Thursday, August 18, 2016
PROP ME UP ON EVERY LEANING SIDE
One of my friends once taught me a prayer,"Lord, prop me up on every leaning side." I filed it my memory bank, and now it is a daily prayer.
.Afflicted with neuropathy, and always subject to falling, it has become my old age mantra. My daughter gave me a new state of the art, guardian walker,
which has brakes and a seat. So , I get along. Getting in & out of places, is a struggle, but it keeps me somewhat mobile.
My physician told me that I was one of few patients who brings their walkers to appointments. Their pride gets in the way. James Tobin's book, The Man He Became,.a stirring story of President Roosevelt's overcoming his handicap, has been an inspiration to me. At times when I almost fall, I am reminded of the 90+ year old Eli of the Old Testament. Nearly blind , when he heard news of Israel's defeat, the slaughter of sons. and the loss of the ark, he fell off his seat by the side of the gate, and died from a broken neck. God forbid! An old monk was asked for the secret of his life and he replied., "I fall down. I get up. I fall down and get up/"
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Gandhi's wisdom is much needed in these hectic months of political campaigns
Live as if you were to die tomorrow;
learn as if you live forever.
When restraint and courtesy are added to strength, the leader
I suppose that leadership at one time meant muscles; but today it means getting along with people.
When I despair, I remember that all through history, the way of truth and love has always won. There have been tyrants, and for a time they can seem invincible. But in the end they always fall. Think of it, always
Thursday, July 28, 2016
BROKEN CHORDS VIBRATE ONCE MORE
I still have happy memories of my older sister, Patricia, who died some time ago from vascular dementia. Earlier, Pat's ministry was to play the piano in nursing homes, where many residents suffered from dementia. Once, I went with her as she played some of the old tunes. Residents with dementia who rarely spoke and usually were slumped in their seats, suddenly came to life. They tapped their feet and swayed with the music, and some even sang the words. I still remember one dear lady, with that usual blank expression, had a light on her face as she sang the words of the old Gospel hymn, In the Garden, "And he walks with me, and he talks with me, and tells me I am his own.' It was a taste of Resurrection in that somewhat dreary place. Wherever heaven is, I believe Pat still plays the piano for healed souls and lost memories restored. For years my wife, Alice Ann, and I did worship in Memory Care facilities. Often I felt a failure when I used words, but when we sang, it was a different matter. "Chords that were broken vibrate once more." I learned that when ability to engage in conversation and abstract thought had gone, music endured. Music had reached beyond dementia to the soul. We always ended with a favorite chorus written by David Haas,
Do not be afraid, I am with you
I have called you each by name,
Come and follow me,
I will bring you home,
I love you and you are mine.
I will bring you home,