Getting a Lift

I was wondering what the physical therapist would be recommending for Dean today. Last year when he was here he didn't get much accomplished because of Dean's foot fracture.

After he went through some exercises with him today, I began telling him of Dean's lack of activity and how I end up waiting on him, probably too much. But when I said it was mostly because it was so hard for Dean to get out of his recliner these days, he said he might qualify for a lift chair.

That would really be nice. Hopefully it would mean that he would get up more often, which would be good for him. And it would be less wear and tear on my old body by grabbing his hand and pulling him up all the time, or just waiting on him hand and foot. So it would be good for me too.

God can grab our hand too to help us up. Or He can give us a "lift chair" to help us up. Even though it feels like we are getting up on our own, God is still doing the work. Let's not forget the source of all our efforts and activities. Whether we are pulled from the front or pushed from the back, God is doing the pushing and pulling. It is God, all the way.

Salting the Table

I was noticing tonight at supper how fast condiments have been disappearing in our house. After seeing how much soy sauce Dean poured on his rice and stir-fry vegetables, it wasn't hard to know who the culprit is. He saturates almost all his food with Tabasco, Frank's Red Hot Sauce, ketchup, or steak sauce. Either that or he salts and peppers it to death.

I don't know if he really intends to get that much flavorings and seasonings on his food. Maybe he's just slow about knowing when to stop pouring, or he doesn't see well enough to know when he's got enough on the food. I have noticed that the whole dining room table looks like it's been salted when he's done. But the main reason seems to be that he wants his food to taste the way he's trying to season it.

In the same vein, we can think of all kinds of reasons why we sin. But the main reason is most likely that we just want to. We like the pleasure it gives us. Let's not forget the price we pay for that pleasure though. Someone is paying for our indulgences, just like I'm having to buy more condiments and clean the whole table of spilled salt. And ultimately Dean will pay with loss of health. But more importantly, he's losing out on the real taste of the food. Life is just so much better, without our attempts to spice it up on our own.

My One-year Journey

It's been one year today since I started this blog. I have obviously taken some vacation days here and there, but I'm getting close to the 365 blogposts that was my goal. This is # 327. Thank you, readers, for joining me on this spiritual journey.

It's been a big faith builder for me to see how all the little things I experience in my day relate in some way to a bigger picture, which includes the whole universe. So many things can teach us lessons of faith. Whether you are a caregiver, a teacher, a parent, or anyone concerned about someone other than yourself, you too have the opportunity to learn about God from the daily events of your life.

I have some ideas for the future of my blog. Perhaps taking Bible stories and seeing how they point to the life and death of Jesus. Or exploring the inside of the temple and seeing how it illustrates the ministry of Jesus as well. These longer stories might be less frequent, but I hope someone will gain a blessing by my sharing of them too. I welcome your ideas.

I promise to keep everyone up to date on Dean's health too though. I'm sure his antics and quips are what keep some of you coming back to my blog from time to time. Dean has always had the ability to make me laugh. That's one of the qualities I married him for. It's what has helped keep both of us going through even the roughest times.

Thank you again for spending time with this blog, my thoughts and ideas openly expressed.

Wasting the Day

A little while ago Dean asked me to walk with him to deliver a child's Bible story magazine from church to a little girl who lives across the street. He's been giving her one almost every week for over a year now. Her grandma says she looks forward to Dean and the stories every weekend.

It was the first time I had stepped outside all day, except for our short drive to the library, and as we stopped and sat in our front yard swing for awhile on the way back, I couldn't help but lament that I hadn't spent more time outdoors today. I had really wasted some beautiful fall weather. Who knows how many days this nice are left till winter.

And who knows how many days we have left before Jesus comes. Have I done all I could in the Master's service today? Or have I wasted valuable time just thinking of and taking care of myself? Lord, help me not waste another day, another moment of life, by not declaring your love strongly to all who will hear. The time is perfect for sharing the Word. It is just something we have to do, and it should be as enjoyable as sitting on the front yard swing.

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.

Breaking Bread

I'm so glad we have a small gathering to go to on most Friday nights, the beginning of the Sabbath. A place for Dean to be with some of his church friends and a time to share the study of God's Word. Dean has been missing that at church the last few months due to his dementia issues, so I'm thankful he still gets a small taste of church life at our friends' house most weeks. They are so special for providing us with that, for being supportive of Dean's needs, and for letting us both have a taste of Christian social life again. Some nights we even share a meal together, usually something simple like soup or "haystacks", and that is extra special.

The book of Acts tells of the early Christians "breaking bread from house to house" (Acts 2:46). And they did it "with gladness and singleness of heart."

I would encourage all church members to not be shy about inviting people into your homes. Your house doesn't have to qualify for a Better Homes and Gardens photo op. And your cooking doesn't have to match the chef of a quality high-class restaurant. Your guests will feel special just because you invited them.

I know we do.

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