Thursday Thoughts With Theresa: 15 Minutes of Sight

Days before, family had come to town to visit him–to say their good­byes, as he laid there dying. His long lanky shriveled body lay under the blankets of his twin electronic bed. He refused food, water or an I.V. for nourishment. He said he was ready. That seemed to give others a sense of peace, but not me. Ready? What does that mean for a man of little faith?

I tried to ignore it and to accept that this was the cycle of life and it was just his time. I told myself that his own sons knew better than I–the hormonal granddaughter­in­law, growing a baby in her womb, who had only met this man a few years before. I hadn't been very comfortable around the man either, the man who grumbled over matters rather than offering his wisdom and blessing.

I tried but days later, one Saturday morning, I felt overwhelmingly compelled to go. I gave every excuse under the sun not to. Why would I go without my husband and small child? What would I say? It was a completely foreign thought and well out of my comfort zone.
 And so I decided to go exercise instead–to try to rationalize those thoughts away.

Yet when I got to the gym, I could not so much as run in place without feeling the need to get somewhere. I was antsy. I was driven. I was compelled to go.

Within five minutes of arriving at the gym, I was on my way out the door again and driving to the nursing home that housed my grandfather­in­law.

I walked in. He look surprised. He could not speak well anymore, dying of dehydration. I can't remember my words exactly, but I remember asking how he was and if he was ready. He nodded his head, yes.

I felt a flood coming and so I quickly asked if he believed. He said, just above a whisper, "Sort of."

I remember that wasn't enough for me and he attempted to change the subject with the little he could utter and asked if his son, my father­in­law, made it off okay, back home...but the rain poured just then and I said I was sorry and I brought the topic right back to where I had left off–that I needed him to believe because I wanted to see him again in heaven. I sniffled and caught my breath.

And I felt an overwhelming amount of love for the man laying there. I wiped my tears and said I wanted to hold his hand, but I was fighting a cold that I didn't want to give him.

He held his hand out anyway, so I took his warm hand in mine and I didn't know what to say next so I didn't say anything. I just held his hand. And then I said I should probably go.

He looked me in the eye and whispered, "Thank you."

I smiled and I didn't want to leave, but I knew it was time. And so I released his hand and he whispered again, "Thank you."

I left his room and went straight to the nurses station and asked for some hand sanitizer because I was fighting a cold. Then I walked right back to his room. He looked surprised.

I took his hand, the hand I had held, and rubbed the sanitizer over it. Then he lifted his other hand and so I rubbed sanitizer on that hand, too. I looked at him again and said good­bye.

He looked me in the eye and most sincerely whispered for the third time, "Thank you."
 I walked away, then stopped at the door, turned and waved. He lifted a hand and waved back. Then I went home, walked straight into my husband's arms and wept.
 I told him where I had been and I wept because I didn't feel like I had done enough. 
He said I did more than I knew.

I had prayed on my way to the nursing home that I would see my husband's grandfather through Jesus' eyes and not my own. And what I saw had little to do with physical eyes at all. When I left, I felt inseparable. Our family was heading out of town the next day and I didn't want to go. I didn't want to miss a day to be there with him.

That was the last day I saw him and I am told, the last day he had been able to utter any words.

He died the following Tuesday night and I don't know what happened between Saturday and Tuesday, but I have a hunch that the man I saw in those fifteen minutes saw for the first time, a glimmer of light.

I'll never know for sure this side of heaven if my offering was enough, but it wasn't up to me to do or be enough. It was up to me to simply show up. And the rest, up to Jesus.

It's Jesus who makes the blind see and the lost found. 
And it's Jesus who makes our small offerings–even fifteen minutes worth–enough.

- Theresa Miller, MOPS Mom

Theresa is a wife and mother of four children (3, 5, 7, and 9), who are embarking on their first year of homeschooling. Theresa has been involved in Sheridan MOPS for the last 9 ½ years, serving in multiple leadership positions, including Day MOPS Coordinator in 2007-2008. She took one year off, then started the Sheridan Evening MOPS group in September 2009. Theresa has published an article with MOPS International MOMSnext Ezine, in addition to other on-line publications. You can find Theresa encouraging mothers on her blog, Heavenly Glimpses.

Children Are a Blessing...Right?!

Article by Misty Krasawski                 Reprinted by permission                  Original article published at http://www.itakejoy.com/children-are-a-blessing-right-launch-week-giveaway-2/

The text comes toward the end of a busy day.

We fed and dressed and drove our full house to church, hustled to a nearby pizza place for a long lunch with friends, then topped it all off with a sightseeing day. A touch of fall was in the air and we searched the trees for spots of color as we drove along. A veritable parade of fifteen in a funky, nearby mountain town, trying to keep everyone together amongst the crowds, we window shopped a zillion stores and trekked through a select few, ate too much fabulous chocolate, and finally made it back to the car, exhausted and spent and (possibly) just a teensy bit grouchy. While we were on our way home, a dear friend’s message came: “Can you call me for just a few minutes, later? It’s, ummm … important.”

As soon as we got home I sent everyone to their rooms for an hour–including me! Now it was time for me to head out again to do some last-minute grocery shopping before my husband left for another week of work. Dialing her number, I smiled at the thought of a little heart to heart–hard to come by in the midst of busy days.

Her weary voice was still sweet to my ears. She described to me her week, filled with little ones who had been ill, carpet needing to be cleaned, meals still to be made and laundry still to be run despite her own illness. And now a new surprise … just at the moment she’d said to the Lord, “I thought you said you wouldn’t give me more than I can handle! I can’t do this!” His return? “Let’s let Me decide what you can handle, okay?” And it was that moment she knew … and now had it confirmed … two pink lines.

Oh dear! How we laughed. Okay, mostly I laughed. Only because I’d been in her shoes so many times!

After we had a little convo about that bit about God not giving us more than we can handle (totally unscriptural, by the way! But He does promise He will help us handle whatever He gives!) and the congratulations were heartily given (please call me if you ever find out you’re pregnant; numerous friends can confirm I’m the best responder to such news) her question finally poured out–the reason she’d texted so plaintively.

“I love my children so much. I cannot imagine life without any one of them. And yet right now … as I’m cleaning up after sick children … in the midst of the mess … I know they’re a blessing. I know God says that. But can I just ask … HOW?”

Can we ask, friends? Is a mama allowed to have a bad day, or a string of bad days, or a few bad years where she feels pressed to the carpet and wants to cry “uncle”–can she ask for someone to please remind her why and how exactly this all is supposed to be a blessing?

I think we can. And I think we do, even if we don’t dare say it aloud, even if we’re afraid we’re going to look unspiritual and ungrateful if anyone hears our cry. Because our Father? He knows our hearts and He knows what it’s like to be pressed and weary and always wanted and filled with compassion. If we love one another we will respond with grace and admit to our own asking, and pray they remember all we say so next time we’re in their shoes the tables can be turned and we’ll find ourselves on the receiving end.

Here’s what I told my sweet friend (grateful that I could hear myself say what I, too, needed to hear …)

Children are a blessing because God says they are. Because they are people who can carry the messages of our hearts into the future long after we’re gone. Because they are multiplication–and we cannot even see how many times our story will be told down that road, how our struggles and determination to be faithful will bless those our children and grandchildren touch.

They are a blessing because He intended families to work together, to divide the work of home and even business and enlarge our territories and ability to produce and provide.

They’re a blessing because today they are throwing up, but in a few days they will be wearing clean clothes and have brushed hair and possibly even shoes on, and they will sit next to each other in a row at church and make our hearts just about burst.

They’re a blessing because they are insurance for the days when we are old and gray and need their help.

They’re a blessing because today, right now, with nearly every action, thought, and attitude, they are handing us an opportunity to become more like Christ. To die to ourselves, to pick up our cross.

They point out to us our flaws, our selfishness, our laziness, our procrastination, our failures in the area of love. Every child under our roof is yet another tool in the hand of a Father determined to see the image of His Son formed in us.

Some of us must just take more work than others.

And so we laughed and cried a bit and I thanked her for the reminder. For making me remember and speak all the reasons my own gaggle of giggles is a blessing; a blessing even on the days I’ve spent on my own floor with a bottle of cleaner in one hand and a box of tissues in the other … or maybe just the box of tissues.

Come in close, friend across the screen, and let me whisper in your ear a truth counter to all you’re hearing in culture. Your children are a blessing. They are not easy; mothering is not for sissies; loving well is hard work. In those truths lie the heart of what God wants to teach us: “Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” You don’t have to look any farther than down your own hallways to find a great place to practice imitating Jesus. And that is a blessing, indeed.

- See more at: www.itakejoy.com