hope
The streets were crowded in that early evening of mid December in Ahmadabad, India. The court order for custody of my daughter had been signed. We crossed the treacherous threshold to the ashram and wound our way to the entrance for that last visit. My daughter would be soon in my full-time care and no longer a ward of the State of Gujarat. For six months, I had jokingly told the lawyer there that when the order for Ahsha’s custody was signed, the heavens would cry for joy and Gujarat would get its rain. The monsoon had been virtually nonexistent that year. As we entered the dimly lit ashram from the gently falling rain, a clap of lightening descended with a thunderous roar and all went black in those halls of Odhav. Suddenly, candles arrived as we were escorted to the Superintendent’s office. Mosquitoes, drawn by the candle light, were so thick I had to cover my mouth and nose with one hand while signing the release papers with the other. In the candle glow, my daughter, wrapped in a blanket I had purchased for her six months prior, was handed to me. I held her close as tears of joy streamed down my face in gratitude that we were finally together. As we drove away from the ashram, the rain pummeled the packed earth, quenching its thirst. We soon arrived at the home of our host to the exclamation of a neighbor in the doorway, shouting with arms raised to heaven; “all of India is blessed because of this child.” Although much more had to be accomplished, the expression of gratitude and blessing that evening would serve as fuel for the journey that lie ahead. Faith, hope, and love have sustained through the years as God’s mercy and grace have been poured out. ( Thirty years ago now seems like yesterday, and thankful for every day since!)
All is quiet with the exception of the rhythmic ceiling fan stirring the cooled conditioned air in the early hours of the morning. In this pre-dawn time my thoughts surround the notion that assuming a different position will render a more relaxed portal through which sleep will descend. Relaxation fails to arrive and thoughts of the day ahead begin swirling almost with the rhythm of the fan. A conscious leap to thoughts of gratitude for another evening of renewal and a current day offering up the presence of possibilities to discover what opportunities lie yet to be discovered brings the assurance of hope for another day. As I peer through the glass door to the well illuminated white bench in the yard I recall the many years that bench has occupied that space. My father placed it there when I was in college and except for the replacement of the wooden back rails and the occasional paint job it has remained the same for all those years. It has seen the pecan tree erupt into a giant green monster over it and has witnessed my son’s first lesson in “stick carving” and his wife’s seating in her wedding dress (for pictures) on the day of their marriage. It has held my daughter and I as we talked, my granddaughter and I as we cracked some pecans and it stands today as a wonderful reminder of the blessings for which this old PD possessor has to be thankful. The journey from the restless dawn to the bench of memories was only a few thankful moments that reminded me of grateful gifts of the past and anticipation of those yet to come!
Sitting now in the restful recliner and anticipating the eventual chores of the day, we are entertained by a flock of geese passing over and noisy ravens foraging the grassy field in front of the old farm house. The early rise this morning was anything but peaceful. The intense ache in the lumbar region that radiated throbbing pain in the hip was the welcoming call to rise from slumber. This visitor, insinuating itself more and more frequently into my slumber, is not a friend. It is instead a rather insistent companion. Hours removed now from the rude awakening we are grateful for the departure of the bothersome companion without having to prod with medication. An upcoming consult with a “spine” specialist may inform us whether or not the would be companion can be eliminated or tamed. Grateful for the possibilities, we move on with our day armed with thankfulness for relief and hope for release. A thankful heart filled with gratitude is the well from which hope springs forth.
A morning mist rises from the pond as warm water meets the chill of the spring air. The starry sky from last evening has given way to the glowing bright sun streaking through the eastern sky. Nature is yet again showing her majesty as a reminder that we humans are not in control. Just three days ago, torrents of rain created a deluge soaking the already saturated soil. As this dawn arrived I began my day in prayerful thanks for life and the beauty and challenges that lie therein. Though frustrations sometimes abound this boomer finds reason for celebration of the opportunities to experience them and move forward through them. Difficulty buttoning a shirt or keeping a pace when walking or seemingly throbbing through every heartbeat does slow this youthful minded old codger down. Nevertheless, another day has arrived signaling victory in having lived through the challenges of yesterday and bearing hope for the victory of today. Gratitude truly is the well from which a life of opportunity is drawn each day. May your well never run dry!
By Cathy Garrott:
Last week I received a letter from a dear friend in England telling me that her younger sister had just been diagnosed with PD. She said the whole family is somewhat in shock and struggling to grasp what this means for the future. Her letter was somewhat of a cry for me to help put some normality back into their lives, to offer some hope that everything is going to be alright and they can get back to life as they have known it before now. Unfortunately I do not have the power to do that, only God can do that kind of thing. But I can be used by Him as one who can come along side to exhort, encourage, urge, and comfort … a kind of paraclete with skin on.
I spent several hours pouring my heart out to her in an 8 page letter. I did not want to say “Welcome aboard the PD train of life” because I don’t think anyone would find a “welcome” comforting at this time in their life. In fact, I have yet to meet someone with PD who thought of this as a welcome diagnosis when they received it. I shared with my friend the myriad of feelings and emotions that bombarded my heart and mind when I was first diagnosed … denial, anxiety, grief, anger, pity, and more. I told her that I struggle with it mentally, emotionally, and physically every day. Laying my heart open for her to see what her sister is probably going through mentally, I tried to be as honest and open with her as I felt she could handle at this point. Her sister’s caregivers are going to need to understand what is going on in HER mind and help her deal with things as SHE is perceiving them. They are going to need to be a paraclete for this sister, offering hope in times of despair.
Listing several websites that will be of help, I encouraged her to share my letter with her sister and the rest of the entire family … so that they will be good caregivers from the get-go. We need to be surrounded by people who offer us understanding and hope … whether we have PD or not! We need people around us who will encourage us to do all that we are able, and help us see how much that is.
According to Webster, Paraclete is a Latin word that was used by the early church to mean “HOLY SPIRIT.” (The reference for this word is found in John 14:16, 26; 15:26; 16:7.) It was taken from the Greek noun parakletos” – which means literally “advocate, intercessor” and from the Greek verb parakalein which means “to invoke.” These 2 Greek words come from the word stem parakaleo which means “I exhort, I encourage, I urge, I comfort.”
Krakow’s ancient center was beautiful in the morning light. The streets were clean and pristine even after the crowds of the evening before. Although I was there for a graduate course at Penn, there was ample time scheduled for visiting noted sites of interest. The twelfth century cathedral was modestly preserved and the home parish of Pope John Paul II, was one among those several places checked off the visiting list. That morning, we boarded the bus for the twenty minute ride to Auschwitz, the famed Nazi Concentration camp on the outskirts of town. As we entered the walled brick edifice I felt strangely uneasy. To be in a place where such evil to one’s own had taken place was incomprehensibly sad. The tour started in one of the several brick buildings still standing. As we moved to another building the symbols worn by the captives in the camp were hanging on the wall just inside the door. As I turned to the right I saw the piles of human hair, remnants of people past whose lives had been taken without regard for the soul who lived therein. I was overtaken with grief as I excused myself and left the room to exit and sit in the open air on the steps outside the building. I lowered my head in prayer as I pleaded for God to help me understand how such atrocities could have happened. The capacity of man’s inhumanity to his fellow man was exacerbated as the group assembled again outside the cellar that was once a gas chamber and adjacent ovens to incinerate human remains. The next stop was the fields of Birkenau, now barren after once having been covered with wooden barracks in which thousands of Jews, homosexuals, and others deemed undesirable and expendable by the Nazi regime were dubiously housed like livestock. That day I was only a vicarious witness to a site where unspeakable pain and suffering was endured for the sake of ideology the empowered self imposed upon those they judged inferior. The pain and agony suffered there by the innocent can only be imagined today. We now live in a different era, but we must never forget that it is the same world of human demagogues that have within their unrestrained quest for power the capacity for massive human destruction. Each day presents us with choices that either enhance or diminish the human experience. May you and I embrace and learn life enhancing actions as we live each day with a thankful heart for those enhancing opportunities.
The energy of the city was palpable as people strolled to their desired destinations that afternoon in London. An afternoon free from lectures in the course I was taking offered the opportunity for a leisurely stroll past the British Museum to a theatre whose marquee gave evidence of a matinee performance of Les Miserable. I had read Hugo’s book in high school and was familiar with the story, so I was eager to see the stage adaptation. From the opening song to the triumphant closing, I was vicariously transported to another time and place. On several occasions the scenes and music of grace and deliverance ignited uncontrollable waves of emotion as tears flowed down my face. I caught out of one eye a lady sitting two seats away who seemed taken by my emotional reaction to the theatrical events unfolding. Aware that I was being observed, I self-consciously attempted to rein in the sensitivity to the music and drama being played out before me. I have seen the musical several times since and have each time experienced the deep emotional reaction to the musical portrayal of acts of grace that offer freedom to the one being granted. I am less self-conscious these days of the way I emotionally react to life events, movies or plays. There is a degree of freedom that comes in accepting one’s emotional bent and giving oneself permission to live through the expression that embraces such an integral part of who one is. Whether the genesis of one’s emotion rests in illness, disability, loss, the receipt and or giving of grace, or moments of great joy, the acknowledgement and expression of that emotion becomes a part of living a healthy life. That moment does not become one’s life, but one’s life is enriched by living through that moment! Every moment is a gift.
The rain pummeled the canvas top of the Jeep as we rose over hills and through the valleys from southern Virginia to the New Jersey shore. An evening stopover south of Baltimore, gave a respite to an otherwise grueling nine hour journey. We talked, we reminisced, and we expressed our gratitude for opportunities of experiences both easy and challenging that we have been provided through the years. A brief detour through the old neighborhood we used to call home in rural Delaware County, Pennsylvania stoked the fires of memories past in preparation for a weekend of renewal and reconnection with dear friends from years ago. Ocean Grove, New Jersey is like no other place. It is dotted with Victorian residences interspersed with summer camp meeting huts and their attached tents. A centerpiece of the town is the great tabernacle built in the late 1800’s. The tabernacle itself seats ten thousand people and has been a magnet for worship services and religious concerts for more than a century. Thornley Chapel on the square, attached to the modest police station, offered the perfect setting for our worship and learning sessions. Minds were challenged and hearts were touched as we listened and observed and enjoyed the fellowship with friends old and new during mealtime or in the rockers on the front porch of the guest house. The time was short, but the connections were deep and meaningful and gave more than ample inspiration that lifted our spirits all the way home. I’m reminded that even a momentary touch can be the spark that ignites healing. Though rain and wind littered our way, the Spirit of hope, trust, and thankfulness was our companion for the ride. With those divine ingredients we knead the dough of faith to watch it rise and sustain us for today’s journey.