I wrote in my last post about all the health stuff I've been through so far this year. But I've been thinking a lot about how God has been working in me and what He's been teaching me through all of this.
The morning after my thyroid surgery, before I left the hospital, the surgeon stopped in for a brief visit. He mentioned in his comments that he would be calling me before the day was over with results from the pathology report. First of all, I was surprised that there would be a pathology report because I understood that the biopsy done earlier had come back as benign. Second of all, I was surprised that I would hear results that day.
As it turns out, I did not hear anything that day or for the next week. And I think I only finally heard because I called the office and my wonderful, caring husband called the office to ask what in the world was going on. As I said before, every day spent waiting for medical test results seems soooo loooong. I should never have been promised something that might not happen.
The night before I got the call was a tough one for me. I was praying that God would spare me from cancer. I was convinced that I was going to die soon and never get to see my grandchildren grow up. (I can be be quite the drama queen in my own head and am an expert at jumping to the worse case scenario. It's exhausting.) I thought about some close friends who had gotten news that the prostate cancer was all gone. I was convinced that God used up all His goodness on them and there wasn't any left for me. In other words, I was listening to all the doubts that Satan could muster up. I woke up my dear, patient hubby at 2 or 3 in the morning and poured all this out to him. I asked what could I do to make God be favorable to me. Dearest Hubby assured me that Christ had already done everything for me by His death on the cross and the fact that I had accepted Jesus into my life, well, that alone found me favor in God's eyes. Hubby assured me that I am precious to God. These are truths that I know in my head, but sometimes I have a hard time really believing. I also know in my head that life in heaven is so beyond what I can comprehend here. I have a feeling that whenever I get to heaven that I will smack myself and wonder why I wanted to fight so hard to stay on earth.
So, finally, a week after the thyroid surgery, I got a call from the surgeon's office with
the results of the pathology test. The summary of the report was that the
large nodule was benign. There was a tiny nodule that wasn't seen on the
ultrasound. And in that was a very small microscopic bit of cancer that could only be seen through a microscope. The
surgeon was able to remove all of what cancer there was and I have not
had to go through any cancer treatments. (!!!)
This news just knocked me off my feet. I cried for an hour. And by cry, I mean I sobbed. I called Hubby and my kids. They rejoiced with me. Even sweet little Lydia clapped her hands when her mommy cheered. I called a good friend in Minnesota and talked for an hour. (I thanked her recently for being there for me and for listening while I processed the whole thing.)
Just think ..... If my heart would not have starting racing and I would not have gone to the ER back in December, I would not have had the CT scan that showed something on my thyroid. I would not have had an ultrasound that showed nodules (the doctor couldn't feel any lumps on my neck). I would not have had the surgery that removed the half of the thyroid that had the microscopic bit of cancer. The cancer would have grown undetected until it got to the point that someone felt a lump in my throat and I would have had to go through cancer treatments.
Talk about answers to impossible prayers!! I am seriously trying to wrap my mind around all of this. God did all that for
ME?? Whoa. He must think more of me than I give Him credit for.
(This next paragraph may seem like I'm changing subjects, but bear with me, it all ties together.)
I am the youngest in the family I grew up in. For several years for family events, I have quite often felt like I was there only to fill a quota. Because there are four kids in my family, then there must be four kids present at family gatherings. I don't feel acknowledged for the person I uniquely am. I realized a while ago that is exactly how I think God views me. Sure, He loves me because I am His child, but generally I am just one of the gang, one of the swarm of believers. There's nothing particularly special about me.
(Isn't it interesting how the earthly relationships we have can affect how we view God? I find that fascinating.)
So, when I got that pathology report, I realized that God said that He notices ME. (That's why I sobbed. It was a mind boggling revelation.) He really does think of me more than I give Him credit for. Heck, Psalm 139 specifically speaks to that. (Click on the link and go read it.) His kindness is staggering. His unconditional love is more than I can ever hope to comprehend.
I know that in all likelihood I will experience more health issues in the future. They might even be scarier and harder to deal with. That will not change the fact that God notices me and that He loves me and He is kind. I am oh, so very thankful for God showing me these things right here, right now. It's all a part of His plan. It's all a part of growing more like Christ. It's all a part of being a Christian.
I'm thankful to be a (unique) part of the family of God.
Showing posts with label Hard Stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hard Stuff. Show all posts
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Monday, February 15, 2016
I Am Weak
2 Corinthians 12:9
But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest in me.
I came across this verse a couple of weeks ago and it has been rolling around in my head ever since. I have never felt like a person that would be labeled as "strong". I cry easily, I struggle with self-worth, the older I get the more introverted I feel, I struggle with doubt. Nothing about that makes me feel very strong. When I read that verse from 2 Corinthians 12, I felt so encouraged. It says that I don't have to be strong that my weakness is there so Christ's power can be evident in me. How cool is that?
Last Wednesday afternoon I went through something that was very hard for me. I had surgery to remove half of my thyroid due to a nodule that was discovered. I'm told the surgery went well. I woke up in recovery crying (told you I cry easily). I asked for my husband so many times, the nurse went to find him. Having him stand next to me feeding me ice chips made me feel a little more calm. When the surgeon stopped to talk to me he asked me why I was crying and I remember saying I was crying because I was scared. He told me it was over and I didn't need to be scared. I guess I felt like the hard part is in front of me...the pain and the healing from the surgery.
As far as I can tell, recovery has been okay. I have taken a long nap every day. My neck feels sore and stiff especially when I look up or down. (Thankfully Hubby isn't a whole lot taller than me and I don't have too far to look up at him.) I have a bandage/tape thing over the site of the incision. That is bugging me and makes me feel like I am wearing a turtleneck, which I despise. I feel like I got punched in the neck. My neck is bruised. My throat is sore from the breathing tube that was stuck down there during surgery.
Some women from the Community Bible Study group we are involved in brought us supper Friday afternoon. We were so tickled with their thoughtfulness and with their visit. My daughter sweetly sent me videos of my 11 month old granddaughter for several days in a row to make me smile. My son has texted and called to check up on me. My sisters-in-law have mailed me cards. Countless people have said they are praying for me. (I wish my mom was able to call me because I just know she would if she could. Stupid stroke.)
The biopsy done before the surgery came back benign. (!!!) I'm still waiting to hear about the pathology report from the surgery. I will admit to feeling a little anxious about that, but trust God.
In two weeks I have an appointment with my cardiologist to see what he wants to do about my heart regrading the Supra Ventricular Tachycardia episode I had in December. So I'm not done with this health stuff yet.
All of that makes me feel weak.
But what has God promised me?
...but He has said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you [My lovingkindness and My mercy are more than enough - always available - regardless of the situation]; for [My] power is being perfected [and is completed and shows itself most effectively] in [your] weakness." Therefore, I will all the more gladly boast in my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ [may completely enfold me and] may dwell in me.
~Amplified Version~
So I guess feeling weak isn't a bad thing from God's viewpoint.
But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest in me.
I came across this verse a couple of weeks ago and it has been rolling around in my head ever since. I have never felt like a person that would be labeled as "strong". I cry easily, I struggle with self-worth, the older I get the more introverted I feel, I struggle with doubt. Nothing about that makes me feel very strong. When I read that verse from 2 Corinthians 12, I felt so encouraged. It says that I don't have to be strong that my weakness is there so Christ's power can be evident in me. How cool is that?
Last Wednesday afternoon I went through something that was very hard for me. I had surgery to remove half of my thyroid due to a nodule that was discovered. I'm told the surgery went well. I woke up in recovery crying (told you I cry easily). I asked for my husband so many times, the nurse went to find him. Having him stand next to me feeding me ice chips made me feel a little more calm. When the surgeon stopped to talk to me he asked me why I was crying and I remember saying I was crying because I was scared. He told me it was over and I didn't need to be scared. I guess I felt like the hard part is in front of me...the pain and the healing from the surgery.
As far as I can tell, recovery has been okay. I have taken a long nap every day. My neck feels sore and stiff especially when I look up or down. (Thankfully Hubby isn't a whole lot taller than me and I don't have too far to look up at him.) I have a bandage/tape thing over the site of the incision. That is bugging me and makes me feel like I am wearing a turtleneck, which I despise. I feel like I got punched in the neck. My neck is bruised. My throat is sore from the breathing tube that was stuck down there during surgery.
Some women from the Community Bible Study group we are involved in brought us supper Friday afternoon. We were so tickled with their thoughtfulness and with their visit. My daughter sweetly sent me videos of my 11 month old granddaughter for several days in a row to make me smile. My son has texted and called to check up on me. My sisters-in-law have mailed me cards. Countless people have said they are praying for me. (I wish my mom was able to call me because I just know she would if she could. Stupid stroke.)
The biopsy done before the surgery came back benign. (!!!) I'm still waiting to hear about the pathology report from the surgery. I will admit to feeling a little anxious about that, but trust God.
In two weeks I have an appointment with my cardiologist to see what he wants to do about my heart regrading the Supra Ventricular Tachycardia episode I had in December. So I'm not done with this health stuff yet.
All of that makes me feel weak.
But what has God promised me?
...but He has said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you [My lovingkindness and My mercy are more than enough - always available - regardless of the situation]; for [My] power is being perfected [and is completed and shows itself most effectively] in [your] weakness." Therefore, I will all the more gladly boast in my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ [may completely enfold me and] may dwell in me.
~Amplified Version~
So I guess feeling weak isn't a bad thing from God's viewpoint.
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
The Doxology, My Story
I grew up in churches that regularly sang The Doxology during the worship service.
I am often a puddle of tears when I sing this, in part because of the magnitude of the words and in part because I see and hear my mother humming along and mouthing the words.
The power of music amazes me.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host:
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
It is a simple song, with powerful words of praise that God deserves.
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host:
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
It is a simple song, with powerful words of praise that God deserves.
Years ago, when we lived in Southeast Asia, we took a family trip to Thailand. We visited many tourist attractions including the Grand Palace in Bangkok. It was the official residence of the kings starting in 1782. Currently it is used for royal ceremonies and state functions. And tourism. We were on a guided tour of the palace (which included strict dress codes: arms covered, legs covered to below knee) when our tour guide directed us into a large room that was The Temple of the Emerald Buddha. We had read that we could not sit with our legs crossed or our feet out in front of us (because it's rude to point the bottoms of your feet at someone), so essentially we were to kneel in front of the Buddha statue. The four of us walked in there, saw people kneeling before the idol, looked at each other, shook our heads "no", and walked right back out. Our tour guide had the most puzzled look on her face. Shortly after that we were amongst a bunch of people who were walking around with incense and praying to Buddha, I started singing the Doxology to myself. I felt such an evil presence there. I think we all did because we all agreed that we didn't need to or want to visit any more Buddhist temples while we were in Thailand.
Since that trip, I often think of that day when I have sung that song in church.
Now I have even more memories associated with that sweet little song.
Before every meal my dad sings that song and my mom hums along and sometimes mouths the words. It gets me every single time, because since September 6, 2013, my mom has not spoken. A stroke is a cruel thing. It takes away so much. But my mom HUMS the tune to that song. So awesome!
Hubby and I gave this print to my mom and dad for a Housewarming/Christmas gift. It hangs in their new kitchen. I just love it!
Hubby and I gave this print to my mom and dad for a Housewarming/Christmas gift. It hangs in their new kitchen. I just love it!
We have attended a church here that sings an interesting version of the Doxology at the end of every service. They call it The Gospel Doxology. Here are the words:
Your perfect law exposes me
I feel my sin and desperate need
My best good works are powerless
To satisfy your righteousness
But there is One who lived for me!
His life, my only victory
His death, forever sealed in time
That I am His and He is mine!
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below!
Praise Him, above ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Amen
I am often a puddle of tears when I sing this, in part because of the magnitude of the words and in part because I see and hear my mother humming along and mouthing the words.
The power of music amazes me.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
A Little Update
Here we are a week into 2016. This ole blog fell to the wayside in December. Why? December was a heck of a month for us. Here's a brief summary:
I was pretty sick with a terrible cold most of the first two weeks. The second weekend of December Hubby and I drove to North Carolina to visit my parents in their new home. On the way back home, we got a phone call that Hubby's mother was in the hospital because she had suffered a stroke. Thankfully, she recovered quickly and was home after three days in the hospital.
That same Sunday night found me in the Emergency Room. My heart started racing. I woke Hubby up and told him we needed to go to the hospital. We were in the ER from about 2am to 7am. I was diagnosed with Supra Ventricular Tachycardia. I have since been referred to a cardiologist that specializes in the electrical system of the heart. I may have to have a procedure done to make the cells that made my heart go into SVT not do that anymore.
In the meantime....
The CT Scan I had in the ER showed something on my thyroid. So I had an ultrasound done and that showed a nodule. So now I am waiting for an appointment with an endocrinologist to see what needs to be done about that.
That is the brief summary on why December was a heck of a month.
But, Jesus is still sitting at the right hand of God.
I quite often sing this verse of one of my favorite hymns:
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And has shed His own blood for my soul.
I have shed a lot of tears. I have prayed and prayed. I have BEGGED people to pray for me. I don't know what the outcome of these two things will be. I am trying to cling to what Jesus has done for me.
I would appreciate the prayers of whoever reads this.
I was pretty sick with a terrible cold most of the first two weeks. The second weekend of December Hubby and I drove to North Carolina to visit my parents in their new home. On the way back home, we got a phone call that Hubby's mother was in the hospital because she had suffered a stroke. Thankfully, she recovered quickly and was home after three days in the hospital.
That same Sunday night found me in the Emergency Room. My heart started racing. I woke Hubby up and told him we needed to go to the hospital. We were in the ER from about 2am to 7am. I was diagnosed with Supra Ventricular Tachycardia. I have since been referred to a cardiologist that specializes in the electrical system of the heart. I may have to have a procedure done to make the cells that made my heart go into SVT not do that anymore.
In the meantime....
The CT Scan I had in the ER showed something on my thyroid. So I had an ultrasound done and that showed a nodule. So now I am waiting for an appointment with an endocrinologist to see what needs to be done about that.
That is the brief summary on why December was a heck of a month.
But, Jesus is still sitting at the right hand of God.
I quite often sing this verse of one of my favorite hymns:
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And has shed His own blood for my soul.
I have shed a lot of tears. I have prayed and prayed. I have BEGGED people to pray for me. I don't know what the outcome of these two things will be. I am trying to cling to what Jesus has done for me.
I would appreciate the prayers of whoever reads this.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
Lasts
Years ago I read an article about Lasts. The article pointed
out how we don't always know or notice when the last something will
occur. The purpose of the article was to encourage its readers to savor the moments.
Sometimes lasts are a welcome relief. The last winter we had to live in Minnesota. The last day I had to live in that small town that was so lonely for me. The last day on a job that was so hard to go to everyday. The last day of college classes because you are finally done studying and can get out into the grown-up world.
Some times the lasts are bittersweet. I don't remember the last time my little daughter reached out to hold my hand. I don't remember the last time my little son wanted to watch me put on my makeup. When did my babies last crawl or call for me in the middle of the night? When was the last day they went running to the door when their daddy got home from work? I kept a calendar the first two years of their sweet little lives and wrote down their firsts. Their first tooth, first bottle, first steps, first words, etc. I don't have a calendar of their lasts. Those lasts sneak up on us and go by unnoticed as time marches on.
Maybe that's a good thing because sometimes those lasts can be super painful and if we knew they were coming it would be unbearable.
Like what I've experienced lately.
My parents are in the process of moving to North Carolina. They have lived in Iowa their whole lives except for a few years in the Air Force when they were first married. But now they want to be closer to my sister's family.
I've come to realize that the last time I was in Iowa, two plus weeks ago, was the last time I will see them in the house they have lived in since I was eleven years old. I'm feeling like it's the last time I will ever be in that house and that is very painful for me. I did some serious growing up through my teenage years and college year summers in that house. I lived there longer than any of my siblings. My parents have thrown a lot of parties in that house celebrating graduations, engagements, weddings, birthdays.
The thing with lasts is they sneak up on you and sometimes you don't realize it and you don't get a chance to process and try to comes to terms with it and before you know it, it's done and gone. I thought I would have a chance to do that, but it seems like things are moving along faster than anyone told me, than I thought they would. How did I know that last Christmas was the last one I would ever celebrate in that house? I didn't get a last chance to go through the rooms and see if there are some treasures that time forgot. I won't say I didn't get to at all, because the last time I was there I found a vinyl record of my high school senior year variety show I had forgotten about. How many more of those types of things are there? I'll never know. I didn't get a chance to go room to room and play the memory tapes of the past, of my high school friends hanging out with me in the kitchen, of my date sneaking a kiss in the garage, of my husband and I talking in the basement the day before our wedding, of my son's second birthday party there, of my daughter learning to use a fork or hiding her peas in her glass of milk, of my nieces and nephews sliding down the stairs, of all the kids sledding in the backyard, of my parents at the front door waving good-bye.
Forty-three years of memories. Done. My heart is grieving.
Sometimes lasts are a welcome relief. The last winter we had to live in Minnesota. The last day I had to live in that small town that was so lonely for me. The last day on a job that was so hard to go to everyday. The last day of college classes because you are finally done studying and can get out into the grown-up world.
Some times the lasts are bittersweet. I don't remember the last time my little daughter reached out to hold my hand. I don't remember the last time my little son wanted to watch me put on my makeup. When did my babies last crawl or call for me in the middle of the night? When was the last day they went running to the door when their daddy got home from work? I kept a calendar the first two years of their sweet little lives and wrote down their firsts. Their first tooth, first bottle, first steps, first words, etc. I don't have a calendar of their lasts. Those lasts sneak up on us and go by unnoticed as time marches on.
Maybe that's a good thing because sometimes those lasts can be super painful and if we knew they were coming it would be unbearable.
Like what I've experienced lately.
My parents are in the process of moving to North Carolina. They have lived in Iowa their whole lives except for a few years in the Air Force when they were first married. But now they want to be closer to my sister's family.
I've come to realize that the last time I was in Iowa, two plus weeks ago, was the last time I will see them in the house they have lived in since I was eleven years old. I'm feeling like it's the last time I will ever be in that house and that is very painful for me. I did some serious growing up through my teenage years and college year summers in that house. I lived there longer than any of my siblings. My parents have thrown a lot of parties in that house celebrating graduations, engagements, weddings, birthdays.
The thing with lasts is they sneak up on you and sometimes you don't realize it and you don't get a chance to process and try to comes to terms with it and before you know it, it's done and gone. I thought I would have a chance to do that, but it seems like things are moving along faster than anyone told me, than I thought they would. How did I know that last Christmas was the last one I would ever celebrate in that house? I didn't get a last chance to go through the rooms and see if there are some treasures that time forgot. I won't say I didn't get to at all, because the last time I was there I found a vinyl record of my high school senior year variety show I had forgotten about. How many more of those types of things are there? I'll never know. I didn't get a chance to go room to room and play the memory tapes of the past, of my high school friends hanging out with me in the kitchen, of my date sneaking a kiss in the garage, of my husband and I talking in the basement the day before our wedding, of my son's second birthday party there, of my daughter learning to use a fork or hiding her peas in her glass of milk, of my nieces and nephews sliding down the stairs, of all the kids sledding in the backyard, of my parents at the front door waving good-bye.
Forty-three years of memories. Done. My heart is grieving.
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
Weary
Last night Hubby was invited to attend a Greenville Drive minor league baseball game by a local college that Hubby's company works with. Since he could bring a guest, I tagged along. I'm not a huge sports fan, but I can sit through a game now and then and sitting in a suite, meeting some new people and having yummy food sounded fun.
The game was rain-delayed about an hour, someone forgot to order the food and we ended up with hotdogs and chicken strips. Not terrible, but not great. I ended up not talking to anyone. A few people introduced themselves, but quickly went on to other conversations.
I titled this post Weary. Why? Because that's how I am feeling about this move. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy to be here in South Carolina. It's a beautiful part of the country that I haven't explored and am excited to. It's just this transition time that seems to drag on and on and being the new kid on the block that is making me weary.
I don't know if it's just me or if it's common with all humans, but I long to feel like I belong. I've even forced myself to use the word (or is it words) Y'all to try to sound like I belong, but it sounds foreign to this Midwesterner. (But I'll keep trying because it is cooler sounding that You Guys.)
I can't even count the number of churches we have visited since we moved here in January. So far we haven't found one that seems like a good fit. If we have a conversation with someone at one of those churches, it seems to be one sided...the other person doing all the talking and not asking any questions about us. Is it because we all have a desire to tell our story? I know I do and I get weary because no one wants to hear it. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe the point of all this is for me to learn other people's stories and not push mine. All the same, I still long for a friend I can meet for lunch and have a nice long two-sided talk.
I think God created us to be in relationship with other people. In fellowship with other believers. I keep looking for that, but I grow weary at times.
When we were looking for a new job, our prayers turned from, "Dear God, Make this job available because this town seems like a logical place for us to move to because of location and closeness of family," to (after many no's from God), "Dear God, Your will. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else. Amen." So even though I don't understand how living halfway across the country from our kids is God's answer to that prayer, I believe this place is God's answer to that prayer.
There is a story in the Old Testament book of Exodus, chapter 17 about a battle the Israelites were in:
So Joshua fought the Amalekites as Moses had ordered, and Moses, Aaron and Hur went to the top of the hill. As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up—one on one side, one on the other—so that his hands remained steady till sunset. So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword.
Exodus 17:10-13
I feel weary and tired. I need help and prayer to keep my head up. I want living in South Carolina to be a wonderful experience we look back on with fond, positive memories. I'll keep praying, "Dear God, Your will. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else. Amen." I'll probably continue to have times when I feel weary.
But in the end,
God is still God and Jesus is still sitting at His right hand.
And that's all that is important.
Praise be to God.
The game was rain-delayed about an hour, someone forgot to order the food and we ended up with hotdogs and chicken strips. Not terrible, but not great. I ended up not talking to anyone. A few people introduced themselves, but quickly went on to other conversations.
I titled this post Weary. Why? Because that's how I am feeling about this move. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy to be here in South Carolina. It's a beautiful part of the country that I haven't explored and am excited to. It's just this transition time that seems to drag on and on and being the new kid on the block that is making me weary.
I don't know if it's just me or if it's common with all humans, but I long to feel like I belong. I've even forced myself to use the word (or is it words) Y'all to try to sound like I belong, but it sounds foreign to this Midwesterner. (But I'll keep trying because it is cooler sounding that You Guys.)
I can't even count the number of churches we have visited since we moved here in January. So far we haven't found one that seems like a good fit. If we have a conversation with someone at one of those churches, it seems to be one sided...the other person doing all the talking and not asking any questions about us. Is it because we all have a desire to tell our story? I know I do and I get weary because no one wants to hear it. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe the point of all this is for me to learn other people's stories and not push mine. All the same, I still long for a friend I can meet for lunch and have a nice long two-sided talk.
I think God created us to be in relationship with other people. In fellowship with other believers. I keep looking for that, but I grow weary at times.
When we were looking for a new job, our prayers turned from, "Dear God, Make this job available because this town seems like a logical place for us to move to because of location and closeness of family," to (after many no's from God), "Dear God, Your will. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else. Amen." So even though I don't understand how living halfway across the country from our kids is God's answer to that prayer, I believe this place is God's answer to that prayer.
There is a story in the Old Testament book of Exodus, chapter 17 about a battle the Israelites were in:
So Joshua fought the Amalekites as Moses had ordered, and Moses, Aaron and Hur went to the top of the hill. As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up—one on one side, one on the other—so that his hands remained steady till sunset. So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword.
Exodus 17:10-13
I feel weary and tired. I need help and prayer to keep my head up. I want living in South Carolina to be a wonderful experience we look back on with fond, positive memories. I'll keep praying, "Dear God, Your will. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing else. Amen." I'll probably continue to have times when I feel weary.
But in the end,
God is still God and Jesus is still sitting at His right hand.
And that's all that is important.
Praise be to God.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Friends
Since September 6, 2013 I have been a witness to some remarkable friendships. That day is the day my mother had a severe stroke. That day is the day I began to watch my parents' friends step up and demonstrate what friends really are.
When that terrible stroke hit my mother, my dad and Mom's friend, Lois, were with her. As they were following the ambulance to the hospital, Lois was on her phone calling my dad's friend, Pat. Within a few minutes Pat was at the hospital by my dad's side and stayed until my sister arrived. The next day Pat brought sub sandwiches for all of us who were in the ICU waiting room. I was with my dad for the first week Mom was in the hospital. Every single day Pat came by and Lois came by. There were also visits from several friends they have been in a Bible study with for years. When Mom was finally able to move home five months later, those friends continued to visit and bring meals to their house. Pat came every Sunday afternoon to visit. He would great my mother with, "Hello, Beautiful", which always made her smile.
We got news today that Pat is now on hospice care for cancer that has metastasized. My heart just aches for my dad. I ache for the hole that will be left when Pat is gone. Pat has been an encouragement for Dad. Pat has been a support for him. Pat has made my dad laugh. Pat has been a help to Dad. (Pat built a ramp in their garage for my mom's wheelchair.) Every Sunday, Pat is right there as my dad pulls up to the building and gets the wheelchair out of the back of the van for Dad, the footrests that are in the back seat and then will park the van for Dad.
Today I read this post by Sophie Hudson on Ann Voskamp's blog about what her mama taught her about friendships. At the end of her article, Sophie said:
Because in sincere, God-honoring friendships, you don’t compete - you serve.
You don’t push people down; you lift them up.
You encourage.
You esteem.
You honor.
I have watched Pat do all of these. My dad is blessed to have had a friendship like this. I have been blessed to witness this friendship.
I have thanked God many times for Pat and Lois and their loyal friendships with my parents. Many times I have asked God to bless them. Pat is ready to see Jesus and to see his wife (who passed away about 3 years ago).
I am praying for my dad as he grieves the loss of his friend.
When that terrible stroke hit my mother, my dad and Mom's friend, Lois, were with her. As they were following the ambulance to the hospital, Lois was on her phone calling my dad's friend, Pat. Within a few minutes Pat was at the hospital by my dad's side and stayed until my sister arrived. The next day Pat brought sub sandwiches for all of us who were in the ICU waiting room. I was with my dad for the first week Mom was in the hospital. Every single day Pat came by and Lois came by. There were also visits from several friends they have been in a Bible study with for years. When Mom was finally able to move home five months later, those friends continued to visit and bring meals to their house. Pat came every Sunday afternoon to visit. He would great my mother with, "Hello, Beautiful", which always made her smile.
We got news today that Pat is now on hospice care for cancer that has metastasized. My heart just aches for my dad. I ache for the hole that will be left when Pat is gone. Pat has been an encouragement for Dad. Pat has been a support for him. Pat has made my dad laugh. Pat has been a help to Dad. (Pat built a ramp in their garage for my mom's wheelchair.) Every Sunday, Pat is right there as my dad pulls up to the building and gets the wheelchair out of the back of the van for Dad, the footrests that are in the back seat and then will park the van for Dad.
Today I read this post by Sophie Hudson on Ann Voskamp's blog about what her mama taught her about friendships. At the end of her article, Sophie said:
Because in sincere, God-honoring friendships, you don’t compete - you serve.
You don’t push people down; you lift them up.
You encourage.
You esteem.
You honor.
I have watched Pat do all of these. My dad is blessed to have had a friendship like this. I have been blessed to witness this friendship.
I have thanked God many times for Pat and Lois and their loyal friendships with my parents. Many times I have asked God to bless them. Pat is ready to see Jesus and to see his wife (who passed away about 3 years ago).
I am praying for my dad as he grieves the loss of his friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)