Monday, Monday . . .

. . . started like so many days of late have started: cloudy.  Now it's the middle of the day and the sun is shining brightly.  There have been lots of cloudy, rainy days lately and weather often is a big topic on the nightly news.  Why are some areas dry, others flooding?  Is man responsible for the freakish weather we have had the past few years?  Better brains than mine will have to answer those questions.  I just need not to complain.  

My level of energy is not quite the same as last week this time.  Blood counts were down some when I went for treatment last Thursday and with that added treatment, they must be down some more.  Oh well, there are plenty of things I can do while seated--some expected, some not.  For instance, I got ready to pay a credit card bill and noticed ( not for the first time) a charge for some sort of insurance and called the credit card folks to inquire.  Then, I had to call another credit card company to cancel my card when Tommy called to say he lost his wallet right after filling my car with gas using that card.  Finally, it was necessary to call a company in Tennessee to ask about a charge I am just now getting for Tom's last hospital stay two and a half years ago.  Those three calls took some time!  Mostly waiting. The morning was gone in no time.  Fortunately, all three women on the other end of the line were pleasant and helpful.  I think I'm done with the unexpected.

Knitting projects have kept me busy, both new ones and ones that have needed finishing touches.  Truth be told, I'm bad about putting off the finishing.  Weaving in  yarn tails, sewing on buttons, blocking are not my favorite things.  I began knitting sweaters for the two little girls two years ago and they still need to be finished.  Yesterday afternoon I found all the parts and have tackled them again.  Going into the guest room, rooting through yarn and unfinished projects has made me think of my mother, Honey. 

Honey was an accomplished seamstress who made practically every stitch I wore until she could no longer see to sew.  When I had to start buying clothes, I realized just how fortunate I was to have original clothes that fit perfectly.  I was spoiled!  She loved fabric and spent leisure time in fabric shops looking at patterns, planning and buying the perfect material.  If I needed or wanted something, I could just go "shop" in her cedar chest.  My daughter, Marty, inherited Honey's love for fabric and when I see her built in shelves filled with fabric, I know my mother is smiling.  I don't sew anymore so my tendency is to stockpile yarn and have enough potential projects to keep me busy for months to come. 

Thoughts of  Honey have made me chuckle and they have made me a little sad.  I'm sorry she didn't live to see all these grandchildren or to take satisfaction in watching Marty sew.  In her latter years our roles reversed.  I became the care provider - the parent- and she became the child.  I'm sorry I took that role so seriously that I often forgot and was too much care provider and not enough daughter.  When I was younger and even more independent than I am now, I wanted to stand apart from her and declare that she had taught me nothing.  How foolish!  Today I cannot begin to tell you what all she taught me.  Her faith and complete trust in God was both spoken and modeled.  She worked hard, quietly making me understand the value and necessity.  Probably, no one rolled with the punches better than she did.  At age 93, after recovering from a broken hip, when I told her that we had accepted a call to a church in California, her response was:  I never thought I'd want to live in California.  She adapted.  We definitely had our differences, but I loved and admired her.

Possibly, I have thought much about Honey because I realize how similar our circumstances have become.  The past few months I have had to be almost completely dependent on family and friends.  She was trapped by her inability to see and knees that limited her mobility, neither of which would improve.  I am confined because of cancer treatment and its side effects, but there is bright hope that my condition will improve when this round of treatment is done.  Who knows what I will be able to do when all this is over?  For now, life is about living in the present.  It's about who God wants me to be, not what I feel I must do. 

Monday, Monday, the start of a new week.  It's a brand new day, another day to Glorify God and to (continue to) enjoy Him forever. 

Blessings,
Pastor Margaret