Floaters and Staying Afloat

As I have grown older, I have discovered some things I would never have discovered had I not embraced the aging process. I use the word "embraced" broadly.

For instance, while eating breakfast outside one morning and watching the sky,  I noticed a bird flying at an extraordinarily high altitude. ... And, then, I realized it was a "floater" instead of a bird. If you're not following me, you're too young to read this.



Step 1

Step 2

I understand that an almost 70 year old grandmother on a pair of skis behind a speed boat is not necessarily inspiring.

...I will get a confused look from my grandchildren if I use the words, "smorgasbord" or "crème rinse." The word "thong" when used in reference to the shoes I used to wear throws my children into a panic.


Recently, a grandson asked if I had had surgery on my elbow. Someday, he'll understand what the aging process does to one's skin.

Last week, I had an MRI for a spot on my kidney.* If I was 30 years old, I would be WORRIED. At my age, I'm thinking it is just another errant spot, and I'm not losing any sleep over it. Afterall, I have them all over my skin. Why wouldn't they be inside me, too?
 

In Anne Lamott's "Hallelujah ANYWAY," she writes, "Mother Nature is the main problem. She runs on the principal that we all just get killed." (Gotta love her humor!)... Sometimes, it causes me to wince; sometimes it causes me to giggle; sometimes, I stare at the clouds and believe there is something big going on out there that I will be a part of someday.

Good things happen. Praise God! Bad things happen. Get down on your knees. I have discovered that the not-so-good things, the things that take me to my knees, the things that I've wondered about are also the "things" that are a part of my destiny. God works it all out somehow.

Hang in there.
Keep afloat.
Pray without ceasing...

*The spot on my kidney was a harmless cyst.

Forever Friends: A Lesson From Piglet and Pooh

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh?" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's hand. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”


Do you have a forever friend?
Piglet and Poo more than likely consider each others forever-friends.... What is a forever friend....

“When we honestly ask ourselves

which person in our lives means the most to us,
we often find that it is those who,
instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures,
have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds
with a warm and tender hand.
The friend who can be silent with us
 in a moment of despair or confusion,
who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement,
who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing
and face with us the reality of our powerlessness,
that is a friend who cares.”   Nouwen

 

Plus, a forever friend lasts a lifetime.

There is someone else who wants to be your forever friend....
JESUS...a forever friend...with an eye on eternity.

 

Repeating Nouwen's words from "Out of Solitude"... it is those who...have chosen to share our pain and touch our wounds.... The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement.... and face with us the reality of our powerlessness... that is a friend who cares."  That is Jesus.

No longer do I call you servants,for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends,

for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. John 15:15

Let's give thanks today for our earthly forever friends and for a Loving God who will never forsake us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walking In His Shoes: Remembering Dad on Father's Day



I went to visit my father a few years ago. Mom had recently passed, and he was doing well in an assistive living environment. In his 90’s, he was mentally active, interested in what was going on in the world, wanted up-dates on the grandchildren, enjoyed sharing farm memories, and was always comfortable talking about his faith in our Almighty God. We often would settle him in a car and take him for the ten mile ride to the family farm. He would check out the fields, enjoy the clouds, and remember.

The days of his wandering in a meandering, but purposeful journey from corncrib to barn to hog lot to machine shed were over. However, his footprints were all over the farm. He had left his mark in the toolshed, in the fields swaying with corn and beans, in the yard where my brothers, Dad, and I played softball every day after summer lunch. His tracks were in the grove surrounding the farmhouse, under the apple trees, and down the quarter-mile lane and back.

He often wore heavy boots to protect his feet from the messy areas of the farm or possible injury when getting on and off heavy equipment. But since his move into town, he chose black leather shoes with two Velcro straps. Easy to take on and off.  I had not paid much attention to them, except on that particular day, when we sat side by side for our visit, I noticed them. They were exactly like mine.

I had to laugh. Although I think I’m “with it” as far as fashion is concerned in my corner of the world, there it was. I had shoes on just like my 90+ year old father: comfortable, worthy shoes.

I’ll never know what it was really like to walk in my dad’s shoes: fighting in WW II, raising six children on an average sized farm, serving on various boards, and, then, helping my mother in her final stages of cancer. Dad is no longer with us, but if I could have a measure of his love for God, of his spirituality; if I could but walk in shoes similar to his, just for this, I would be thankful.