A merry heart...

My mother lived with the pain of rheumatoid arthritis for most of her adult life. Her legacy to me in that was that she did so with much grace and humor. She often reminded me that "growing older isn't for sissies", but she spoke with a chuckle and always made light of her disabilities.

By the time I cared for her in our home, her memory had faded and her disabilities were many, but her ability to laugh through it all remained.

I remember trying to dress her before figuring out that she needed special clothing. I would get one arm in her shirt sleeve, but not the other, and we'd both laugh at our predicament. Often my own physical struggles made it painful or difficult for me to turn or reposition her in bed. Mother would laugh at my groans, and so would I.

The laughter was always good medicine.



Dying to self...

In a recent conversation with a delightful young friend, we considered what it means to die to self, particularly in the ordinary tasks of every day life, and to live sacrificially in our home and community to the glory of Christ.

The "dying" this young lady referenced was a simple household chore that had nothing to do with family/elderly caregiving, but it's application was obvious. My friend lamented that it should be easier to put her desires and contentment aside for the benefit of other. "But then it wouldn't be dying," I countered.

Truth is, whether it was those days a few years ago that I was caring for my mother or the opportunities I've been given today, I haven't always wanted to wash the feet of the saints. It's been a series of "dying to self" moments.