Good Medicine

Each evening Jim and I watch the national news at 6:30.  For one half hour we listen to the days events, interrupted every few minutes by commercial messages.  The other night we noticed that ninety-nine percent of the advertisements are from the pharmaceutical companies.  Of those messages, probably half of the air time is taken up with all the possible negative side effects of the drug that is being presented.   Jim and I look at each other and say, "why in the world are we putting these chemicals in our bodies!?!" 

This week I began to think about my blog post (and as usual, I was just sure that maybe I had run out of topics to write about).  In the middle of the night it came--this month has been one of the worst physical months I have had in five years and yet I would say that I have received some of the best medicine I have had in five years.

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up late and called Jim to "check in" as I often do.  We chatted a bit and then I heard him say, "Happy anniversary, Sweetheart."  "What!," I said.  "What day is this?"  I was so sick I nearly slept through our anniversary without even knowing it.  I felt awful.  I usually fuss and try to surprise and this year it completely escaped me.  A few minutes later a friend texted me to see how I was feeling.  I admitted to her what had happened.  Her immediate response was, "I'll be over with dinner for two in a few hours."

I don't know how she did it but sure enough, later that afternoon a surf and turf dinner with a table cloth, candles, sparkling cider, cloth napkins, and chocolate mousse arrived.  I was so weak that my friend said, "sit--I'll take care of everything!"  And she did.  (She even brought a bottle of iced tea so we could sit on the patio sip and chat as though she had all the time in the world.)  Jim and I had one of the best anniversaries we have ever had in thirty-three years and our hearts were lifted like we never dreamed.  Good medicine!

This week I have spent many days home alone, and sometimes my formal attire has been pajamas.  But a friend called and said, "are you ready to get out?"  And on the most clear, crisp, sunny of days she pulled up in the driveway with her convertible top down I hopped in (well that description might be a bit overzealous but I did get in) and we took a long ride to nowhere.  We wound through our beautiful countryside, past the sheep farm and through the apple orchard.  We tried out back roads that were unfamiliar and we chatted about family and plans and nothing in particular.  A perfect ten day.  Good medicine!

Lunch followed.  Homemade soup and a chicken salad wrap outside in the sunshine.  I sat with my friend but the whole time I had one eye on a beautiful weathered bird bath that was in the middle of her patio herb garden.  While we had lunch, a flock of gold finches flitted back and forth to that bird bath.  It was though they were having a wonderful social gathering and they were thoroughly enjoying one another.  "Those birds are for you," my friend commented.  "I have never seen that many finches on that bath at one time."  How blessed I felt.  Good medicine!

Yesterday was one of our daughter's birthdays.  I woke up yesterday morning to find the most sweet picture of our two girls hugging each other at her birthday celebration posted online.  Good medicine!  (And to top it all off we had a wonderful telephone call with our birthday girl last evening--even better medicine!!)

Each day there have been pink, blue, yellow envelopes arriving in the mail with greeting and well wishes from friends and family.  Good medicine!

The other day I made soup and as often happens, I texted Jim and asked him to bring home one last ingredient for dinner.  This night I wondered if he could find "bread bowls" for our soup.  When he walked in the house he was swinging his reuseable grocery bag with a big grin on his face singing, "I found bread bowls."  Sweet success.  Good medicine!

The list could go on but I will stop.  In Proverbs it says, "A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones."  My heart is full.  The medicine is working.

Hives

A month ago tomorrow, Jim and I were anticipating our second week of vacation in our favorite spot in the world...Maine.  We were staying in a wonderful house on a secluded lot, yet we were close enough to the coves and the beach and the lighthouse.  The house was tastefully furnished with colorful, interesting Americana objects that made it a warm, delightful retreat from the world.

Sadly, though, I could feel that what was suppose to be a refreshing, renewal was descending into fatigue and illness.  I was sleeping non-stop and I was nauseous and couldn't imagine myself getting up to participate in any of our planned activities.  What was happening? 

Jim sensed what was wrong and he jumped into action taking all the steps we had been trained to do when we suspected that infection was taking hold.  Early in the morning he came in with a long face and said, "Steph, get up, sweetheart, we have to go to the hospital." 

We drove down the peninsula to the nearest hospital.  They told us to come in so they could get me started on the care I needed but I was also told I  would have to be transferred to another, larger hospital with a nephrology department.  Our heads were spinning and though the staff was extremely kind, we were frightened.  They were reacting in a way that said, "this situation is very serious!"

The next thing I knew, I was strapped into an ambulance accompanied by a very reassuring paramedic who chatted the hour and a half ride away.  (The most eventful thing that happened on the ride was when the ambulance driver said, "Look out the window."  Evidently a motorcycle driver in full Santa garb was following us!--wish I could have seen it.) 

Things bustled along once I got to the new facility and I was given a room in the CCU--Critical Care Unit.  A doctor came in to explain what the next treatment steps would be.  I heard him say that I would be getting daily doses of intravenous antibiotic and was I allergic to anything.  I told them, "I am allergic to penicillin."  There was a brief silence and then the doctor said, "Well, one of the antibiotics we have to give you is a distant relative to penicillin but there should be no problem."  I remember thinking, "you don't know my body, and I don't feel good about this but I guess I better do what they say so I can get well."

So the long and the short of this story is, I didn't speak up and ask for other options and the treatments began.  Every day I was hooked up for a half hour or hour of an intravenous drip and each day I became increasingly ill.  I vomited and I had chills and my body cried out for relief from all these foreign chemicals. 

The treatments didn't stop when we were finally able to travel back to our home in Connecticut.  Weekly I received more of the  powerful antibiotic (the "bazooka," they called it) and then it happened!  I woke up one night covered in hives....burning, itching, my skin stretched until I thought it would pop.  Nothing seemed to bring relief.  The doctor and nurses said, "it should be gone in a few days but I wondered if I would still be in my right mind when the relief arrived.  Once again they did not know my body and it's been over two weeks of hives which have not dissipated.  I feel trapped!  What I thought was something good for me and my healing has turned against me.

As I think back over my life, I now recognize that I have many "hive" experiences.  At times I have ignored my instincts, godly and otherwise, to choose to allow things in my life that I thought would ultimately serve my good.  I did not have the courage to take a stand and declare that I was settling for second best.  Things went along okay for a while and then suddenly I found myself in an unhealthy, toxic situation--trapped with no end in sight.  The easy way had turned hard.

If only I had had the guts to do what the scripture says in Proverbs-- trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding; in all my ways submit to him, and he would make my paths straight--no additional discomfort, no extra suffering, no hives!

The Shelter

"You've got to try the Coveside," were the words we kept hearing. "Their chowder is delicious."  That's all we needed to hear.  We're always game for a great bowl of seafood chowder--what could be better?

It only took a day for an opportunity to present itself to try out the new restaurant--rain in Maine!  So mid-afternoon we hopped in the car and set out to drive off our peninsula and down the next peninsula looking for this hidden treasure.  We wound along the coastline and over a wonderful little working draw bridge and then we started trying to spot the Coveside.  When we didn't immediately find it, we asked a couple of Mainers where it was and I'm sure they got a huge chuckle when they said, "oh, just follow this road around and you'll eventually come to it," knowing full well we would never find it with those instructions.


Once we found ourselves back where we started, we retraced our steps and there it was!--a rustic, weathered eatery built on pylons at the edge of the harbor.  The setting couldn't have been better.  And how about the fact that we had the place to ourselves except for a group of a dozen people who were seated at the table next to us.  The hostess sat us right in front of the window facing the water--I was giddy with delight! 

After placing our order--a steaming bowl of clam chowder of course--we settled in to see what was happening in the harbor.  Actually not too much was going on.  It was pouring down rain.  Most sailboats and lobster boats were safely moored, rocking in the tide.  There was one funny sight though--a young man fully dressed in a parka and shorts paddled by on his paddleboard.  (I guess he didn't have the sense to come in out of the rain.)

While Jim and I wondered how we had never come to this place before now, we began to piece together what was happening at the table next to us.  The people had come in to the restaurant for lunch on their boat and were now pinned down by the torrential rain.  The waitresses were trying to find Doppler reports on their computers to help the boaters determine their next step--stay or go? 

Finally the sailors went out to check that their boat was securely tied down and it seemed that the consensus was that a rousing card game would do the trick until the storm passed.  They were safe.  Why risk it?

Little did Jim and I know that while we watched those boaters navigate the decisions about what to about the storm of that August afternoon, we would soon be in the midst of a storm of our own--a very serious infection that would land me in a Maine hospital CCU.  We were far away from home and anyone we knew.  We were frightened.  Could we trust our new care givers and their advice?  We had very poor cell phone service and we felt alone.  The only comfort we could find was in what the Psalmist says, "Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty."  Thank you, God, for your protection.

Time Out

"OK, that's it!  You need to take a time out," are words that often have been said in our home over the years.

At times the phrase was said to our two daughters as they were growing up.  Other times it was spoken between Jim and I, encouraging the other to step back and take a deep breath.  The "time out chair" was the place to go to break up an argument, or interrupt stubborn misbehavior, or allow one of the ladies to "think about" her unkind words or deeds.  Sometimes "time out" was used to break up silliness that was moving from funny to dangerous (wonder who instigated that). 

I have an auntie who has been a big part of our family's life.  She never had children of her own but she was magical with our girls when they were little (and for that matter, to me when I was little).  I don't recall her ever raising her voice;  in fact she talked in such a low, soothing tone we had no choice but to quiet down and listen to her.   With a grin on her face, she would sing us silly diddies as she rocked us on her lap.  Great Auntie would let the girls "style" her hair in funny "doos."  She loved to swing with my little ladies in her backyard hammock as she told them the adventures of Anthony Ant (an on-going tale of a tiny ant that she made up on-the-spot for the girls). 

And then there was Auntie's version of "time out"--a book nap.  She would give her great nieces a pile of books she had collected for them at her library (she was a school librarian) and tell them it was time to lay down and read.  The girls would lay up on the guest bedroom bed covered in a red, white and blue patchwork quilt and quietly look at books--no arguing, no complaining just cooperation.

I think, over the years, I have had a misconception of God's "time out"--Sabbath.  It has been filled with duty and "have tos" rather than sweet moments of delightful soothing, nurture and intimacy from the quietness of God's heart.

Next week Jim and I are off to our favorite place in the world for vacation--Maine.  I pray that we will see God's love, whimsy and care in this "time out." 

In the Gospels Jesus says, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath."

Jim's Hands

Several years ago I had a piano student who was a retired therapist.  She was interesting and vibrant and we became fast friends.  Jim and I were invited to her home to have dinner on several occasions with her and her husband who was also "Jim."  Over delicious food we exchanged silly stories and anecdotes.  And invariably the subject of my Jim's "hand antics" would come up--the time he accidentally poured a cup of hot coffee on his hand giving himself second degree burns;  the time he smashed his finger in a car door as a kid, altering his fingernail forever;  the time he sawed (yes, hammer and saw kind of saw) his thumb and forefinger trimming branches in a tree--all while I thought he was washing the car;  and most famously, the time he cut off the tip of his finger in a truck door while on a Dunkin' Donuts run (the man will do just about anything for a cup of coffee).  My friend Kathryn would shake her head and facetiously say, "Jim, I think I should do a study on what you have against your hands."

Jim may have something against his hands, but my experiences of them is very different.  We were in college when he held my hand for the first time--my heart was pounding with excitement!  And after graduation, on a beautiful day in September, I was thrilled to slip a simple gold band on his hand at our wedding.  Eight years later he held my hand as I gave birth to our first daughter and then again three years later when our second daughter came
along--he floated across the hospital nursery as he carried those new babies in his hands.

Jim's hands cleverly built puppet stages for our Kid's Kamps each summer.  They steadied a little pink bicycle as he taught our girls to ride a two wheeler.  His hands pushed the lawn mower and walked the dog on Weekeepeemee.  He grilled many outdoor meals with those hands.  And with his hands, he expertly packed the car for vacation and moved the girls into their apartments at college.  And exactly four years ago today Jim's hands comforted, reassured and calmed me as we learned that I was in "end-stage" renal failure.

In the years since that life-changing moment, his hands have cooked our meals, done our laundry and vacuumed our home.  They have steadied me as I struggle to walk and climb stairs.  Jim's hands have held my purse and coat in the waiting rooms of countless doctors.  His hands have carried our beach chairs and picnic cooler.  They have picked up Scrabble tiles as we play by the lake.   Jim's hands have held mine as we have prayed together and read scriptures together.

In Psalm 138:7, David says of God:

"Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life;  you stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes, with your right hand you save me."

Thank you, Jim, for giving me a clear picture of what this verse means.

The Cafeteria

On my college campus, the cafeteria was on the top floor of our campus center building.  The only way to access the food line was to climb a flight of stairs and enter a single door.  While we stood on the stairs some folks would entertain us with silly antics and others would read their textbooks.  Still other students just stood there with a shy properness about them with only one thing on their mind--eating!

The thought of waiting in that stairwell brings back a range of emotions for me.  If I was with a friend (or my someday-to-be fiancee) I enjoyed the experience.  There was laughter and friendship and chatting.  But if I was climbing those stairs alone, I was anxious and uncomfortable--who would I sit with;  would someone invite me to their table;  would there be room for me?

Once I got through the door into the food line, I would pick up a baby aspirin orange cafeteria tray (also useful for sledding in the winter months), some tinny flatware, a napkin, and I would begin to choose food from the metal bins.  Then I would get a drink, take a deep breath and go through the next door which opened into the dining room, hoping like everything that there would be someone I knew who had an empty seat at their table.  I hated that moment of uncertainty, disconnectedness, aloneness with a passion.

In the midst of those cafeteria memories I have one standout memory of a day when my Dean of Women invited me to have lunch with her.  She had become a mentor and a friend to me so I readily accepted her invitation.  She and I climbed the stairs, moved through the food line and then went into the dining room but my friend did not stop at any of the round tables.  She moved to the end of the dining room took out a key and unlocked the door to the President's Dining Room--a private dining space for the President to use at his disposal.  We sat down at the beautiful wooden banquet table in comfortable chairs and placed our modest trays down to have our meal together. 

In that simple lunch, we discussed my "after graduation" plans.  My mentor spoke of the gifts and talents she saw in me and she even affirmed something she thought I would do in my lifetime--something I still carry in my heart to this day, some thirty years later, waiting for the moment when it becomes a reality. 

Tonight Jim and I went on a "Dunkin' Donuts" date, and while we rode in the car with our coffee and smoothie, we began to talk about how we viewed heaven.  Jim asked me what my thoughts were and I told him that, to me, entering heaven felt like our college cafeteria line.  I can't see into heaven and I am worrying about who I am going to sit with.  I knew that while my answer was an honest one, maybe there was a different perspective that I needed to find.

Then tonight the more we talked, the more it occurred to me that I have the picture wrong.  Heaven is not trying to "go it alone," but rather,  it is being invited to lunch by the one who has access to the banquet room.  It is a personal, intimate time of love, care and affirmation--the whole dining room is filled with people but in that moment it's all about God, my creator, protector and nurturer and me.   In the gospels Jesus says, "And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

 

The Birds

This summer there has been a wonderful menagerie of birds flying in and out of our yard.  I have seen gray jays, tiny hummingbirds, red-breasted robins, cat birds, scarlet cardinals, sparrows, gold finches, purple house finches, an owl and majestic hawks "making lazy circles in the sky."  My favorite bird is the flicker, a beautifully graphic woodpecker with an impressive beak and red head.

I have watched those birds for hours.  They bring me such pleasure.  As I observe their activities it occurs to me that each bird skillfully goes about its business.  I've seen nest building. I've heard each bird's unique chirp.  I've watched foraging and preening. I've even seen what appears to be a game of tag as one bird flies after another bird.

I can tell you what I have not observed and that is a bird worrying and despairing.  I have not seen any bird pretending be something other than he was created to be.  I have not observed discontentment among the backyard birds.

Watching the birds has caused me to wonder, what would it be like to be only who I was created to be?    How would it feel to get up each morning and get about the business of my day in the most delightful, uncomplicated way-- no jealousy, no insecurity, no fretting and worrying?  What would it be like to completely trust that God has everything available to me that I need to carry out my most abundant, fulfilled life?

In the Gospels it says:

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body,       what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds      of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?  Matthew 6:25-27
 
Oh may I be who I was designed to be.  May I receive the simple blessings that God has in store for me, shedding all worry and insecurity.  And may I add joy to the world around me.