It is now about 2:45 p.m. on Monday. I start with that because I have no idea how long this will take. I’ve a fuzzy mind.
The doctors sent Mary home Saturday afternoon late, which freaked me out a bit, but I understand this is the usual thing these days.
I spent about half an hour yesterday after church trying to get the blood out of her hair – without coming anywhere near the incision, which runs from the center of her hair line at her brow in an arc to just above her ear.
I couldn’t believe noone had done that after the surgery, and that freaked me out a bit, but I understand this is not all that unusual.
My son-in-law, Dan, has been chief nurse and occasional bottle washer since she came home. He is on duty there now as I write.
I’m very fond of him and growing fonder.
The Monday before her surgery, I had a bunch of tests done on my heart. I got the results this morning. My heart is in better condition now than it was four years ago! In fact, it is working just as a heart should – for a 77-year-old heart.
And I don’t have to see my cardiologist again for six months, which is good news, although I like everyone in that office.
But the best news of the day is that Mary is getting grumpy. She’s bored.
Oh, and it’s just 2:55 p.m.!
Monday, January 29, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Thank You
I’m almost too tired to move my fingers on the keyboard. But I’m not to tired to praise the Lord who gave us mercies and blessings today.
The surgery went very well.
She is already talking and moving as she should.
That’s really all I know.
But it is enough for now.
There is more work to do, but for tonight, there is just – Thank You.
The surgery went very well.
She is already talking and moving as she should.
That’s really all I know.
But it is enough for now.
There is more work to do, but for tonight, there is just – Thank You.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
FAITH COMES . . .
Don’t ever say things can’t possibly get any worse. Of course they can.
About a year and a half ago my daughter was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer. After months of chemotherapy and radiation, scans showed it was all gone.
But another scan some months later showed it had returned – outside the lungs. There was one small spot in a lymph node near her right collar bone. More radiation and chemo. And plans for even more chemo after a break of three weeks for the radiation area to heal.
Last Sunday, a week before treatment was to resume, my pastor preached on the steps we can take to make us able to withstand fear. It was a good sermon, full of truth and challenge.
Afterward a friend asked me if I now felt ready to handle a disaster. I told her that, actually, I did – but not just because of the sermon.
Faith does come by hearing. But it ripens and strengthens as we take what we heard into our lives and act upon it.
It was years spent as part of a group of women, studying Scripture and praying together, becoming vulnerable with each other and holding each other accountable, in love, for our actions.
It was walking through other mine fields of life and finding the Lord always there with me.
All of this made the sermon not news, but a good refresher of what I already know. A refresher I was quickly to need to put into practice.
Sunday afternoon my son-in-law called and asked me to come by. He thought something was wrong. He was right.
There was a gap – a pause between a comment or question and her response. A slight thing. Not a big thing, but more than disconcerting, a bit terrifying.
Doctor’s visits, scans and MRIs later, she is in the hospital, being made ready for surgery in the morning.
The surgeon is very positive. We soak that up like dry sponges.
I spent yesterday thanking God for my daughter. First for the wonderful, joyful relationship we have now, a relationship I thought we would never have.
Then I thanked Him for the really bad times, when we were at odds, alienated from one another. Those times drove me closer to Him.
Now it is the evening and the morning of our next day.
About a year and a half ago my daughter was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer. After months of chemotherapy and radiation, scans showed it was all gone.
But another scan some months later showed it had returned – outside the lungs. There was one small spot in a lymph node near her right collar bone. More radiation and chemo. And plans for even more chemo after a break of three weeks for the radiation area to heal.
Last Sunday, a week before treatment was to resume, my pastor preached on the steps we can take to make us able to withstand fear. It was a good sermon, full of truth and challenge.
Afterward a friend asked me if I now felt ready to handle a disaster. I told her that, actually, I did – but not just because of the sermon.
Faith does come by hearing. But it ripens and strengthens as we take what we heard into our lives and act upon it.
It was years spent as part of a group of women, studying Scripture and praying together, becoming vulnerable with each other and holding each other accountable, in love, for our actions.
It was walking through other mine fields of life and finding the Lord always there with me.
All of this made the sermon not news, but a good refresher of what I already know. A refresher I was quickly to need to put into practice.
Sunday afternoon my son-in-law called and asked me to come by. He thought something was wrong. He was right.
There was a gap – a pause between a comment or question and her response. A slight thing. Not a big thing, but more than disconcerting, a bit terrifying.
Doctor’s visits, scans and MRIs later, she is in the hospital, being made ready for surgery in the morning.
The surgeon is very positive. We soak that up like dry sponges.
I spent yesterday thanking God for my daughter. First for the wonderful, joyful relationship we have now, a relationship I thought we would never have.
Then I thanked Him for the really bad times, when we were at odds, alienated from one another. Those times drove me closer to Him.
Now it is the evening and the morning of our next day.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
letter from prison
A friend of mine received a letter recently from her son who is in prison. He said he had given his life to the Lord.
What joy there must be in heaven, I thought. That’s what Scripture says. The Shepherd has gone after one lost sheep and there is great rejoicing that He has found it.
It reminded me of the parable of the prodigal son.
Over the years I have identified with both sons in this story: the one who ran off to live it up in the world until he found the world not to his liking and the one who stayed home, but was resentful when the wastrel was given so much love.
Now I joined my friend in feeling some of the can joy of the father as he saw his wayward son turn again toward home.
Then a little voice whispered in my ear: Yes, but is it real? Will it last when he gets out of prison? Is it just a ploy to get sympathy, attention, love? Even if he means it, will he be able to stick with it?
My guess is that my friend has some of the same questions.
Jesus did not say if the father in the parable wondered if his son would stay at home just long enough to regain his health – and then take off again?
He did not speculate on whether the son would have turned again to his father if things had not gotten so bad. Or if what could happen once they were better. He just rejoiced.
The world is often cynical about prison conversions. It watched to see if Charles Colson was going to do something that would show he had not really changed, that he was not really a new person. I think some still watch after all these years.
When you think about, what better place is there for a conversion than in prison?
When Jesus said He came to set the captives free, He didn’t mean just those behind physical bars and locked doors. Most of us are in prisons of our own making. The prisoner of the State knows he is in prison; the rest of us try to overlook the fact.
We are fortunate if Someone finally makes us see it. The prisoner who sees his prison knows the need for release. Those of us in invisible prisons persist in denial. If by chance we catch a glimpse of the “bars” or “locked doors,” we do all we can to get ourselves out by our own efforts. We turn to the many “how to” books available now.
When all these human efforts fail, we finally come to the point reached by my friend’s son, surrender to God.
Is this self serving? Sure it is. And it serves us well if we mean it.
Is it easy? Yes and no. We have to give up our lives as they are, which sounds hard and is – until you have done it. Once on the other side of surrender, you find it wasn’t so hard at all, not compared to the joy that followed.
The prodigal son, the letter writer in prison and I share the knowledge that the world we live in does not hold the answers for us. This is the beginning, the first step in the journey that will take the rest of our lives.
I pray for a good journey for my friend’s son. And for you and yours, and me and mine.
What joy there must be in heaven, I thought. That’s what Scripture says. The Shepherd has gone after one lost sheep and there is great rejoicing that He has found it.
It reminded me of the parable of the prodigal son.
Over the years I have identified with both sons in this story: the one who ran off to live it up in the world until he found the world not to his liking and the one who stayed home, but was resentful when the wastrel was given so much love.
Now I joined my friend in feeling some of the can joy of the father as he saw his wayward son turn again toward home.
Then a little voice whispered in my ear: Yes, but is it real? Will it last when he gets out of prison? Is it just a ploy to get sympathy, attention, love? Even if he means it, will he be able to stick with it?
My guess is that my friend has some of the same questions.
Jesus did not say if the father in the parable wondered if his son would stay at home just long enough to regain his health – and then take off again?
He did not speculate on whether the son would have turned again to his father if things had not gotten so bad. Or if what could happen once they were better. He just rejoiced.
The world is often cynical about prison conversions. It watched to see if Charles Colson was going to do something that would show he had not really changed, that he was not really a new person. I think some still watch after all these years.
When you think about, what better place is there for a conversion than in prison?
When Jesus said He came to set the captives free, He didn’t mean just those behind physical bars and locked doors. Most of us are in prisons of our own making. The prisoner of the State knows he is in prison; the rest of us try to overlook the fact.
We are fortunate if Someone finally makes us see it. The prisoner who sees his prison knows the need for release. Those of us in invisible prisons persist in denial. If by chance we catch a glimpse of the “bars” or “locked doors,” we do all we can to get ourselves out by our own efforts. We turn to the many “how to” books available now.
When all these human efforts fail, we finally come to the point reached by my friend’s son, surrender to God.
Is this self serving? Sure it is. And it serves us well if we mean it.
Is it easy? Yes and no. We have to give up our lives as they are, which sounds hard and is – until you have done it. Once on the other side of surrender, you find it wasn’t so hard at all, not compared to the joy that followed.
The prodigal son, the letter writer in prison and I share the knowledge that the world we live in does not hold the answers for us. This is the beginning, the first step in the journey that will take the rest of our lives.
I pray for a good journey for my friend’s son. And for you and yours, and me and mine.
Monday, January 15, 2007
A Christmas Piece
I hollowed out a place in the living room for the Christmas tree.
"Hollowed out" may seem an exaggerated way to describe moving a chair into the back bedroom, but I emptied a space to make room for something else to come in — and that's hollowing out.
The manger in which Mary and Joseph laid the new born baby may not have been the wooden holder we so often see in creche sets. As the stable may have been, in part at least, a cave, so the manger may have been a hollowed out rock.
The Christmas tree I bought has a very crooked trunk. Getting it to stay upright in the stand is going to be a real problem. But the outer shape is excellent, so once we have mastered the stand, it should be just right.
I bought the tree at my favorite nursery because they keep them in good condition there, each in its own bucket of water. It is important to me that I get one whose needles will last through the first week in January.
Actually, I don't keep the tree up through the 12 days of Christmas just for religious purposes — although January 6 is when the church traditionally celebrates the coming of the wise men bringing gifts to the infant Jesus. The Feast of Lights or Epiphany it is called, the statement that He is the Light to the whole world, the gentile as well as the Jew.
No, I would keep my tree up for-ever if it could stay fresh and green that long. My living room is totally transformed by the addition of a Christmas tree.
What is so special about a Christmas tree?
Perhaps it's the ornaments; many of mine bring special memories of the persons who made them or the years they were added to the tree. Perhaps it's the smell of the pine, that wonderful, fresh smell of out-of-doors come inside.
Or perhaps it is the lights.
The coming of Christ into the world throws a sharp light on that world, outlining in stark detail all its frailties — but chasing away the darkness and showing the way.
The coming of the Christmas tree transforms my living room. The coming of Jesus transforms y life.
But I had to move enough stuff out of the living room to make room for the tree — and out of my life to make room for Him to come in.
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