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After sunrise and the chicken coop door has opened, the seven young chickens begin to wander from their evening repose in search of morning fresh morsels to satisfy their seemingly never-ending hunger. They’ve just begun to lay small eggs, rich in color from the fresh vegetation and bugs and beetles found within the three acres of lawn. One hen seems to hang around the back deck near my truck. When I exit the house, she seems to know and makes her “perking” sound as she walks close as to greet me. The others, though seemingly not frightened of me, keep their distance. This one to whom I’ve given the random name of Edna, seems intent on seeking me out and staying close. She is near as I enter the car or truck for errands and has at times appeared eager to hop in for a ride. Edna is eager to greet me upon my return from errands or meetings and tilts her head to view me with her yellowish eye surrounded by an extended red crown and speckled black and white feathers. Edna has distinguished herself from the other hens and the rooster by her consistent seeking and following behavior. Of course, I could easily project onto Edna human characteristics that would explain her behavior, but that would be a paltry portrayal of uniquely poultry actions! Whatever her motivation, I find her behavior warmly interesting and unique. I’m thankful that Edna provides a bit of anticipation and reprieve from what could otherwise be a mundane daily journey through the stiff struggle of PD and reminds me that gratitude underpins this bridge over which we walk above the stream of symptoms. May your journey be enhanced by traveling on a path of gratitude well lighted by even the smallest gift for which to be thankful! Thanks, Edna!
A step outside resembles a visit to the sauna. Even the overcast skies and intermittent winds seem to only stir the steamy pot of perspiration prompting humid degrees. Gracie and her soon to be neighboring pup had a short ten-minute romp together and are now both sprawled exhaustedly at my feet. A three-hour tour on the zero-turn mower this morning rendered the nearly three acres of sprawling lawn a fresh hew neatly trimmed. It rendered this host to PD Stiff and shaky, but grateful to have gotten it accomplished. It’s so easy to revert to the mindset that life “should be” so much easier to maneuver. I see the chickens scavenging freely midst the mower tossed clippings and I witness the goats doing some seemingly effortless head butting while I struggle to walk to the house after exiting the seat of the mower. The pity party was over months (if not years) ago, so don’t misinterpret this reflection on reality as overly self-indulgent. I once pondered “why me”? Then the answer “why not?” came barreling my way. The etiology of Parkinson’s disease is medically explainable, so that tells me how tis came to be. I may never know why it is happening in me, any more than the millions of others who are presented with the disease challenge called Parkinson’s. But, I can know one thing for sure; I am ever so grateful for the moments I still have to move, to breathe, to hug, to enjoy a refreshing breeze, to see grandchildren frolic about and to glide a still nimble left hand over the computer keyboard as I share the expressions of this heart set on thriving in the glow of God’s grace. Parkinson’s was not my choice, but the mind I choose to have it live within is mine to wield. In my moments of sometimes pain and anger at the challenges being faced, I remind myself that the very breath I take is a gift and I find my spirit being lifted from a place of mourning to the dawning of a new morning lighted with new possibilities.
The hot and humid air penetrates to the skin as this surrendered host to PD moves ever so slowly through the morning haze at the farm. The square foot garden has provided abundantly this season and a desire to beat the mid-day heat prompted an early trek to gather cucumbers, tomatoes and string beans. Anticipating a quick turnaround (my fantasy, I know) the iron gate was left ajar. Voicing her content, one of the literal spring chickens began to waddle her way into the garden seeking fresh bugs or seeds to satiate her seemingly endless appetite. Desiring not to chase after her when I was finished I approached her from behind and touched her gently on the back of her neck. She squatted and lifted her wings in surrender as I gently picker her up and placed her outside the gate near several other curious chickens. They all made their happy perky sounds as they wandered off to the freshly mowed field in search of tender morsels. I too, filled with the undesired moisture that surrounded me and fraught with the strain of bending and pulling the string beans, turned to gather a few ripened tomatoes and the generously filled bag of fresh cucumbers and headed to the “conditioned” air of the habitat called home. As the cool and refreshing air surrounded me, I was suddenly filled with a sense of gratitude for the veggies, the cool retreat from the summer surge of heat and the warm and gentle encounter with the hen. The pain and stiffness had not departed but my new companion that I have grown to rely upon for comfort, the embrace of gratitude, served to gently sooth my thoughts and my cares as I whispered words of thanks to the provider of all things great or small. I am thankful for the discovery!
The summer solstice reminded us that there is still much light left in each day. Within that light lies opportunities to discover what’s possible. As the ceiling in the old house next door was torn away, the original logs placed there in the 1840’s were revealed in their grandeur. The discovery suddenly led to the possibility of a rustic living room embracing the home’s origin. A few slight layers of accumulated dust were swept away and vacuumed up in the old shop vac and a fresh coat of “white wash” was applied. As we gazed up through the ceiling we could see some light coming through from the gracious old bedroom above. New discoveries brought on new challenges which rendered new opportunities to discover new possibilities for making this newly revised structure a home for family to embrace for years to come. Thankful that there are well bodied family members who enjoy the challenge of changing structures waiting to be reconditioned, this reluctant but slowly accepting host to PD indulged slowly in the process of movements that were both challenging and rewarding. There are weeks of work that are not structural, but will be demanding on those willing to endure the journey for those with the vision of a renewed and welcoming family abode. Each day is filled with chores that challenge stamina and determination and reward the heart filled with gratitude for the richness unfolding.
Flipping an omelet was a simple task. Turning from side to side in the bed was once a thoughtless maneuver. Putting on pants while standing was second nature and required no thought or attention. Hopping from the chair to attend to a recalled task was a snap. Flicking a light switch was accomplished with lightening speed. Turning quickly because you remembered something in the other direction required no attention to the process of turning around. “Past” is the tense in each of the previous statements. So many things this “whipper-snapper” took for granted have become the thief demanding attention where no attention was before required. This stranger called Parkinson’s disease has decided to take up residence. His presence is unwelcome and he was uninvited. His intrusiveness is fuel for my anger at times and a reminder of my grief at what has been lost. I reflect on life before his invasion and though saddened at times by loss I cannot help but be thankful that those years of freedom were given. Today the struggle is not as much with the resistance to movement or the slowness to respond to my every whim, but rather with the integration of what is today, with the memory of what used to be. Each day now becomes a new opportunity to exercise what remains. Placing grief at the feet of thankfulness helps create a path forward with the legs of gratitude.
She was fourteen when her daddy died. The second to the eldest, she was plunged into an even harsher world than she had ever imagined. There were five sisters younger than she, the youngest still in diapers. The old tobacco farm her parents had bought just a few years before required attention to plant bed preparation and the constant care that her dad had orchestrated. She missed his warm and loving voice and his melodic violin, played each evening around the old fireplace. Torn from her presence but never from her memory, Grandpa Davis was the subject of warm recollections at my mother’s feet. Never was there heard from her lips a word of despair or anger over the loss of her beloved father. Her gift to us was voluminous expressions of gratitude and love for one that helped shape her life with care and compassion. Through her loss, she learned to keep and give what was most important! “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV).
Recently, I witnessed someone declare that they loved this one person so much they would die for them. The declaration was meant to be an attestation of the level of unrequited adoration felt for the one who was the object of his love. As I pondered that somewhat romantic but nonetheless misguided attestation, I responded with the assertion that the greatest gift one can give another is a healthy and well-balanced self. We seem to be so preoccupied with the “feelings” of love (the fantasy of what it would be like to be loved by this ideal person before me) that we lose sight of the “act” of love, which is looking out for the best interest of the other. But how can the other’s best interest be pursued without one’s own strength and stamina being at its best? If one is not emotionally, physically, and even spiritually fit, one is not a position to give but is rather in need of taking. Taking is sometimes an act of love as well, but if we were all full-time takers, who would be left to give? I’m reminded of the scriptural assertion that “it is more blessed to give than to receive.” To give, one must be in a position to do so. Therefore, it seems reasonable that one strive to maintain a healthy balance in all of one’s life as a fountain from which may flow the gifts of love. I see keeping myself as physically, emotionally, and spiritually fit as I have capacity to achieve as being the most loving gift I can give to God who calls me to love Him by loving others. May I live each day in acts of love that honor the One who has afforded the gift of health.
(From a previous post in 2015)
The official day set aside to commemorate and celebrate those who served to assure and or defend our freedom, even many who gave their lives, has passed and it appears we are back to the “normal” routine of the “average” week day. Each person reading this post and all those who won’t has his or her unique perspective as to what is “normal” and or “average’. For most, the walk along a hallway, or down an alleyway, or up a stairway, or along the way of several city blocks to accomplish a task undertaken for a desired and possibly non-noteworthy outcome will be done in a proverbial “snap”. For some others, the very act of moving on one’s own accord will be either a memory or frank fantasy as they live in a defined dis-ability determined by any number of disease or physical consequences. Some (of us) live in the world between; that world between assumptively normal and frankly disruptive movements. The experience of having the journey from comfy recliner to scooping a morning meal for the cherished canine as being one requiring thoughtful intention to raise one’s feet beyond a shuffle to ensure a balanced delivery through the task desired. Fortunately, the more engagement the greater the promise of continued ability to engage. This unexpected “challenge” that is requiring greater intention than ever before imagined as a life task, has given me “great” pause to think not so much about what has been lost, but what has been accomplished over the years and what is yet to come. The veil of optimism is the one this participant in the journey is choosing over ones of anger, remorse, or defeat. Just like the intention often required for each step, there is an intention of thought undergirded with gratitude expressed as thankfulness for what has been and what has yet to come. I know of that which has passed but have yet to discover what is to come. Today I experience the presence of a grateful heart that seeks to thrive in the midst of each challenge and its victory!
The trees sway in the distance as the wind-swept sheets of drizzling rain meander through the countryside. Mother nature’s penchant for the extreme has shown herself well this spring season. Hot and humid followed by chilly and dry to be chased away with torrents of rain and flooded streams and roads, have been her renderings on this seasons tapestry. As possessor of perpetual Parkinson’s disease and its seemingly random expressions of unwelcome presence, the weather appears to illicit periods of prolonged stiffness, slowness of movement and thoughts somewhat heavier than when mother nature is bright and cheerful. Periods of profound pondering however, are usually followed by days less weighty, just as the pouring rain succumbs to the drying warmth of sunshine. Wet weather provides the life sustaining quench to a thirsting world that thrives in both sunshine and shadow. Gratitude for the opportunity to soak up what’s needed during times of the downpour offers grounded roots for light that dries away the shiver from the pouring rain.
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!