When I married in 1962, my parents gave me a Dormeyer mixer. It was top-of-the-line. My dad believed that investing in quality and paying a little more served well in the long run. That was 62 years ago and my Dormeyer is still operating fine.
I was excited about the stainless-steel mixer. It even had a grinder attachment! It was given a place of honor on my very first kitchen counter.
Cooking and baking were in my genes. I began baking when I was 15. Like my mother and grandmother, everything was made from “scratch.” I took pride in that. I still do.
My mother and grandmother were masters in the kitchen. They had big gardens, nut and fruit trees, and berry bushes, and they preserved their bounty by canning, freezing, and drying. They put the best food on the table. I wanted to uphold the tradition and having this mixer would be a huge assist. It was certainly something my mother and grandmother didn’t have when they were new brides.
I could not begin to guess how many spins my Dormeyer mixer has made in six decades. It has been serviced only once; it was repaired by my brother when he was in trade school forty years ago. Daddy ordered extra beaters to have while they could still be gotten. Manufacturers do have a way of cutting quality and replacing the exceptional with satisfactory.
So, what does this have to do with a prayerful pondering?
Investing well always pays off. Invest in your relationship with God, with family, with friends, in your work.
If any of those relationships suffer, repair them if you can, and keep moving forward. (The one relationship always repairable is your one with God.)
Be grateful for the gifts you are given, and use them to serve others.
In the Garden was Daddy’s favorite hymn. It was played at his funeral thirty years ago, and I still can’t sing it through without weeping. It brings tears because of what I believe it meant to Daddy personally.
My father was a very private man, not one to share his thoughts and feelings. He dealt with his concerns alone with the Lord. That’s where he sought and found strength and direction.
Daddy’s parents died of tuberculosis when he was four. His sister, the oldest of six children, died trying to keep the family together. Minnie Lee was twenty-six when she died of the same disease. Daddy was twelve. It fell to the oldest brother and his wife to keep the family intact.
When just eighteen, Daddy married my mother, who was fifteen. In those early years, Daddy worked as a sharecropper, a church custodian, and a garage mechanic. Whatever was available.
My mother’s parents took Daddy in the year before my parents married. My grandmother said people just did that then. When someone needed a home and you could provide, you took them in, you didn’t go through a formal adoption process. Mother’s parents became the only parents that Daddy remembered and he never failed to respect and honor what they did for him.
I was just six months old when Daddy enlisted in the Army. He came back an injured World War II veteran. He spent two hospitalizations in a VA hospital due to his injuries, yet would never accept the compensation due him. There were times we could have used the aid, but Daddy held his ground about not accepting money for serving his country when he was able to work. Only the Lord knows why.
As far as I know, there were only two things Daddy ever spoke about regarding the war and that was to Mother. He told her the scars around his waist were from rat bites while in a foxhole. It took her a year to get that information. The other thing was his promise to God that if He would let him come home to his family, he would spend the rest of his life taking care of others. He fulfilled that promise and it was only after his death that we knew much of what he had quietly done to help others.
Daddy was mayor of our small town for twelve years, and also a sheriff’s deputy. He had a total of thirty-five years in law enforcement. From time to time, his dedication to service brought its challenges. Someone burned a cross in our front yard once. Another person tacked up posters right before an election attacking Daddy’s integrity. When he walked me down the aisle to marry, his arm was in a cast, broken while arresting someone for domestic violence.
In my growing up years, our needs were certainly provided for, but there were no extravagances. I remember at least two store robberies. Then, due to his second VA hospitalization, he had to forfeit his small business and re-mortgage our house. Eventually, all was recovered and things improved for my parents financially. For that, I am very grateful.
When I hear In the Garden, I reflect on all the walks and talks with God Daddy must surely have had. About the pain he endured: physical, mental, emotional. The times he struggled to provide for a family of five while proudly, and I believe foolishly, refusing any help from the nation he fought for. All the times he sought guidance when he didn’t know what to do next. All the times he asked for strength to do what he believed was right. I suspect those garden walks started early when he was a little orphaned boy, frightened and confused.
Daddy, along with Mother, is buried in the cemetery at the church, where he was saved and baptized as a young man. You step out the back door of the still active country church, and there you are – in a beautifully tended garden. I can’t think of a more fitting resting place. Someday that garden will be my resting place, too.
And He walks with me and He talks with me. And He tells me I am his own . . .
The hymn, In the Garden, was written in 1912 by C. Austin Miles. Daddy was born in 1916. Perhaps he had known this song all his life, maybe the first hymn he remembered. I wish I had thought to ask.
Sue was an ICU nurse in one of our outlying hospitals and was critically injured in a horrible automobile accident. The ICU that had been her workplace became where she lay as a patient.
The prognosis for Sue was poor. She might not make it. Her fellow nurses thought Sue should be allowed to see the one family member she had – a little long-haired chihuahua named Sophie. It was the 1990s, and hospital policies didn’t allow animals in, not even pets of terminally ill patients. Yet somehow, these very determined nurses and friends arranged for an exception.
Sophie was brought in and laid against Sue, who was unconscious. Sophie, a model of good behavior, was permitted to snuggle for quite a while. After the visit, and for the first time, things began to turn around for Sue in a positive way. She began to show improvements.
Being reunited with Sophie had made a difference. I know this was how it happened because Sue told me. She knew her companion was there with her, loving her, needing her, and it put in Sue the will to live.
Sue made a commitment in those long days of recovery that once she was well enough, she was going to have Sophie trained to be a therapy dog. Sue wanted to be able to give others what she had been given.
Sue stayed true to that goal and Sophie became a certified therapy dog. They visited nursing homes and other facilities where therapy dogs were allowed.
Sue called and asked if she and Sophie might come for a visit to the parent hospital where I worked. The hope was to begin the change of system policy and allow therapy dogs in our hospitals. We set a time and Sue and Sophie drove for three hours to try and make a difference for patients through animal therapy.
We paid a visit to the vice president of nursing and Sue worked Sophie through obedience tests. She responded without hesitation to Sue’s every command. The convincing test I suppose was that she paid no heed to treats laid right beneath her nose until Sue gave her the signal that it was okay. Sophie proved herself trustworthy and we were given permission to visit a cancer patient who was missing her dog terribly.
Sophie regally walked the hall to the cancer care unit. She knew who she was. She wore her therapy dog tag with pride and held her head high. She paid no mind to those she passed by and wondered what a dog was doing in our hospital. Sophie looked straight ahead, headed toward her mission.
Arriving at her point of caregiving, Sophie was given the go-ahead to get up on the bed. Our patient crooned and loved on Sophie. Tears came to the patient’s eyes. It wasn’t her dog she got to see, but it was the next best thing. Sophie gave our patient comfort and emotional support. Her medicine was attention and affection. Just like she had given Sue, Sophie that day gave our patient hope for a brighter tomorrow.
I am pretty certain Sophie’s visit was the best medicine our patient received that day — maybe that week. She thanked Sophie and Sue repeatedly for coming.
I wish I could say we immediately wrote a policy for animal therapy. That didn’t happen. It takes time and patience and many departments to turn a hospital ship around. But it was a beginning. It definitely made a difference for our pet-lonely patient. It made a difference for Sue as a nurse to push the boundaries a little further on behalf of emotional support for patients. It made a difference for Sophie. Animals always know when they are loved and appreciated. Sophie knew from her training that she was contributing to patient care.
Martin Buber said, “An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.” Once you’ve had an animal as a companion, you understand this truth. I would add it’s also about their touch. Their eyes and their touch speak love. They somehow know just what we need. Sophie knew. Sophie gave.
So God created. . .every living creature that moves. And God saw that it was good. –Genesis 1:21 ESV
You care for people and animals alike, O LORD. –Psalm 36:6
Note: Therapy dogs and service dogs are not the same. Here are some links for further understanding.
I have told you these things so that you won’t abandon your faith.
–John 16:1 NLT
I believe I have blogged about my daughter’s healing from scoliosis in earlier years. I am feeling strongly to write about it again, perhaps providing more detail than previously.
Scoliosis is a curvature of the spine. Double scoliosis is when the curve is both in the upper and lower parts. The spine becomes “S” shaped. That is the kind my daughter developed.
When Kristi was in junior high, she was referred to an orthopedic physician by our family doctor. She appeared to have an abnormal curvature of her spine. The ortho doc x-rayed and said it was very mild scoliosis and he believed it was nothing to be concerned about.
We went back for a routine follow-up some months later and this time the orthopedic physician was concerned. Very. He said there had been a dramatic increase in the curvature and he wanted Kristi to be seen by a specialist in another city.
My daughter was almost 14. Girls are so conscious of their bodies at that age. She was devastated. She didn’t want to see more doctors and have more examinations and pleaded with me to not take her to another doctor. I was working for a family practice physician at the time and I knew the treatment available then. It would most likely mean a body cast, so I was also devastated.
I’ve had faith for as long as I can remember. However, what I was about to hear from God took a bolder step than I had ever experienced. It came the next morning during Bible study.
I was reading about the people of faith in Hebrews 11. Not in an audible voice, but strong just the same, I heard God say I was to give this matter to Him and not see a specialist. It was so strong I wrote this at the top margin of my Bible: It is in faith that I ask that Kristi’s back be made straight again – that scoliosis will totally disappear so that there can be no misunderstanding that God interceded and healed with divine power. The date was 12-27-78.
Each day I prayed about Kristi’s back. Some days I would let my eyes fall on her back as she walked away from me, and my breath would catch. I would ask myself if I was doing the right thing by not having her seen by a specialist. Yet, I knew that I had heard God speak. I kept on praying and believing.
It was three and a half years later before I heard God speak again about Kristi’s back. It happened one morning as I had taken about three steps from my kneeling posture. (Yes, I pray all the hard battles on my knees; my grandmother taught me that.) I remember how I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the whisper you forgot something. I asked what, and heard you forgot to pray about Kristi’s back. I went back to prayer posture and before I could say a word, God spoke again. Kristi’s back is healed.
I was overwhelmed with joy! It seemed the sun shot through the room with major intensity. That whole experience is burned in my mind and heart forever!
After very emotionally thanking God for His answer to prayer, I went straight to the telephone to make an appointment with the ortho doc who had diagnosed her. I didn’t doubt the healing, but now it was time to gather proof for testimony.
I called for an appointment and learned Dr. Johnson was out of the country on a mission trip. His office made an appointment for us with the physician covering for him at another location. I was to pick up her x-rays and take them with us.
When Kristi was diagnosed, I had not been shown the x-rays, which was common practice back then. I got home with the manila envelope of spine x-rays, opened it, and held them up to the window for viewing. I was not prepared for what I saw. There was a very strong “S” curvature of her spine. My first thought was what have I done to my child?! But that thought was immediately washed away by I have done what the Lord told me to do and I’m still trusting. I didn’t show them to my daughter.
The day of the appointment came to see the covering orthopedic physician. On examining Kristi, he said he saw no evidence of scoliosis but would do an x-ray. After a short wait, he came to the room and motioned for us to follow. He pointed to the screen where both x-rays were up. On the left was the x-ray that brought on the diagnosis and referral. On the right was that morning’s x-ray. There was no scoliosis!
I asked the physician how he explained it. He said he couldn’t. I responded that I could. God answered my prayers. He simply looked at the x-rays and didn’t comment.
On 6-11-81, I wrote alongside the first note I saw the x-ray that showed no scoliosis. Thank God! That was three and a half years of waiting for our miracle, but it came. We can trust God absolutely when we know He has spoken to us.
There is a scripture reference noted on that same page, Luke 22:44. It was about Jesus praying so earnestly that sweat fell to the ground like drops of blood. It had been my encouragement to pray as earnestly as I knew how for God’s healing.
I’m blogging on this today for two reasons: Maybe a new reader needs to hear this and not give up as they wait for an answer to prayer. God hears all prayers, not just the little ones. So if you have heard His direction on a matter, confidently trust and follow. The second reason is I just heard a sermon on the importance of telling about our miracles. The pastor said our testimony of miracles is the preparation for someone else’s miracle.
So, I close by asking you this. Do you have a miracle to tell? Examine your life closely. Find the miracle(s) and share your experience. Encourage someone as they wait by giving your testimony. Give it in specifics. God told Joshua to set up stones of remembrance so their miracles wouldn’t be forgotten. In some way, be sure you capture your miracles for future generations (Joshua 4:21-24).
It has seemed good to me to show the signs and wonders that the Most High God has done for me.
–Daniel 4:2 ESV
For we cannot help but speak of the things we have seen and heard.
–Acts 4:20 ESV
Notes in my Bible as mentioned in the blog. Hold on to your remembrances.
The earliest visual memory of my grandmother is of her praying. She was on her knees, beside her bed, and it was her last prayer before sleeping. Mama’s long braids fell down her back, over her homemade gown, and she prayed aloud.
As a child, when I was sick with something that made me feel terrible but wasn’t life-threatening, I remember Mama getting down beside my bed and praying for me. She called out to Jesus to make me well. Though I don’t remember what was wrong with me, I will never forget how she prayed.
During the day, Mama had ongoing conversations with the Lord. You knew because if you came up behind her without her knowing, you heard the conversations. It was like friends speaking to one another. She might be cooking, or rocking in her chair. But her Friend was beside her and they talked.
She told me once that she prayed every day for all her children (seven, plus spouses) and grandchildren. She called out our names as she prayed. In heaven, we will learn just how blessed each of us was by her prayers.
My grandmother’s kind of relationship with the Lord, one that was devoted to prayer, carved a forever place in my heart. To know she was praying daily for me was strength. It was assurance. It was a resting place.
Dr. Charles Stanley says we win all our battles on our knees. I do know there is something different about that posture in prayer. It puts us in the right position with Almighty God. We bow in humility and trust. My prayers become more centered that way. I stay much more focused. I sense a stronger presence of the Lord.
This is not so much to tell you about my grandmother as to encourage readers to let their children and grandchildren see you pray. Give them a visual to carry with them through life. Show them that He may also be our friend, but first He is one we should fall before in worship.
My grandmother taught me this: God is Supreme. He is Almighty. He is to be solemnly worshiped. There must be a place in your life that is reserved for Him alone. Never try to tamp down who God is. Keep doing your best to rise to what He wants from you and for you.
As a parent or grandparent, let those you love see a proper way of worship. Familiarize them with Old Testament stories that showed great reverence and respect. Let them read how God’s chosen people took care to worship all through their journeys.
Teach your children and grandchildren. Give them visuals that will carry them through life. I am so grateful I have that from my grandmother. She taught me to pray.
Come, let us bow down in worship,
Let us kneel before the Lord our Maker.
Psalm 95:6 (NIV)
This picture is probably from late 1965. It was our four-generation picture that my grandmother wanted us to have. She, Dulcie Cotton Spencer, is on the left, and my mother, Louise Spencer Luffman, is on the right. The baby, my daughter, Kristi McClain Hearn, says I gave her my faith. Nothing she could say to me could make me happier.
My last blog, posted October 25, was on obeying God’s direction to serve even when we don’t understand. You might want to read When We Have an Assignment to Serve before reading this one.
Some assignments are so clear, you simply cannot miss them. Others may be subtle little nudges that can go easily unnoticed. They seem small, happen quickly, and are easily passed by.
I email daily prayer needs to our church family. As I was preparing an email Tuesday of this week, it occurred to me that I should do a little more than I was doing. I should close out the email with scriptures relative to the needs. I added one for healing and another for comfort.
Early that evening I received a call from someone who receives my emails. She began with I’ve had a miracle happen! She has a chronic disease that sometimes flares and causes a great deal of pain. She had been out for the day when it hit and she rushed home, not knowing where this flare was taking her. She sat on the side of her bed, growing weaker and pain progressing. She was trying to decide whether she should go to the emergency room. She reached over for her cell phone and scrolled through emails and pulled up the prayer list for the day. Her eyes fell on the healing scripture below the names and needs and she read it aloud: LORD, my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me (Psalms 30:2). Immediately the pain left. Completely. She felt new strength coursing through her body. She said to me, I promise you, that is exactly how it happened. I called out for help using that scripture and I was instantly healed!
This is what I mean by listening for our assignments. Only God knew that something as simple as a scripture added to my email would be exactly what someone was going to need later in the day. Only He knew that it would become someone’s personal prayer.
This was a whisper of the Holy Spirit that I could have easily ignored and never thought about again. I confess I didn’t think about it being God’s voice at the time. But you see, He is always talking to us and we have to realize and honor that. If it is in our mind to do something and it lines up with scripture, then we can count on it being from God.
I think I know what led me to this particular assignment. I had awakened that morning with the sad memory of a physician friend who had taken his life. He was an exceptionally compassionate physician. I never knew another quite like him. Always available, always patient, always deeply caring. A treatment he had given a patient resulted in her death and he was never able to emotionally recover. What cut me the deepest as I remembered was that in all our conversations, we never talked about faith and eternal life.
So, this week I have reminded myself that the time to witness is NOW. I urge you, that if you see an opportunity, and feel a nudge to do something that witnesses and brings glory to God, go forward and do that thing. NOW.
Heed instruction and be wise. And do not neglect it. –Proverbs 8:33
“If any of us would receive an assignment for Christian service, it must come from Christ Himself. If we hope to succeed in that assignment, we must do so while in perpetual, personal fellowship with Christ . . . and never stop working until He Himself comes to discharge us from the service because there is no further need of it. ” –Charles Spurgeon
I am reading Spurgeon’s book, Following Christ, and the words above immediately caused me to pause and reflect. I have known different service assignments to be directed by God. They have appeared in different ways, many of which didn’t make sense to me at the time. On most occasions, I received an answer sometime later.
The most dramatic assignment I was ever given was with a young man who had lost his mother in a horrendous way. I didn’t know the family well, yet for whatever reason, I was plucked out of the midst of family, friends, and acquaintances and placed solidly in Ben’s life for a year or more. I questioned this many times. I spoke with a friend who advised me to let go and back out of his life. I prayed fervently, even asking God to release me because I thought perhaps my friend was right. Maybe I was in a place I didn’t belong. Yet God answered each prayer with a fresh assignment of what I was to do. Even when I felt the most anxious, God would find a way to tell me I was indeed hearing from Him and to continue on; He would direct my path. Then, just as specifically and dramatically as the assignment came, I was discharged. As Spurgeon said in his quote, “there was no further need of it.”
Most of the assignments I’ve been given weren’t as clear and detailed as the one with the young man. I reflect on ways that God has saved me and blessed me when I felt no sure direction at the time other than to stay still and wait on God. I was terribly burdened by a life situation once and was told by a very godly woman that God would not have me continue in it. I respected her advice but responded until God gave me the peace to do something differently; I had to continue as I was. Only a few years later, I realized that if I had not continued on, I would have suffered terribly from the consequences. I learned we can’t rely on our mortal feelings. However, we can trust that God will kindly show us His direction in a way we can’t deny.
I encourage you to listen to your calls to serve others. Some situations may seem odd, but trust God and move at His direction. Press in and listen for guidance. He may or may not reveal the purpose for some assignments, but I know this much: I have never been sorry when I responded as I believed God directed. Looking back, I have always been grateful.
God made all sorts of wild animals, livestock, and small animals, each able to produce offspring of the same kind. And God saw that it was good. –Genesis 1:25 (NLT)
I love that last part: God saw that His creation was good. Simply put, He loved them. And, it has never been lost on me that God created animals before He created man and woman. His word tells us that He gave responsibility for the animals to those He created in His own image. (Genesis 1:26) Ponder on that a bit. If we were created in God’s image then we have a clear direction for how we are to treat others — and that includes animals.
I have a cousin who is a rescuer of cats with special needs. Some come to her lame, blind, sick from infections, horribly ridden with fleas, and many are traumatized by abuse. These little creations of God are found abandoned, even thrown in trash containers. It’s heartbreaking. But the happy part is seeing how Jeanie and a caring cat clinic rally to make most of them well and give them a chance at life.
Some time back, I volunteered at our local Humane Society. The Humane Society operates no-kill shelters. Every effort is given to providing a safe haven for dogs and cats. Hopefully, most will be adopted out to good homes. You will never see them euthanized unless there is absolutely no quality of life left for the animal. Let me give you an example I saw firsthand.
Tabitha, a cat thought to be eight or nine months old, came to the shelter pregnant. She was far too young (small) to carry what turned out to be a litter of seven. But Tabitha did it, delivering all seven alive and healthy. However, there were two kittens that had badly deformed back legs, most likely from their crowded quarters. Their tiny legs looked as if they had been put on backward; they bent in the wrong direction.
I was at the shelter just hours after Tabitha delivered and found a small crowd gathered around mom and babies. Laura, the cat adoption manager, pleaded the case for these new babies. She was imagining all sorts of ways their crippled legs might be helped. It was decided by one of the vet techs to try tiny leg splints. She whittled away at a tongue depressor until she had splints about the width of a toothpick and half its length. She wasn’t all that hopeful the splints would work, but willing to give it her best shot.
For six weeks, Tabitha and all seven kittens lived in Laura’s office. The two in splints required close watch and frequent changing of the splints to maintain cleanliness; the others were kept there to lend family love and support.
It was an ideal outcome: After six weeks in splints, the kittens’ legs were corrected to normal shape and without one bit of evidence that there had ever been a problem. Those little babies, named Sara and Foster, learned to walk while in the splints and were ready for foster care at eight weeks, along with the rest of the litter.
That was just one of many miracle stories I saw there. It was a sheer joy to know that individuals were living out God’s direction to be responsible in the fullest sense. I think people like this really make God smile.
The Humane Society carefully investigates those who seek to adopt. You don’t just walk in and walk out with a cat or dog. If approved for adoption and for any reason it doesn’t work out in the home, the cats and dogs are always welcome back to the HS. In fact, part of the adoption process is to sign an agreement that you will return your adopted cat or dog if for any reason you can’t keep it. Once a rescue of the Humane Society, an animal is never again without a place to call home.
It is the same kind of process for my cousin Jeanie’s rescue site. Those who care so tenderly for helpless animals don’t want to have them traumatized all over again through lack of care or abandonment.
If you have animals, treat them well. God gave us that charge at the beginning of time. If you are looking for volunteer opportunities, think about a local animal shelter. Finally, consider making a charitable contribution to a rescue site. Be reminded that God cares for people and animals alike (Psalms 36:6 NLT).
Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience. — Colossians 3:12 (NIV)
I adopted Chloe while volunteering at the Humane Society. It was one of my best decisions.
Hospitals know a lot of heartaches. An illness brings someone in, but that person comes with all their problems and they should never be under-estimated in their journey of healing. During my years as a patient advocate, I came to know a lot of wonderful people and a lot of their heartaches.
The very first patient I ever dealt with was a teenager battling a rare disease. It wasn’t thought he would recover, but he did. After being home a while and getting back on his feet, he fell in with a wrong group and was killed as a result of association. When his dad came to tell me, I found it hard to take in. This young man who had won the battle of disease, only to have his life end in senseless tragedy – how could it be? How did his parents manage their grief so soon after being on a mountaintop of joy?
There was an elderly woman who was with us one December and it was uncertain as to whether she would be staying through Christmas Day. Most patients wanted badly to be out and home for Christmas, but this dear lady preferred staying. She said she would rather be in a hospital with people around her than go home and be alone.
I think about another elderly and gentle woman. She confided in a nurse that she knew her children were taking things from her house while she was hospitalized. They were using her absence and access to her house keys to take what they wanted. How can children do that? Social Service was called, but intervention didn’t take away the sadness of such abuse nor the pain that mother’s heart knew.
There was a delightful man who did his best to make every day positive in some way, all the while knowing he was dying and would probably not leave the hospital. He called for his grandchildren to come so that he could talk to them about how needless his early death was, that he was dying because he had abused his body, and wanted to impress upon them their opportunity to live life better. He gave his speech and then went back to bringing laughter into the room. What a brave individual!
I recall the many families who were torn apart by end-of-life decisions. Spouses and children couldn’t agree on when it was time to let their loved one go, even when the patient had made personal wishes clear to the family. Sometimes it was a spouse who held on, other times it was the children. Before the day of the Patient Self-Determination Act that gave us the Living Will and Durable Power of Attorney, it could be an especially tough issue to resolve. Just when families needed to pull together, impending death often brought family discord and added anguish.
There was a very loving wife who delayed bringing in her husband’s Living Will because she wasn’t ready to give him up. They had been married more than 50 years and she thought she would rather take him home and care for him like an infant rather than lose him forever. After taking some time to work it through – weighing what she knew he wanted against her heartache in giving him up – she did eventually bring in his Living Will. Decisions in the midst of grief are always the hardest to make.
I think about the nurses who cried when babies would not live outside their mothers’ wombs and how they consoled those empty-armed mothers. And I remember the doctors who gave the extra measure of hope to their patients while battling extremely tough medical cases. There were pharmacists who spent time explaining a medicine or apologizing for delays and confusion when the fault wasn’t theirs, kitchen staff that made special surprises for those who needed an emotional boost, chaplains who counseled with family members in despair and prayed with patients over their fear and confusion.
One caregiver that really touched my heart was a physical therapist who was an expert at building bridges with patients with her sense of humor. I remember a family support meeting in our rehab area where we all sat around a table with the patient and caregivers explained to his family the patient’s progress. The stroke victim was expressionless until it came the physical therapist’s turn to speak. Ellen jumped right in, applying her good-humored teasing directly to the patient, and speaking much more frankly than any of the others. She told this patient he wasn’t doing all she knew he could do and she didn’t soft pedal it. Was he offended? Oh, no. His face just lit up with joy. For the first time in the meeting, he participated to the degree he was able. His therapist had made a heart contact when she worked with him; he knew she saw him as a unique individual and not just another patient recovering from a stroke. It was a beautiful moment.
A hospital is a microcosm of society. My point in reflecting on what I learned there is this: what I saw in a smaller setting is what we have all around us. Wherever we work or live, there are hurting people. Life is filled with opportunities to help someone along the way. By realizing that we walk amidst suffering, we can be more kindly observant and less judgmental, more giving and less self-centered. We can choose to not have as one of our biggest regrets someday, the things we had a chance to do for someone else and didn’t.
There is not one single person anywhere who doesn’t appreciate a little extra kindness, some measure of caring. Often the tiniest efforts mean the most. The degree of appreciation usually lies in the size of the hole in the heart – and that, only the hurting one knows.
Pat Rowland is retired from Methodist Healthcare in Memphis, Tennessee, where she was Corporate Director of Patient Affairs.
A few days ago I bought blueberries to make my favorite blueberry muffin recipe. This morning, ready to make the muffins, I emptied the blueberries into a bowl. I had noticed when I opened the container, there were some bad berries right at the top and decided to inspect them all very carefully.
Finished with sorting, I ran cold water into the bowl to rinse the berries. As I moved a few at a time with my fingers into a measuring container, I found there were more mashed and overripe berries. I felt them, rather than saw them. It took several times of sorting to completely get just the berries I was happy using.
I had gone from two cups of blueberries to a cup and a half, but it was just the amount called for in the recipe. All my berries now were quality. I felt confident about my muffin outcome. They would be muffins I would feel good about sharing. While still warm, I carried some over to neighbors for their morning coffee.
God has a way of doing that with all of life when we truly trust. When we apply Romans 8:28 with a full heart of faith, he picks us over and gets rid of the things that shouldn’t be in our lives. We have to be willing. Sometimes we don’t see the part that shouldn’t be there, but God does. And when the bad or useless is removed, the quality of life is much better.
Just today I listened to a young couple talk about the things that God had removed from their lives. Things they had very much wanted. They were confused. They prayed together and eventually gave up the dreams they were holding dear. Then God moved into their lives with a much better plan. I’ve seen that happen over and over in my life.
The young couple had a suggestion worth heeding. It was to keep a journal of what you had hoped for that didn’t work out. Give the final outcome of the situation. Be sure and enter dates. Write out the curves, the delays. Tell how you saw God give you more than you had dreamed. In so doing, it will give you confidence in God’s better plan the next time you feel disappointed or discouraged.
Trust God to see what you cannot. Trust that He wants for you the very best of life.
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BLUEBERRY-SOUR CREAM MUFFINS Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Stir together and set aside 2 cups plain flour ¾ tsp. salt ½ tsp. baking soda Combine in a large mixing bowl 2 eggs, beaten 1 cup white sugar ½ cup vegetable oil 1 tsp. vanilla extract Add alternately the flour mixture with 1 cup sour cream Gently fold in 1 ½ cups fresh blueberriesthathave been sorted and rinsed.
Spoon the batter into prepared muffin cups, filling each nearly full. Bake at 375 degrees for 20-25 minutes. Cool in pan on a wire rack for a few minutes, then remove from pan and let cool completely.
Prayerful Pondering 