A Wake Up Moment


Title: The Prayer of Jesus (St John Passion - ...

Title: The Prayer of Jesus (St John Passion - 3) Painter: Jacek Andrzej Rossakiewicz (b.1956) Year: 1990 Characteristics: Oil on canvas, 245 x 137 cm (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My brother and I did not attend church today. I told him he could watch a christian show on TV, and that this would help replace going to church. He did not do this. At six pm, one of my favorite shows came on. Dr. Charles Stanley. I planned supper around it, so that we would be eating and still with our ears open to the message. It was amazing. It was all about stress. Not just the word stress, but what it can do to you physically and emotionally. While listening to the sermon, I kept glancing over at my brother, hoping that some word or sentence woke something up in him. Something that he connected with. He continued with his eating, face an inch from his plate. I  have since discovered, this is a part of the Parkinson’s, the face near the plate. I was listening to the show and watching him, and then Dr. Stanley, made a comment about how to get your prayers answered. I quit watching my brother so much, and paid closer attention. I tried to listen to it as a first-time person never hearing the word of God. The order of answered prayers in his words, were, 1. go to God in prayer 2. Thank him for loving me unconditionally. 3. Believe that he will keep his promise.  At that moment, the room became silent. I am not sure if I was actually breathing or not. I glanced over at my brother and his eyes were upon me. Neither of us said a word, but I was feeling something inside. I am not sure if it is guilt, or maybe I was hearing these familiar words for the first time, but I knew at this moment, my thoughts were turned away from my brother and they were turned into myself. I did believe in God. I knew it. I have said it. I try to live it. I do pray to God. I often speak about how I speak to God more as a friend, instead of someone sitting in a church pew. I do thank God for loving me unconditionally. No one recognizes my sins more than myself. Believe in God. I do, or do I? Of course I do! His last question to me, and the audience. Do you know, without a doubt, that God will answer your prayer, no matter what the outcome may be? Here, I fell short. I am a doubter. I didn’t realize it until watching this show. A doubter. That doesn’t even feel good rolling off of my tongue. It has a garbage taste left in my mouth. All of a sudden, I don’t know how to pray. I have sat here for minutes, thinking of what I should say to him, God. How do I tell him I am not as strong as I thought I was. How can you tell someone that you have doubts? I need the perfect moment, I shouldn’t, but I do. It has to be all quiet in here. I want no interruptions. I want my conversation with God to be only with God. I want to tell him my fears, my sadness I feel for my brother. I want to tell him that I am scared. Scared of losing my brother. Scared of being all alone if something would happen to him. I want to tell God that I love him. I want to praise his name. I want to thank him for loving someone like me. I want to ask for forgiveness of my sins. I want to ask him to heal my brother, even if it means taking him from this world. I want to ask him to guide me, to give me a better ear to listen to his words. I want to tell him that I believe. I want to ask him to remove my doubt, and replace it with more faith.


Who I am

THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS

A phone call, an email, a card. Such little things make a huge difference in people’s lives. Many live alone, sometimes seeing no one. Maybe a knock at their door, with a delivery of a meal. Too quiet and too tired to eat. Feed it to a dog. Get a blanket and lie down for a spell. Legs are cold, feet are blue. Not much movement in this old body. A youthful girl worked hard all her life. Worked the fields. Used every muscle given to her. Worked with her hands later in life. Sewing with her fingers, making bandages for soldiers. Working from dawn to dusk. Got married. Married a lad she met at the factory. Marriage taught her to put her needs a side, taught her to never say no to her man. Learned to stoke the fire. Cook, scale a fish, knead the…

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Awesome Blog Content Award


After writing my latest post and still carrying feelings of sorrow for my brother, I was uplifted by an email I received by

http://originalapplejunkie.wordpress.com/2012/04/22/day-113-awesome-blog-content-award/

Originalapple, or as I now call her, apple, has nominated me for the Awesome Blog Content Award.

At this moment, I needed this. I believe with all of my heart, God placed this in front of me, letting me know I am going to be alright.

Thank you so much apple for allowing me this bit of joy on this Sunday morning.

 

There are many wonderful bloggers, that I try very hard not to miss out on reading their post. There are ones who I can feel their joy, or sadness, or daily walk without any effort on my part.

Today, I want to share this joy with another blogger, who I feel is putting every part of their soul into the words that are written.

http://limeisbetter.wordpress.com/ this person can take a sad face and turn it into a smile. their blog is filled with interesting things, such as food ideas, jokes, and humor in life, and creative ideas, and discussions on how people live.

 

I would also like to include on this award

http://rayannsom.wordpress.com/ , this blogger takes my mind off my problems here at home, and fills them with uplifting words. she encourages you. she helps me travel to different parts of the country while i sit here in my easy chair. i am allowed to learn different cultures of the world. she also can make my mouth water, by showing photos of wonderful foods to eat

These are just two bloggers that I love to read. There are many more I love also.

Once again, thank you apple. I feel truly blessed for today.

Sunday Morning Avenue


I am almost afraid to write this mornings journey down for all to see, as I am afraid. Afraid that friends that think I am a good person, will no longer think this. That you thought I was unselfish, and now you will think I am selfish. I know I am not supposed to worry what others think, but being a stay at home sister, taking care of a man whose tremors are too out of control, I have come to lean on my friendships  with all of my readers and followers. You see strength in me, and this makes me feel good, but let me tell you, there are days like today, that my body feels like old, fragile paper, from a hundred years ago, kept in cellophane wrapping, and now has been taken out of its wrapper, and toyed with. Emotions are flying inside this house right now. From one end of the house there is sobbing that I hear, words of what we would call pity, but I don’t see them that way. I see them as  he is calling the shots, the end is near. At this end of the house, I feel a broken heart. Something has ripped through it, piercing it head on. I feel anguish and despair. I feel defeat, as I didn’t carry out his wishes. I feel some guilt, because maybe I didn’t give it enough time. I feel a huge loss, for his misery has become mine, his sadness has inflamed my soul. The helplessness that I often feel, is no longer a stranger to me, when it comes to having hope that all will be well in time. The sun is shining, and there is a chill in the air, like early autumn. Hope is the word for today. Last night, my brother told me he wanted to go to church this morning. I tensed up inside. The weekly argument within myself, is a battle I don’t seem to win. I want to please him, but going to church is not a joy anymore. Each week I take him, it is early enough, that he is quite stiff in his walking. A blank look is spread across his face. No emotions come from anywhere unless you look below the neck and see the tremors very much alive. When we go to church, the first song he hears, starts the flooding of tears. He tells me after church, that the songs remind him of mom and dad. There is triple speed of tremors, constant wiping of tears, until his eyes look like an old dogs bloodshot eyes. There is loud mumblings coming from his mouth, telling all who are near, that he hates these tremors. They are taking over his life, and they are going to kill him. With this all in mind, I still tell him, we shall wait and see how things are in the morning, then we will decide whether to go or not. This morning, he doesn’t wait for me to say anything, he gets dressed in his Sunday clothes, eats his breakfast, and then sits and waits to go for an hour. I get my shower, have my cup of coffee, eat my bowl of Cheerios. The time has come. Without any discussions, I get his walker in the car, and I walk him to the car door and help him in. We leave, with no conversation between us, no smiles on either faces. All he realizes is that he always went to church on Sundays. This was his routine, and so nothing will change. Tense is how I feel. Trying to be hopeful, asking God to get us through this. We get to church. I get the walker out. I get him out, and we get to the front door. Smiling greeters welcome him and me. I say with my pasted smile, good morning. He says beautiful day, I nod in agreement. He then says good morning to my brother. My brother says nothing and still no smile. We go in and find a place to sit. We are alone in our seats and then a lady sits next to us. She takes the attendance book out of the pew and signs her name, and then asks my brother if he has signed it. Big mistake. I assume by this question, she hasn’t noticed the triple tremors. He tells her he can’t sign his name, his stupid tremors won’t let him. He turns and looks at me, and says too loudly, why is she asking me to sign my name. She knows I can’t sign my name. These stupid tremors are going to kill me! They are going to end my life!. The lady gawks, and moves over a seat. My brother says, see? she doesn’t like my tremors either! Tears start flooding  once again. nose is running, words are spoken. I stand up, and I tell him , come on, we are going home. More and faster tears. I repeat myself, helping him to stand at the same time. I said again, let’s go. This just isn’t working out for you. We can go home and watch a church show on TV. I guide him out of the church. The smiling usher says on our way out, Oooo is someone not feeling well? I felt like he was patting a puppy on the head, saying nice puppy, nice puppy. I said no, someone is not feeling well. I put the walker back in the car. I place the teary eyed, tremor filled, man in his front seat. I close his door, go over to my side, open my door, sit down, shut the door. Start the engine, and leave. All the way home I hear, I want to die! These tremors are going to end my life! Stupid tremors! I park the car, and swear to myself that this is it!! No more church until things change. There are good programs on TV he can watch. He can listen to his MP3, that is preloaded with the New

Siblings

Siblings (Photo credit: Phillywrite)

Testament. a gift from a dear friend for him. It is over, I lost the battle to Parkinson’s. It is truly leading our lives in every way. My heart starts to bleed once again.