What would suit her best?

That funny bush with the orange berries

That I found tucked in a nursery corner

Was her birthday gift many decades ago

And became another treasure of uniqueness, much like that of her own.

Or the specimen discovered from the zoo

When she found the groundskeeper

And pleaded to give her a cutting

To grow with her collection of rare finds and vagabond species too.

Perhaps the devil’s tongue would be it

That bloomed in the closet each Winter

With a stink much worse than her smokes

And a tropical canopy outside in summer:  uniquely placed in the Midwest.

Surely she would be planted on the hill

Where the orange pavers from Woodstock days

Used to mark the side door to the home

Laden with so many memories and metal trash cans covering some of them too.

Oh I’ll bet she’s still out there somewhere

For her ashes got sprinkled into the earth

Forever mixed with the fruit of her hands

And beautiful gardens, a spa, some whimsy, all in squared borders of suburban fare.

Oh mom, how I miss you this day

As I tend to my own soil and dig

Preparing for Spring flowers and food

Adding amendments, turning it over again until everything crumbles just right.

One plant in particular we share

From your garden and mine:

Those “bee bush” perennial sedum

That you made me edge around in the hot summer sun by back-breaking hand!

Oh how you would love

To see me hail a sharpened spade

Defining my borders so clean with

Just one more bed added most years ’cause it’s also a passion for me borne from you.

Maybe the climbing Baffin rose

I will dedicate to you, Rose Anne:

A rambler, a bit wild yet beautiful

Yes this you shall be in my garden scrapbook come alive where you and me will always meet.

JJ

William Baffin, roses, fuscia, pink, red, climbing, vines, fence, garden

Fuscia William Baffin Climbing Roses

 

You not Me

If my eyes can gaze upon you not me

To care, to serve, to pray, to worry some

Then maybe my burdens will soften a bit

For I have fixed my angst off my tender frame.

If I can plan my day to give more away

My time, talent, and resources to you not me

For a new challenge that maybe stretches me a bit

Then we shall both emerge stronger when tomorrow comes.

For what good is a man if he gains the whole world

And weakens his soul by burying it deep in self-pity

When we can travel together for awhile

You and I, carrying your bags then you lifting mine.

Seems like a better deal dontcha think

For the moments when I do return home to rest, to reflect

Will find new meaning in what it means to live

When the Lord dwelling in my heart spills over to you.

He is the One Who makes all these things possible

These ups, these downs, these trips veering off that away

We must but trust in His gracious plan, every detail

As He is the reason for you, for me, for glory and goodness too.

The Proper Blend

Like a fine wine that melds flavors as it seasons in an oak barrel over time

Everything I do is a mixture of good and the other from meals to enduring “it” all.

My beloved likes his hot sauce, his cheesy toppings and bold flavors along the way

Mine’s gotta be subdued, seasoned with salt from the sea and little else but with ghee.

In the area of health my River Bear gets on the water even on a late wintry day

Where I rejoice if I can wander outside with the pup or try the more mundane of little things inside.

Steve puts up with so much:  dashed plans, travels alone, a romantic night turned into caregiving

Wifey-poo’s illness cancels plans, sours the embrace, changes everything we once held dear, I sigh.

There is no proper blend when dark symptoms fend off many moments of goodness again and again

We just Cape Diem my love, for we know not how long we have anyways as we pray and pray and pray.

Tis a lesson learned to live in the moment, capturing each breath expanded with gentle care

For we never know what may come before the movie credits roll . . . beyond the edge of what we once held so near.

Will deliverance come tomorrow or much later than that with this new thingy again to try?

Like the windows that saw the sun shine on them today, I will wait expectantly on my Lord with my Gentle Hero at my side.

When the hospital comes home

We all need our spaces, our places of retreat.  Is it that corner where you curl up with a favorite magazine or book?  Maybe there’s an oasis in the backyard, coffee shop, or park down the way that brings a bit of renewal sometime during the week?  Perhaps in a busy household a mother of small children finds solace in the bathroom behind a closed door when sitting for a spell?  During a stressful transition in my life I would drive to downtown Chicago on a Sunday just to “see water” along Lake Shore Drive.  Yes, those moments are precious and necessary for sure.

For those with a special love to share one’s life, the hours alone together can bring refreshment in a whole new way.   Take a moment to enjoy the words of Christopher Marlowe who invites his lover to come hither to a far away place . . .

 Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or sleepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
 Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
 By shallow rivers to whose falls
 Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
 And a thousand fragrant posies,
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
 Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
 Fair lined slippers for the cold,
 With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
 With coral clasps and amber studs:
 And if these pleasures may thee move,
 Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
 For thy delight each May morning:
 If these delights thy mind may move,
 Then live with me and be my love.

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Christopher Marlowe

Ahhh, the delight of romance!  Is there any greater pleasure in life?  Well maybe yet perhaps we can agree that there are very few?  😉

During these years of serious illness, my refuge is largely our home.  For now what was once our retreat for romance and the stressors of life has been transformed into a place for a different kind of healing.  Indeed we have created a safe haven from noxious exposures that can make me quite ill elsewhere in the world.  I have become increasingly grateful for the work I had done a few years ago to decorate our dwelling place in pleasing colors with a lovely landscape to view out each and every window.  Little did I know when we were settling in here that I would spend most of the past 4 1/2 years housebound.  Little did I know that right when I started to get a little better, the comfort I found at home was about to drastically change.  I really don’t like it.  See what you think.

Three days per week a nurse comes dressed in medical garb to administer IV infusions.  Our living room morphs into a hospital outpatient clinic for nearly 3 hours with linens draped over the furniture to protect me, to protect her.  Packages arrive via Fed Ex at least one morning per week with bags of drugs on ice, medical supplies, and no presents, no card from mom.  The pup with the big brown eyes is sequestered in a back bedroom lest her presence or fur flying through the air risk breaking the sterile field needed to access the power port in my chest wall.  She whines and yelps for a time then drifts off to slumber as the drip, drip, drip of the IV bag empties into my body.  Gratefully my nurse is very skilled and unassuming.  She has the perfect temperament for all this stuff too.  I just wish we were out shopping instead, ya know what I mean?

I have tried very hard to pack everything up afterwards and in between home care visits.  The IV pole goes behind a door in a spare bedroom and the supplies fill a couple of bins and boxes in our office.  The laundry quickly goes into the washer after Michelle leaves to diminish the fragrance of her favorite laundry soap that lingers no matter how hard we try to avoid it.  Her shoe covers and all the used medical supplies get tossed into our makeshift trash bin and sharps containers.  Within the hour after my “visit” ends there is no trace of the intrusion that these treatments bring to our private spaces (except for the wooden sauna that rests where an entertainment center once was, that is!).

Oh well.  Thereafter with a foggy fatigue and soreness above my breast (from accessing and deaccessing the port each time) I make my way to bed for a very long nap.  The seizure attacks are coming down giving way to a time of rest.  At least I can retreat with a little more peace to the one place that remains undisturbed!

Perhaps one day I will find an internal space that refreshes when those around me can’t quite get it done.  Oh wait, yes, there it is in the shelter of the wings of my Savior, Jesus Christ.  He protects me and refreshes me from the trials, the troubles all around.  With Him I can face another day with renewed strength and courage.  You are my resting place, my hiding place, my refuge, my shield, my home.  Sigh.  This is good.  This is really good, thank you my Lord Jesus. With you I am truly home no matter where I am.  JJ

Psalm 142:5 (NIV)

I cry to you, Lord;
    I say, “You are my refuge,
    my portion in the land of the living.”