Topped Off

Exhausted, I went in search of coffee. That's when I saw her.

Maybe my age, maybe younger.

She pushed a walker and haltingly stepped . . . stepped . . . stepped

While sporting her stylish boots, fleece-trimmed jacket, and dyed auburn-red hair.

Feeling so fat-producingly fatigued and washed out, I bee-lined for the cafeteria’s coffee machine

Only to find one machine out of order and the other out of coffee.

BIG sigh.

“Is the cappuccino working?” the stylish walker-lady asked me.

She had finally made it into the cafeteria only to find no rewards for her effort.

No I said. Nothing is working.

“Oh.” She seemed tired . . . like me. And disappointed.

Follow me, I said. I’m going upstairs to the Atrium where there’s coffee in the afternoon, I said.

We rode the elevator to three. She talked about her tumor on her spine, about her never-ending pain, about the many doctors, about the mountain of medicine.

While waiting on our coffees being prepared by the Atrium’s good-natured and beautifully smiling workers, the walker-lady told me her age--six years younger than me.

I immediately recognized my survivor’s guilt and pushed it back.

She told about her home being broken into twice, about now having to move into another home with a new person, about children who don’t talk to her, about ten grandchildren.

I saw the grey at her part in her hair. I saw the gold sparkle in her long nails. I saw the tears welling up and spilling over.

“I just wish they would take the tumor out. One doctor said maybe instead they will take a disk out and fuse my neck. Another doctor said just take the Oxycontin. I don’t like taking it. Makes me feel bad.”

How long have you been sick I asked.

“Ten years.”

Tears ran down her hollow cheeks. I gave her a napkin from the dispenser next to the cream and sugar.

Our coffees came. She looked at my badge. “So you are a pastor? Would you pray with me?”

Before she asked I sensed our “chance” encounter had The One Who Sees’ hand on it and on us.

We sat down with our coffees. I told her a story about another woman who had been sick for twelve years, spent her savings and something like the home mortgage on doctors, and still grew sicker by the day. Told her about the sick woman reaching for Jesus, about Jesus stopping and healing the woman, about the  woman's life being transformed as well as healed.

Then the walker-lady stretched her sparkly gold fingernailed hands past her coffee and grasped my hands.

I prayed for physical and spiritual healing for us both. God knew the ways we needed his healing, needed him.

She took the elevator and slowly walked out the front door in her stylish boots, fleece-trimmed jacket, and auburn-red dyed hair.

I walked down the three flights of stairs back to my office to drink the coffee. I was still tired yet gently refreshed.

“But He told me. . . ‘My power is strongest when you are weak. . . .’” –2 Corinthians 12:9

SLEEP WATCHING

You just sit there on the bed

And stare out the window.

It’s dark. What can you possibly see?

You fight sleep.

Constantly.

Your eyes widen then droop

Then you blink slowly,

Your head nodding.

The next second you are asleep sitting up.

Then the next second

You startle awake and fight sleepiness to keep watch.

What could be all that interesting?

What are you looking for?

In the middle of the night sometimes I ask myself those same questions.

Day Off

I was up by 6:27.

Excited. Anticipating. Grateful.

After my shower, new sheets on the bed, and my second cup of coffee,

The sun found its way through the trees that border the back of my yard.

Morning light welcomed me to my day off.

The birds chatted as more sun scattered across the dew-filled grass.

Zach dashed out and disappeared into his haven of new discoveries.     

The bite of the cool morning didn’t stop me from jumping into my car,

Picking up a friend,

and going to the Waffle House for a big, day-off breakfast.

Nothing like their grits.

More cups of coffee later I settled down at the house with my Bible

 and books

 and Zach

 and read myself to sleep.

Moved from chair to sofa and napped under Granny’s quilt—

Me underneath and Zach the Cat on top.

Waking up a little too warm from the quilt and cat,

I moved my studying outside to the deck

Where I read and watched Zach lounge in the sun.

The wind chime choreographed itself with the breeze sometimes adding background music

To my hours of reading.

What a wonderful way of delighting in

A day off in autumn.

 

Going Muddin' 

      Through Depression

                                                                           

 

 

 

Depression. . .

                                              

In the worship service, my pastor, Ken Shaddox, preached on the reasons for and prevention of the epidemic of depression.

It’s fast becoming a top-five disease in North America due to things like:

• Stress
• Unmet expectations
• Losses in life
• Physical/chemical/hormonal issues
• You-name-it other reasons

A healer of depression can be “The Big Three”--

1) 7-8 hours sleep,

2) nutrition improvement,

3) exercise.

Not kidding. It’s a scientific fact that “The Big Three” fight back depression.

Another healer is the spiritual principle of possessing hope. Depression can spring a leak in our spirit and totally drain the hope right out of life.

Ken emphasized that such wonderful hope to combat life's hopelessness is found in the personality of God.

Wow.

I love that.

Don’t we all love to be around those personalities 

who embrace and embody hope? 

And so it is with God.

Or as Lamentations 3:21-23 says: “Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

Ken opened up our eyes to three words in this passage that are life-giving when battling depression.   (Hint: they are highlighted!)  

 

Hope, God’s great love, and God’s great faithfulness can make a remarkable difference 

in a troubled mind, 

an aching heart, 

and in a mud-puddled life.

This afternoon I dropped by my hospital to check on a patient. In the process I reunited with a nurse-friend who I never get to see anymore because she only works weekends.  She and I hugged and laughed and hugged some more right there in the middle of the unit.

Then we got quiet, eye-balled each other, and asked each other: “How are you really doing?”

She told me she had fought with compassion fatigue.

"Me too," I said, "plus significant depression."

She, too, spoke of her fight against depression.

“I was under it. Really under it. But I couldn't figure out why.” She said. “And finally I saw myself for what was going on. 

I was DEPRESSED, and my constant depression was blocking me from receiving blessing.”

“What do you mean blessing?” I squinted at her and asked.

“You know. God’s blessing. His gifts and goodness. I was so focused on myself and my hurt and my sadness that I could not see anything else. We get stuck looking inward at ourselves.” She smiled that big smile at me and was looking deep into me. I wondered if she was reading my emotional mail.

“So how do you receive God’s blessing when the depression is at you so hard?” I had to know.

Had to.

“Well…hummm….” She smiled, thought a bit, and eye-balled me again with a warm love. That’s her style. "Well when you turn it around and try to keep your eyes more on God than on yourself, even when you are hurting so bad, then you and God can do things like . . . 

turn that ole depression
mud puddle 

                                into a mud facial—

                making you bee-uu-tee-full!”

We laughed and laughed.

I smiled to myself as I walked towards my car to go home.  Appropriate medicine and some incredible counselors have been healing gifts from God  for me. Yet no matter the struggle I might have with the blues and depression, I welled up with new inner joy at the thought that I am on my way to becoming a bee-uu-tee-full  “Cover Girl” in my soul and spirit.

It gives me life-giving hope

        that God can make
            mountains into molehills 

    and mud holes
                       into mud facials.

by Candace K Hardin

Night Watching



Zach the Cat looks out the window.
And I type words.
It's late.
But he's supposed to be up--nocturnal and all.
I'm supposed to be in bed--going to work in the morning and needing rest and all.
But Zach and I are both
night watching.

We look for things that move in the dark,
That get our attention,
That hold our interest,
That challenge us.
He watches for a couple of neighborhood cats
Who would dare walk, sniff, and possibly mark his territory.
Me, I watch for another thought,
Or a God whisper,
Or a possible revelation,
Or a new encounter 
Through writing, reading, even through silence.

Zach watches on the outside.
I watch on the inside.
Exterior.
Interior.
We both enjoy 
Night watching.
Just like God made us to.
But I think Zach enjoys it more.

                                           
                                Zack looks a lot like this cat in this painting that I copied from Google images.

"Stand"

You feel like a candle in a hurricane

Just like a picture with a broken frame

Alone and helpless

Like you've lost your fight

But you'll be alright, you'll be alright

Cause when push comes to shove

You taste what you're made of

You might bend, till you break

Cause its all you can take

On your knees you look up

Decide you've had enough

You get mad you get strong

Wipe your hands shake it off

Then you Stand, Then you stand

Life's like a novel

With the end ripped out

The edge of a canyon

With only one way down

Take what you're given before its gone

Start holding on, keep holding on

Cause when push comes to shove

You taste what you're made of

You might bend till you break

Cause it's all you can take

On your knees you look up

Decide you've had enough

You get mad, you get strong

Wipe your hands, shake it off

Then you stand, then you stand

Everytime you get up

And get back in the race

One more small piece of you

Starts to fall into place