Tag Archives: Prayer

Sanity Prayer

08 Tuesday Sep 2009

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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

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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. 

Mother’s Day

09 Saturday May 2009

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I’m not one to send out Mother’s Day cards. 

Oh, I have and have had the best of intentions.  But even when Mom was alive, I’d expressed my sentiments with flowers rather than Hallmark.  I’d buy a card and forget to send it.  Then it’d keep company with others in my large stockpile of forgotten and unsent cards.  Just the like the one I hold for my dear friend Ann.  I ran across ‘Ann’s’ card a few months ago when selecting a card for another and well… fell in love with it all over again and full of hope and new resolve I thought, this year I’ll get it sent.  But rats, I’ve missed the magical deadline again.  Perhaps next year?  Or maybe next week — with a sheepish smile?

You’d think a CPA who practiced in the tax field for twenty-some years would be able to meet a pesky deadline.  But no, that’s just not who I am, which may be why management took me out of compliance and assigned me to special projects.  I’m rarely on time to any event, even when I give myself cushion and a range.  Just last week I told my brother I’d pick him up between 2:15 and 2:30 and didn’t make it until 2:40 p.m.  Is this a sign of thoughtlessness, or to rob words from St. Paul, “not regarding others as better than myself?”  Perhaps.  Though much of  my lateness and inability to meet deadlines occurs while robbing ‘Peter’ to pay ‘Paul’. 

The way I best manage my flighty behavior is to avoid definite commitments – and by not setting precedents I know I can’t keep up with – like sending out Mother’s Day cards.  I’m helping my daughter Kara today so she and her husband Joe can go to Tulsa and ‘wine and dine’ his mom for Mother’s Day, without worrying about their dogs they needed to leave behind.  Last night, she asked me what time I’d be by for care and feed.  I offered up a big range – 4:00 to 6:00 pm I said – thinking surely, even I can fit into this spacious gap of time.  But what if I’m a little late?  Will the dogs tattle on me?  Will the dogs care?  No, dogs are so doggone forgiving; they never hold a grudge, even when you’ve not met their expectations.

So like the dog I am, I hold no expectations of Mother’s Day dinners or lunches or even cards, though by the grace of God, I’ve been invited to eat brunch with Kara tomorrow morning at my most favorite restaurant in all of OKC – Paseo Grill – which sits just a few blocks north of my Mesta Park home.  Kara is coming to pick me up, and I just love to be chauffeured around.  And if I don’t hear from my other three children…well, let’s just say I understand.  All too well…

Picking up the phone or sending flowers or a card is a lovely thing to do.  But really, can we just banish the official day, for those of us who beat to a different drum, who like to be spontaneous and not hemmed in by a single day?  I know my kids love me, whether or not they acknowledge their love tomorrow.  And I hope the four women in my life who sent me a card know how much I love them too.

To them, and to others like them, I say my heartfelt thanks and cheer you on from the sidelines.  I wish I could be more like you.  At one time, I pretended to be.  And maybe that’s what that card stockpile is all about.  But alas, I am who I am.  Not a thoughtless slug exactly.  But more like one who thinks too much, who expresses herself best in silence and unsent words and thoughts of love, who loves to pick up cards that express words that are true to her spirit, like these that rest on a Patience Brewster card hiding in my stack of unsent cards, but then forgets to send it:

“Through the Silence, I Send a Thousand Prayers…”