Driving to Boston to bring my Dad home from his extended stay in the hospital bumped me out of my autobiography slightly and I began to wonder in earnest what it might be like to step out into liberty after a long confinement.
It's been six weeks, four days.
How will he feel about Boston Traffic? Invigorated? Threatened?
Will He be glad of the sun or will it seem too harsh in it's brilliant winter glare?
Cold air sucked into a chemo ravaged body may not invigorate but may produce fatigue as the body must warm itself.
Artwork throughout the hospital speaks to the human spirit and is intended to relieve the oppression that can close you in. Will he see it and will his heart take wing,or will the unending corridors and hospital hush combined with the constant bell of the elevator be all he hears or see?
Pondering these things moved me to remember that these are exactly the kinds of questions I want to be intentionally asking, especially at the start of each week when I post of God's goodness and I chronicle the specific blessings that my finite eyes have graciously been given to see.
I take cold air for granted and fail to relish the season and how it mirrors God's faithfulness through the generations and for all of earth's history.
I expect the sun when I see blue sky and don't stop to consider what holds the heavens together by the power of His will and word.
Human ingenuity and creativity reflecting the image of Creator God is something I've always assumed, and when I get into any car I no longer marvel and the complex wonder of a self propelled powerful vehicle that I direct to my destination.
Certainly the point of disciplining myself to be here every Monday, (and in between), is to look for and mark exactly this. The things that sitting in a hospital room my dad could only long for.
Of course I'll conclude this post with my list of gifts as I've become addicted to being a gift chaser and raising my hands heavenward with joy and praise for all God gives. And, yes, I do mean all.
Cancer is not all gone. Dad still faces another bone marrow biopsy to determine if he's in remission. And that will determine much of the course for perhaps as much as the next year-if he is in remission. For now, that's all we know.
But, we are all together under one roof dad, mom, and I. We spent all of last evening enjoying conversation, games, and a home cooked meal without talk of discomfort or needing to be excused because of pain. We laughed at all the same jokes and we all held hands as my father led us in a prayer of thanksgiving before we ate.
As we settle into this space between being discharged and what is to come we do so with joy in our voices and a refreshed perspective as mom and I sang in church, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow!"
- Thank you for faithful prayers as I experienced turbulent but safe flights from the Midwest to Boston during last weekend's winter storms
- God wonderfully provided resources for me to be long gone from my farm and family
- What JOY there was/is in bringing my Dad home
- My exuberant youngest daughter waiting by the red phone in the farmhouse kitchen near the time I'll call each night, saying hello, and then proclaiming to her waiting siblings, "It's mommy!"
- Worship and fellowship of the saints even when far from home
- Good sleep, good books, good coffee, and good fellowship while in my parent's home
- Physical mercies on the increase for my father as daily his blood counts are restored and his body responds to invigorated body chemistry
- Slow improvement for my mom following the flu
- Freedom to leave the farm to serve my folks
- Liberty to home educate
- A laptop to keep me connected
- Although I didn't bring my camera, mom's iPod was available to take some pictures
- Concluding each evening with prayer over the telephone as Weekend Farmer Husband intercedes on my behalf
Pardon, please, the photos- some of them through a dirty windshield?
Will link to Ann and the Gratitude Community later today.