Friday Fascination

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Light the World

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Tender Mercies

It was not a Christmas to remember, but it is one we won't soon forget. And yet, there were so many tender mercies.

I completed CPR recertification for the first time in five years literally the week before I needed it. My employer paid for my training, even though I am not in the office the required "at least three days a week" they mandated. I volunteered to pay for it myself, but I was never billed.

While growing up, my grandmother taught me, via application, that Vicks Vaporub is the key to winter survival. She taught me, again, through how she tended to me and my two little brothers, that (pure, local) honey and lemon work just as well as any over-the-counter concoction. As does a warm salt water gargle. And vitamin C in almost any form, particularly pineapple. Oh, and steam. Breathe it in, breathe it in, breathe it in. Back then, Grandma would drape a towel over our heads as we stood on a kitchen chair to lean over a steaming (blue with white flecks) tea pot on the stove and breathe in the steam. I don't need a towel these days. My hair LOVES pretending to be a towel. And it looks pretty darned healthy and wavy after I finish!

Drugs prescribed to treat Parkinson's don't play nicely with over-the-counter meds, so natural remedies are just about the only way to kick the common cold. Thank heavens, one of my super powers must be my often unbelievable immunity. While growing up, I cared for my entire 9-member family through two bouts of "Hong Kong" flu without ever contracting it. I did steal Lizard's sore throat for two days a couple of weeks ago, but only after accidentally using his toothbrush. It's been so long since either of us was sick, I'd forgotten I ALWAYS replace our toothbrushes after we've had a cold or virus.

Steam. My goodness, who in the world would have ever expected me to be thankful for those pesky tiny black "no see 'em" bugs I couldn't get rid of, even after I gave away nearly all our houseplants? Back about three months ago, another gardener told me the best way to get rid of those mini monsters was not the dish soap/apple cider vinegar concoction I'd been spraying on the pots and soil for years, but to instead dump a pot of boiling hot water down each drain (where the vexing little bugs nest) every day for at least ten days. It worked. The steam also humidified the kitchen/dining room/living room of our house, and I wanted to make sure the little bugs didn't come back. So I kept doing it. I think that homemade humidity made our air healthier when we needed it most.

The prayers of friends and loved ones literally got us a next-day emergency appointment with the general practitioner, which prevented us from the likely hours-long wait Lizard would have had to endure at an urgent care center while I filled out mountains of paperwork then trusted his life to strangers who don't know his history and which meds he can take. Not to mention the potential exposure to more winter germs after he had just successfully recovered from 12 days of a common cold complicated by allergies. The week before Christmas! I expected we'd have to make that emergency room visit because no one would be able to squeeze us in until after the new year.

I didn't find out about the medical emergency until 2 a.m. Sunday. It would be 28 hours before I could call the family physician. (Yes, I tried the number, and was directed to call 911). The aforementioned CPR training (which no longer includes splinting or stopping bleeding, which I independently studied up on at the same time because these skills are as important to me as a caregiver as CRP and AED) was just what I needed just when I needed it.

2019 total knee replacement

Four of my bosses did not protest when I informed them Monday morning of our last-minute medical emergency appointment the following day. My fifth boss sent me one of the kindest emails I've ever received: "Deb, you do whatever you have to do to take care of your husband and get him the medical care he needs. Nothing here is as important as that." My sweet co-worker graciously volunteered to cover for me during the appointment, just as she did during the pandemic when I attended my dad's funeral and Lizard's step-sister's funeral. (Assigned coverage during time off in summer and fourth quarter requires months of advance notice.) The miracle of me being allowed to work from home is continually one of our most huge gifts.

Hardwood floors. They came with the house, and boy, am I ever thankful most of the house is not carpeted. Lizard dripped blood everywhere his restless legs carried him before he discovered he was bleeding. So grateful this Parkinson's-ravaged, often-confused and sometimes childlike sweetheart of mine noticed he was oozing before the bleeding began and took the time (fighting all-out achiness, given the nature of the looming medical emergency) to cover each seating surface in the house with a towel and an old bicycle T-shirt. Every single T-shirt he used now displays "war wounds" of the night neither of us will ever forget.

The ability to calmly and tenderly slow the bleeding and encourage coagulation while panic was banging on the door and screaming in my ears. The almost magical healing power of fresh air on highly irritated skin. The ability to keep cleaning and dressing wounds without violently displacing everything I'd eaten the previous day and everything I ate the next 56 hours. The power of hydrogen peroxide in removing blood stains in the tub. The ability to forget how much the blood in the tub scared me when I discovered it hours later. The ability to keep eating after some of the horrendous views I thought would haunt me for months or perhaps even years. The miracle of not dreaming about Lizard's suffering every time I close my eyes.

The example of my sweet mother, who three times daily dressed the wounds on my diabetic father's legs for nearly a decade to prevent gangrene. The doctors told my dad all those years it would not be high blood pressure or cancer that got him. It would be the gangrene. Cancer won.

The example of my friend Shonna and her husband the last four months of her life when she was the one bleeding and in agony as her bed-ridden body slowly succumbed to ovarian cancer. Shonna's closest friends would volunteer to sit with her eight to ten hours while her husband went to work to keep the medical bills paid. The first time I volunteered, I had never seen such suffering in person, and I was horrified. I didn't know if I could finish my shift. But sweet Shonna, between bouts of unimaginable pain, would ask me to massage her feet, which is how I learned to massage Lizard's restless legs. She would ask me to sing "I am a Child of God." And she requested I sing it at her funeral. (Yes, I did.) I think God helped me finish that first shift because there's no way I could have done it alone, even though I love Shonna with all my heart and wanted to do whatever I could to help ease her pain. The biggie, though, was watching her husband lovingly do the tender but painful necessary cleaning of highly sensitive skin as she screamed and moaned in pain. He would continually tell her how much he loves her and how everything was going to be okay. Not once did he shy away, and not once did he express any hint of negativity. I'm not sure he knows he taught me to do what I had to do for Lizard last week by teaching me how to do it for Shonna.

The miracle of sleep. For both of us. I had to work each week day of our trauma, and I was able to get sleep once Lizard was able to get sleep. Sleep allowed me to keep functioning, even when it seemed our whole world was being ripped apart at the skin creases. The miracle of healing. Lizard is mending. And he's still getting some of that precious sleep.

Christmas is a time of miracles. Our lives may not have turned out the way we dreamed, but we certainly receive enough miracles to make up the difference. All year long. Most especially, this year. Not a one of these tender mercy "gifts" was wrapped, but if we were able to pile them, I think the tower would be taller than the skyscraper I call work.

Last week was a nightmare. But I know Whose footprints are in the sand. And snow...

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#GiveThanks

We have survived some of our scariest times in 2020, as have many worldwide. We haven't just muddled through. We have survived. We are stronger. We are closer. Our faith and our hope have been strengthened and nurtured.

Halloween was our scariest yet. The night before, the toilet backed up into the tub. And I thought bailing *clean* snowmelt and rain water from the window well was bad!!!

I learned there is a difference between a plumber and a drain cleaner. It took a couple of hours to find someone who could/would come, and we had to wait overnight. The guy we got was awesome and did his best to contain the basement flood when he began cutting through tree roots that decided our pipes were the best source of food, especially in the drought conditions we've been experiencing. We've now been advised to have the pipes cleaned annually to prevent this from happening again.



I didn't realize we had run out of plastic bins to replace cardboard boxes last time this happened. (Yes, second time tree roots have done this to us. The first time happened while we were on vacation about 13 years ago. We discovered quite the mess when we got home.)

Four cardboard boxes got wet with ick on the outside Halloween weekend during the drain-cleaning process. One box was filled with my old hand-written journals and paper photos. The others had paper records from my father-in-law's estate, including deeds as far back as 1902!!! (These boxes had never been opened.)

We lost all four cardboard boxes, but I was able to save all the contents. Not a single document or photo was lost. Not a single grocery receipt from 1943 was lost! (All the receipts, of course, have now been recycled.)

The bathroom and basement have been thoroughly Cloroxed and are now cleaner than they have ever been. The final bill was about a third of what we were initially quoted. It could have been SO much worse.



My bank card was hacked two weeks ago. My bank caught it immediately and reversed the fraudulent charges. Things could have been SO much worse.



I've been praying for more than two decades to know what I could do to nurture the bond with my adopted and now grown kids. The relationship with my daughter has been steadily improving. I'm still making payments on the trip I bought for Lizard and myself and for my daughter's little family to California for my niece's funeral one year ago. We were a month away from Lizard's first surgery, and the expense was a huge sacrifice. It has been more than worth it. I am so thankful I took us all to see my parents in what may be the final time some family members get to see each other in this life. My daughter has been renewing relationships with all my family and they with her ever since, and she texts me frequently now, sometimes just to say, "I love you."



My son is slower to come around. He doesn't really consider me the mom anymore; he reunited with his birth mom many, many years ago, and she IS his mom. He sends me a message about every six to twelve months (we used to have three-year gaps), and it's usually because he needs something. As soon as his needs are met, he disappears again. I keep praying, however, that our relationship might one day improve, and that I might somehow be a good influence on him.

Last week he contacted me in need of emotional support because he'd gotten himself into another bind. Because it perfectly fit the situation, I sent him the scripture and spiritual thought our missionaries had sent me that day. Thanks to the virus, for many months missionaries haven't been allowed to teach the way they traditionally did, and all missionaries have had to come up with creative ways of staying in touch and serving. I look forward to a new scripture and spiritual thought from our missionaries each day.

After reading the scripture I sent, my son, to my surprise, thanked me for helping him find peace again. He asked if I would share our missionaries' message with him again each day.

Hey Sister Snowcatcher! The verse we wanted to share with you today is found in Revelations 7:17: "For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."

We enjoy this verse because it holds the peace of Christ. His doctrine and His love is that living water that will forever quench the thirst for truth that all our souls need. We also like the part of how God shall wipe away our tears. We have that truth right now, but that doesn't mean it's always easy. Sometimes we shed those tears or have those struggling moments, but through Christ, His word and gospel, we will feel that peace the Prince of Peace extends to all.



Last summer, I was unable to have groceries delivered to my brother and his family after he was laid off halfway across the United States. Delivery was not available where they live. They knew what Lizard and I were going through with Lizard's medical expenses and would not accept a check or gift certificate.

My brother has since found another job, but his hours were cut again recently as virus numbers surge. Last weekend I was able to have all the fixings for a turkey dinner delivered to them without their protest because they didn't know it was happening until moments beforehand. And it turns out Thanksgiving is my brother's favorite holiday.

2020 has been many ugly things to many people this year. But 2020 has enabled us as a people to be able to serve others, sometimes far distant from us, in ways we could never imagine in the past.

November typically is a difficult month for me every year. But I'm trying to stay focused on the positive this year. All year. I waltz through this month with a heart full of Thanksgiving and songs of joy in my soul and hope to be able to share that with others.

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Reign of Judges

Finally coming to Colorado! Mark your calendars for June 7!

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Kindness Begins with Me

Lizard is a coffee drinker. Black, nothing special. I am not. We have a coffee maker at home, and that's generally what he uses. Sometimes I even use it to make hot chocolate or hot herbal tea.

Sometimes, The Lizard wakes early on his day off to take me to a spectacular location for eye-popping sunrise photography before dropping me off at the train so I can try to get to work on time.

That's when I treat him with a "frou frou" coffee (his term) to show my love and appreciation.


After one recent such extremely satisfying occasion, we spent a little longer in line at the coffee shop than planned. After a few minutes, I realized the two young girls, perhaps 10 or 11 years of age, were short of funds. They had selected confections, probably as breakfast, and there wasn't enough money to get two Frappuccinos. I don't even know what a Frappuccino is, but I could see the disappointment in the girls' faces as they pondered sharing one.

The barista was explaining to the girls she had other customers to serve, so they could sit down with their treats and decide what they wanted while she took the other orders.

I asked if the girls were short of funds. One immediately hid her face in embarrassment. The other looked at me the way a child looks at a stranger who has just offered assistance, sort of a hopeful but suspicious half smile.


I instructed the barista to give them what they wanted, and I'd make up the difference.

The suspicious child beamed with delight. The shy child promptly responded, "No, I can do this."

I assured her it would be all right, and that she could pass it on by smiling to others the rest of the day.

A few minutes later, we were sipping on hot chocolate made with almond milk and cinnamon, no whipped cream, and mocha with whipped cream as we headed toward the train stop. The sky still had a touch of color, and holdout autumn leaves were rustling in the breeze. I'd earned a hug from both girls, but something inside was bothering me.


I realized as I kissed Lizard goodbye that I might have been that embarrassed child nearly half a century ago, and I could have handled the situation differently.

I set out at a very early age to be self-sufficient, and it's a goal for which I continue to strive hungrily. I, too, would have been embarrassed had someone come to my financial aid in a crowded venue of royal embellishments... a shop of expensive things I really didn't need but longed for just the same. At any age.

I realized I should have somehow inconspicuously tipped off the barista without drawing the attention of everyone else in the shop, who also likely would have done the very same thing I did, given the chance.

Kindness in secret often is the best, most delicious and overwhelmingly pleasurable variety, as well as the easiest for a recipient to swallow.


I hadn't gone into the situation trying to make a scene, but I know from very personal experience how difficult it is to accept assistance from strangers when I come up short.

All too many times I had to rely on kindness of strangers when raising my two special needs adopted children alone. I am so very grateful for every single time someone stepped forward to help me find a missing child or control an unexpected raging temper tantrum (or even just keep an eye on the non-tantruming child while I took care of the out-of-control one). But that evil sidekick - fierce independence - emblazoned me with apprehension, doubt, fear, hesitation and uncertainty I was quite sure visually labeled me with perceived skyscraper-sized epithets of weakness and powerlessness, scars that sometimes come out of hiding when I least expect.

There's no better way in the world to begin a day than to spontaneously show kindness to someone in need. There's always room for growth in accepting the kindness of strangers. This particular day, I learned a lesson I hope will help me be more sensitive in the future.

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Light the World

Personally, I think we should do this every day and not just in December...

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