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Visitors are virtually always welcome at our humble abode. However, there has been a visitor attached to the Parkinson’s invader whose name is Pain. This visitor is not at all welcome and this unintentional host does everything he knows to avoid this annoying pest. Exercise helps stave off some of his visits, but often he arrives in the middle of a restful repose as though to shout: “hey buddy, I’m here!” A couple of years ago a benign spinal lumbar cyst was discovered and until recently, it appeared to be causing little problems. For several days now it is suspect in the appearance of sharp and piercing pains on the left side. The “stabs” are sometimes frequent and at other times a low throb diminishing to just a tightness. Anti-inflammatory medications are helpful, but fraught with their own insidious side effects, so this host chooses to use them judiciously. Sharing the thoughts of these invasive moments is not intended to draw sympathy, but rather to honestly give testimony to struggles for which there are often frankly no immediate solutions. My common response to pain is anger. Irrational though that response may be it often is the genesis of motivation to not be overtaken by the invader. A mighty partner in this journey is gratitude which serves as a comforting shroud. Wrapped within its satiating folds this host finds peace and the fuel of thankfulness that the discomfort of the invader is not greater than the Grantor of grace who calls us to look His way. Grace is a place where gratitude and thankfulness live without distraction. Admission is free; living there requires surrender.
Bright in the western sky the full moon illuminates the landscape with its white glow. Simultaneously, the sun gives of a faint orange hue as it begins its emergence over the hills to the east. All seems still and quiet on this frost laden day at the farm. A lone mockingbird sounds her alarm as freshly split wood is gathered for the old cast iron stove giving warmth to the sitting room. Miss Gracie, the golden lies regally facing this grateful soul as I attempt to capture these moments in words. As the heat permeates the room and light begins its ascent this day is filled with awe at the beauty of the Master’s hand. His creation inspires and ignites the waking heart to a place of thankfulness for the opportunity that waits to be uncovered. Here, in the still and engulfing presence of a grace filled God another day of discovering the depth of that grace and love unfolds. Gratitude abounds as we give thanks for the feast that is life in the presence of the Master Crafter.
The bright orange glow just above the treetops in the eastern horizon gave evidence to the rising sun. Warm water gave up its steamy mist in the presence of freezing air over the pond. Grass and leaves sparkled in the light of the season’s first frost. Just two days after reverting clocks back to their standard time, the hint of winter has made its mark. Life shows its seasons in nature and in experience. As a child I dreaded the change from summer to fall, then winter. Now I am thankful for having the opportunity of living in the presence of another season where gratitude may blossom. The fullness of life is not diminished by physical impediments when experienced in the face of grace infusing each moment. As this mortal contemplates the beauty of his surroundings he is filled with the inspiration that comes only in the presence of his creator whose connection to and within each moment brings peace. May your day be filled with gratitude in the light of the Master’s grace!
We heard a car pulling into the gravel driveway. I went to the door to greet the first guests to arrive. Approaching the door was my former college roommate and his wife. Although we had met for a brief time to partially catch up some six months before, the memories of college life some forty five years before came rushing back. We were settling down for warm conversation and a brief recap of our Mediterranean and Aegean cruise and their excitement over an upcoming Panama Canal cruise they had planned when the second car arrived. Before me was another college dorm mate who had been a dear friend during those years long ago. He and his girlfriend settled into the warmth of the old farmhouse and we all chatted about times past and fond memories that seemed to flood our minds as though they were yesterday. Over our sumptuous lunch so lovingly made we each gave a brief account of careers and adventures since our graduation in 1968. Much had transpired and interestingly each man’s career had centered on one form or another of teaching and facilitating learning. The time together seemed to pass so quickly as each bid their farewell to homes two hours away. As I returned to the warmth of the farmhouse after wishing each safe travel back to their respective homes, I was filled with thankfulness for heartfelt reconnections with friends who had been and are now again so dear. I cherish with gratitude those special memories of times gone by and the anticipation of new memories to be created.
Safely back in the stateroom of our ship, we stood on our balcony to view the coast of Italy in the port of Napoli. A bus tour had taken us through the narrow and crowded streets of this thriving port town. The magnificent palaces of past kingdoms rule, before the unification of Italy, gave evidence of the might of numerous rulers over this port kingdom. We could see Vesuvius in the distance, its peak shrouded in the mist of hovering clouds. Thirty years prior, we had climbed with my sons to the peak of the cauldron of that giant responsible for the ruins of Pompeii and Herculaneum. To the south of Vesuvius lies the town of Sorrento where we enjoyed outdoor entertainment years before. Further along the southern coast we could see the Isle of Capri glistening in the light of the October sun. Memories of climbing the steps to Ana Capri brought back the wonder of years gone by. We were nearing the end of our journey for this time and feeling eternally grateful for yet another opportunity to view these locations so rich in our memory. We have learned that places and objects of beauty and wonder come alive in the presence of a thankful heart. May your life today be enriched in the presence of thankfulness.
Once hosting ships at its dock the bay to ancient Ephesus is now home to olive groves, grape vines and sheep ranchers. Walking the stone laden streets of the place the Apostle Paul once called home for a while was both challenging and awe inspiring. The remnants of the decayed and crumbling library with two of its magnificent three stories brought back as a testament to the artistry and engineering of that day prompted thoughts of what it must have been like to have been there reading from those scrolls. Further along, past what looked like a flat and welcoming sports field, we came upon the ancient avenue upon which Caesar and Cleopatra once traveled. That avenue led to the entrance to the grand amphitheater that seated twenty five thousand in its day. Legend has it that Paul the Apostle himself preached in that amphitheater. As I stood there taking in what is now ruins crowded with tourists I was swept away with thoughts of what it must have been like in those days for the people to whom Paul exhorted to “put on the whole armor of God.” I whispered prayers of thankfulness to have the opportunity to experience those moments that day in Ephesus. Gratitude has proven to be both a source of comfort in the moment and motivation to discover the moments to come.
Relieved to be safely away from the squeezed quarters of the “jumbo” jet that had been what seemed like our cramped nest for seven hours, we made our way slowly through customs at Rome’s Leonardo daVinci airport. Just outside the exit was waiting the friendly and chatty tour guide who directed us to the luggage collection area. We were told where to meet the group some forty five minutes later for our bus guided tour through the historic sites of Rome with a brief stop at Vatican City. With our body clock still lingering at 3:00am, the 9:00am rendezvous in Rome called for a cup of freshly brewed Italian coffee. Soon we were aboard the bus approaching the ancient city of Rome that we had visited the first time some thirty years before. Whisking by the Baths of Caracalla where we had seen the opera Tosca on a previous visit, then to the road leading to the catacombs and the Apian Way leading to Naples, we were given a glimpse of the Coliseum. With a ninety minute stop at the Vatican, we were thankful for an opportunity to grab a snack and visit a few shops. We had toured the Vatican before and were grateful since the lines on this day’s arrival were showing to deliver a two hour wait for entry. Safely back in the bus after another challenging walk, we were promptly delivered to our embarkation port at Civitavecchia. As we approached our cabin door with key in hand we were grateful that our luggage was waiting there for us to unpack it. Looking out from our balcony as our ship traveled south along the coast of Italy we were filled with awe and gratitude for a safe journey and the opportunity to be visiting places we had never seen before. Sore and throbbing, this possessor of PD was filled with thankfulness for another opportunity at a day filled with challenges accomplished.
The long anticipated journey to Europe and ship excursion through the Aegean is over. The return trip was exhaustingly long, but a few hours sleep is getting us back in the routine that has previously sustained us. A broken brace for the somewhat atrophied leg and foot of this PD participant necessitated having to forego the self-possessed desire to do the return trip walking through seemingly miles of meandering airport and customs pathways and surrender to the aid of ship and airport persons equipped with wheel chairs and alternate airport pathways. This heart is filled with gratitude for all those who helped, but especially the gentleman in Philadelphia, who shared with us his joy of travel and the journeys to many of the places we had visited. Thanks to his help, we were whisked from our arrival gate, through Customs, to baggage claim, and then through the process of rechecking all for the last flight home. Sore, throbbing, and sleepy, we arrived home thanks to Joy, and shared some recollections of our inspiring journey before retiring to some much needed rest. Gratitude was the pillow upon which our head filled with cherished moments lay for a renewing repose.
A thick fog renders the view of the rising sun as an opaque orb in the distance. Another change in the weather is forecast to bring much cooler temperatures over the next few days. The glistening grass and the dew dripping vines bearing the fruit of the garden give evidence of nature’s progression soaking in its provision. The season has been a rich one filled with varieties of plants and animals in varying degrees of plenty. The harvest is almost over and creatures all around are preparing for the onslaught of winter. Black walnuts, pecans, and chestnuts are being offered up by their respective bearers. Soon the trees so well adorned with the brilliance of the Artist’s pallet will stand bare to witness the cascade of falling snow. Change is inevitable and its evidence is omnipresent. Change is best embraced with the arms of gratitude for change is the evidence of life itself.
Silently the old and worn violin hangs on the wall near the mantle. A few simple repairs would bring it back to a usable state. It occupies that space as a reminder of the richness of life that includes the past. My first glimpse at the instrument was near an old storage area in our attic. I was near ten years of age and wanted to know more about the origin of this finely shaped, but mouse chewed device. My mother recounted the cold winter evenings around the old fireplace of her youth as her father made the room come alive with the melodic tones he and his fiddle produced so well. I remember the glow in my mother’s eyes as she recalled the joy she had experienced at the gifted hands of her father as his music filled the air. Grandpa Davis had died of pneumonia in the 1920’s, leaving his wife and seven young daughters. The stories of their survival and ultimate thriving could fill a novel. Some repairs to the instrument brought it to a condition that allowed me to take some lessons when I was but a lad. I wondered what it must have sounded like when Grandpa played it near the old fireplace of my mother’s youth. Silently it hangs now as a prompter of memories that bring it alive in the mind of this beholder. Gratitude fills my heart for memories of the past that bring richness in the present. A thankful heart provides the rich soil in which fond memories sprout into the sunshine of today!