Grandpa

As far back as I can remember, my grandpa always enjoyed teasing me endlessly. Each time we visited my grandparents when I was young, I took great care to keep my feet far from his fingers.  He still never failed to find an opportune moment as soon as my guard was down to grab a foot and give it a good tickle. As much as I squealed in protest, I secretly delighted in the ritual.
I'm not sure how old I was when Grandpa first discovered that I don't particularly enjoy being mimicked. During every single visit that followed over the years, he never failed to mimic my words or actions.  He always greeted me with the same query, "Has anyone mimicked you lately?"  If I was ever absent from a family gathering, he instructed my parents to mimic me for him the next time they spoke with me.  He took great joy one year in presenting me with a special gift.  He had found a toy parrot that would repeat whatever I said, so that I would not feel neglected while he and I were apart.  Even during our last time together, he asked if anyone still mimics me.
My grandpa possessed an extraordinary sense of humor.  He found great happiness in making us laugh.  His sharp wit was unmatched.  He had a way of making each of us feel special and treasured.
The time spent in our grandparents' home was nothing short of idyllic. We learned early the definition of genuine kindness and concern. We felt safe and secure in the knowledge that we were dearly loved.  This feeling never wavered through the years. They prayed for us in our days of struggle, and rejoiced in our triumphs. Losing them has taken some of the magic from this world.
"...then in a little while you will see me again." (John 16:16)

Paging Nurse Donna

In recent weeks, my caregiving duties have significantly decreased.  I've often had a nagging feeling that I'm forgetting to do something.  No more wearing masks to set up a machine for home dialysis.  No more trips back and forth to a dialysis clinic.  I no longer need to keep track of daily urine output, or change incision bandages.

Over the years, I have gained much hands-on experience in caring for Jason.  The night before Eli was born, I found myself packing gauze into Jason's wound following a surgery.  In the years that followed, I learned to give IV's, transfer Jason from a wheelchair to bed, give nourishment through a feeding tube, test blood clotting time, organize pill holders, check blood sugar, perform peritoneal dialysis, flush drains, and give shots.  I became Jason's caregiver, his advocate, his protector.

While Jason was still in the hospital after his transplant, I received a message from a wise friend.  She wrote, "I pray that God will redeem these years of being confined to home, that your family will be filled with joy and life, and years of serving the Lord."  We are happily adjusting to yet another new normal.  I am determined to bring joy and purpose to our days.  In the past, we often felt limited by treatment schedules, or simply lack of energy.  I honestly feel as though I'm just now emerging from battle.  I believe I'll hang up my nurse's cap for a bit, and enjoy being a mother, volunteer, wife, friend, daughter, worker, sibling, and child of God.

On The Anvil

While Jason was in the hospital, a friend brought me some books to help fill the long hours.  One of these books was On The Anvil by Max Lucado. Eli ended up reading this for his monthly school book report.  He was quite impacted by the lessons, so much so that he asked if he could speak during chapel this morning at school.
The author writes, "In the shop of a blacksmith, there are three types of tools.  There are tools on the junkpile:  outdated, broken, dull, rusty.  They sit in the cobwebbed corner, useless to their master, oblivious to their calling.  There are tools on the anvil:  melted down, molten hot, moldable, changeable.  They lie on the anvil, being shaped by their master, accepting their calling.  There are tools of usefulness:  sharpened, primed, defined, mobile.  They lie ready in the blacksmith's tool chest, available to their master, fulfilling their calling."
At the end of his report, Eli said, "This book shows the value of life.  It shows that there is always hope.  It shows that you don't have to be dusty in the corner of the workshop.  This book probably leaves everyone with the question of which tool they are.  I believe that I am on the anvil."
I was quite struck by his insight.  I've seen such growth in him recently.  Last Sunday he worked up the courage to pray at the communion table for the first time.  This was the second time this school year that he's volunteered to speak during chapel.  Circumstances in our lives over the years have certainly shaped Eli by fire.  However, along the way he's also been forged by the examples and influence of those around him.  So many have stepped in to fill gaps that Jason and I are often simply unable to cover.  There is the uncle who has willingly played the part of bad cop in order to convince Eli to participate in worthwhile activities.  There are teachers who are selfless and inspire Eli to be more like Christ.  He has an aunt and uncle who throw his suitcase in with the rest, and drive him to youth rallies and camp.  There are those who tirelessly encourage Eli to leap beyond his comfort zone.  This mom thanks you from the bottom of her grateful heart.

"In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your father in heaven." (Matthew 5:16)

Marvelous Are Thy Works

Last night as I watched Jason carefully folding towels at my behest, I marveled again at how far he's come. Next month will mark eight years since life took a dramatic turn for our family.  The years have brought much healing and mending, for all of us.  During the first few years after his brain injury, Jason was extremely quiet.  He rarely initiated conversation, and was often not engaged in life around him.
One morning last week was especially hectic.  I was going to a cleaning job after dropping Eli at school. Before heading to school, we were meeting my brother-in-law so Jason could go home with him. My sister was going to take Jason to dialysis while I was at work.  After we were all showered and ready, I was scrambling to take out the trash and pack lunches.  Eli told me later that Jason had quietly instructed him, "Let's make this as easy on your mom as we can.  We both have places we don't want to go, but she has to go somewhere, too."  Tears filled my eyes as Eli relayed this. Over the years, I've often prayed that Jason would be able to participate in parenting again.  Sunday morning found me trying to get a grouchy teenager out of bed for Bible class.  After many attempts, I finally said that Keith and Caden would miss him in class. Jason overheard this, and told me, "You need to throw a girl's name in there if you want him to get up."  In moments like these, I am overcome with gratitude for all that's been restored to us.
Jason continues to go to dialysis three times each week  He still feels well most of the time, but has been staying in bed longer on recent mornings. This could simply be a reluctance to venture from his warm blankets.  His transplant coordinator is unable to see how high he is currently on the transplant list.  She told me she'd let me know when she starts seeing him in the top ten or fifteen.  When I last contacted her, she indicated that they haven't been receiving many kidneys lately.  We trust in God's timing, and will be ready when the call comes.

"...marvelous are Thy works; and that my soul knows right well." (Psalm 139:14b)