On one particular Thursday in 1994 I drive to East Mesa to clean Mrs. Follett’s house. Whatever needs this dear 83-year old lady may have, my service doesn’t appear to be one of them. Her house is spotless when I arrive. Dust mice are an endangered species in her home. The Scandinavian prayer plaque hanging in the kitchen makes me feel welcome, like the kitchen of an Iowa farm wife which, it turns out, she happens to be.

Wiping off her counter, it seemed robbery to be paid for cleaning an already impeccable house. I mention this to her yet she insists she needs me. Mrs. Follett’s standard of clean is high indeed. She’s part of a vanishing breed. Midwestern farm wives with strong backs and strong values who came through the Depression, raising kids and cattle, sewing clothes, cooking meals, baking bread from scratch, working in the fields, and keeping a home.

I notice the wistful look on her face as she watches me. With a can of Lemon Pledge in hand I say, “This is hard for you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my yes, it sure is. No one cleans my house like I do. But my arthritis keeps me from doing it so I need help. I just close my eyes and try not to look.”

She looks away for several seconds but can’t help opening one eye. “Don’t forget to dust the bottom of those chairs.”

Her husband of 63 years is dying in a nursing home nearby. He’s lost 20 pounds in the last couple weeks and will pass away any day. With unconvincing bravery she admits, “I know it’s coming. We’ve had a good life. But until the door closes for good, I won’t know how truly hard it will be.”

A drive toward Red Mountain takes me to my next job, a large brick-front home at the end of a cul-de-sac. There’s an Arizona Highway Patrol car in the driveway, obviously taking the day off along with it’s driver.

A forty something man with a thin mustache greets me. His wife is out running errands today, he says. Tomorrow she is scheduled for an MRI at the hospital. He seems relieved that at least for the next couple days she won’t have to endure any more painful invasive procedures, like spinal taps or chest catheters.

His lovely wife is dying of cancer.

The house is dusty. It gets dustier as her condition deteriorates. In the living room, open glass shelves on either side of the entertainment center are full of beautiful family photographs, mostly of their two children; one boy and one girl. Carefully cleaning each picture, I glance over at the man of the house busying himself in the kitchen. His tired face suggests the pewter framed smiles I hold in my hands haven’t been seen around here for a long time.

Back in the master bathroom, I notice a peach colored candle on the ledge. With that, I take extra time to wipe it off along with the rest of her decorative items around the tub, including a small wicker basket full of scented soaps, each shrink wrapped in plastic. A gift, I suppose, from a friend during one of her many hospital stays.

Christian radio and television reach hundreds of thousands and big name preachers address packed sanctuaries from behind ornate pulpits. Biblical scholars publish insightful commentaries. Who knows? Maybe I’d jump at the chance for such opportunities. Whatever our field, we dream of greatness and of positions of influence in large audiences. Certainly God calls each for His purposes regardless the size of the stage.

Yet in dreaming of the “someday when big things” we are wise not to miss doing the “here and now little things” that make a difference in the lives of others. Because it’s true. If we’re too big to do little things for God, then we’re too little to do big things for Him.

God calls each of us for His purposes. His purpose for me on this Thursday in 1994 is to polish Mrs. Follett’s kitchen cabinets to her satisfaction. And to make certain that when Mrs. Butler comes home exhausted from a day of being poked and jabbed by doctor’s needles, she can relax in a hot bath and watch the candlelight bounce softly off her squeaky clean knick-knacks.

“Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind, let each of you regard one another as more important than himself. Look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others.” – Philippians 2:3-4

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

“I know it sounds cruel, but if he’s going to do something, he should divorce her and start all over again, but make sure she has custodial care and somebody looking after her,” Robertson said. He went on to say that he wouldn’t “put a guilt trip” on anyone who divorces a spouse who suffers from the Alzheimer’s, then added, “Get some ethicist besides me to give you the answer.”

His co-host asked about the marriage vows that couples make, including the promises to take care of each other “for better or for worse” and “in sickness and in health.” Robertson responded by saying, “If you respect that vow, you say `til death do us part… this is a kind of death.”

As one who visits with and interacts with Alzheimer’s patients every week, I can tell you they are very much alive. Robertson’s likening Alzheimer’s as “a kind of death” is offensive to me. Imagine if we said to those dying from famine in Africa that our Slimfast diet plan is “a kind of starvation”.

Let’s acknowledge the obvious. We’re all sinners and we all say stupid things sometimes. Thankfully for most of us, our stupid remarks are not aired on national television.

That said, it is disconcerting to hear a prominent figure in the Christian community redefining the terms and conditions of God’s design for commitment in marriage. We don’t need an ethicist to give us a ruling on the meaning of “till death do us part”. It’s a sign of the times to take that which is black and white and paint it gray.

The terms and conditions of a relationship determine the nature of the relationship. If we allow ourselves to say that Alzheimer’s is “a kind of death” because that person, while still very much alive, has a diminished capacity for recognition, what are we doing? Especially if our purpose is to abdicate our responsibility and commitment? It’s a despicable example of situational ethics; redefining the terms of the relationship to suit our personal desires. Never mind that it flies in the face of God’s design for marriage.

My personal opinion, seriously offered, is that Pat Robertson should retire, go buy “The Notebook” on DVD, and pray that his wife didn’t hear how he answered that question. And if she did hear what he said, he better start praying he never gets Alzheimer’s.

In contrast…

Saturday morning I was making my weekly visit to Carillon House and Vista Care Hospice. While at Vista Care one of the nurses gave me a heads up that the lady in Room 8 was having a hard day and would I maybe spend some time with her, which I gladly did.

Joyce was sitting in a chair next to her husband’s bed. Wesley was sleeping peacefully and after the hard week they’d had, she was thankful for that. Last Sunday they pronounced Wesley dead, only to discover quite some time later that he had a pulse.

Who would know the simple office chair Joyce occupies has been a week long roller coaster ride?

Her Wesley has Alzheimer’s. It’s in an advanced stage and he can’t take care of himself. He talks crazy talk, she says. But she knows it’s the disease and not him. He’s 91 now and she’s 85. They’ve been married for 65 years. 65 years. She said she never dreamed they’d make it to 50 years.

After hearing her story I said, “Joyce, this is going to sound like a silly question but I have a reason for asking. Why do you stay here? Why do you stay with Wesley?”

Had I not prefaced the question I’m certain she would have looked at me even more strangely than she did. Her answer was simple.

“Because we love each other and we love the Lord. We’re playing for keeps.”

After saying my good-bye I left the room, trying not to let the nurses see my tears. It was a holy moment in the hospice unit. A privilege to be in the presence of two people who really get it. Two people who love each other and love the Lord and are playing for keeps. Two people who are leaving a legacy of faithful love to everyone who knows them.

When Wesley and Joyce got married 65 years ago, they set the terms and conditions of their relationship. Love each other. Love God. Play for keeps. Those terms and conditions have determined the nature of their relationship ever since. It’s why Joyce wouldn’t dream of leaving Wesley’s side, even though he doesn’t recognize her anymore.

God willing, I’ll be back at Carillon and Vista Care next Saturday. Wesley might be gone by then. Or he might still be there. As Joyce said to me, “Who knows how long this could last?” One thing is certain. You can set your clock by it and take it to the bank.

If Wesley’s there, Joyce will be there, too.

They’re playing for keeps.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Some years ago my friend Duane Cross and I were in the Chicago area attending a preaching/speaking conference at Willow Creek Church. Before going to O’Hare to catch our plane, we spent several hours at the Chicago Art Institute.

If someone gave me a ticket to anywhere in the country to spend a day in solitude, I’d be walking up the steps of the Chicago Art Institute. I get misty just thinking about the big lion statues that guard the front doors. Even though I can’t draw a straight line if you spot me a ruler, the Art Institute is a magical place for me. Home to some of the world’s most famous masterpieces, it is at once a place of awe, romance, inspiration and reverence. It’s impossible for me to be in the presence of such exquisite art and not worship God.

The Art Institute has an extensive Monet collection. As Duane and I stared at one of his genius examples of Impressionism, Duane said, “Check this out”, and pointed to the signature on the lower right corner of the canvas. It read simply,

Monet 77

Duane astutely observed, “Just “Monet 77″. Not “1877″. Because for Monet, what other “77″ would there be?”

However self-aware Monet was of his God-given talent to paint, I doubt he could have imagined that this canvas he signed off on would be hanging in a world famous American gallery being admired by thousands of people some 130 years later.

It’s 2011. Whatever you and I sign off on today, literally and figuratively, ends in “11″. Unless you’re born this year and possess some stellar genes, it’s highly probable that this “11″ is the only “11″ you’re ever going to know.

Which brings us back to the question. What are you signing your name to today?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to acts of service and generosity? As you walk through the parking lot at Sam’s Club are you looking for the elderly lady who could use a hand lifting the 20-pound box of Tide into her trunk? Are you stopping to buy Girl Scout cookies from the red haired, freckle faced cutie in the Brownie vest because it will make her day and if you’re going to overpay it may as well be for Thin Mints?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to working with integrity in your job? Are you standing up for a co-worker who’s being gossipped about in the break room? Are you refusing to engage in office politics, choosing instead to focus on being your best in the position you occupy?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being an amazing spouse in your marriage? Are you loving your wife unconditionally and working hard to speak her love language? Are you respecting your husband unconditionally and working hard to speak his love language?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being a good parent? Are you looking as hard for what your kids do right as what they may be doing wrong? Are you building them up with words of encouragement and praise? Are you taking time to tell them stories about their heritage and where they come from that they may develop a sense of place and belonging?

Are you signing your name and “11″ to being honest with God? Can you summon the courage to dump the trappings of church and religion and ask God for genuine relationship with Him? Can you release your grip on who you think you are so God can show you who He designed you to be?

What kind of brush strokes are you laying down on the canvas of your life today?

If we are signing our name and “11″ to a life of living for and loving others, then the canvas of our life will be viewed and remembered long after we’re gone. Because a life lived for others leaves a legacy that points people back to God.

Monet couldn’t have imagined his canvas being honored and appreciated 130 years later. He just applied the paint with the talent God gave him and signed off on it. Which is another way of saying that if we focus on painting a beautiful life of loving others and loving God, our legacy will take care of itself.

Todd A. Thompson “11″ – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

]]> http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2011/02/16/monet-77/feed/ 0 http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/12/23/lonely-at-christmas/ http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/12/23/lonely-at-christmas/#comments Fri, 24 Dec 2010 06:10:09 +0000 todd http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/?p=513 It began as a desperate act of self-preservation.

In December of 2007 I’d been living in Lubbock for several months after 14 years in the Phoenix valley. I was a not by choice divorced single Dad living in a place I never wanted to live. Somewhere in the middle of the month I realized that this would be the first time in my life that I’d be alone for Christmas.

It was a pretty awful thought.

I volunteered to help with my daughters’ school Christmas party. Among the other parents there was a lady wearing scrubs. I asked her where she worked and she said, “Carillon House”. I didn’t know what or where that was. She explained it was a skilled care facility. “It being Christmas time I suppose they get lots of visitors up there”, I said. She shook her head. “Sadly, no. Even a lot of the residents who have family here in town don’t get visited on Christmas.” That’s sad, I thought. I went back to passing out candy canes and overly frosted cookies.

Christmas Eve afternoon I was starting to lose it. I’ve always been with family and friends on Christmas. Lonely was what other poor souls struggled with during the holidays, not me. “Lonely at Christmas” was an article I read in a magazine, not what I saw when I looked in the mirror. Now lonely was me.

Lonely sucks.

Ever feel like running and you don’t know where to go? I got in the car and started driving, trying to remember where I saw a thrift store. It was about an hour before all the stores closed on Christmas Eve when I found the Savers store. I went in and bought all the vases I could find, then drove to Wal-Mart and bought some ribbon and several bunches of roses. That night I prepped all the flowers and vases and went to bed.

Christmas morning I drove to Carillon House. I hit the elevator button for the second floor. When the door opened I walked to the first room on the north side, took a deep breath and went in.

“Merry Christmas. I’m Todd. Here’s a flower for you.”

The gray haired lady in her hospital bed looked at me with a mix of surprise, gratitude and suspicion. “Why…thank you. Do you have someone up here?”

“Nope. Just here to say hi and give you a flower. How are you feeling? What brought you in here? Are you getting better?”

In case you ever wondered, I’m the best in the world at asking questions. It’s because I’m genuinely interested in people and their stories. And it’s a control/defense mechanism. If I keep people talking about themselves, they won’t have a chance to ask me about me.

And so I went, room to room. I spent over four hours at Carillon passing out flowers and hearing people’s stories. The time passed until it was Christmas past.

A few days into the new week I starting thinking about the roses in the vases. They’d be drooping by now. Few things are sadder than a rose browned and bent over in a vase. They’d have to throw them away. And the vases would be empty.

It was one of those private “come to Jesus” moments. If I didn’t go back to Carillon, then my Christmas day visit would be a pure act of selfishness. Sure, I took flowers. Sure, I visited with people. But the truth is I was there because I didn’t want to be alone. If I never went back, what would that say about me?

So on New Year’s Day I said to Annie and Emma, “Girls, we’re going to go visit some people.” We got more vases and roses and off we went. We’ve been going ever since. With the exception of several out of state vacations and the girls having the flu, we’ve been there every week for the past three years. After the first several months Emma asked me, “Daddy, what’s on the 4th floor?”

“That’s Vista Care Hospice”.

“How come we don’t go up there?” I didn’t have a good answer so after that conversation we’ve been there every week, too.

Over that time we’ve met many fascinating people and heard the stories of their lives. My girls have learned what it means to “serve each other with love” (Galatians 5:13b). At ten years old they are completely comfortable around the elderly, their wheelchairs, walkers and canes. They talk and visit and laugh and I couldn’t be prouder of them. We’ve gotten to know people, developed rich friendships and grieved when they left for heaven.

Christmas is in a couple days. With due respect to my dear friends here, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t still a sizeable loneliness in my life. There’s no getting around the fact that the holiday season magnifies what’s broken in a person’s life. I still deeply miss my family and friends in faraway places and wish that I could be in their kitchen laughing and eating and sitting by their fireplace. Yet from that long ago dark night when the angel announced the Good News to shepherds in the hills of Bethlehem, Christmas comes to us where we are. And where I am, like it or not, is here.

It’s Christmas in a couple days. We’ll go to Carillon House to visit our friends who also know something about “lonely”. They’ll be thinking about their spouses who died this year or last, about all the friends they’ve outlived,  and how they probably never imagined spending Christmas in a skilled care center. We’ll spend time together, encouraging one another and hopefully remembering that Christmas comes to us where we are. And in the coming, it brings the hope that someday we’ll all be in a place where lonely is nowhere to be found.

Wherever Christmas finds you this year, remember that Jesus comes to you where you are. And that He can take even desperate acts of self-preservation and redeem them for something good.

Merry Christmas.

“But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! For behold I bring you glad tidings, good news of great joy which shall be to all people. For unto you this day in the city of David is born a Savior, which is Christ the Lord!” – Luke 2: 10-11

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

In athletics we talk about the home field advantage. Any team in any sport at any level would always rather play at home. It’s our comfort zone. We’re familiar with our field, our arena, our diamond. We like playing on the same court that we practice on. Not to mention the advantage of playing in front of our home town fans who know us and cheer for us. Hometown fanatics in our bleachers give us an edge by encouraging us and making it impossibly noisy for the opponents. It’s why we dress up and paint ourselves in our school’s colors and pack out a stadium to scream for four quarters.

Simply put, we like playing home games because it’s familiar territory. And we don’t like playing away games because it’s unfamiliar territory.

So here’s the $64,000 question: How comfortable would you be if every game was an away game?

I’ve been thinking about home and away. Especially as it pertains to us as Christians in our relationships with those who have yet to meet Jesus. We might call them “disconnected people”. When we think about reaching out to our disconnected neighbors and friends our first thought is “I’ll invite them to church.” It’s a good idea. A good idea, that is, unless your church is stuck in a time warp of stale tradition where the music and preaching are sinfully boring and the mission of the church is as culturally relevant as a Commodore 64 computer. In that case you might want to skip the church invite, dig up an old “Four Spiritual Laws” tract and have a go at it yourself. (But that’s a column for a later time.)

All in all, inviting someone to church is a good idea. Our disconnected friends get to hear the music and God’s Word taught and explained. And hopefully all this is accomplished in an atmosphere of people who genuinely care about each other.

Inviting our disconnected friends to church is a good thing. Yet often forgotten in the process is that when our disconnected friends join us at church, it is an away game for them. We’re bringing them on to our home field, the place where we are most comfortable. We know the music. We know the preaching. We know what words like pulpit and foyer and fellowship mean. We’re surrounded by our home crowd, the people we know. The people who encourage us. We move easily through the routine and the rituals, like a center fielder who knows every dip and divot in his outfield. It’s all familiar territory.

If inviting our disconnected friends and neighbors and co-workers to church is the extent of our relationship building, then every game for them is an away game. Were the roles reversed, how comfortable would you be? How comfortable would you be always playing on someone else’s turf?

I think it’s fascinating that as far as everything we can read in the Bible, Jesus never invited anyone to church. Or to be hermeneutically specific, He never invited anyone to come to the synagogue with Him. In fact, one could argue Jesus never invited anyone to church because He was too busy going into their worlds, meeting them on their home field. When He called Simon Peter and James and John, He climbed into their fishing boat. When He called Levi, He met him at his toll booth. When He crossed paths with Zacchaeus, a tax collector crooked as a dog’s hind leg, Jesus didn’t say, “Our pastor is doing a series on integrity. You should come.” Nope. He said, “Zacchaeus, you best get down here because I’m coming over to your place for dinner.”

I can’t help but wonder if part of what made Jesus so winsome and attractive to disconnected people is that He walked onto their home field and met them there.

Jesus’ command to us was not to “invite everyone to church to hear the gospel preached.” Not that it’s a bad idea. What He said was to “go into all the world and preach the gospel.” That means we need to add a lot more away games to our schedule and get used to playing on the road. And not just get used to it, but to love it the way Jesus loves it. He delights in meeting people where they are.

You’re supposed to win at home. Great teams win on the road. And when it comes to sharing Jesus with your disconnected friends on their field, when you win…they win.

Go.

It’s time to play on the road.

“Then Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men.” So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed Him.” – Luke 5:10b-11

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

]]> http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/09/05/home-or-away/feed/ 0 http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/08/29/the-wiser-ones/ http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/2010/08/29/the-wiser-ones/#comments Mon, 30 Aug 2010 05:36:16 +0000 todd http://www.asliceoflifetogo.com/?p=482 We notice him as we walk into Whataburger. A frail, slightly stooped elderly man helping his equally frail wife get out of a big white Mercury Marquis. While she balances precariously on a four-footed cane, he tries to pull the sleeve of her red sweater up over her shoulder.

Inside we are second in line. A good spot, I think, until I realize that the lady behind the cash register is either really new or Whataburger is having a hard time finding help. She struggles with the coded buttons, correcting herself five times before finally concluding the transaction. I take a step toward placing our order when the lady customer who’s politely and persistently made her wishes understood has an attack of honesty. “I don’t think you charged me enough”, she says. This sets in motion a five minute detailed audit of order #52, Whataburger with cheese, no onions, mustard only, fries and a medium Dr. Pepper.

My kids are surprisingly patient throughout. Emma stares at the back lit menu board while reciting her order over to herself. Annie is facing backwards. It appears she’s looking around me to what’s behind. I glance over my shoulder. The frail man has successfully gotten his wife’s sweater sleeve in place and they stand gamely, him hanging on to her and her leaning hard on the cane. They are smiling smiles of age and experience and perspective. Yes, this is taking a really, really ridiculously long time. But it’s just an order at a hamburger stand.  Their smiles seem to say that, in the span of their lives, they know it’s not that big a deal.

Annie motions me to lean toward her. “What’s up, Annie?”

“Daddy,” she says, still looking past me, “I think we should let the wiser ones go first.”

I’m always proud when my girls get it. Proud when they think of others without my prompting. Because of our weekly time spent at Carillon’s skilled care center and Vista Care’s in-patient hospice unit, they are comfortable around the elderly and all the canes, walkers and wheelchairs that come with that stage of life.

What strikes me is her choice of words. “I think we should let the wiser ones go first.”

We step back and motion to them. “Please, go ahead. I’m still deciding what I want and we’re in no hurry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Mrs. Frail says, “Thank you so much. I’ve been to the doctors and I’ve had to stand a lot today. I appreciate it.”

Mr. Frail smiles and guides his wife forward. “Thank you so much.” And they step into their own game of Whataburger order roulette.

The wiser ones. I wonder what it is that makes Annie see them as wiser? It’s a given that with age comes experience. Yet experience runs the gamut. Good and bad. Wise and foolish. Thoughtful and impulsive. Generous and selfish. Age and experience do not guarantee wisdom. There is such a thing as an “old fool”. Experience becomes wisdom only when we are purposeful in applying truth to the process. It is, as they say, the difference between having 30 years of experience and experiencing the same year 30 times.

Do a search of the Bible on the word “wise” and one discovers that the quickest path to wisdom is to possess a teachable heart and spirit. Even King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, when told by God He could have anything he asked for chose to ask for “a listening heart”. God was most pleased with that request. God loves a teachable heart because a teachable heart pushes personal pride aside for the sake of growth. When we listen to everyone, when our hearts are open to instruction, when we’re not afraid of criticism and correction, then we’re able to learn and grow in every situation.

Let’s live so that when we become the frail person in line at Whataburger, people might see wisdom instead of age.

“The wise person accepts instructions, but the one who speaks foolishness will come to ruin.” – Proverbs 10:8

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Pulling into the parking lot, I ask my 9-year-old twin daughters the same question I ask every week.

“Girls, what are we here to do?”

“Galoshes 5:13b.” (We’re still working on the reference part.)

For the past two years, Annie, Emma and I have been bringing flowers and hugs to the residents of Carillon House and Vista Care, a skilled-care center and in-patient hospice. God uses our simple act of service to teach us many life lessons, like the power of encouragement and the frailty and brevity of life. It’s also allowed us the privilege of witnessing the final chapters of beautiful love stories.

Say to any couple, “Tell me how you met,” and you’re guaranteed a fun and fascinating story. Beginnings are full of romance and anticipation.

Sadly, romantic beginnings do not guarantee happy endings. If only couples could be glued together like the souvenirs in a wedding album. Some thrive during seasons of “better”—times of health and wealth. Yet when the “worse”—sickness and poverty—happens, their commitment wanes.

“How we met” stories are many. “How we stayed together” stories are much rarer.

There are many love stories among our Carillon friends. Ray and Margaret had been married 65 years when she died last month. Mr. Williams is a steady presence at the side of his bride of over 50 years. He watches helplessly as Alzheimer’s assaults her memory.

What choices do you make when “for worse” will never get better? Buddy and Shirley were married 50 years when he went in for a hip replacement two years ago. Complications from the anesthesia have left him bedridden ever since.

My Emma asks me, “Daddy, is Shirley with Buddy every day?”

“Yes, honey.”

Emma pauses before concluding, “She loves him.”

Indeed.

Dub stares at a photo of himself and his wife, Cody. “She was the pick of the town. Everyone told me how lucky I was. A kind and godly woman of high moral character. Everyone loved her.” After combat in the Pacific Theater during World War II, Dub came home and proposed. They built a life together as West Texas cotton farmers.

Through better and worse, God was good to them. He blessed them with children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As he speaks, Dub doesn’t want to cry. Yet with the memories come the tears.

“I had a stroke 18 years ago,” he says. “I was dependent on her. She was so good to me. No matter what, she made sure I got out of the house twice a day. She would drive me to McDonald’s, and we’d sit and have a 37-cent cup of coffee and talk.

“I had to have a hospital bed in our bedroom. When I woke up, I always looked over at her. She’s been gone for over a year now, but when I wake up, I still look that direction.”

When your eyes have awakened to the same beautiful face for over six decades, how could you not keep looking and hoping she would be there? Dub and Cody were married 62 years when she died.

“Those 18 years after my stroke were the best years of my life because I got to see her every day. If I hadn’t had that stroke, I’d have been out playing golf or out fishing and I would have missed that time with her,” Dub concludes.

Sometimes it takes the worst to teach us what is the best.

Ecclesiastes 7:8 tells us, “The end of something is better than the beginning.” Maybe Solomon was saying that however something starts, finishing well is more important. Better a beautiful final chapter than a happy first paragraph.

My daughters know the reason we come to Carillon is to “serve each other with love.” I hope someday they realize the Dubs and Codys they met here succeeded in marriage for the very same reason.

Todd A. Thompson – ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Every Thursday I pick up Annie and Emma from school and we drive here to see our elderly friends. It’s our favorite part of the week, something we look forward to. The girls help me put fresh roses on the dining tables and then we go room to room, pausing to visit as we replace last week’s rose with a new one for their vase.

There are 20 patients on this end of the floor. Making the rounds on this day, we’re sad and happy. Sad that we don’t get to see Mr. Billy. Happy because after six months he finally got to go home. The first few times I stopped by his room, he seemed like a tough nut to crack. A big burly man with a flat top haircut who wasn’t much for talking. Then several weeks ago I noticed a small Marine Corps sticker on his bulletin board. “Are you a Marine, Billy?” It was like I’d discovered the magic key that opened the door of conversation. For ten minutes he told me about what it was like to join the Marines at age 17. About fighting in the Pacific Theater during World War II. About being on Iwo Jima. He spoke of his two Purple Hearts and the shrapnel he still carries in his body. He held up the palm of his thick hand and I saw a scar from his thumb to his wrist. “That’s where I grabbed a bayonet that was coming at me. Almost cut my whole thumb off. That guy didn’t live long.” He said it not with braggadocio, but with the somber tone of a man who put his life on the line for freedom.

There is a suitcase on Kathleen’s bed. After being here for several months, she gets to leave tomorrow. She’s only half excited because though she’s leaving, she can’t go home. An intermediate step of an assisted-living apartment is required. In reference to dealing with the disappointment of not being able to go home she says from her chair, “I’ve got some adjustments to make in my attitude. I’ve got some growing up to do.” To hear this retired school teacher speak openly of our never ending need to grow and learn inspires me.

We go to the General’s room and find it empty. The light is on. Perhaps he’s down in the therapy room. Annie and Emma are concerned. They love the General. The first time we saw the name on his door, we thought “General” was a nickname. Then I saw the 8×10 photograph of General with Edwin Meese from President Reagan’s administration and realized the General is a real General. Air Force, two stars. 91 years young and a wealth of life experience. Last week I brought him a copy of his career biography that I printed from the Internet. He hadn’t seen it before. I watched him look it over and tried to imagine what it would be like to read the story of your life on two pages. Emma leaves a chocolate bar on his bed and returns several times to see if he’s back.

Wanda thinks she’ll be going home in a couple weeks. She’s trying to get strength back after a stroke. Word puzzle exercise sheets and color by number projects are on her table, part of her therapy to regain fine motor control in her right hand. She told me how good God has been to her, even in the details of her stroke. “Just a few days before I was thinking about how I don’t know how to use the speed dial on my cell phone. So I figured out how to put my son’s number in there. When I got dizzy and collapsed all I had strength to do was push that one button. Thankfully, he was only five minutes down the road.”

When I saw a new name on the door a couple weeks ago I figured Herbie would be a guy. But Herbie is an elegant professional woman, patiently enduring treatment so she can go home and get back to her real estate business. God willing I make it to 83, I hope I’m still hard at work like Herbie.

Phyllis paces back and forth down the hall with her walker. I feel for her. How frustrating when you can’t make the connection between your brain and your speech. She tries and I patiently listen. Inevitably she sadly sighs and shakes her head, wanting desperately to form the words. Then Annie and Emma come through the door and her face lights up like a billboard in Times Square. Just their presence seems to comfort her. She smiles and breathes easier and I stand there, dumb and humbled by the frailty of our humanity and the blessing of children.

From her bed, Gladys says,”I just love to see those little girls. And those roses are so pretty! You know that big pink one at my table in the dining room is still beautiful after a whole week.” Gladys loves roses. She has a big oil painting on the wall, a still life of roses in a vase. She leans forward a bit and extends her arthritic hand. “You know, I take care of that one out there. I put ice cubes in there every meal so they melt and keep the water full. And I think that’s why it’s doing better than all the rest.”

The hope of returning home. The desire to return to work. Striving to regain physical and mental abilities. We all need something to look forward to. A purpose that makes us feel significant. Today my friends at the care center, each in their own way, reminded me that there is no such thing as insignificant purpose.  

This week as I work and pray over my life struggles, wondering and worrying how it’s all going to turn out, Gladys is faithfully feeding ice cubes to the pink rose at her table, doing her best to keep it beautiful until next Thursday.

I can’t think of anything I’m doing this week more important than that.

- Todd Thompson

www.ASliceOfLifeToGo.com

Crack a joke.

Help the carry out person wrangle a couple stray carts. Write a real paper and pen note to a former teacher telling them what you learned from them. Call your parents and tell them you noticed how much smarter they got after you went to college.

Hold the door for someone.

Let the person behind you go ahead of you in line…even if they have more items than you do. Volunteer to take someone to the airport – and pick them up when they return. Don’t go through the shirt pile at Target like a hog rooting for truffles…find your size and stack the rest neatly back. Pay attention to body language – if the words say “I’m fine” and the face says, “I’m not fine”, ask what’s wrong. Then listen.

Develop eyes for the “invisible people”…they are created in the image of God.

Hold someone’s hand.

Send someone in need an anonymous gift card with a note, “God will never let you down.” Don’t go slow in the fast lane. Help someone change a tire. Pull your kids close, look them in the eye and say, “I wouldn’t trade you for the world. I am so proud to be your Dad/Mom.” Go to the nursing home and give Gladys and Lily a makeover while you ask them about the good old days.

Tell your neighbor not to buy a new lawnmower…he can use yours anytime he wants.

Love your wife. Respect your husband. Cherish your children. Offer your God-given talents to the church and community. Make the cashier at WalMart laugh. Hug. Visit someone in the hospital. Clean up your mess.

Own your mistakes. Say “I’m sorry.”

Forgive.

Invite someone to church. Pass along the magazine article that made you smile. Gather your friends in crisis and host a “Life is Hard But God is Good” party – 30 minutes of crying and complaining followed by two hours of laughing and reminding one another that the joy of the Lord is your strength. Smile and say “thank you” and make eye contact when you do.

Ask someone, “How can I pray for you?”

Then pray.

Share a beautiful photo. Give an I-Tunes gift card with a note, “Buy the music that speaks to your heart.” Stop being grouchy. Compliment other people’s kids. Show up at someone’s door with a decadent chocolate cheesecake. (And don’t forget the coffee.) Read to your children. Give someone a roll of quarters for the car wash. Be a surrogate Mom/Dad, Grandpa/Grandma to a college student from out of state. Take out the trash without being asked. Post your child’s artwork on the refrigerator.

Leave a big tip.

Be patient with your kids.

Buy a bag of groceries for someone, put them on the step and do a “ring and run” (it’ll be a rush and you’ll feel like a kid again.) Rake leaves for an elderly person who wishes they could but can’t. Give a single parent a break by entertaining their kids for an evening. Pay compliments to those who least expect it…”Something I always notice when I come here is how clean it is. Thanks for scrubbing those restrooms. You do a great job.”

Make those who feel insignificant feel significant. Make those who feel unloved feel loved. Call out the obvious talent you see in someone and spur them to develop it.

Stop being prideful. Apologize.

Call a long lost friend in another state, tell them to go outside and look at the same moon while you talk about old times.

Play a practical joke. Make a memory.

Be thankful.

Be grateful.

Live your life as a gift to God.

Point people to Jesus.

“This is the message you heard from the beginning: We should love one another.” – 1 John 3:11

They say, “What you see is what you get.” Rarely is that true when it comes to people. For most of us, life is like an iceberg. The bulk of what’s there is below the surface. Unseen.

Call it the “X Factor”. Every person has an X Factor. At least one piece of information, a current or past life experience, that is unseen yet has a bearing on who we are and how we act. There is always more to us than meets the eye. Sometimes the more is good. Sometimes the more is bad. Sometimes the more is sad. Sometimes the more is a permanent scar on our heart that, like a bad tattoo, we can’t get rid of.

You may know her as the Mom whose kids attend all the events but she never volunteers to help with anything. And it bothers you. In your opinion, she’s always taking and never giving. What you don’t know is that she has no time to volunteer because she gets no support from her husband and she’s essentially raising the kids by herself.

You may see him as the guy always cracking jokes at the office, the guy who can never seem to be serious about anything. What you don’t know is that his humor is a cover and an escape from a miserable home life where he’s married to a bitter and contentious woman.

You may know her as the classic Type A perfectionist that drives everyone crazy with her unrealistic expectations. What you don’t know is that she grew up never once hearing her Dad say “I love you” and has spent her entire life trying to earn her approval from others by being a high achiever.

You may know him as the workaholic who spends 70 hours a week at his job. What you don’t know is that as the oldest of 5 kids he was thrust into the role of making money for the family as a teenager when his Dad died. He’s spent his whole life in fear that the same thing could happen to him and the only thing he knows to do is to work.

You may know her as a friendly, funny, talented person that everyone loves to be around but no one ever really seems to get to know. What you don’t know is she has struggled her entire life with deep feelings of insecurity and low self-worth. Keeping others at a distance is a defense mechanism that allows her to control how close people get. Because, in her mind, if people really knew her, they wouldn’t like her.

There’s always an X Factor. A story within the story. It’s true for you. It’s true for me. It’s true for everyone. The best reason to extend grace to one another is because we can’t fully know what another person is going through. It doesn’t mean we check our brains at the door when dealing with people. We need to be wise and discerning. Yet since we don’t know what the X Factor is, we would be wise to lead with grace. Because when we lead with grace, we open the door to relationship.

The people you and I live by and work with and drive by and exchange glances with in the store are people just like us. We’re all carrying around the baggage that comes with living in a fallen world. We all have an X Factor that no one knows about that influences who we are and how we interact. And we’re all looking for a safe place to dump all our stuff out on the table and say, “Here it is. I’ve got broken pieces and missing parts and I need someone to help me sort it out and put it together because I can’t do it on my own.” Let’s be the people who extend grace. The people who pull alongside and say, “You’re not alone. You should have seen all the stuff I dumped on the table. Let me help you sort it out.”

We’re all in process. The good news is that God has promised to never stop working on us. When we extend grace, we allow ourselves to be used by God to help one another grow.

Remember the X Factor. Extend grace.

We all need it.

“For I am confident that He (God) who began a good work in you will continue to perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 1:6