Today my mom is having total knee replacement surgery. I made it up to the hospital with a laptop, books, flowers, and ready to sit and talk to her for hours before her procedure. When I reached the floor where mom is staying I stopped by the nurses' station to make sure I had the right room number. As it turned out, they had just taken my mom downstairs and she wouldn't be back to her room until after the surgery! I was so upset that I had missed her and I asked if there was any way I could just quickly hug her neck down in the holding area. The very kind Unit Secretary made a few phone calls and worked it out that I could visit with mom for a few minutes.
Like walking through scattered army men on the floor of my son's room, I visually discounted the IV equipment on her bed, effortlessly stepping around the needles, tourniquet, tubing, and alcohol swabs. I, personally, have a disturbing fondness for successfully achieving venous access for patient's in the hospital. Nothing bothered me about blue sugical gown and hat she was wearing; over the years I've seen countless patients and physicians donning the same. What did strike me about my mother was that she was smiling: A big beautiful smile. And when she saw me she said, "There's my baby girl! Isn't she obnoxiously skinny?" (Note: I am not obnoxiously skinny, but Mom always knows what to say to make someone walk a little taller).
I got my hug in. I told her that I love her. I asked my mom what she needed.
"Just a prayer", she said.
Not magazines, not lip balm, not pain medication, not a spotless house post discharge.
Just a prayer.
I am grateful to my mom for always teaching me what is most important. "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much". (James 5:16)
I want to be just like her.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
A Race to Walk, A Race to Run
This past weekend I traveled to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio to participate in the Air Force Half Marathon with my Dad (a retired Brigadier General), my two sisters, and a close family friend. We have deemed this trek to Wright-Patt an "annual family tradition", complete with matching T-shirts to wear on race day and 1732 digitally perserved moments of gut busting hilarity by the end of the weekend.
When it comes to a half-marathon, we join the ranks of the "walkers". We keep a steady heel-toe pace for the duration of the course and are quite content being left in the dust of the pacers and qualifiers. Now, I am all about training and conditioning for a run, and even have a hankering for the competition from time to time, but when I'm with my family at one of these events, we pound the pavement for a different purpose. To us, the half-marathon journey is about the fellowship, about the laughter, about the bonding. It's 13.1 miles of precious memory making.
It's different, though, when it comes to the race we run as Christians. Paul admonished the church in Corinth that in regard to this race, they should be "in it to win it" (I Corinthians 9:24) and the writer of Hebrews tells us that we should "run with endurance the race that is before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus" (Hebrews 12:1-2). The Christian race requires discipline and training. In this race, the purpose IS to win the prize, which is only reserved for those faithful runners whose hearts are focused on staying the course.
Life's course is not an easy one. Orange cones don't align the way making it obvious the direction you should go, rather you determine the course through careful Bible study and constant prayer. Sometimes the road is rough, sometimes you feel like dropping out of the race, sometimes the prize at the end seems unobtainable: those are the times when it really helps to be surrounded by family and friends who share a common goal. I've learned from these half-marathons that sometimes you can face difficulties on your own, but sometimes you cannot.
One year, my Dad, my sisters, and I found ourselves walking the Country Music Half Marathon and noticed an older gentleman ahead. His gray tipped "high and tight" and his T-shirt sporting the letters USMC, gave him away as being retired military. He shuffled along, sweat dripping off his face, eyes locked on the pavement ahead, when all of a sudden something in his path caused him to trip. He fell, full impact, to the ground. My Dad rushed over to offer help, but the man stopped him abruptly with an upheld palm, and with all confidence stated, "I got this". He stood up, blood coming from scratches on his head, arms, and legs and restarted his shuffle to the finish line. Dad turned to me and my sisters and said, "Now that is one tough fella!" Sometimes, in life, when you fall along the course you can honestly say, "I got this" and you just get up and keep going.
On the other hand, sometimes you need the help of others in order to stay on track. There is nothing more motivating at a marathon than to witness blind runners participating in the event. At times, these individuals will run in the center of a protective circle of friends who will guide them around obstacles and keep them within bounds. Other times, they run with a partner and the two will be connected by a rope, or a bar, or will even hold opposite ends of a towel in order to share vision on the course and safely reach the finish line. Occasionally, from behind you'll hear the shout, "Blind runner, coming through!" and immediately the crowd will heed the voice of the caller and clear a passage for the team who represents such a spirit of unity, strength, and endurance.
So, there it is. Life is a race that we run to win and we don't quit! Challenges arise, like potholes or cracks in the blacktop and whether we stagger alone with road rash or reach out to fellow runners when we lose sight of the path, we keep on keeping on! The true joy will be crossing the finish line where the prize awaits! Then we will be able to say, like Paul in II Timothy 4:7-8, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing".
When it comes to a half-marathon, we join the ranks of the "walkers". We keep a steady heel-toe pace for the duration of the course and are quite content being left in the dust of the pacers and qualifiers. Now, I am all about training and conditioning for a run, and even have a hankering for the competition from time to time, but when I'm with my family at one of these events, we pound the pavement for a different purpose. To us, the half-marathon journey is about the fellowship, about the laughter, about the bonding. It's 13.1 miles of precious memory making.
It's different, though, when it comes to the race we run as Christians. Paul admonished the church in Corinth that in regard to this race, they should be "in it to win it" (I Corinthians 9:24) and the writer of Hebrews tells us that we should "run with endurance the race that is before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus" (Hebrews 12:1-2). The Christian race requires discipline and training. In this race, the purpose IS to win the prize, which is only reserved for those faithful runners whose hearts are focused on staying the course.
Life's course is not an easy one. Orange cones don't align the way making it obvious the direction you should go, rather you determine the course through careful Bible study and constant prayer. Sometimes the road is rough, sometimes you feel like dropping out of the race, sometimes the prize at the end seems unobtainable: those are the times when it really helps to be surrounded by family and friends who share a common goal. I've learned from these half-marathons that sometimes you can face difficulties on your own, but sometimes you cannot.
One year, my Dad, my sisters, and I found ourselves walking the Country Music Half Marathon and noticed an older gentleman ahead. His gray tipped "high and tight" and his T-shirt sporting the letters USMC, gave him away as being retired military. He shuffled along, sweat dripping off his face, eyes locked on the pavement ahead, when all of a sudden something in his path caused him to trip. He fell, full impact, to the ground. My Dad rushed over to offer help, but the man stopped him abruptly with an upheld palm, and with all confidence stated, "I got this". He stood up, blood coming from scratches on his head, arms, and legs and restarted his shuffle to the finish line. Dad turned to me and my sisters and said, "Now that is one tough fella!" Sometimes, in life, when you fall along the course you can honestly say, "I got this" and you just get up and keep going.
On the other hand, sometimes you need the help of others in order to stay on track. There is nothing more motivating at a marathon than to witness blind runners participating in the event. At times, these individuals will run in the center of a protective circle of friends who will guide them around obstacles and keep them within bounds. Other times, they run with a partner and the two will be connected by a rope, or a bar, or will even hold opposite ends of a towel in order to share vision on the course and safely reach the finish line. Occasionally, from behind you'll hear the shout, "Blind runner, coming through!" and immediately the crowd will heed the voice of the caller and clear a passage for the team who represents such a spirit of unity, strength, and endurance.
So, there it is. Life is a race that we run to win and we don't quit! Challenges arise, like potholes or cracks in the blacktop and whether we stagger alone with road rash or reach out to fellow runners when we lose sight of the path, we keep on keeping on! The true joy will be crossing the finish line where the prize awaits! Then we will be able to say, like Paul in II Timothy 4:7-8, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing".
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Car Camping Ninjas
My life before Sam did not involve camping. It involved a great deal of traveling, loads of family time, an omnipresent poodle, and plenty of outdoor activities....but my family never slept in tents....or any other portable habitat.....unless you count sleeping in the car a form of urban camping....and if that counts, then my sisters and I are true camping connoisseurs.
The Air Force took our family all over this wonderful country and we spent many hours of the day, and night, on the road. In fact, if you blindfolded me and sat me in the back seat of an 80s model Audi, Volvo, or Honda, I could identify the car in which I am sitting based on leg room, degree of angle required to achieve a comfortable "window lean", and volume setting necessary on the radio in order to hear the music in the back but to still be considered tolerable by the front seated parental units.
In the world of car camping, my sisters and I are ninjas. We can eat an entire meal on the tops of our knees without the loss of a single fry. We can mentally convert mileage to actual drive time in seconds with an accuracy rate of 99.9%. We can outfit ourselves in the perfect travel gear that will allow for even body temperature regulation and pedal comfort taking into account outside climate along with maternal vehicular thermastat control. We can sleep for hours in a 2 x 2 space and know exactly how to cradle a pillow in the strap of a seatbelt to prevent nuchal rigidity and optimize spinal alignment. And don't even think about challenging us to a game of "I'm Thinking of an Animal".....we WILL take you down.
Some of my favorite childhood memories were made while driving between the West Coast and the East Coast. I'm sure it was hard for Mom and Dad, but that's not what I remember at all. I remember singing along to Dad's Selected Favorites (a collection of music ranging from The Beatles, to Don Williams, to African music, to the best of Broadway, and more); I remember bidding farewell to one state as we crossed the border and greeted a new one ("Goodbye, Mississippi....Hello, Alabama"...and it never got old!); I remember Mad Libs, playing M.A.S.H., Stuckey's ice-cream, asking for the key to the outdoor gas station bathroom, walking "Cacti" (said poodle) at truck stops, and laughing, laughing, and more laughing!
Since marrying Sam and being introduced to the world of outdoor camping, I have found the need to develop a new set of skills, and BOY has it been an adventure! I'm definitely a ninja-in-training when it comes to this kind of camping.....just wait till you hear some of these stories....
"We do not remember days...we remember moments"
The Air Force took our family all over this wonderful country and we spent many hours of the day, and night, on the road. In fact, if you blindfolded me and sat me in the back seat of an 80s model Audi, Volvo, or Honda, I could identify the car in which I am sitting based on leg room, degree of angle required to achieve a comfortable "window lean", and volume setting necessary on the radio in order to hear the music in the back but to still be considered tolerable by the front seated parental units.
In the world of car camping, my sisters and I are ninjas. We can eat an entire meal on the tops of our knees without the loss of a single fry. We can mentally convert mileage to actual drive time in seconds with an accuracy rate of 99.9%. We can outfit ourselves in the perfect travel gear that will allow for even body temperature regulation and pedal comfort taking into account outside climate along with maternal vehicular thermastat control. We can sleep for hours in a 2 x 2 space and know exactly how to cradle a pillow in the strap of a seatbelt to prevent nuchal rigidity and optimize spinal alignment. And don't even think about challenging us to a game of "I'm Thinking of an Animal".....we WILL take you down.
Some of my favorite childhood memories were made while driving between the West Coast and the East Coast. I'm sure it was hard for Mom and Dad, but that's not what I remember at all. I remember singing along to Dad's Selected Favorites (a collection of music ranging from The Beatles, to Don Williams, to African music, to the best of Broadway, and more); I remember bidding farewell to one state as we crossed the border and greeted a new one ("Goodbye, Mississippi....Hello, Alabama"...and it never got old!); I remember Mad Libs, playing M.A.S.H., Stuckey's ice-cream, asking for the key to the outdoor gas station bathroom, walking "Cacti" (said poodle) at truck stops, and laughing, laughing, and more laughing!
Since marrying Sam and being introduced to the world of outdoor camping, I have found the need to develop a new set of skills, and BOY has it been an adventure! I'm definitely a ninja-in-training when it comes to this kind of camping.....just wait till you hear some of these stories....
"We do not remember days...we remember moments"
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)