Faith in the Future

My purpose for this personal blog of mine has always been to be able to share what it means to be a caregiver, how caregiving shaped me during those years when my husband was alive, and how those memories and lessons continue to impact my faith even now.

As this pandemic lingers, however, and tightens its grip on our sense of normalcy for everyday living, I'm finding it more and more difficult to link the past with what my life is now. Caregiving just seems a lifetime away. I can't grasp onto it as well, can't allow it to inform my decisions and experiences like it did previously.

So, writing here is good because it forces me to retreat once again to a different time, in a different world. This, of course, as healing as it can sometimes be, will never match the benefit from instead, reaching to the future and the glorious things it can hold for us.

In essence, I've been made to realize that the past can inform us, but it's the future that truly inspires us. We must keep our eyes on that "city which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God". Hebrews 11:10.

As a matter of fact, I was memorizing Hebrews 11, the "faith chapter", before Dean's death two years ago. I had just about mastered it, when it happened. I have failed to review and revive my memories of that chapter until recently. Now, those verses about faith are a sweet balm for me. Keeping my faith intact, making it all I need to take with me to the Kingdom.

It's the only lesson worth learning on this sick planet. Instead of asking someone, "How are you?", we should be asking, "How's your faith?"

My YouTube channel--a daily Bible study

Appreciation of Life

It's been almost a week now, and I haven't been able to bring myself to write about our anniversary, which was June 6th. Mostly, it's because I've been busy, but perhaps it just hasn't been on my mind as much as it should be, now that he's gone. My caregiver guilt showing up again? I think we all have it to some degree.

This is going into the third year since he's been gone...and life goes on. Thankfully, I've been able to fill my life, even with these abnormal times during a pandemic, with many worthwhile things.

I'm learning new things on my computer, and am connecting with far more people than I had previously. I still miss face-to-face time, especially with close family members, because I'm one of those sheltering-in-place, not-going-out-in-public seniors, for as long as this virus is out there.

My respiratory problems demand my vigilance in this. And even though some may see it as a lack of faith, I see it as an appreciation of life. Perhaps losing Dean has taught me that. My daughter has already lost one parent (never easy), and I want to do all I can to spare her losing another one before necessary.

Dean's memory lingers, however. I fondly remember our wedding. That, and all the other major events in our life together. So, anniversary or not, I'm thinking of him and missing him every day of the year.

Safe at Home

Almost a week has passed since my first "pandemic" Mother's Day. As with most things in life right now, the gifts and blessings have trickled their way to my door piecemeal, rather than in one big-time swoosh delivery, as it's been most years.

First there was the cake, candy, and cards, then the new cell phone and colored pencils popped up. And today the perfume arrived! Each has come in a different way with masked smiles, handwashed hugs, and virtual visits--sanitized disease-free with loving hands and big hearts.

I kind of like this slowed-down delivery and pace of life. It gives me the opportunity to appreciate my gifts more fully, to relish the visits that brought them to me, and to anticipate the next opportunity to connect with my family in whatever way is available.

The gifts serve mostly as reminders of the treasured family members who brought them to me--either in my mailbox or to my doorstep. The thoughtfulness of givers becomes the gift that keeps on giving.

Yes, I can't say when I've enjoyed Mother's Day more. I know I've never enjoyed it more deeply.

Show the Love

After experiencing almost a month of stay-at-home-ness, I'm feeling a bit blue today. I was just getting used to my isolated existence, when my birthday came yesterday. A little family time couldn't hurt, right? And I was thrilled beyond measure to have my daughter's family come over for a brief time to eat cake and ice cream for the occasion. I have missed hugs from my two granddaughters so much!

But, I have to admit, there's a letdown from that today. I didn't feel it until this morning. Instead of keeping "busy" with all the little assignments and routines I have grown accustomed to, I now find myself yearning for their closeness again. For the opportunity to share with them my grandmotherly advice and wisdom. All the little things we should have said and done while they were here. I just hope they know how much they are loved and valued, even when we aren't together physically. I pray they feel in their heart my desire to be with them, to nurture them, to see them grow. I guess this is how it is for grandparents who live far away from their little ones, even before this pandemic.

For those of you are staying at home as families though, I pray you will treasure the fact that you have each other near and dear to you right there. There are so many blessings in that. You may need some time away from each other, but that can usually be arranged with most multi-room houses today. When you are together though, I pray you make the most of this quarantine time and build your relationships like never before.

Accept each other, overlook little annoyances (like whistling all the time, ahem), iron out your differences when possible, and most of all, just remember to express your love to each other at every opportunity. For we're all in this together. And our time on earth is short, under the best of circumstances.

Be a Helper

Be careful what you ask for. With my chronic fatigue from pulmonary problems, I tried to get at least one or two days a week to stay home in my pajamas. How I longed for those days of rest to be more. My lungs work three times as hard as the average person, leaving me exhausted and short of breath most of the time, with or without oxygen, which I seem to need mostly at night. My lungs are healthy, but there aren't enough of them to function well inside my elderly, deformed chest cavity, due to scoliosis.

I will always marvel at how our world can change in such a short time though. In just a matter of days, my desire for more "down time" has been answered, and I'm inclined to make every day a "pajama day" until this covid-19 outbreak is over.

My honest, first reaction when it all started to gear up and I learned what a threat this virus could be to people like me, was to feel like my life was over. It must be like that for anyone who receives a diagnosis of a terminal illness. Especially cancer, since just the word strikes fear and terror in all of our hearts. Surely, I felt my days were numbered too, and there was nothing I could do about it.

But, as I started reading about the precautionary measures that could be done, especially if they were community-driven, I began to have some hope. If people would only take this pandemic seriously, and follow the advice of experts, based on what they've learned from other countries so far, perhaps we can get a handle on this virus and lessen the threat for people like me, perhaps increasing the chance that there will be a hospital bed for us, if needed.

It saddens and even angers me when people either minimize, politicize, or criticize the efforts to stop this pandemic. I wish these "I'zes" would focus on the "me'zes" among them, and stop joking and/or complaining (although I realize some humor can be a stress reliever), and just look out for other people in their neighborhood and family who will feel the brunt of all this the most.

Through it all, I feel God's hand in the chaos. We must do like Mr. Rogers told us when we see scary things in the news. "Look to the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." In this particular crisis, we all have a chance to be a helper. Just staying home will help.

Heaven Is Looking Sweeter

Here it is the fifth of February, and I have blown past another emotional day of importance in my journey of grief. February 2 was the second year since Dean's passing. It's hard to sit down and make myself write about it, when in truth, I was doing all I could to stay busy and let it slide unnoticed just three days ago now.

Except for a twinge of remembrance when I posted about it ever so briefly on Facebook, I have been successful in staying positive and upbeat, despite the sad overtones the day brought, in uninvited, but manageable, thoughts of the event two years ago.

The positive messages from friends on social media though were enough to get me through what could have been a gloomy time. Instead of dwelling on such a low point in my life, I was reminded of the love that remains from so many people around me, some close and some far away.

All I can say is, heaven is looking sweeter every day. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

Christmases, Past and Present

My second Christmas without Dean...it just isn't the same, of course, without his jolly, fun-loving persona filling the house with holiday joy. I remember when we were in Montana, just three-years into our marriage, when he came home from logging one weekend with not one, but three trees he had cut down for us to decorate. He apologized for not having a tree the previous two years, so was making up for his negligence, he said. But I wondered where in the world he expected us to put up three trees in the tiny mobile home we had bought. Of course, he had our mobile home park neighbors in mind all along, I am sure. He was always thoughtful of others that way, and he quickly knew just who to deliver them to.

But that brings me to our first Christmas. I'm not sure how it was arranged, but he managed to be the "Santa" for a nursing home in Minnesota, where we were then living. He was such a hit with the seniors there, calling them little boys and girls, asking them if they'd been naughty or nice that year. One lady questioned his authenticity by pointing out his Southern accent (which he had acquired, I assumed, from his truck-driving days). Dean was quick to exonerate himself by announcing that he was from the SOUTH Pole, which got him another thunderous amount of laughter and applause from the crowd gathered there.

So, as you can see, I have ample memories to bolster me this holiday season. And, I'll never feel truly alone with so many friends, who still send Christmas cards every year. Besides, the greatest Friend of all is always present to fill in the emptiness that invades my heart ever so often. Jesus has promised to be with us to the end. That means I'll always have Him. He's the reason for all the joy I have and still experience in life. What a blessing the Lord has been to me!