, but wanted to walk at least one of the many trails that climbed up the hills and down by the lake. I got my wish when the boys went golfing early one morning. Tanna, Toni and Tiffany wanted to see the sites while getting some exercise and decided to hit the trail with me.
The trail was narrow, contained over 300 stone steps and went on for about three miles. We saw caves, shale rock formations with water running down the sides, lots of bugs and more spider webs than the girls cared to see. I led the group. mostly because walking through webs didn't make me scream! According to Branson's visitor sites, over seven million people visit annually, but judging by the overgrown trail, not many hike while there! We were stuck in traffic jams up and down the strip, so it is obvious that the preferred mode of transportation is motor vehicle. I can't imagine not getting out of the car and exploring the natural beauty that is accessed directly behind the Dick Clark American Bandstand Theater.
As I was walking through the Lord's handiwork, I couldn't help but think that we didn't know much about where we were going. We knew the trail eventually came to a dead end, because we read it on-line. We didn't know if we would come across any obstacles, wild animals, other hikers...we were walking with faith that no matter what we encountered, we could handle it. At the beginning there were signs, directing us and warning us that the steps we took going down, would have to be climbed up on our return trip! There were few markers along the route, until a large red sign warned us the trail would soon end. Tiffany was nervous and wanted to turn around, certain the forged trail had already come to end. The others girls convinced her to go on. A good distance later, we saw a big sign, impossible to miss or misunderstand: STOP, The trail has ended, DO NOT CONTINUE PAST THIS POINT! We rejoiced at making it to the end, and headed back confident that even the 316 stairs awaiting us wouldn't be a problem.
Life is a lot like hiking. We don't always know where we are going, when it will end or what difficulties we will find along the way, but if we stick together, encourage each other and look for the signs that the Lord gives us, we can make it and have fun a long the way. If the way is hard and we lose our footing, it is all the more reason to celebrate when he get to the end. The easiest of walks aren't usually the most memorable. I plan to take the path less traveled more often!
Thursday, 15 July 2010
The Dog Days of Summer
My neighbor Vivian and I walk a few days a week early in the morning. We always take the same route around the neighborhood, about 3 miles or so. Vivian’s dog, Frodo, comes along with us. Frodo is a small, long-haired dog who looks cute and cuddly but looks can be deceiving. I personally have never had a problem with him, but he sounds like a demon-possessed when we walk past other people and turns into a ferocious animal when he sees other dogs. I have concluded that Frodo may be a little “intelligence challenged”, or he is extremely self-confident because he behaves the same whether the dog he wishes to attack is small enough to beat or large enough to eat him as an appetizer. Vivian is a very conscientious owner who cleans up after Frodo and keeps him far enough away from temptations so there is no trouble.
Frodo does a great job of keeping up with us considering his legs are about the length of my hand. I feel sorry for him in winter because he gets snow balls on his legs that can begin to weigh him down. During the summer his fur is kept closely cropped so he usually doesn’t get too hot.
Last week the temperature at 5:00 a.m. was 83 degrees and the humidity was about 99.9%. The air was so thick, it was difficult to breathe. Frodo raced up the hill the way he always does, he tried to chase bunnies, like he normally does. He even growled a few times at other walkers, like he usually does. About ¾ of the way, Vivian called for me to hold up as Frodo circled around the grass. She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, ready to clean up anything he left behind. Frodo had another idea, though. He wasn’t scouting a good area to relieve himself, instead he spread both sets of paws out to the side and laid out in the grass with his stomach flat, put his head in the grass and refused to move as he panted. Vivian and I, feeling the same way as Frodo but unwilling (or unable) to lie down, gave him a few minutes to catch his breathe, but she reminded him, “You are the one that insists on going for a walk with us. I will not carry you home.” She tugged at his leash and Frodo eventually got up and finished the walk, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the only moving around he did that day.
There are so many days I feel like doing what Frodo did, just lie down and give up. I get tired and frustrated and scared and it would be so easy…too easy…to go into my bedroom, shut the door, collapse onto my bed and bury my head in the pillows. Like Frodo, I am blessed to have a Master who knows exactly what to do to encourage me. Whether He tugs at chain a bit or gently reminds me that it’s time to try again, He is there. The difference is that He does carry me, more times than I care to admit! My Master also provides me other forms of encouragement: family; friends; clergy; prayers; and while I may bark at some and attempt to chase away others, I know they are put into my life to keep me from sitting by the side of the road watching life go by.
Hebrews 10:24 reminds us, “Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”
Next time you see someone giving up, gentle pull them up, walk with them. The journey will be so much easier together!
Frodo does a great job of keeping up with us considering his legs are about the length of my hand. I feel sorry for him in winter because he gets snow balls on his legs that can begin to weigh him down. During the summer his fur is kept closely cropped so he usually doesn’t get too hot.
Last week the temperature at 5:00 a.m. was 83 degrees and the humidity was about 99.9%. The air was so thick, it was difficult to breathe. Frodo raced up the hill the way he always does, he tried to chase bunnies, like he normally does. He even growled a few times at other walkers, like he usually does. About ¾ of the way, Vivian called for me to hold up as Frodo circled around the grass. She pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, ready to clean up anything he left behind. Frodo had another idea, though. He wasn’t scouting a good area to relieve himself, instead he spread both sets of paws out to the side and laid out in the grass with his stomach flat, put his head in the grass and refused to move as he panted. Vivian and I, feeling the same way as Frodo but unwilling (or unable) to lie down, gave him a few minutes to catch his breathe, but she reminded him, “You are the one that insists on going for a walk with us. I will not carry you home.” She tugged at his leash and Frodo eventually got up and finished the walk, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the only moving around he did that day.
There are so many days I feel like doing what Frodo did, just lie down and give up. I get tired and frustrated and scared and it would be so easy…too easy…to go into my bedroom, shut the door, collapse onto my bed and bury my head in the pillows. Like Frodo, I am blessed to have a Master who knows exactly what to do to encourage me. Whether He tugs at chain a bit or gently reminds me that it’s time to try again, He is there. The difference is that He does carry me, more times than I care to admit! My Master also provides me other forms of encouragement: family; friends; clergy; prayers; and while I may bark at some and attempt to chase away others, I know they are put into my life to keep me from sitting by the side of the road watching life go by.
Hebrews 10:24 reminds us, “Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”
Next time you see someone giving up, gentle pull them up, walk with them. The journey will be so much easier together!
Monday, 12 July 2010
Purses and Other Necessary Evils
I have a confession to make: I hate to shop. Yes, I know that the stereotypical woman loves to shop for shoes, purses, makeup; the list could go on forever. I have never enjoyed shopping. I don’t really care if my shoes and purse match (as a matter of fact, I prefer to not carry a purse at all and wear my tennis shoes more often than any other pair.) I get most of my clothes from my sisters’ closets and my makeup from bargain bins. Shhh, don’t tell anyone, I am not a stereotypical woman.
I love to buy things for others, but hate to spend money on myself. My ideal shopping trip lasts long enough to run into a store, grab what I need (preferably when it is on sale) and run back out to the car. If I can accomplish this in 10 minutes or less, I am geared up for another such shopping trip, six months or so down the road…I don’t want to rush it or make it any type of habit.
One item I especially hate to purchase is a new purse. I normally find one every three years or so on clearance then use it until the zipper breaks, the bottom tears out or the straps can no longer be tied, taped or stapled. My current “saddle bag” as Keith calls it, is still intact, but after a bottle of Diet Coke spilled in at the school carnival, it tends to get sticky and attract bees.
Various friends have hosted purse parties and encourage me to abandon my old habits and find the perfect new fashion accessory. I admit I enjoy looking at all the pretty colors and styles but am shell-shocked by the price tags. If there are any husbands reading this story who have been told by their wives that the stylish new purse they carry cost less than $50, stop now, or I see an argument looming. The ugly truth is that unless a purse is purchased at the Salvation Army Thrift store, the price tag reads $65 or more. The not so conventional woman in me admits that I would rather have a $10 purse with $55 in the side zipper than a $65 animal print knapsack in which to carry Kleenex, lip balm and coupons.
I got my wish this weekend. Keith and I did some garage sale shopping and I found the purse deal of the century…stylish bags with name brands sold by a teenager with expensive taste and a short attention span for $5. I bought four and still spent less than I would have at Kohl’s big 40% off purse sale. Now I can confidently carry the purse to all the events I attend: basketball games, church, baseball games, work, garage sales, school, and feel like I made an attempt to be stylish. Then I can take the bag to the car, and shove it under the seat or throw it into the trunk without fear of ruining it and wasting the cost of a tank of gas.
I can’t be sure, but I think that my son’s basketball team was impressed by my cow print bag, as were the employees at Arby’s. My co-worker was impressed with the $5 price tag and Keith has already nicknamed it the Heifer. The kids will like it because it is big enough to hold all the stuff they don’t want to carry when we are on vacation and the faux cow hide matches the leather in my favorite tennis shoes quite well. If I ever decide to carry makeup with me, there is ample room. So far the stereotypical womanly purchase fits into my unconventional life quite well. Next week I hope to find a garage sale featuring a teenager with a size 8 ½ foot, a decent job and shoe fetish.
I love to buy things for others, but hate to spend money on myself. My ideal shopping trip lasts long enough to run into a store, grab what I need (preferably when it is on sale) and run back out to the car. If I can accomplish this in 10 minutes or less, I am geared up for another such shopping trip, six months or so down the road…I don’t want to rush it or make it any type of habit.
One item I especially hate to purchase is a new purse. I normally find one every three years or so on clearance then use it until the zipper breaks, the bottom tears out or the straps can no longer be tied, taped or stapled. My current “saddle bag” as Keith calls it, is still intact, but after a bottle of Diet Coke spilled in at the school carnival, it tends to get sticky and attract bees.
Various friends have hosted purse parties and encourage me to abandon my old habits and find the perfect new fashion accessory. I admit I enjoy looking at all the pretty colors and styles but am shell-shocked by the price tags. If there are any husbands reading this story who have been told by their wives that the stylish new purse they carry cost less than $50, stop now, or I see an argument looming. The ugly truth is that unless a purse is purchased at the Salvation Army Thrift store, the price tag reads $65 or more. The not so conventional woman in me admits that I would rather have a $10 purse with $55 in the side zipper than a $65 animal print knapsack in which to carry Kleenex, lip balm and coupons.
I got my wish this weekend. Keith and I did some garage sale shopping and I found the purse deal of the century…stylish bags with name brands sold by a teenager with expensive taste and a short attention span for $5. I bought four and still spent less than I would have at Kohl’s big 40% off purse sale. Now I can confidently carry the purse to all the events I attend: basketball games, church, baseball games, work, garage sales, school, and feel like I made an attempt to be stylish. Then I can take the bag to the car, and shove it under the seat or throw it into the trunk without fear of ruining it and wasting the cost of a tank of gas.
I can’t be sure, but I think that my son’s basketball team was impressed by my cow print bag, as were the employees at Arby’s. My co-worker was impressed with the $5 price tag and Keith has already nicknamed it the Heifer. The kids will like it because it is big enough to hold all the stuff they don’t want to carry when we are on vacation and the faux cow hide matches the leather in my favorite tennis shoes quite well. If I ever decide to carry makeup with me, there is ample room. So far the stereotypical womanly purchase fits into my unconventional life quite well. Next week I hope to find a garage sale featuring a teenager with a size 8 ½ foot, a decent job and shoe fetish.
Friday, 9 July 2010
Let There Be Light
Dan, my 19 year old cleaned the basement the other day. While many may not think this is a suspicious activity for a young man, my mom radar told me something was up. The basement was once an unfinished room with an old television set and boxes of “stuff” we really didn’t need but convinced ourselves to keep anyway. A few years ago my husband Keith decided to take his bonus money and create a young man cave for the high school aged boys. We ended up with a sectional sofa that realistically holds about 10 normal people or 5 high school boys, who must sit far enough apart so that they aren’t in contact with each other at all. We added two large screen televisions and a poker table. The room was a hit and accomplished the goal for which we set out…to keep the boys at our house as much as possible. We later put a ping pong table in an adjoining room and a game system. Before we realized what had happened, the basement was a full time entertainment room. We also discovered that as long as there is a high school girl between each of the boys, the sectional holds 15.
As much as I loved having the boys home more often, the basement soon became cluttered with soda cans, empty chip bags, cereal bowls, jackets and an even dozen of basketballs. (Dan’s older brother Jake never traveled anywhere without one!) Cleaning the basement usually consisted of stacking the empty pop cans on the television and shoving the empty wrappers into the seat cushion. As the older boys moved on to college and Caleb, now 15, was the only remaining boy at home, the basement continued to be the hang-out for several neighborhood kids and the dumping ground for food and drinks of all kinds. The lovely sectional has more than a few stains, the last being from a chocolate malt, spilled by a friend, which Caleb attempted to clean with a dry beach towel.
I continue to struggle to “encourage” the boys to clean up their messes without resorting to fingerprint analysis to determine the mess maker.
So…when Dan volunteered to clean, I knew it was not just a sign of benevolence. As suspected, he wanted to have a few people over. Guests began to arrive at 11:00 p.m., normal party time for young people, normal bed time for me! I am still unsure when they left because the dog doesn’t bark incessantly when people are exiting the house. What I am sure of it that the only thing that kept burglars away from the unlocked and slightly ajar front door that night, was the notion that our household never sleeps since every light and television in the house was left on. When I woke the next morning, Dan was asleep on the couch in the family room with infomercials blaring in the background and the house aglow.
His explanation was that after everyone left, he went upstairs to grab a bite to eat, intent on returning to the basement. He turned on lights as he walked around the house. “You don’t expect me to eat in the dark, do you?” When he settled on the couch to finish off his snack, he got a bit too comfortable and before he knew it, he was asleep.
It’s funny how comfortable we are in the light. Daylight seems less scary than night time. A lit house looks inviting and loving. The glow of a night light softly and safely guides us, even through dangerous sharp-toy minefields. The Bible tells us that evil keeps out of the light, finding its way through dark alleys and dark hearts. Evil is exposed in the light for what it truly is. I’m not sure that when God said “Let there be light” He meant in every room, but He did give us light to guide us, to lead us, to shine upon us and to surround us, awake or asleep.
As much as I loved having the boys home more often, the basement soon became cluttered with soda cans, empty chip bags, cereal bowls, jackets and an even dozen of basketballs. (Dan’s older brother Jake never traveled anywhere without one!) Cleaning the basement usually consisted of stacking the empty pop cans on the television and shoving the empty wrappers into the seat cushion. As the older boys moved on to college and Caleb, now 15, was the only remaining boy at home, the basement continued to be the hang-out for several neighborhood kids and the dumping ground for food and drinks of all kinds. The lovely sectional has more than a few stains, the last being from a chocolate malt, spilled by a friend, which Caleb attempted to clean with a dry beach towel.
I continue to struggle to “encourage” the boys to clean up their messes without resorting to fingerprint analysis to determine the mess maker.
So…when Dan volunteered to clean, I knew it was not just a sign of benevolence. As suspected, he wanted to have a few people over. Guests began to arrive at 11:00 p.m., normal party time for young people, normal bed time for me! I am still unsure when they left because the dog doesn’t bark incessantly when people are exiting the house. What I am sure of it that the only thing that kept burglars away from the unlocked and slightly ajar front door that night, was the notion that our household never sleeps since every light and television in the house was left on. When I woke the next morning, Dan was asleep on the couch in the family room with infomercials blaring in the background and the house aglow.
His explanation was that after everyone left, he went upstairs to grab a bite to eat, intent on returning to the basement. He turned on lights as he walked around the house. “You don’t expect me to eat in the dark, do you?” When he settled on the couch to finish off his snack, he got a bit too comfortable and before he knew it, he was asleep.
It’s funny how comfortable we are in the light. Daylight seems less scary than night time. A lit house looks inviting and loving. The glow of a night light softly and safely guides us, even through dangerous sharp-toy minefields. The Bible tells us that evil keeps out of the light, finding its way through dark alleys and dark hearts. Evil is exposed in the light for what it truly is. I’m not sure that when God said “Let there be light” He meant in every room, but He did give us light to guide us, to lead us, to shine upon us and to surround us, awake or asleep.
Life is Hard!
In my afternoon phone call with my husband Keith, he told me of a conversation he had with one of his Gideon brothers. This man had been watching the General Patraeus confirmation hearing and repeated how the General responded to a question about ending the war: “Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it is hopeless.” Neither of us knew if the General is a Christian, but this answer made us believe that he probably is.
Those nine words really made an impact on me. Life has been hard lately. Keith’s illness, a busy time at work, not enough vehicles for the drivers in the family, repairs needed to be done at home, a sense of disconnect with church…life is hard. Difficulty is not new to us, we have always had one problem or another, whether it be finances or family sickness. Funny, at the time, I am sure the hard times were so overwhelming we wondered how we would ever survive. Now, looking back, I struggle to remember the circumstances. I guess the old adage, “That which does not kill me only makes me stronger" is true.
Romans 5:3-5 just happens to be my life verse and just happens to directly correlate. “And yet we rejoice in our suffering, because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character and character hope and hope does not disappoint us because it is given to us through Jesus Christ.” Life is only truly hopeless if life is Christ-less.
Pastor John Reinke worked as an interim pastor at Atonement Lutheran Church years ago. I was lucky enough to be serving as secretary at the time. John believed that all Christians needed to find a life verse, a Biblical passage that could be memorized and used often. I can’t remember how I found Romans 5:3-5, I just know that it has helped me more times than I can remember and has been repeated to others as much if not more. It is the answer to all pain and suffering: loss of life; loss of job; hurt feelings; physical pain; emotional strife; marriage woes; misunderstandings…a cure-all of sorts. It is God’s way of reminding that if suffering does not kill me, it will make me stronger. If it does kill me, there will be no more suffering. It really is a win-win situation.
As I write this I look at an old Avon purchase, a small ceramic church with scripture cards that I try to read daily. Today’s passage is also from Romans, chapter 12, verse 12: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”
Life is hard, but Jesus is faithful and it will be better. “The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you.” So if life is hard, pray, be patient and believe that the hope and grace Jesus gave us is sufficient to get us through.
Those nine words really made an impact on me. Life has been hard lately. Keith’s illness, a busy time at work, not enough vehicles for the drivers in the family, repairs needed to be done at home, a sense of disconnect with church…life is hard. Difficulty is not new to us, we have always had one problem or another, whether it be finances or family sickness. Funny, at the time, I am sure the hard times were so overwhelming we wondered how we would ever survive. Now, looking back, I struggle to remember the circumstances. I guess the old adage, “That which does not kill me only makes me stronger" is true.
Romans 5:3-5 just happens to be my life verse and just happens to directly correlate. “And yet we rejoice in our suffering, because suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character and character hope and hope does not disappoint us because it is given to us through Jesus Christ.” Life is only truly hopeless if life is Christ-less.
Pastor John Reinke worked as an interim pastor at Atonement Lutheran Church years ago. I was lucky enough to be serving as secretary at the time. John believed that all Christians needed to find a life verse, a Biblical passage that could be memorized and used often. I can’t remember how I found Romans 5:3-5, I just know that it has helped me more times than I can remember and has been repeated to others as much if not more. It is the answer to all pain and suffering: loss of life; loss of job; hurt feelings; physical pain; emotional strife; marriage woes; misunderstandings…a cure-all of sorts. It is God’s way of reminding that if suffering does not kill me, it will make me stronger. If it does kill me, there will be no more suffering. It really is a win-win situation.
As I write this I look at an old Avon purchase, a small ceramic church with scripture cards that I try to read daily. Today’s passage is also from Romans, chapter 12, verse 12: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”
Life is hard, but Jesus is faithful and it will be better. “The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you.” So if life is hard, pray, be patient and believe that the hope and grace Jesus gave us is sufficient to get us through.
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