Skip to main content

Should I pray for him or for myself?

My feet hurt. It's arthritis. And it's inevitable.

I have it on both sides of my family, but my paternal grandmother (whom I never met) was crippled with it. When my dad was in high school, he told me, it was he who would lift his mother from her bed, toilet her, get her fed and cleaned for the day and then head off to school.

When Dad was old enough, he joined the Marines (it was the tail-end of WWII.) While he was in basic training, he received a telegram that his father had died, and he was to return home immediately for the funeral. All the way home, he kept thinking the telegram was wrong, and that it was his mother who had died. After all, she was the one who was so ill for so long. But no, he was greeted at the train station by his brother-in-law who informed him that it was indeed his father who had died from an apparent heart attack.

My grandmother lived another few years, but had to be moved to a nursing home.

Yeah, so my feet hurt. It's painful once in awhile, but mostly it's just annoying.

Today, I watched - outside my office window - a man slowly and painfully "walk" from the center of the park across the street to the bus stop. It probably is only about 20 yards, but it took him about 10 minutes. He had a walker, but he could only manage a small lurching step, a rest, a small lurching step, rest. It was painful to watch; I can only imagine how painful it must have been for him.

Then it started to rain.

Lurch. Rest. Lurch.

There wasn't anything I could do for  him, except pray. I was praying that every hand and voice that touched that man today be a gentle one. Then I remembered that this man was Christ in His most distressing disguise. So I prayed for me. That I remember that when I might feel bad for myself and my achy feet, that I remember this man, and be grateful for the ease of my life.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Trying to "end run" God

If you're a football fan, you know what an end run is. From Merriam-Webster:
a football play in which the ballcarrier attempts to run wide around the end of the line We try to "end run" God a lot. I do. I figure I know better. I've got this - no need to worry the Big Guy about such a trivial thing.

Of course, it never works.

Like the puppy above, when we try and evade the tough obstacle (even though we KNOW we will eventually have to do it), we end up - well, off in the bushes.

But oh! How I wished my way worked. I'd love to take a flying leap and land smoothly and gracefully. People would be in awe, as if watching Simone Biles nail a balance beam routine that no one else would even attempt. I would shyly look down and blush - just lightly - and acknowledge (But humbly! Oh so humbly!) my achievement.

But no: I am the one pulling myself out of the bushes, scratches all over my legs and twigs in my hair. I'd hear that gentle but loving voice of God saying, &quo…

Trauma Mama

Dear Husband and I both enjoy certain medical shows, such as "ER" and "Code Black." ("St. Elsewhere" was another fave!) These shows revolve around trauma: humans who'd been ambushed by life: a car accident, a fire, and abuse, as examples.

More often than not, these shows also highlight the trauma the doctors and nurses needed to deal with. Having a patient die is always offensive to a doctor: they are charged with saving lives and losing one is the ultimate failure. Nurses spend more time with patients, and can forge strong bonds with people that may be in their lives for just a few days.

But trauma doesn't always look like a bloody body being wheeled into an emergency room, or a house surrounded by fire trucks and police cars. Trauma comes in many forms.

According to one website, trauma can look like surgery. It can look like moving. Trauma can be losing a beloved spouse or more horrifying, a child. Trauma can also be chronic pain, loneliness, m…

Be Brave

A few years ago, it came to my attention that a young family member was struggling with anxiety and depression. I was able to share with her a bit of my own struggles, and let her know she wasn't alone.

A few weeks after our talk, I saw the movie, "Brave." It struck me that the young protagonist, Merida, modeled a great quality. She was indeed brave.

Being brave is not about recklessness. It is not about confidence. It's not about being foolish, or looking for glory in the eyes of others.

Bravery is about doing what is right, even when you are a quivering mess. It's about knowing that things may not turn out the way you expected, but forging ahead anyway. Being brave is standing by the hospital bed while a loved one is dying, and all you really want to do is turn back time. Bravery is standing up to a bully, when your legs are screaming for you to run. Brave is doing what needs to be done even when you're scared and tired and feeling helpless and hopeless.

I …