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Posts Tagged ‘magic’

Young hand with older hand

The helping hand of service comes to young and old alike.

“Do I have to go?” whined my 14-year-old son, hanging up the phone.  “Go where?” I asked. “And who was on the phone?”  “It’s that old guy from church.  He reminded me that I’ve been assigned to be his junior companion,” he continued.  “We’re supposed to go visit some more old people to make sure they’re all right.”

Although his description was lacking in cheerful good manners and enthusiasm, I had to admit it was honest and somewhat accurate.  I smiled in spite of myself knowing what he was talking about and I also knew who had called.  In our church, the goal is to have every member visited by another lay member of the congregation, representing clergy, on a monthly basis to make sure that all is well in the home, and to leave the family, or member, with a Gospel message.  The old guy to whom Keith had referred, those many years ago, was about the same age as Ken, and each old guy had a junior companion called to do this “duty” at age 14.

“You don’t have to go,” I reminded him.  “You do have a choice, but you know you should go — and with a willing heart.  It really won’t take very long, and guess what?  When you’re finished you will feel good about yourself because you have extended service to those who may be in need.  Perhaps just your visit and concern will bring someone a bit of unexpected happiness.”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t grown up doing good deeds and giving service.  He was a wonderfully thoughtful young man.  Helping his grandparents on their little farm out of Sebastopol was service, but it was also something he wanted to do.  Carrying in groceries for a neighbor was what he chose to do.  Being kind and doing favors for others was part of his nature. Being a junior companion was an assignment by clergy, and different from what had been familiar. He wasn’t really certain if it would fit into his comfort zone.  It was also a step up the ladder in extending service.  Nevertheless, he also understood he was free to accept or refuse the assignment.  When the doorbell rang, though, he greeted his senior companion with a smile and a hardy handshake.

An hour or so later he popped back into the room wearing a happy face, and informing me that he “Kinda liked the old guy.”  Then he added, “You’re right mom.  I do feel good and I’m glad I went.”

Whatever the ingredient that makes us feel good following service to others appears to be a mystery; must be some kind of magic that fills our soul and lifts our spirit.  Or, possibly, it isn’t a mystery at all, nor is it magic. Wasn’t Jesus the example for extending service as He healed the sick, paused to give counsel to the wayward, blessed the children, caused the blind to see – the crippled to walk, and cured the lepers?  Could it be that our hearts are somehow touched by His Spirit when giving Christ-like service?

Many are drawn to serving others through career choices: doctors, nurses, health care providers and caregiver professionals just to name a few, but that isn’t the service to which I am referring – although greatly needed and appreciated.  It’s the giving of service without compensation that is true charity: service such as provided by the valiant sisters of the order and Mother Teresa.  While we all can’t dedicate a lifetime to mankind, it’s that spirit of charity which needs to be embraced.  For many, however, this kind of understanding, learning and making it all a part of our lives is a process.

Granddaughter Kristina and her boyfriend Chris had dropped in Valentine’s evening to say hello and stayed for dinner with me and Ken. Then they were off, but not to a party.  Instead the two visited with a disabled couple she had worked for during the past year.  A few days later she told me it was the nicest Valentine’s Day ever.  I asked her what she did that made it so special.  “I spent it with some people I love,” she answered, smiling at me.  I gave her an extra hug saying that I loved her too — and brushed away a tear.

Was her grandfather fun? Was I fun?  How about the disabled couple?  I doubt any of the four of us were a barrel of laughs.  Yet, she felt good about the visits, and I said to me, “She is learning.”  It tells us in Proverbs, “Your own soul is nourished when you are kind.”

So it is as we journey through life we mature and appreciate that our time here needs balance and is made better by many experiences, both good and bad.  It is never made whole with only pleasure and fun.  Actually, it’s just the opposite beginning with some kind of sacrifice —  extending the hand of help and service that helps build our firm foundation – the most important part of us for a truly balanced life.

Admittedly, there are times when we feel we are out of balance.  When the weight of what seems to be never-ending adversity causes us to wonder and ask, “Why me?”  The old axiom, “You have to keep on doing it ‘till you get it right” might be funny when applied to justifying your bank statement, but caring for someone stricken with the likes of AD seems to make one crumble in frustration of doing the same thing day after day wondering if you’ll ever get it right.  Will there will ever be “a time for me “ – a time when this weight will be lifted?  Maybe “yes” maybe “no,” but it’s in that interim where we can concentrate on and accept “what is,” savoring the positive which can come from the negative: the positive being the building of our own strengths and character.  Have I arrived at this destination?  Goodness no, but I’m striving daily in that direction.

Ken and I are into the eighth year in our battle with Alzheimer’s, and I’ve come to accept it as the way of our life for as long as it lasts.  His mind is without memory or reason, but his physical health is very good.  Through these past years I have felt the highs and lows of just about every emotion I can name, gnashing my teeth, shedding tears (I still do), and pounding my fist into a pillow (not anymore) with little changing except Ken’s AD becoming worse. I am certain most caregivers have felt the same anger, frustration and defeat until they reach up to Him who can bless them with peace.

As acceptance became a focal point for me I have learned to be more relaxed, relying on another sage bit of advice, “Let go and let God.”  I strive to do that for I know I am not alone.  I know that my Lord is with me bringing comfort when I despair and guiding me along this rocky path.

I am constantly learning and looking for new ways to be more helpful to the man I married; the man to whom I promised my love through sickness and health, and to care for him in his time of need.

In my role as caregiver, delivering service to Ken who has been my loving companion for more than 5 decades I am reminded, and will quote once again one of my favorite scripture passages.  This one from Matthew when Jesus said, “For I was hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink.  I was a stranger, and ye took me in, naked, and ye clothed me; I was sick, and ye visited me. I was in prison, and ye came unto me. 

 Then shall the righteous answered him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee and hungered, and fed thee? Or thirsty and gave thee drink?  When saw we thee a stranger and took thee in? Or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?  And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

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From the time I was old enough to remember hearing adults shout “Happy New Year,” I believed there was something magical happening as the clock chimed 12:00 on December 31.  Furthermore, I was missing it all because I was a child and had to be in bed early.  Then one year my parents went out with friends on New Year’s Eve leaving my sister, Janet, and me in the care of our older sister, Polly, who was 16.  At last, Janet and I knew we could stay up until the bewitching hour because Polly was caught up in her own reverie of sadness in not having a boy friend at year’s end. 

The two of us knew there must be noise to welcome in The New Year so Janet fortified us with metal dish pans and heavy spoons.  Polly didn’t care what we were doing, taking to her bed early.  My favorite big sister planned we would march up and down the sidewalk in front of our building (the fourth floor being our home) banging our dish pans at the first sounds of celebration.   At 12:00 we heard horns honking and whistles blowing in the distance, but that was all, so we high stepped our march and drummed our pans more vigorously.  Still nothing.  “Is that all?” I whined with great disappointment.  “Come with me,” ordered Janet.  I followed her up the flights of stairs into the kitchen where she took one of  Mama’s best cooking pots (the heaviest of her hammered aluminum cookware) and ran to the front of the flat overlooking the street.  Throwing up the window and calling, “Look out below,” she tossed the pot into space watching it fall down and down until it hit the sidewalk.  Still no magic.  If San Francisco had no magic, where could it be found?  Janet tried three more times with the same result, “Thud, clunk, clunk, clunk.”  We retrieved the pot (fortunate that it hadn’t taken out a drunk from the corner bar) put it back in the kitchen and we both went to bed still wondering where was the magic —  the celebration — this miraculous thing that changed one year into another — where was the old bearded man carrying the sickle — and the stork delivering the Baby New Year?

The next morning, Mama tried using the pot being puzzled about why the lid didn’t fit.  Among her many talents, the woman of our house was also an excellent detective.  After a few minutes of interrogation, then piecing together the events of the previous night she was less than happy.  Having saved precious dimes and nickles through long Depression years until there were enough dollars to buy a complete set of cookware, she cried over the bent and apparently ruined pot.  My father tried to reshape the damage by clamping one side of the utensil into a vise and pounding the other side with a hammer.  In doing so a two-inch zagged line appeared down one side of the traumatized pot.   The lid fit, but when Mama used it, a thin spray of telling steam escaped through the crack, forever reminding me and Janet that the magic wasn’t found by throwing pots from a four-story window.  That New Year did not begin on a happy note.  Even so I was still convinced that somewhere there must be wonderment — something spectacular — something special — happening at year’s end — and I would continue my search.

As young adults we gathered with friends, tossed confetti and serpentine, put on party hats and blew tiny tin horns.   Marriage and children brought us together with neighbors to celebrate the incoming year, while keeping our little ones close by.   As the children grew older we were free to house hop, visiting other friends wishing them well, ending with Sofia and Don at their home where we watched the ball drop at Times Square in New York.  Instead of confetti we tossed popcorn, exchanged hugs and kisses and wondered what the coming year would bring.   When our nest was empty Ken and I often took BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) to the city in the late afternoon of December 31.  Getting off at mid-town we walked up Powell Street, through China Town, and over the top of Nob Hill and down to Fisherman’s Wharf which was still sparkling with Christmas decorations.  We wandered the shops of Pier 39, had an early dinner, took the Cable Car back to Market and Powell, caught BART and were home before midnight — usually asleep as the clock struck 12:00.

The last time we celebrated New Year’s Eve was in 2006.  Our daughter, Debbie and her husband Mark, had moved to Ogden, Utah the year before.  Following Christmas, we flew back to spend time with them.  “Come with us,” Debbie urged as the end of the year approached.  “New Year’s Eve in Salt Lake is so much fun.  In a few selected buildings on Temple Square they have great entertainment until about 11:30, and at midnight the city puts on a fireworks display from the rooftop of a downtown building.” 

Ken’s AD was evident with considerable memory loss at the time, but he was aware enough that he still enjoyed life.  He remembered Christmas and its meaning and the Holidays in general — and me — most of the time.   At midnight the four of us stood among the crowd, huddled together, arms around one another as snow flurries melted on our cheeks while watching the sky light up in a spectacular welcoming of another year.

So did I ever find the magic?   I’m not even certain when my “Search” lost its importance, but about magic:  it doesn’t have to come at the end of the year, nor does it come in a puff of smoke, or out of a tall silk hat, or at the wave of a wand, or even with fireworks no matter how beautiful.  It comes in small things and in small ways, appearing so naturally it’s hardly noticed; and  yet it can be wonderment and often spectacular and oh so special, but you have to watch or you might miss it.   And what’s most important; rather than finding it at midnight of December 31, I have found bits and pieces, sometimes big chunks of it on any number of the 365 days that have made up each incredible year of my sojourn here on earth.  It’s life at its best and at its very worst.  It’s love and marriage — or not — love extended to our fellow-man in the way of devotion and service.  It’s also caring, friendship, success and failure, falling down and getting up, faith and hope, family, birth, a baby’s first smile, first word, first step;  it’s fear, anguish, adversity, worry, work, wealth and poverty, abundance and hunger, disappointment, unbearable sorrow and despair, pain so intense you believe you cannot survive, but you do, sickness and, yes, ultimately death.   But there is also magnificent happiness and joy beyond measure to be found.   Yes!   It is magic:  this grand experience of life is magic, and for those of faith, an even greater magic is yet to come.  So, Happy New Year — and during this new beginning of 2010, go out and find the magic for yourself.

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