Just Be

Give Praise…. For Whatever   So, I volunteered at a mission in Apple Valley called Jubilee.   The community churches come together to serve God’s people by providing practical needs.   I was volunteering in the balloon tent where we made animal shapes for the kids who are forever waiting in line.   Before anything started, a man – mid-60’s, kind eyes, bold posture – and a woman – young, blonde, pretty, gentle – came walking up to me.   By the way, any physical description is a bonus because when I saw them, all I really noticed were their yellow t-shirts that read “Jesus Heals”.   As our eyes met, my throat dried up and my smile waned as I’ve been down this path before.   I knew what was coming.   The man beelines it to me and says, brashly, with a hint of a smile “What’s wrong with you?”…. I was in the middle of a conversation with a friend and really didn’t want to acknowledge him.   He stands, arms crossed, waiting for my response.   He towers over me, too.   It’s completely i

Pray without ceasing.   What must that look like?   Who does t his?   Is my mumbling to God through the thorns of my existence prayer?   Or my too fast thanks that really wasn’t stated with substance, prayer?   I vividly remember, in the cold winter nights, lying in my upstairs bedroom with no heat but the weight of four handmade quilts, wiggling to get warm, lips whispering out the prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep.   I pray the Lord my soul to keep.   If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”   My soul appeared to be covered, but what about the rest of my drama life?   Who was I giving that to? Then I grow in my stubborn, independent self and stop praying all together because I’m too mature and wise for such things.   I knew it all and what I didn’t know, I could stumble through and fake my way just enough to pass.   My little inconveniences weren’t really meant for God to hear anyway, since He was busy dealing with world hunger and war and murders.   He seeme

Twenty-seven years.  Every September, I reflect about so much.  It starts with the kids returning to school and the uninterrupted time I'm left with.  I miss them.  As a routine sets in and I find myself in familiar territory once again, the anniversary of my accident that paralyzed me, begins to cloud my mind.  It's now been twenty-seven years but at my twenty-fifth, I wrote this: September 28, 2011 Wow.   25 years ago today.   The car accident that paralyzed me, the months of rehab in a Rochester hospital away from family and all that was familiar.   Can’t believe it’s been 25 years …. In so many ways.   Over the years, my body has taken a toll – I’m 42, after all.   My shoulder hurts, my wrists… all of the wear and tear of wheeling day after day, of getting my chair in and out of the car, of taking care of children and family.     I had a major surgery to correct my back last year.   One I’m still recovering from.   A whole year of adjustment and change.   My mobi

 August 2013 Change – embracing the hate of it. I HATE change.   Actually, I loathe it!   I constantly crave knowing what is coming next, where we are going, can I get around.   Just let me do my thing with no help and no one watching.   I want to blend in.   But this is seldom my reality, being in a wheelchair.   I cannot count the experiences where I couldn’t get into the restaurant, the hotel bed was too high for me to transfer into, I got lost and ended in a bad part of town but too scared to actually get out of my car, the bathrooms are too small, gravel and hills are the parking lot, and everybody watches and wonders. What will she do?   Good question. Our oldest is headed to college this fall.   She hates change just as much, probably because it is a trait I wouldn’t let go of and passed to her with great enthusiasm.   In discussing her anxiety, I explained how life is full of ebbs and flows, ups and downs.   It’s the downs that give power to the ups.   We take b