"Lovegiving"

A friend of mine just lost her elderly father. She and her husband have been caregivers for her parents for some time now, so I'm feeling a special sadness for them today. It reminds me of what the end of my own caregiving will feel like.

I don't know if grief is any easier after caregiving or not. Perhaps there's still guilt over whether your care was good enough. But then again, there's some comfort in knowing that you were there for them and did the best you could.

Friends and loved ones often refer to caregivers as saints. But we are actually no more saintly than any other Christian. As a matter of fact, the Bible indicates in many places that anyone who calls on the name of Jesus and is sanctified in Him is a saint. (I Corinthians 1:2) ) Caregiving doesn't make one a saint. It allows us to be one. It's the Christian, saintly thing to do.

It's an opportunity to give back the care and love that's been given to us. One might call it "lovegiving".

Our Last Surviving Tomato

The Last Tomato

We stopped watering our garden over a month ago when the city started enforcing watering restrictions. The tomato plants were about through producing and were looking pretty sorry and soon were pitifully dried up, with just a few marble-sized green tomatoes clinging to the vines.

Then after all summer with no rain we got a whole inch last week and when I let the dog out a couple of days later, I noticed something red on one of the tomato plants. I was shocked to see this one little ripe tomato survivor, just waiting to be picked.

It reminded me of the last days of this earth's history. The Bible says there will be a "time of trouble" (Daniel 12:1). Amos says in ch. 8:11 that there will be a famine, but not of bread, and not a thirst of water, but of hearing the words of the Lord. But a remnant survives, those with the patience of the saints. Revelation 14:12

So, I honor my patient little "remnant" tomato. It gives me faith and courage that God will see us through to the end, even through enormous trials and persecutions.

My Barefoot Cowboy

I am back to my blogging duties. After two days in Kearney, NE at the sixth annual state brain injury conference, I am ready to settle down to life in the anything-but-normal place we call home.

As at Christmas, it was eye-opening to see the changes in my husband's dementia from one year to the next. My daughter was on hand though to keep him corralled as much as possible, while I depended on people to wheel me to the workshops and meetings with my injured foot.

I knew she had her job cut out for her when the two of them showed up a few hours into the conference with her dad fully dressed, including his cowboy hat, but with BARE feet! It seems he had somehow left his shoes and room key in the motel room after their visit to the hot tub and pool area. I'm also wondering what people were thinking the next morning when he sported a baseball cap under his cowboy hat in the motel's lobby. I guess that was the easiest way to get both items to the car as they were checking out of the motel room.

Kayla summed up her frustrations with him whenever she saw me during the conference and whispered in my ear, "Mother, you are a SAINT!"

Hmmm, Saint Teresa. Has a nice ring to it.