The Agony of Decisions

Every day of our lives we make decisions. Sometimes we know at the time that the consequences of a particular decision may be far-reaching. Other times we think we are just making some very simple choice, and later discover that the impact was monumental. I suppose one could go stark raving mad if too much time was spent in pondering this dilemma. Or, perhaps, paralysis and inability to make any decision on even the most minor of issues could set in.

Just lately I have found myself involved in, or in some way influencing, decisions relating to three different rather serious family situations.

My brother hit the bottom of the barrel in his life and has needed help turning it around. During the past four weeks, he and I have talked through multiple issues on which a choice needed to be made.

A granddaughter turned eighteen and signed herself out of a residential treatment facility and is now living with her mother for the first time in several years. Anxiety infused phone calls are routine. Sometimes I just listen, other times I caution or encourage. A phone call just after I dozed off last night required a cup of warm milk and a little TV to get me distracted enough to be able to go back to sleep.

My mother-in-law has a serious physical problem and surgery has been suggested, but she is nearly 91. Surgery seems like an insane option.... unless that "what if" happens.

I don't know with certainty that any of the advice I offer is correct. I don't know if some of the help I have extended is really "helpful."

I just keep praying for wisdom and believing God's promise that if anyone lacks wisdom, he can ask for it, and it will not be denied. I do not believe in a God who plays hide and seek with me, and who would delight in watching me make a wrong choice. I believe God is good, and that He loves each of us uniquely. I make choices in that context, prayerfully believing that even if I make a "wrong" turn, God's hands are not tied. He is still capable of accomplishing His purposes. However, I would sure rather be making choices that put me on His side.

Oh, yes...about the up-coming election. Do I vote for the candidate who best represents my views, but who probably can't win, or do I vote for the least objectionable of the remaining options?

The Miracle of Healing

Last week I cut my right index finger while cleaning out a can for recycling. (As an aside, do you ever wonder if recycling is worth it given the use of water and risk of injury?)

In any event, the cut was a nasty thing, because there were actually two slices and the chunk of flesh between them fell out. So, I had this rectangular hole which bled profusely through multiple bandaids until I spent a couple of hours holding my finger in the air as though I was practicing to sing the old Sunday School song "This Little Light of Mine."

For a couple of days, I had to first put on a non-stick gauze and then a thicker gauze over it, and then add a layer of tape tightly wrapped. Now I am down to a simple bandaid to protect it during the day, and I leave it open to the air at night.

I'm thinking how amazing this is, and how we take it for granted. By a complex biochemical mechanism, clotting occurs. A scab is constructed and cells divide and gradually fill in the gap. We don't have to give it any thought. I have gone about my daily routine with only some minor inconvenience while this process has automatically taken place.

If this healing was instantaneous, we would call is a miracle. But, isn't it a miracle even if it happens slowly and on a small scale...like a finger...as opposed to a large scale like a major wound or surgical incision?

I don't understand anyone who doesn't believe in an intelligent being having thought this all out. It makes me sick that atheists smirk at the lack of intelligence in those of us who have the audacity to believe in a "Creative Director." I think it is just plain stupid and totally illogical to think that this evolved without being directed by someone with extraordinary intelligence.

Years ago, I remember reading an article (I can't remember if it was in Smithsonian or Scientific American) which was written from an atheistic evolutionary perspective. The author, actually commented that "Mother Nature" had directed the evolution. HA! Everyone knows that Mother Nature is a myth. He apparently just couldn't resist the notion that it was planned. I'm surprised an editor didn't catch that.

I can't resist the notion that my finger didn't heal by an accidental mechanism. All of the components came into play at the correct time, because someone figured it out. That is, of course, only one of millions of "miracles" that happen everywhere in the universe, every day of time.

Kudos to the "Creative Director." Applause! Applause!

The Fun is in the Contrast

I awakened this morning to a cold and dismal day. I snuggled up against my husband and felt warm and at peace listening to the sound of the rain pelting the roof. Eventually I got up and showered. I always feel so grateful for a warm shower in the morning.

But, a great part of the enjoyment of these simple things is in the contrast. I compare the snuggle time in the morning with the rest of the day, or with the times my husband is away on a business trip and I awaken to an empty cold expanse on the other side of the bed. I need those times in order to realize the blessing of the cozy times.

If someone made me stay in a warm shower all day, it would amount to torture. It is only delightful, because it doesn't last forever.

I was at a health fair at a prison on top of a hill today. I had to drag my display and screening materials across the parking lot through puddles in a cold driving rain and load them in the car. I got home and fixed myself a warm cup of tea.

If I am grateful for the tea and the shower and the snuggle time, I guess I should also be grateful for the unpleasant times that put the delight in the pleasant ones.

Perhaps this is what is meant by "in everything give thanks."

Day of Reckoning

"What will you do on the day of reckoning, when disaster comes from afar? To whom will you run for help? Nothing will remain but to cringe among the captives or fall among the slain." Isaiah 10: 3,4

Cringe among the captives,

Fall among the slain,

You have not believed Me,

Or felt another's pain.

Unjust and oppressive,

Robbing and depriving,

On the day of reckoning,

Where will you be hiding?

Cringe among the captives,

Fall among the slain,

Riches abandoned,

Will bring no earthly gain.

No one to help you,

Upraised, you see My hand,

Huddled in the masses,

No courage left to stand.

Cringe among the captives,

Fall among the slain,

Your blatant sin against Me,

An ugly, spreading stain.

Cringe among the captives....

Fall among the slain.....

A Sliver of Intimacy

I trudge up the stairs at the end of the day and find my husband sitting on the bed thoroughly engrossed in a book...or so I think.

At the precise moment when I have removed my daytime clothes and haven't quite put on my pajamas, he looks up with an impish grin and twinkling eyes. "Nice outfit," he comments.

Feigning relief, I reply, "Oh, I'm so glad you still like it....it's getting kind of old you know."

"Wasn't that the whole idea?" he asks. "Growing old together?"

He is back to his book. I am thinking, "Yes, that was the idea. I am so thankful we haven't lost sight of it."

The Girl in the Pink Sweatshirt.

I have two granddaughters who live near by, and they both like to ice skate. Their mom, my daughter, is in a wheelchair, so sometimes I take them skating. This afternoon we agreed to meet at the ice arena, planning for me to be on the ice with them, and their mom to stay and watch them skate.

I arrived early hoping that someone would be available to sharpen my skates. No one was free to do that, so I just waiting in the lobby for the two girls to arrive.

A girl I guessed to be about 8 years old, wearing a pink sweatshirt, was wandering around in the outer lobby of the arena. She didn't seem to make eye contact with anyone and didn't speak to anyone. I wondered who she was with and eventually noticed a woman, who looked enough like her to be her mother, sitting on a bench inside where skaters lace up their skates.

After 10 or 15 minutes passed, I was somewhat startled as the girl approached me without speaking and stood looking up into my face...that is, within inches of my face. She stared right at me. I smiled and said, "Hi, what's your name?" She did not speak and just looking intently into my eyes. It was a bit disconcerting. She was invading my "personal space," but I didn't want to react negatively. I had decided pretty quickly that something wasn't quite right, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. At this point, I noticed some odd repetitive hand motions. After a bit, she wandered off again.

A group had arrived to use the party room for a child's birthday. They hauled in presents and cake and decorations. The girl in the pink sweatshirt was clearly not part of this group, but walked right into the party room. The woman on the bench hopped up and hurried to retrieve her. I heard her comment, "Look out, she'll stick her finger right in your cake!" As she directed her from the room, I noticed the repetitive hand motions again.

The child never spoke, never made an attempt to interact with the other children.

I wondered why she had stared so intently into my face. Did she think she recognized me? Did I just look like a "grandma" who could be approached? Am I a person with whom she could connect? If I sat down to play with her, would she interact with me?

My granddaughters arrived, and I didn't notice what became of her. I think she and her mother may have been waiting for one of the little hockey players who were leaving just as free-skate was beginning.

This evening I am thinking about the girl in the pink sweatshirt and about her mother. Life with a special needs child can be more than challenging. All parenting is challenging. When a child has unique needs that fall outside the norm, an additional layer of concerns is spread all over every activity and every moment of the day.

The world is full of people with concerns that very few others really comprehend. Sometimes we travel around in life oblivious to the burdens borne by our fellow travelers. Other times, they stare us right in the face.

Am I My Brother's Keeper?

A week ago my brother arrived at my house as we were finishing putting things away from the trip to New Hampshire. After saying that he had a problem and needed help, he said, "You know, I have heard you say that there is a time in life when if your kids don't get you, your parents do. I'm sorry to tell you that it might also be a sibling."

He proceeded to describe a disaster occurring in his life, and he just couldn't think through what to do or where to turn. I don't want to broadcast the specifics of my brother's situation all over the Internet, but it is bad......beyond description bad.

My other brother and I knew his life was in a terrible downward spiral, but he has previously stiff-armed us when we have tried to offer help. I guess he had to get to a point of desperation.

So, he is now living with us until other arrangements can be made, and my husband and I are being consumed with the details of trying to help him put his life back together.

This is not convenient. Some of it is, in fact, quite unpleasant.

My priorities for the next few weeks are totally altered.

We are supposed to have an empty nest.

But, there is just no way that I am going to stand before the Creator and Sustainer of the universe and ask the question, "Am I my brother's keeper?"

I know the answer is 'yes' whether or not it represents my choice of activities.