Sometimes, there is a downside to working in hospice and it is different than what you might think. It's not too much death or dying, but a hyper-awareness of time in my normal every-day living.
Nothing brings this home more than when I'm trying to track down my percussionist in the orbit of high school marching band when I can't get him on the phone.
Does that seem like a weird set of circumstances to bring the old sand-filled hourglass center stage?
I'm hoping I can explain, and figure it out for myself at the same time...
I get to meet people in the evening of life on a routine basis. Very often, they've become secondary to the people in their lives for whom they were primary for a good long while. Spouses and kids, mostly. They were wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, and their best years were the same years I'm living now. But, their people slowly moved on. They were moved from the center of their lives to the periphery, and became someone to check in on, rather than someone to be included and enjoyed.
My eyes are wide open to this shift. I'm becoming aware of the people in my life who may feel like they've been dropped in a secondary slot, permanently. I am still primary for my children because I can drive and grocery shop and facilitate everything that is important to them. But, I am inching my way to the periphery and every time I'm holding my phone and there is no answer on the other end, I know.
An unscheduled weekend rolls in and feels like a blessing and a curse because time together is so important. But, finding more than two people who want to do the same thing is a chore and getting all five to agree is nearly impossible.
So, we compromise.
At the river, a couple of us fished down the bank a little ways, I sat on an uncomfortable rock until my butt hurt and then filled a trash bag with other people's trash, while someone else threw rocks at spiders the size of grapefruits, hoping to pass a few minutes while noting, "this is the-most-redneck-vacation." It seemed like the best bonding moment was our unanimous relief to be back home, savoring the memory that we created. Mainly, that we didn't want to go back there any time soon. No discussion needed.
Sunday kept us altogether for breakfast and Mass, but separate for the rest due to attractions that couldn't be resisted and commitments that needed to be kept. But, fortunately for me, my plans included sitting poolside and holding a baby for a couple of hours which seemed to slow time a bit. Gratefully.
Unless I am hitting Sonic at Happy Hour, there are few things my boys are interested in joining me for, and doing things as a family is, well, usually a compromise for most of us. So, I sit on the futon as long as anyone will sit by me, deliver pigs in a blanket to a fort in the woods, change my schedule to steal a lunch date at Subway, and go to the skate park when it's almost dark because "they have lights, you know".
I know I am becoming secondary. Just in little moments for now, but they are coming more frequently and I know they will keep coming, as they should. Occasionally, someone will notice a little tear and recognize that I'm not okay and while I'm trying to find the words to explain, they decide they didn't really want an explanation, anyway. And I'm relieved, because I couldn't really explain it, anyway.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Monday, September 30, 2019
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Living Someone Else's Dream
It's the first full day of summer, and I need to capture the feeling that it holds for me, before it changes. It reminds me of when I was pregnant with my first child and everyone kept telling me I wouldn't remember what life before children was like, after I had children. They were right. It would never be the same again.
For the first time, a summer stretched out before me seems like a tremendous gift. I've always looked forward to summers and all that they hold, but saw them less as a gift and something that simply was. But, things are different now. I'm standing at the brink of starting a new career and becoming a student again after fifteen years. I may not have many or even one more non-working summer ahead. I've also spent two days a week for the last nine weeks in the hospital doing my chaplain internship, mostly in the ER and day surgery, and I'm looking through a new set of glasses.
These glasses reveal the gifts of my life more than ever before. My family has our health and we have time to spend together. We get to choose what we want to do next. Our only limitations are money and a lack of imagination. Our biggest cross is boredom. We did not just lose a baby who died in the middle of the night. We are not bound by a chemotherapy or dialysis schedule. We do not have to scour labels for gluten, or fear diabetic coma because we had cake and ice cream at a birthday party. We do not struggle with chronic pain or anxiety. We are not suffering from homelessness, hunger, loneliness, or addiction. We don't have gall stones, kidney stones, or infections of any kind. We aren't burdened by the sadness that comes from watching someone you love fight to live. We have everything we want, and nothing that we don't want. Who can say that?
We were at my niece's high school graduation a couple of nights ago, and one of the students said he wanted to join the Marines and have a family when he got out. I leaned over to my husband and whispered, "You are living someone else's dream." He half-jokingly said, "That's a big responsibility." But, I've been thinking about that. Our whole life is someone else's dream. Other people dream about when all of their children were young. When everyone was healthy. When everyone was alive. When everyone was happy. When everyone had time to spend together. These days of mine are the "good 'ol days" of their's.
Living someone else's dream is a big responsibility. It is quite possible that other people would die (or give anything) to have what we have. Our responsibility is to appreciate what we have, and try to stay present. In the midst of chaos, fighting, ingratitude, and boredom, I am tempted to wish these moments away. To look forward to another, more peaceful time. To escape. Is it just me, or is it funny to think that we may be escaping back to these very moments that we feel so desperate to leave?
We have the privilege of knowing a 93-year-old woman. We took her to church for a couple of years, but her health is failing, so I've been looking in on her a little more often. She appreciates my visits tremendously, but gently chastises me about needing to be home with my family. The last time, she told me that "Families don't last forever" and I need to be spending my time with them. When she said that, she caught me off-guard; I felt a little shock wave go out from my heart through the rest of my body. Is it possible my family won't last forever, or at least until I die? Is it possible that something could happen that would change the way we relate to each other forever? Yes. It is possible. And I am a better woman, wife, sister, daughter, and mother when I force myself to sit in the uncomfortable place where this question lives. Just for a little while.
My 93-year-old friend knows this. She is the last living among her siblings, and many of them were younger than her. For a long time, she has wondered why the Lord allowed her to survive them all. She raised six children whom she did not bear. Her husband's first wife died in a plane accident. The youngest child was 3-years-old when their Mom died. Her memories of living in a family like mine are but a distant memory, so she urges me to be present and live family life well, while I still can.
*If we bump into each other this summer, and I seem to have lost the wonder and appreciation of the gifts of time and family, please gently remind me and I'll do the same for you.
Dear God of the Summertime,
Thank you. Thank you for days upon days on the calendar that are wide open to encounter your love through creatures and creation. Thank you for the gift of health. Thank you for the gift of time. Thank you for the gift of family. Lord, please be very near to those whose only experience of these gifts is their desire for them. For us, whom you've blessed beyond measure, give us the grace to give from the abundance you've bestowed. Help us to live in a way that honors the responsibility we have, while we're living someone else's dream. Please bless and accompany all who are suffering in body, mind, or spirit. Amen.
For the first time, a summer stretched out before me seems like a tremendous gift. I've always looked forward to summers and all that they hold, but saw them less as a gift and something that simply was. But, things are different now. I'm standing at the brink of starting a new career and becoming a student again after fifteen years. I may not have many or even one more non-working summer ahead. I've also spent two days a week for the last nine weeks in the hospital doing my chaplain internship, mostly in the ER and day surgery, and I'm looking through a new set of glasses.
These glasses reveal the gifts of my life more than ever before. My family has our health and we have time to spend together. We get to choose what we want to do next. Our only limitations are money and a lack of imagination. Our biggest cross is boredom. We did not just lose a baby who died in the middle of the night. We are not bound by a chemotherapy or dialysis schedule. We do not have to scour labels for gluten, or fear diabetic coma because we had cake and ice cream at a birthday party. We do not struggle with chronic pain or anxiety. We are not suffering from homelessness, hunger, loneliness, or addiction. We don't have gall stones, kidney stones, or infections of any kind. We aren't burdened by the sadness that comes from watching someone you love fight to live. We have everything we want, and nothing that we don't want. Who can say that?
We were at my niece's high school graduation a couple of nights ago, and one of the students said he wanted to join the Marines and have a family when he got out. I leaned over to my husband and whispered, "You are living someone else's dream." He half-jokingly said, "That's a big responsibility." But, I've been thinking about that. Our whole life is someone else's dream. Other people dream about when all of their children were young. When everyone was healthy. When everyone was alive. When everyone was happy. When everyone had time to spend together. These days of mine are the "good 'ol days" of their's.
Living someone else's dream is a big responsibility. It is quite possible that other people would die (or give anything) to have what we have. Our responsibility is to appreciate what we have, and try to stay present. In the midst of chaos, fighting, ingratitude, and boredom, I am tempted to wish these moments away. To look forward to another, more peaceful time. To escape. Is it just me, or is it funny to think that we may be escaping back to these very moments that we feel so desperate to leave?
We have the privilege of knowing a 93-year-old woman. We took her to church for a couple of years, but her health is failing, so I've been looking in on her a little more often. She appreciates my visits tremendously, but gently chastises me about needing to be home with my family. The last time, she told me that "Families don't last forever" and I need to be spending my time with them. When she said that, she caught me off-guard; I felt a little shock wave go out from my heart through the rest of my body. Is it possible my family won't last forever, or at least until I die? Is it possible that something could happen that would change the way we relate to each other forever? Yes. It is possible. And I am a better woman, wife, sister, daughter, and mother when I force myself to sit in the uncomfortable place where this question lives. Just for a little while.
My 93-year-old friend knows this. She is the last living among her siblings, and many of them were younger than her. For a long time, she has wondered why the Lord allowed her to survive them all. She raised six children whom she did not bear. Her husband's first wife died in a plane accident. The youngest child was 3-years-old when their Mom died. Her memories of living in a family like mine are but a distant memory, so she urges me to be present and live family life well, while I still can.
*If we bump into each other this summer, and I seem to have lost the wonder and appreciation of the gifts of time and family, please gently remind me and I'll do the same for you.
Dear God of the Summertime,
Thank you. Thank you for days upon days on the calendar that are wide open to encounter your love through creatures and creation. Thank you for the gift of health. Thank you for the gift of time. Thank you for the gift of family. Lord, please be very near to those whose only experience of these gifts is their desire for them. For us, whom you've blessed beyond measure, give us the grace to give from the abundance you've bestowed. Help us to live in a way that honors the responsibility we have, while we're living someone else's dream. Please bless and accompany all who are suffering in body, mind, or spirit. Amen.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Four Motherless Children
Disclaimer: I am not a perfect mother. I am not even an excellent mother; I know a lot of moms who are better at motherhood than I am. But, by the grace of God, I love being a Mom (most of the time), and I am either with or available to my boys. Once disorder sets in, there are a lot of circumstances that cannot be helped. Addiction and divorce are two of them. I am not criticizing the mothers below. I could easily be where they are, if my circumstances were the same. I simply pray for them, and grieve for their children.
I spent three and a half hours at the skate park with my two older boys yesterday afternoon. The skate park is almost always a win-win because they're doing what they want to do, and I get to be outside, sitting. Two of my favorite things. But, if you've read some of my other posts, you already know that sometimes I leave with a heavy heart. Yesterday was one of those days.
The first heartbreak (and joy) was spending the afternoon with my little four-year-old buddy. He was there before we arrived and stayed until who-knows-when after we left. His 7th grade brother was also there, and everybody knows them, but the just-turned-four-year-old is still pretty much on his own. At some point, his older sister showed up to bring him lunch. A sandwich, chips, and a Capri Sun. She left right afterwards. His brother "stole" his chips, and they were ultimately spilled on the ground. It was the first time I ever saw him cry. I was getting ready to head home to supplement his lunch when one of the girls hanging around offered to buy him another bag, which was the first act of kindness I've seen there (that part was refreshing).
I asked the boys if their Mom ever came to watch them. The little one said, "No". The older one said, "Sometimes." While I was thinking about my four-year-old at home napping, and seeing my little friend's "thousand yard stare", I was struck by such a feeling of helplessness. After sitting with him the whole afternoon, I had to tell him it was time for us to leave because I had to make dinner. The helplessness struck again. He can't cross the street by himself and he can't come home with me...
His mother is alive, and lives right across the street. I can't blame her because I don't know her, and justice is not mine to meter out. But, I know what I see (and have seen many, many times), and that, for whatever reason, is a motherless child.
The second heartbreak was running into an old friend who told me "Things aren't so good at home right now." I pressed a little, and he told me that his wife (and mother of his only son) is strung out on prescription drugs and alcohol. She was recently arrested for public intoxication after she lost her son at the store. She just went through a drug rehab program, and according to him, things look the same as before. I overheard one of their friends say, "I hate seeing her like that. She wouldn't even talk to us." Her son is the same age as mine. And right now, he is a motherless child.
The third heartbreak was when my friend told me that a mutual friend moved several states away, to live closer to her daughter. The closer-to-her-daughter part was good, but she had to leave her two boys behind with her husband. Again, they're about the same age as my guys. Until they rendezvous for the summer or holidays, it seems to me, they are motherless children.
I have to admit, my boys don't seem like they need me most of the time. But, I cannot imagine being separated from them for much more than a week. Anything less than that, I fantasize about. But anything more, I cannot fathom. I can't imagine saying goodbye, or leaving them in my rearview mirror, or not being "there", for whatever.
I ache for these mothers, for I know their love is no less than mine. I ache for these children, for I know their love is as boundless as any child's love. I am powerless to reunite them or swoop in to fix what's been rent. But, I can pray for them, and love more intensely, because the thought of living in any one of their shoes, unable or unwilling to guide the children God entrusted to me, leaves me numb.
And to the parents in my community, who lost their 4-year-old son last week when he was accidentally killed in their driveway, please keep loving. The kids in this world need your love. We all do.
Dear Jesus,
Thank you for Your Mother, who was present throughout Your Life, and most especially at the foot of the cross, when very few were left. Thank you for a mother's heart. Help us to intercede for those children, mothers, and families where something has gone awry. Please comfort those who need more love than what they receive. Please help us to take our responsibility as parents seriously, for it is the greatest work on earth, and we will have to give an account of how we've done. Please be with parents of older children who have to make them live somewhere other than home, to keep them safe. Please hear the cries of those parents who have lost their children. The pain of trying to imagine it is unbearable. There can be no words for the pain of living it. Please give us the grace to love well while we can, since we do not know how long we get to try. Amen.
I spent three and a half hours at the skate park with my two older boys yesterday afternoon. The skate park is almost always a win-win because they're doing what they want to do, and I get to be outside, sitting. Two of my favorite things. But, if you've read some of my other posts, you already know that sometimes I leave with a heavy heart. Yesterday was one of those days.
The first heartbreak (and joy) was spending the afternoon with my little four-year-old buddy. He was there before we arrived and stayed until who-knows-when after we left. His 7th grade brother was also there, and everybody knows them, but the just-turned-four-year-old is still pretty much on his own. At some point, his older sister showed up to bring him lunch. A sandwich, chips, and a Capri Sun. She left right afterwards. His brother "stole" his chips, and they were ultimately spilled on the ground. It was the first time I ever saw him cry. I was getting ready to head home to supplement his lunch when one of the girls hanging around offered to buy him another bag, which was the first act of kindness I've seen there (that part was refreshing).
I asked the boys if their Mom ever came to watch them. The little one said, "No". The older one said, "Sometimes." While I was thinking about my four-year-old at home napping, and seeing my little friend's "thousand yard stare", I was struck by such a feeling of helplessness. After sitting with him the whole afternoon, I had to tell him it was time for us to leave because I had to make dinner. The helplessness struck again. He can't cross the street by himself and he can't come home with me...
His mother is alive, and lives right across the street. I can't blame her because I don't know her, and justice is not mine to meter out. But, I know what I see (and have seen many, many times), and that, for whatever reason, is a motherless child.
The second heartbreak was running into an old friend who told me "Things aren't so good at home right now." I pressed a little, and he told me that his wife (and mother of his only son) is strung out on prescription drugs and alcohol. She was recently arrested for public intoxication after she lost her son at the store. She just went through a drug rehab program, and according to him, things look the same as before. I overheard one of their friends say, "I hate seeing her like that. She wouldn't even talk to us." Her son is the same age as mine. And right now, he is a motherless child.
The third heartbreak was when my friend told me that a mutual friend moved several states away, to live closer to her daughter. The closer-to-her-daughter part was good, but she had to leave her two boys behind with her husband. Again, they're about the same age as my guys. Until they rendezvous for the summer or holidays, it seems to me, they are motherless children.
I have to admit, my boys don't seem like they need me most of the time. But, I cannot imagine being separated from them for much more than a week. Anything less than that, I fantasize about. But anything more, I cannot fathom. I can't imagine saying goodbye, or leaving them in my rearview mirror, or not being "there", for whatever.
I ache for these mothers, for I know their love is no less than mine. I ache for these children, for I know their love is as boundless as any child's love. I am powerless to reunite them or swoop in to fix what's been rent. But, I can pray for them, and love more intensely, because the thought of living in any one of their shoes, unable or unwilling to guide the children God entrusted to me, leaves me numb.
And to the parents in my community, who lost their 4-year-old son last week when he was accidentally killed in their driveway, please keep loving. The kids in this world need your love. We all do.
Dear Jesus,
Thank you for Your Mother, who was present throughout Your Life, and most especially at the foot of the cross, when very few were left. Thank you for a mother's heart. Help us to intercede for those children, mothers, and families where something has gone awry. Please comfort those who need more love than what they receive. Please help us to take our responsibility as parents seriously, for it is the greatest work on earth, and we will have to give an account of how we've done. Please be with parents of older children who have to make them live somewhere other than home, to keep them safe. Please hear the cries of those parents who have lost their children. The pain of trying to imagine it is unbearable. There can be no words for the pain of living it. Please give us the grace to love well while we can, since we do not know how long we get to try. Amen.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Six Thoughts in Four Days
My youngest brother got married yesterday. His wedding was as beautiful as his bride, who was so beautiful, I cried when I saw her. They are perfect for each other and I was beyond proud to be a part of it.
We got home from Kansas a few hours ago and my mind is busy with thoughts from the last four days. Being in a different environment with a lot of different people gave me some food for thought.
We got home from Kansas a few hours ago and my mind is busy with thoughts from the last four days. Being in a different environment with a lot of different people gave me some food for thought.
Thought 1: I don't like being around drunk people. It sounds harsh, but I don't respect them. I'm trying to put my finger on it, but I think it's a combination of a lack of self-control, the transformation from something genuine to something less so, and the idea of drinking to an end. The actual enjoyment of drinking seems to get lost in the pursuit of getting drunk. It reminds me of those people who compete in eating contests. They don't eat to enjoy the food, they eat to eat a lot. 40 hotdogs in how many minutes? Blech.
And yet, I envy their ability to enjoy themselves without regard for anyone else. I love the idea of blending in with the crowd, and enjoying myself in a room full of tipsy people. But, all I really want to do is run away, which makes me feel a bit like an uptight spinster, a prude, and a freak.
And yet, I envy their ability to enjoy themselves without regard for anyone else. I love the idea of blending in with the crowd, and enjoying myself in a room full of tipsy people. But, all I really want to do is run away, which makes me feel a bit like an uptight spinster, a prude, and a freak.
Maybe I'm missing out. I've never even had a good buzz, much less been drunk. I can't get past feeling my eyes move around in my head after one wine cooler. And how do people drink so much beer (or any liquid) without their stomachs crying out in protest? I can't imagine drinking 3 or 6 or 10 sodas in a row. There's something about it that is totally beyond me. All I really know, is that it has a lot of power over people, especially ones I love. And it is a power I loathe and distrust.
Thought 2: I love my husband. A lot. And my family loves him. A lot. But, he doesn't sit well for any length of time and he likes to be in his own house. We were only at my parent's for four full days. He was ready to go home at the end of day 2. I usually want to know how he's feeling, good or bad. But, I would rather not know this. When I realize it, I pick up and carry the burden of him wishing he were elsewhere. It disturbs my peace and dampens my joy. If I dwell on it, I begin to feel like he's stealing something from me. Something that I already have precious little of. Time with my family - who lives ten hours away - who I see about three times a year.
To be fair, there are two sides to every story, and I know I am not an attentive wife and mother when we go there. I'm distracted by conversation with whoever happens by, and busy sketching the plan of how to fit everyone in. Meanwhile, he's being hen-pecked (rooster-pecked?) by boys who want to ride the four-wheeler and shoot fireworks and start a fire and be pushed on the swing. Based on that alone, I can see why it isn't exactly the vacation for him that it is for me. But, it would be nice if it were.
Thought 3: I never thought I could get tired of hearing good things about myself or anyone else. But, I can. On all accounts. I don't tire of thinking good things about others, but I do tire of talking about them.
Thought 4: My boys are growing up. They need me for little and want me for the same. So, after no nap and an unsuccessful search for "Bear", his best friend and constant companion, my 4-year-old fell asleep on me at the wedding reception. This is the boy who doesn't give hugs and kisses anymore and loves to tell me how pretty I don't look. He slept so hard, he peed his pants, and mine. I was in heaven, just the same.
They really do grow up. As parents of young children, we're careful to record our baby's and toddler's "firsts". First tooth, first word, first step, first haircut, etc... But there are as many "lasts" as there are firsts. (Like, maybe, hopefully not, but maybe, holding a pee-soaked 4-year-old on your lap for the last time). Lasts just aren't so obvious. And that's a good thing because we might never stop crying over the things that will be no more.
Thought 5: On the other end of life, I reminisced with one of my Dad's old friends about water fights and days gone by. He's been doing the chemo/radiation routine to fight cancer for awhile now. There's no hope of eradicating it, they're just trying to slow it down. When we said goodbye, he said, "I hope to see you again while I'm still alive." I choked back the tears and said, "Me, too", knowing that I wouldn't.
Saying your last goodbye to a dying man in the middle of a party isn't something that makes any emotional sense. This man and his wife were the couple who "caught" the bouquet at my wedding. We gave it to the couple who had been married the longest, and that was ten years ago. While the young newlyweds danced the night away on hearts full of promise and dreams, time is running out for a man and wife who have lived them, and tucked them away. They still have promises and dreams, but they are for eternity and those they'll leave behind.
Thought 6: I regret not slow-dancing with my husband. I assumed we would early on, but I ended up holding my son, talking, or cleaning up. When I realized that it was almost time to leave, I listened intently for a good slow-dance song, but one never came. By the end of the night, I only danced to one song, and that was with my brother, the groom - for a dollar.
I should have done better than that. I guess we don't have to wait for somebody to get married to dance. We have music and a hardwood floor at home. But, we also have a TV, and a computer, and little kids. Maybe we just need a date night...
Dear Author of all that is good,
Thank you for our safe travel today. Thank you for the guardian angels who watched over us. Thank you for my little brother and his new wife. Please watch over them as they leave for their honeymoon tomorrow, and all the days of their lives. Thank you for families that just keep growing. Thank you for parents who pray and invest in their kids, and in their kids' kids. Please bless Ed and his wife as he continues treatment. Thank you for their example and their love.
Thank you for the freedom we have in this country. Please help us to use it in a way that pleases You. Thank you for fireworks, and every other reason we have to cast our eyes heavenward.
Lord, please grant me wisdom and compassion where alcohol is concerned. I don't know what I don't know, and I need You to show me.
Lord, please help me to be grateful for "what is", so that I may not live with regret when it is no longer. In Your Wisdom, you spared us the constant awareness of those things that slip away from us. Thank You. Please help me redeem the mistakes I've made this past week in the week ahead. And please bless my family, friends, and all whom I include in my poor prayers. Amen.
To be fair, there are two sides to every story, and I know I am not an attentive wife and mother when we go there. I'm distracted by conversation with whoever happens by, and busy sketching the plan of how to fit everyone in. Meanwhile, he's being hen-pecked (rooster-pecked?) by boys who want to ride the four-wheeler and shoot fireworks and start a fire and be pushed on the swing. Based on that alone, I can see why it isn't exactly the vacation for him that it is for me. But, it would be nice if it were.
Thought 3: I never thought I could get tired of hearing good things about myself or anyone else. But, I can. On all accounts. I don't tire of thinking good things about others, but I do tire of talking about them.
Thought 4: My boys are growing up. They need me for little and want me for the same. So, after no nap and an unsuccessful search for "Bear", his best friend and constant companion, my 4-year-old fell asleep on me at the wedding reception. This is the boy who doesn't give hugs and kisses anymore and loves to tell me how pretty I don't look. He slept so hard, he peed his pants, and mine. I was in heaven, just the same.
They really do grow up. As parents of young children, we're careful to record our baby's and toddler's "firsts". First tooth, first word, first step, first haircut, etc... But there are as many "lasts" as there are firsts. (Like, maybe, hopefully not, but maybe, holding a pee-soaked 4-year-old on your lap for the last time). Lasts just aren't so obvious. And that's a good thing because we might never stop crying over the things that will be no more.
Thought 5: On the other end of life, I reminisced with one of my Dad's old friends about water fights and days gone by. He's been doing the chemo/radiation routine to fight cancer for awhile now. There's no hope of eradicating it, they're just trying to slow it down. When we said goodbye, he said, "I hope to see you again while I'm still alive." I choked back the tears and said, "Me, too", knowing that I wouldn't.
Saying your last goodbye to a dying man in the middle of a party isn't something that makes any emotional sense. This man and his wife were the couple who "caught" the bouquet at my wedding. We gave it to the couple who had been married the longest, and that was ten years ago. While the young newlyweds danced the night away on hearts full of promise and dreams, time is running out for a man and wife who have lived them, and tucked them away. They still have promises and dreams, but they are for eternity and those they'll leave behind.
Thought 6: I regret not slow-dancing with my husband. I assumed we would early on, but I ended up holding my son, talking, or cleaning up. When I realized that it was almost time to leave, I listened intently for a good slow-dance song, but one never came. By the end of the night, I only danced to one song, and that was with my brother, the groom - for a dollar.
I should have done better than that. I guess we don't have to wait for somebody to get married to dance. We have music and a hardwood floor at home. But, we also have a TV, and a computer, and little kids. Maybe we just need a date night...
Dear Author of all that is good,
Thank you for our safe travel today. Thank you for the guardian angels who watched over us. Thank you for my little brother and his new wife. Please watch over them as they leave for their honeymoon tomorrow, and all the days of their lives. Thank you for families that just keep growing. Thank you for parents who pray and invest in their kids, and in their kids' kids. Please bless Ed and his wife as he continues treatment. Thank you for their example and their love.
Thank you for the freedom we have in this country. Please help us to use it in a way that pleases You. Thank you for fireworks, and every other reason we have to cast our eyes heavenward.
Lord, please grant me wisdom and compassion where alcohol is concerned. I don't know what I don't know, and I need You to show me.
Lord, please help me to be grateful for "what is", so that I may not live with regret when it is no longer. In Your Wisdom, you spared us the constant awareness of those things that slip away from us. Thank You. Please help me redeem the mistakes I've made this past week in the week ahead. And please bless my family, friends, and all whom I include in my poor prayers. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)