The Pajama Game

I discovered RedBox a few weeks ago. My standards for a RedBox run have progressively declined. But you know, I noticed I'm not the only one showing up to the Box in PJs and slippers.

T'Ain't Right

There's something just, well, not right about 75 degrees during Christmas break. I'm not complaining--my kids have been out jumping on the trampoline barefoot in shorts all week. But today when it crept up to 75 under clear blue skies and they asked if they could turn the sprinkler on, I had to draw the line. It's not that warm. It feels a little fall-ish. The leaves have turned (on the trees that turn). Families were out riding bikes and walking the trails on this lovely, lovely day. But then I noticed the big nativities in everyone's front yards and I suddenly remembered that tomorrow is New Years Eve. . . . it's easy to forget around here.

Unexpectedly

If I could go back 15 years or so and lay out what I thought would happen in my life in the next 15 years or so, I imagine I would have guessed wrong--oh so wrong on so many counts. Let's see . . . I was 23, a college graduate, living in Italy as a missionary. As I pondered my future I considered possibilities--perhaps I would live in New York, or stay in Seattle, maybe even head for London again. The world was wide open, seek a career in Theater, go to graduate school. Perhaps I would marry, perhaps not. But I didn't figure that choosing marriage would have so drastically shaped the course of my life. Yes, I was also naive at 23. Since then there has not been graduate school and only brief stays in New York and Seattle. And since then I can add Florida, Colorado, South Carolina, Michigan and now Texas. Oh, and a few weeks in Greece. I've traveled and lived in some stunningly beautiful places. I've lived in suburbs, farmland and in the mountain tops. All things I never would have imagined 15 years ago. And yesterday, a new unimagined first, I bought a wheelchair for my 34 year old husband.

My how life changes, and changes us. He doesn't need a chair all the time--but we wanted to give him more freedom--maybe we'll take the kids to a museum over Christmas break and he can come along instead of laying in bed at home. He likes to say "I can be in pain at home or I can be in pain away from home." which is true, except it's hard to be in pain and walk very far. So now we can push him around--I've waited years to push him around . . .

Who knows how long the chair will be present in our lives. But for today it is needful. I've never been able to second guess my future, so I'll try not to do so now. For now we try and enjoy the good in our lives and find ways to laugh about the unexpected circumstances. If I new how to knit, I told Matt I would knit him an afghan for his knees and maybe a shawl for his shoulders. It's tough being married to an old lady . . .

PS. The Chair I think needs a name. The scooter he had for a few weeks we named Perry, after the platypus. I'm thinking of calling it "Dr. Doofenschmirtz", "Doof" for short.

The Waiting Game

Elliotism of the Season:

"Bless this food, and bless that it won't feel like so long until Christmas because, (pause) you know. And bless . . . "

Yeah, He knows.

One Step Back

So now that I have people worried, let my add a little clarity to that last post. As you know, if you've been following the saga, we had some great promise with Matt's health. Things were looking up. I thought we'd hit bottom and were making our way back up out of the hole. Then, he began to backslide. He'd come home from Utah, done a couple weeks of therapy, was doing really quite well, then something happened. We don't know what, but something seemed to retrigger the nerves and they began to flare up again. We'd had him scheduled to return to Utah for another round of treatment and went ahead and sent him, thinking it was good timing. This round did not go as well as the first. We don't know what triggered it, but after his second treatment session of this round, his pain was significantly reduced and all was well, until a few hours later, the pain came back with a vengeance. And his whole leg, toe to hip began convulsing uncontrollably. He was in excruciating pain, his meds weren't helping, so my parents tried to take him to the hospital, but he couldn't walk with the spasms, so they called the paramedics who took him to the hospital on a stretcher. A bunch of Valium and morphine later, the spasms died down and they sent him home. We were able to get him back to Texas and are trying to figure out what to do next.

So, in the midst of a little pity party, I wrote that last post. It's alright though, we're just taking it a day at a time. We're resigning ourselves to the reality that no one knows when or even if things will get any better. That takes some adjustment. I'm looking into wheelchairs and a disabled parking placard. What else can you do but trudge forward? In the grand scheme of things, in the eternities, this will be but a small moment. Yet the things we learn in passing through these small moments will shape our very souls and define who we will be in eternity. I recognize we have been so greatly blessed and I recognize that there are so many people who have far greater challenges than ours, so I hope you don't think less of me for my occasional personal pity parties--I'll try not to post during the next one. Meanwhile, I hope to pass this life's test, choose the better part, avoid pity parties and try to find the joy here in the journey, even when it feels like I'm at the bottom . . .

Hitting Bottom

How do you know if you've hit bottom? It seems just when you think things can't possibly get worse, somehow they do. For better or worse, I cling to the words of "anonymous": "It's all good in the end. If it's not good, it's not the end."

P.S. I love my Mom. She knows how to make hitting bottom just a little softer.

Whistling Dixie

Elliotism:

Mom, only Jesus knows the future, right?

So he knows if I'm going to be able to whistle?