The lady in front of me in the line was having ice cream for breakfast.
It was tempting but I got an orange muffin, skipped the protein.
Last night I had a meltdown on the young nurse that took care of Dad all day. I’m afraid she became the victim of a convergence of reality finally sinking in, hormones, and the barometer. (I don’t know much about barometric pressure but it’s as good excuse as any.)
I thought I might be able to write through this journey with Dad but I am not sure I can.
Outside the picture window, the city is socked in by fog. Someone said it was warm yesterday but I don’t remember. I suppose there is cool air moving over cold ground and the world outside looks like it is melting away.
My brain is foggy as well. I never think about one thing at time. (Am I the only one?) All this learning about multiple myeloma and the treatments ahead, projecting what is to come, and the wondering how it will all come together has me whirling at times.
A couple days ago, at the end of the day, I realized I had not prayed all day. All day. Not about anything. Not a thank you. Not a, “Help, Lord.”
I had disconnected from my heart. At first, I was alarmed. Prayer is one of God’s greatest gifts. It has been prayer more than anything that has kept me close to his heart, helped me to remember His greatness, and solidified my assurance that He loves me, loves to hear my voice. Prayer is a gift. I don’t usually take it lightly.
But I took the day off.
I wanted to beat myself up for failing to pray. It wasn't a conscience decision, an act of rebellion. So I decided to give myself a break. The next day, after a night in the flannel sheets next to the doc (my husband--so there's no confusion), the first thought when I awakened in the morning was a prayer. Grace.
I thank the Lord for his forbearance, for his compassion, for Jesus who always lives to make intercession before the Father.
I thank him as we await the protocol and grateful he has always known what we are facing. I thank Him for grace for prayerless days. And I thank him that He never leaves his children. Never.
This I know: “when I am weak, He is strong.”
I want to be a prayer warrior. I want to win the spiritual battle and the physical.
God's showing me that He is God of the Angel Armies. This battle is His to win and not mine. This dusty flesh sloughing daily reminds me of the greater realities, the real battle is out my hands.
Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.Say to those who have an anxious heart, “Be strong; fear not!Behold, your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God.
I hold out my hands and get on my knees, give God my anxious heart.He will come and save you.” (Is. 35:3-4)
“He is mighty to save.”
Thank you if you prayed me through my prayerless day. I don’t plan having on another one. Truth be told, I am not planning. I am taking the moments as they come, each day a gift.
Linking with Jennifer at #TellHisStory and Emily at Imperfect Prose