love
Twenty-seven gathered near and under the edge of the tent bearing the funeral home’s name. They had just left an hour long designated time of mingling and reminiscing in the funeral chapel surrounding a small table of pictures and the box bearing his ashes. Some faces I knew well whereas others bearing a faint familiarity from years gone by suddenly became alive in my memory as they uttered their name. The friend in whose honor and memory we gathered must have been smiling to his heavenly self as we were interacting just as he had expressed would be his desire. Morris was a modest man, full of humor while being grounded in the clay of practicality that held him close to it for seventy-three years. He had told his cousin Betty precisely how he wanted to see this gathering conducted and he had shared with me his graveside desire as well. Eighteen months before he had called me to make sure I was at home since he was planning on “dropping” by to see me. He and I shared a first cousin who we both adored and who had passed away two years prior. Although we had talked about once each month over the phone, I had not seen him since our cousin’s demise. As he slowly and somewhat feebly got out from his car with a welcoming and gleeful smile, a cheerful voice inquired as to my wellbeing. After a few moments of friendly chatter, he said profoundly; “I’ve been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer that has spread to other organs and I have about a year to live.” “Thomas,” he said, “I would like for you to do my service.” He was eager to reassure me that he was not afraid to meet his maker and that he was so very thankful for the years and life he had been gifted. We sat quietly on the porch that morning as I pledged my reverent honor to his wishes and gave thanks for his presence in my life. As we gathered around the gravesite this past Saturday, we shared memories and expressed our gratitude to the great giver of grace and the love that has filled the space that was carved out by our dear friend, Morris. “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” (1 Corinthians 13:13, NIV)
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 frigidly cold air permeated the very fabric covering this unintentional host to Parkinson’s as we departed the church wherein today’s men’s prayer breakfast had been held. The breakfast had been a feast prepared by one of the faithful participants as his Christmas gift to his fellow prayer participants and was high among the list of things named for which we in communal prayer gave thanks this cold and nearly winter day. A buzz in the pocket alerted me to the receipt of a message. My daughter had just reminded me that 29 years ago, we arrived home from India. Suddenly, I became consumed with the grateful memories of the journey from what was then known as Bombay to a strenuous tour through Heathrow in London, finally arriving at JFK’s then Pan Am terminal. The ending of one journey marked the beginning of another that continues even today with a heart filled with gratitude for the loving presence of our daughter who like her older brothers, is a precious gift from God! That day of our arrival first to JFK and then to our nineteenth century row house in Philadelphia, marked the continuation of blessing added to blessing that serves as a living reminder that thankfulness gives fuel to the faith that lights our path along our journey of love!
Mocking birds exercise the ranting from which they get their name while crows caw seemingly just because they can. A cool presence engulfs this sleepy possessor of Parkinson’s as he waits for Gracie the Golden to demonstrate her morning constitutional. The lightening, rain and wind from the evening before have given way to a calm but overcast morning that holds promise for the chores ahead for today. At the center of the plan is today’s delivery of what has been dubbed the “backpacks” to one of the city’s elementary schools. The project, under the direction of the city’s food pantry known as God’s Store House, delivers a hefty bag of sundry staples for more than two hundred children at the school who might otherwise experience hunger over the weekend. We deliver only a small portion of those that are put together by eager and generous hands from ages six to near ninety working together to sort, assemble, and place lovingly in bags and boxes that are handy for the journey from the First Baptist Church to the school. The kids at the school who participate in the program will receive their “backpack” of staples that will be delivered and sorted early this afternoon. Each backpack contains more than the total of the items therein; they contain the touch of loving and eager hands to help with something for the benefit of others! They contain thoughts of gratitude and thankfulness that funds have been supplied to purchase products that meet a need. They contain the heartfelt desire to help others that supersedes the sometimes otherwise limiting physical impediments that hold some back. Although each backpack may look the same, they are each as different as the hands and hearts that take them and the hands and hearts that have made and placed them. Love is the act that creates, toils, tarries, and positions; gratitude and sustained good health is the intended result. Each is as important as the other as we take this life journey together!
Morning sun peers through the thin eastern haze as the stillness of the forest awaits the arrival of another late summer day. Puppies fed and their mother relieved of her morning duties, this possessor of Parkinson’s disease ponders what is ahead for this day. Grateful for physical movement and another breath we sit in awe of the silence in the old farm house. Away from the impassioned postings that pop forth on social media and the angst that some of that energy isn’t being used to “love one another,” we contemplate what that command will mean for me as this day unfolds. We reflect on today’s “to do’s” and wonder in what ways they may be expressions of “to love.” A doctor’s visit, a laundry drop at the cleaner’s, a grocery stop, a load of darks and a load of whites through the washer and the cleaning of the puppy pen are but a few of the “opportunities” listed for today. Interestingly, none of these are what I “love” to do. Realizing “love” is a verb helps reframe today’s list. The prayer now for this day is that the “to do” be executed in a way that demonstrates acts of love. If I do not succeed, at least perhaps my mental state along the way may be focused on a more positive outcome.
In the dead of winter the leaf barren trees offer what is only a muted view of the horizon beyond the Dan River flowing past the farm. Spring brings forth leaves that obscure the vision of anything beyond the trees upon which they grow. During three of the four annual seasons, it is fair to say, one can see no evidence of an eastern horizon or that of a river flowing below. Simply because one cannot view the horizon during those seasons does not mean that horizon and river do not exist. Even in the midst of winter when leaves have fallen to the ground below the trees the view is still somewhat obscured by limbs, branches, and evergreens. As I ponder this natural phenomenon I realize that the full magnitude of God’s grace and love cannot be viewed because of the nature of the obstructions we place in the way. Time, agendas, habits, ego, grief, joy seeking and self-pity are but a few of the branches and leaves we put on the trees in our vision. As I ponder these hills in the quiet of the morning I recognize the obscurity of my vision and give thanks for this moment in which my view need not be more than that of grace.
She was fourteen when her daddy died. The second to the oldest, 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 who 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
By: Cathy Garrott
We have so many appointments in life and often have trouble remembering them all, but we seem to have no trouble remembering the disappointments. They drag us down and ruin our mood … often making us “not so pleasant” company. Disappointments come when we do not get something we think we need, be that a “thing” or the fulfillment of a promise, or something long anticipated with joy. (Not many would be disappointed to be told, “you don’t need to have that surgery that we scheduled.”)
While my brother was here visiting there were things we were able to do, and some we did not get around to in the time available. It was disappointing that the cherry trees were not in full bloom, but it was not a tragedy. Our children make decisions that sadden us at times, but we should not react by withholding our love. A friend’s daughter got pregnant out of wedlock and the parents were devastated and embarrassed. I pointed out to them that it would be far better to live with a disappointment than with a tragedy … an abortion would help them save face, but would take the life of their grandchild, and putting pressure on the daughter might drive her to suicide – which would, indeed, be a tragedy. Today that grandchild is the pride and joy of her grandparents, a cheerful three year old who brightens their lives, AND they have a good relationship with their daughter who has grown in her understanding of what real love is.
One person’s disappointments cannot be compared to another’s. Parkinson’s is not on the same level as a child born out of wedlock, or cherry trees that were not in full bloom at the right time. But our reaction to disappointment can make all the difference in the world in our own peace and happiness. Learning to deal with disappointments and move on with life, making the best of what we DO have, rather than dwelling on what we don’t have or what might have been, influences how happy we are in life.
The sun peeks gently through the leaf barren trees on its rise from the east. A layer of ice coating the pond offers up its etched reflection as light fills the sky. The storm has passed and the winds have calmed, but in its wake has been deposited the frigid arctic blast challenging the old furnace and stove. Like the etched reflection from the pond, I reminisce with the quiet of the morn and give thanks for blessed time with our grandchild. Back secure in the care of her mom and dad, her absent chatter and frequent hugs leave a void filled now with silence. Prayers of thankfulness for her visit and safe return are the layers upon which the icing of memories is spread. Now the task of return to routine exercise, writing, and reading is upon us. That return comes wrapped in a blanket of gratitude for love’s diversion for a precious few days. That beautiful diversion was, for its duration, a gratifying purpose!