Author Archives: Eileen
A Very Special Lady
Bobbie’s eyes sparkled above her mischievous grin as she rolled up to me, holding out her leg.
“Here, carry this darn thing , will you? It’s been killing me all morning.”
Open mouthed, but speechless, I took her prosthetic leg. We were coming out of the restroom into the main lobby of the Renaissance Center, where people were coming and going to plays and art exhibits and classes.
Bobbie propelled her wheel chair expertly toward the door, smiling at everyone as she stopped to embrace friends with her usual joyful warmth.
I followed behind her, joining in her amazing humorous acceptance of all that life had dealt her, by carrying her leg over my shoulder, like a rifle.
When we reached the car, she swung herself up into the driver’s seat, as I stowed all her transportation aids in the trunk.
“Boy,” she said. “Isn’t it great that I still have my right leg, so I can drive. Let’s celebrate with a cappuccino. My treat.”
The Best Thing about Getting Seriously Old
The best thing about getting seriously old is that you don’t have to.
The Scariest Thing about Getting Truly Old
The scariest thing about getting old is that your doctors, dentists, priests, nurses ,pilots, investment and insurance counselors, and sometimes even the President of your country, are the same age as your grandchildren. If that doesn’t scare you to death, it should.
The Spirit
At first, it seemed as if God walked
through the garden of my life
on velvet kitten paws,
gifting me with fleet impression
of brushing soft caress,
leaving feather light prints
in the tender earth
of my spirit.
In later times, God climbed
the granite mountain
of my stubborn will,
using painful stake and hobnail boots
to gain each foothold,
bringing about His kingdom
through the thundering voice
of circumstance.
Then, recently, I sensed God lost,
absent on Sabbatical
of undetermined length,
leaving only fading echoes
in my memory.
Until, at last, in desert night
and aching loneliness,
I faced my emptiness.
And discovered Her –
within.
Blogging Across Borders
I am thanking God this morning that I lived long enough to experience this brave new world, where we can speak to one another’s hearts as fellow human beings across the borders of nations, cultures, religions,genders, age, education, and profession.
If you have a chance, read this blog by Doctor Dad in the Philippines:
Whether he is writing about his four sons or his experiences as a physician, he speaks heart to heart with an openness that touches me profoundly.
Pouring the Wrong Cup
I follow a blog called Spilling the Happy Cup.com. The author, Jacki, shares simple happy moments in just a few words and photos. Her special rainy Saturday morning meditation had been baking banana bread. I could smell the banana bread, hear the steady rain, and feel the grace of being focused on a simple pleasant task and living in the present moment. Lovely.
Then I had to laugh. I too spent that Saturday morning cooking. I was trying out a new recipe for a brunch I was having on Sunday. I had a class at noon, so I was feeling pressured for time. I had the ingredients scattered around the counter; beaten eggs, cream, melted butter, grated cheese, browned sausage, and onions. Old age seems to bring on A.D.D., so when my husband asked me where my checkbook was, I pointed to it, and then poured the melted butter into the mixture of sausage, cheese, eggs, and cream.
Unfortunately, the butter was supposed to be used to saute the onions. Of course, I blamed my husband for distracting me. He quickly disappeared, taking refuge in balancing my bank statement, and considering it karma when he got to tell me I was $40 dollars off.
I debated throwing it all out and starting over. But the $40 checkbook mistake was not in my favor. The recipe didn’t call for bread, but the day before I had brought home some yummy garlic cheese biscuits from being treated to lunch at the Red Lobster. It suddenly occurred to me to crumble the leftover biscuits in to absorb the extra grease. I could cook it and taste it when I got back from class. That way, if it was too horrible, I could go to the store and make it over that night.
Short story, long: it took draining grease off a couple of times during baking, but it was actually edible. In fact, everyone went back for seconds. Though the two Saturday morning cooking experiences played out very differently, the grace for me was having the biscuits on hand and managing to save the casserole and the money.
Thanks, Jacki, for helping me notice God in both Spilling the Happy Cup and Pouring the Wrong Cup.
My Hero
A post on Face book today: The person who dances with you in the rain, most likely will be the one who walks with you through the storms.
Touched a chord.
Memory of my husband, Julian, running through our field with me, both of us drenched and laughing in the rain, just after we bought our hundred acre weed and rock sanctuary. Forty-one years ago.
Several years later, when the power went out and we ran out of wood for heat, both of us and our five children were out in the snow in the dark cutting down a tree with a cross-cut saw and forming a log brigade to pass the logs up to the door.
The whisper (Edited)
I hear my name whispered
in the new day’s softness.
I hide in the shadows,
perhaps it was birdsong.
I hear it carried on the wind
much clearer now.
But, I’m old and tired,
I pretend not to hear.
I have a longing in my heart,
a hunger in my mind.
But, I’ve tried and failed so often,
I cling to where I am.
I glimpse a narrow path
winding in the mists.
Abram and Sarah
are there beckoning.
But still I hesitate,
too afraid to follow.
Finally, I see a face
with eyes that see
into my soul,
a smile so warm
it melts my frozen heart,
a hand that reaches out
to grasp my own.
Jesus calls my name.
Here I am, Lord.
