Scrambled Eggs on the Floor

I was getting ready for church this morning when Dean asked me what I was fixing him for breakfast. When I said steel-cut oatmeal (which just needed heated up), he said he wanted to fix himself some scrambled eggs instead. Knowing I wouldn't be leaving for a little while, I said for him to go ahead then and do the eggs himself.

That's when disaster struck. As he was taking the eggs out of the refrigerator, the carton, almost full of eggs, made a nosedive out of his hands and onto the floor. What a mess! I don't know what he would have done, if I hadn't been there to clean up the gooey remains. I managed to salvage five or six cracked eggs, which I broke into a frying pan for him to start scrambling for us both to eat. Then I threw out or mopped up the rest of the eggs.

He felt bad enough already, so I refrained from yelling at him for his carelessness. (Wish I had that much patience when I was a young mother.) But then Dean, halfway serious, told me it was really MY fault, since I had told him to fix his own breakfast.

When trials come, do I tend to point my finger at God, even a little too? Even though God has given me freedom to choose, and all the basic necessities of life, I still want to throw the blame onto Him, because He's supposed to be in charge. I hope I can remember that it's our loving, patient God, after all, who cleans up the messes I've pretty much made on my own. Even the accidental ones.

Dad's Desk

A much overdue "to-do list" task got completed yesterday. I totally cleaned my dad's desk area. It was surprising all the office supplies I discovered I had available. When my dad, who passed away two years ago, went to the office store, he purchased enough to last, well, for more than his lifetime.

I keep the top of his desk for mementos of my dad. So many memories came rushing back as I rearranged and dusted the items. He spent many happy hours at his desk, getting to know his computer, but more importantly, keeping in touch with friends and family. Eventually their dining room turned into his computer room, much to my mom's dismay. But she was willing to sacrifice it for the worthy cause of keeping dad happy.

No matter how hard I try, I will never think of it as anything other than "dad's desk". In my mind, it will always belong to him. And shouldn't I likewise view all my possessions as belonging to God? It makes me pause to thank God for entrusting me with so much. And that's why I try to have "mementos" of God in every room too. Pictures of Jesus or books about Him on every shelf, even a framed poem about Him in my bathroom, to remind me of the real owner. I don't want my earthly father's influence forgotten, and the same goes for God's, the Giver of it all.

Dad's corner

A Clean House...Not

Today has been a blur of household chores and dreaded phone calls, as most Mondays are. I make out the proverbial "to-do list" on Sunday, and then start digging in with all the things I want to accomplish in the coming week. Things like washing the bedding, sorting and organizing Dean's recliner "area", cleaning the bird cage, and scrubbing behind the kitchen sink. But these things are on top of the everyday, basic tasks of washing dishes, clothes, cooking meals, and emptying trash cans.

Any more, my shortness of breath never allows me to finish a "to-do list". I have learned to be content with a house that is never sparkling clean everywhere. But that has fleeting bright spots scattered about that I can be proud of and that gives it a look of orderliness that tricks you into thinking it's clean under the surface.

In a way, this mirrors my spiritual life. I will never have a complete and virtuous character that I would desire. But God has covered me with his perfect robe of righteousness. And with His touch of love, I can be perceived as having a form of Christianity that perhaps someone would wish to emulate.

How wonderful it will be to shed these mortal bodies someday and put on our glorious, immortal robes. Then I will be truly clean everywhere, even under the surface.

A Caregiving Team

Today I discovered that my chore provider, helping me with Dean, is also going to be helping me! Of course, my biggest chore is taking Dean places, which I have come to really detest and avoid, when possible. An ex-truck driver, who feels his wife, at least, still needs driving instruction after almost 40 years, is not my idea of an ideal passenger. Neither of us are at our best by the time we arrive at our destination. So getting some more assistance with getting Dean out or just away from his recliner will be nice.

She will also be providing us with some needed housekeeping chores. Some of those deep cleaning tasks that I'm not so good at since my pulmonary failure six years ago. Dusting and getting cobwebs, cleaning the tub and floors, and just anything that requires a lot of bending over will be welcome help too.

I've thought of myself as Dean's sole caregiver up until about a year ago, but that just isn't true any more. With nurses and bath aides and now chore providers coming in and out of our lives, I'm now just part of the team. But it's nice to know that my caregiving teammates are looking out for me too.

I think this is also how God wants our church teams to function. We work as a team to keep each other spiritually uplifted and growing in the Lord. All of us need caregiving from each other and need to become involved in each others' lives as much as possible.

I'm glad there are so many people in my life who care enough to get involved. It keeps me going. And that keeps Dean going.

Filthy Rags

While Dean was occupied in the living room today, I sneaked off to the bedroom to arrange his clothes to wear for tomorrow. For years now, I've had to put his clothes in the hamper on the sly because he never thinks they're dirty enough.

As I was changing the suspenders on his jeans and transferring his pocket contents to the clean pair, I thought of how many times Jesus has probably taken care of me when I wasn't aware of it, when I didn't trust Him enough with my care, or when I thought I knew what was best for me when I really didn't.

Dean is so vocal about telling people what a good wife and caregiver I am. I need to do likewise and let as many as possible know what a wonderful Lord and Savior I have.

Jesus has changed my filthy rags to clean ones more times than I can count. But only because of our love for each other. My love for Jesus and Dean's love for me. You have to love and trust your caregiver.