Category Archives: Prayer

Sanity Prayer

08 Tuesday Sep 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer

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I’ve been upset most of the day about a family matter.  I can’t talk details; some things in life are not fodder for the blog.  But still —  thoughts churn away and wear me down.

Always, always the matters that matter most are completely out of my control.  How I wish I could protect those people closest to my heart from all the hurts that life inflicts; the hurts that grow out of a shortfall of love.  And the people I most want to protect are those who depend on others to make wise choices on their behalf. 

And what are wise choices one might ask?  Well, that depends on who is asked.  It depends on who gets to cast their vote at the ballot box.   On today’s upset, I had no vote.   Maybe the decision makers considered it to be none of my business.  Obviously, I beg to differ.  Shouldn’t my love count for something? 

At one point in my life — not so very long ago —  I would have picked up the phone and put in my two cents after the fact — said my piece  — given those in charge a piece of my fine mind.  And then regret would sit in.  Almost immediately.  And I would again pick up the phone, no longer fueled by anger, to apologize before hearts grew hard.

But no longer.  These days I go outside and take action on what I can control.  I rip off the English Ivy growing up our home’s bricks.  And then afterwards, I read to keep my mind occupied with a lovely journal of May Sarton.  And then I write so the thoughts will no longer churn around in my mind.  And once delivered, my mind is empty and almost at peace.  Enough so that I can sit and pray.      

Here’s my shortened version of the Serenity Prayer, which today I’ve renamed the Sanity Prayer —  Lord help those who are not so wise.  Even if those is me. 

And as I write this I think I now have a better sense of how God must feel all those times when I make some unwise choice without giving Him a vote. 

Are We There Yet?

08 Saturday Aug 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer

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We call something science when the reactive outcome is predictable between types of matter; like when two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen react to form water; and when water, yeast and flour react to form bread dough;d'oh and when…“D’oh!”…a child reacts to a long road trip to form that predictable whiny line:  “Are we there yet?”

This children’s query popped out of my own mouth unexpectedly this week while speaking with the director of nursing at ‘Dad’s’ rehab center.  But in the crazy way that life works out, this question from my past frames so precisely the most nagging question of my present; for in fact, these last two weeks of my father’s life feel a lot like one of  those long and whiny road trip’s of my childhood.

Same as then, Dad is in the driver’s seat, a little blind to all the nuances of the medical calamities he’s running over, to all the danger signs he’s ignoring, to all the exit ramps he’s missing; just like then, Daddy is lost, and I think he’d like one of us kids to take over at the wheel.  My sister and I have the power if not the desire; it’s our hope that Daddy will make his own health decisions as long as he’s able and willing.  But then and now, Daddy shies away from decision making; and so different from then, Dad no longer has Mom to play navigator. 

DSC01674aWhat seems clear to all is that Dad has suffered a major setback.  He’s passed through dehydration, where we found the state of pneumonia and then through dysphagia toward the current state of feeding tubes.  Dad has taken in sights that he hoped to never see.  Daddy is worn out; he sleeps most of the time and when he’s awake he seems far away.  But whether or not he sleeps, Daddy’s sad.  And this makes me sad too.     

So I’m lost.  I confess to not knowing Dad’s current medical state.  Nor do I know in which direction Dad’s heading; is Daddy becoming better, becoming worse, or lost somewhere in between?  I’ve no map, no landmarks, no navigator, not even a hunch.  And while my sister and I talk all around it, the only thing we can scavenge up for sure is that there is something very different about Daddy. 

Looking for that elusive reality check is what took me to the director of nursing.  And not one to beat around the bush, I came right out with my questions:  “Was it time for us to call in hospice?”  “Are we there yet?”

I know these questions are difficult to answer, even for someone who practices in the medical field.  Medical science is not as predictable as the other branches of science since the human element makes all reactions unique.  And even if it were, the nurse doesn’t know Daddy and we who do have no medical background.  So overall, it’s the blind leading the blind. 

For who but God can put together the pieces, to know where Daddy is right now and in which direction Dad is heading.  But it’s the nurse’s sense that we are not yet ready for hospice because we are not there yet.  And so we wait.  We wait to see where Daddy will take us next.  As we wait for the gift of hindsight to inform us later of where we are now.  And for now… I simply pray for travel mercies. 

Belonging

03 Monday Aug 2009

Posted by in Prayer, Soul Care

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In honor of my 100th post, I joined Blog Oklahoma late yesterday evening. 

Before joining, I traveled through all seventy-one pages of blog descriptions of other members.  A dozen enticed me to pay a visit; three ended up on my blogroll. So I thought, “Why not”.  “I’ll come out and play.”  But other than this, I’m not sure what will come of my membership.

Memberships are funny animals.  In joining a club or society or whatever, we satisfy this inate desire to belong to something bigger than ourselves.  I belong to the AICPA and the OSCPA, though my life as a certified public accountant rests on an unlit back burner.  Yet I hate to drop this long-term affiliation, even though I’ve no dreams to ever practice again.  I confess:  I enjoy being on my husband’s payroll.

More recently, I joined the Oklahoma Country Master Gardeners.  Now this membership requires me to do something other than to breathe and pay money once a year.  Twice a month I go sit behind the county extension help desk, what I have affectionately renamed the ‘hope desk’, as my callers are always looking for a ray of hope.  When the phones grow silent, I visit with two other on-duty gardeners.  And when my phone rings, I listen to the caller’s latest malady, as I play a bit of plant detective to uncover the mystery of why this or that is not performing as expected.

We do have our pesky expectations, don’t we?  Expectations have sent me to question my local church membership.  The last three Sunday mornings I have played musical pews, to see if  I can find a better fit than where I currently ‘belong’.  So far, no dice.  Each church has its own personality, it’s own way of conducting the business of church, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m looking for that mythical mystical unicorn.  

I’m looking for a church that conducts less business and more church, at least during the worship hour. My biggest gripe about church is not the passing of the plate, or even the dreaded passing of the peace–a nightmare for introverts like me, and even some extroverts like my friend Laure who always dabs on a bit of hand sanitizer afterwards, just in case she got a little more than bargained for–but rather it’s the spirit-grating advertisements that come in the midst of the worship service.  We’ve prayed, sang a few hymns and then, low and behold, here come a few ‘announcements’ or two.  Ecclesliastes 3 teaches us there is a time for everything under the sun; in my book, commercials, even if related to the business of the church, should not reside anywhere near  a worship service.   To them, I say:  Be gone.  Find your own time and space.

Ironically, for this writer-wannabe, the perfect church service would be practically wordless — certainly no sermon or commericals.  Just music, a few chants, the barest of homilies.  I had hoped to find this animal alive at the montly Taize service at St. Paul’s Cathedral yesterday evening.  But what I remembered at 3 pm was gone by 5pm.  So it will be September before I can satisfy my curiousity.  And I hope,  this unmet desire to join with something bigger than myself.    

But make no mistake.  If Taize meets my dreams of church, I’ve no plans to join St. Paul’s.  And I hope the real members of St. Paul’s don’t mind.  But if they pass the plate, I’ll pay.  And if they pass the peace, I’ll play and even keep my hand sanitizer at home.  But mostly, I just want to pray, surrounded by a few others who mostly want to pray.

Come Holy Spirit.  Come out, come out, wherever you are.  To you and you and you, Trinity of One, do I truly wish to belong.