As I was clearing brush from my back pasture today, I reflected on how I almost didn’t follow my dream of having acreage and playing farmer.
When my husband and I were preparing to move back to Texas after our stint in Nebraska, we knew it would probably be our last move and we wanted to make sure it would be a home that we would be happy in the rest of our lives. For my husband, that didn’t mean much beyond a large master bedroom and a walk-in shower. Other than that, he didn’t care.
On the other hand, I cared a lot. I wanted a house with a large, country kitchen, some character, and a nice room for my office. And in my heart of hearts, I wanted to live in the country and have a few acres where I might be able to have a horse. But I wasn’t even sure if I should attempt to have that because my husband’s health is not good and I thought we should settle for a nice house in a small town.
When I told one of the chaplains I worked with what I was considering versus what I really wanted, she asked me why I was settling. She reminded me what regrets do to us, especially as we near the end of life, and asked if that is really what I wanted to do to myself. So what if I only got to live my dream for a few years before circumstances forced us to move again? At least I would have the dream for a little while and would not end up on my death bed playing "what if."
Buoyed with her advice, I told my husband that I was going to look at acreage the next time we went house-hunting in Texas. I thought he might object, but bless his heart, he didn’t. Of course, he had picked all the homes we’d lived in previously and had told me this pick was mine, so he really couldn't object.
We found our perfect house, well, maybe not perfect, but close to it, and have close to five acres. We also have a horse, two goats, two dogs, and three cats. Sometimes more cats depending on strays that wander down for a snack.
So this afternoon as I worked and marveled at the peace and beauty of our little place, I thanked God for the wisdom of my friend, for the graciousness of my husband, and for the blessings of “Grandma’s Ranch.”
And if death comes knocking soon, I will have no regrets.
Showing posts with label blessings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blessings. Show all posts
Friday, January 4, 2008
Monday, October 8, 2007
Blessings Are Sometimes Sad
While Rene was amazing me with her simple theology and delighting her family with her recovery, the doctors were cautious about celebrating. Even after weeks of radiation, followed by a CAT scan that showed the tumor was gone, the neurologist told the family that this could only be a temporary victory. The kind of tumor Rene had rarely disappears forever.
Rene dismissed the doctor’s negative prognosis and resumed her normal life, going to school, visiting with friends, and going to church. She had named the tumor “Herman” and said she was convinced the radiation worked because she had told Herman to “get the hell out of my head.”
Herman stayed away for five years - four and a half years longer than the doctor had predicted – and when he came back, it was with a vengeance. By the time Rene was showing any symptoms, the tumor was larger than it had been originally, and surgery was not even an option. They could try radiation again, but that might only buy her an extra few months.
She was pissed about that. She was also one of the few people I’ve met who openly expressed feelings of anger. She said a few nasty things to God about allowing this to happen to her, and her mother was horrified. “You can’t talk to God like that.”
“Actually, she can,” I said. Then I told Wilma what a very wise woman had said to my daughter when a close friend’s child had been killed. My daughter was angry, and this woman told her to go into her room, close the door, and tell God in no uncertain terms how she felt.
“But I’m mad,” my daughter said. “I want to say ugly things.”
“That’s okay,” the woman said. “God can take it. He’s got strong shoulders. And he’d rather you yell at him, than turn away.”
Over the next few weeks I helped Rene and her mother prepare a memorial service. Rene picked out a couple of readings from the bible, as well as asking for a particular song and a spiritual reading. The family wanted my husband to conduct the service, and his homily was focused on what a blessing Rene had been in our lives.
She was that.
Rene dismissed the doctor’s negative prognosis and resumed her normal life, going to school, visiting with friends, and going to church. She had named the tumor “Herman” and said she was convinced the radiation worked because she had told Herman to “get the hell out of my head.”
Herman stayed away for five years - four and a half years longer than the doctor had predicted – and when he came back, it was with a vengeance. By the time Rene was showing any symptoms, the tumor was larger than it had been originally, and surgery was not even an option. They could try radiation again, but that might only buy her an extra few months.
She was pissed about that. She was also one of the few people I’ve met who openly expressed feelings of anger. She said a few nasty things to God about allowing this to happen to her, and her mother was horrified. “You can’t talk to God like that.”
“Actually, she can,” I said. Then I told Wilma what a very wise woman had said to my daughter when a close friend’s child had been killed. My daughter was angry, and this woman told her to go into her room, close the door, and tell God in no uncertain terms how she felt.
“But I’m mad,” my daughter said. “I want to say ugly things.”
“That’s okay,” the woman said. “God can take it. He’s got strong shoulders. And he’d rather you yell at him, than turn away.”
Over the next few weeks I helped Rene and her mother prepare a memorial service. Rene picked out a couple of readings from the bible, as well as asking for a particular song and a spiritual reading. The family wanted my husband to conduct the service, and his homily was focused on what a blessing Rene had been in our lives.
She was that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
