A weekend ago we were in Lora's hometown of Danville, VA. It was just for the day so she could visit family while I had meetings in the area. The first time I went to Danville was Thanksgiving, 1993. We had just started dating and it was time to "meet the family." Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were country folk, very simple, good people. They took an immediate liking to me, which reinforces the notion of their goodness. After a day or so of small talk I drummed up the courage, as tradition would have it, to pop the question to Lora's dad. "I'd like to have your daughter's hand in marriage, sir." I was young and dumb, so I actually used those exact words. Even now I cringe with recollection. His eyes narrowed as he leaned toward me and in an unflinching tone whispered these words I'll never forget: "That's fine. And I know you a preacher and all, but you better not never beat 'er." Of course, I agreed, and the rest is history.
I grew to love Lora's parents over the years and they became second parents to me. Mom was the kindest, most unassuming lady you'd ever want to meet--always greeting with the most beautiful smile. I was her favorite son-in-law. She told me many times, even though she never admitted it publicly, mostly to save others from disappointment. Pop was crazy. He always bought stuff he didn't need, and told jokes that were only funny because they made no sense. You can see why we were close:). I had the privilege of leading him to the Lord. I can assure you that "privilege" doesn't come close to expressing what I felt on the day he got saved.
Looking back on the years I knew mom and pop, I see all of their best traits in Lora, and even in my kids. They didn't have much, but what they did have, they poured into their children, and into me too. We had great times together and they taught me a lot. I watched them, both of them, die with grace and the peace of knowing that they really had done the best with what they had. So last week we visited the cemetery for the first time. Forgive me if this is comes across morbid, because it was anything but that on this perfect Saturday evening. Just before sunset Lora, Cameron, Casey and me stood on a pristinely manicured grassy hill, laughing and reminiscing about the times we had with them. The height of the rolling landscape put us at eye-level with these huge, irregular cloud shapes that formed an almost-fake looking backdrop from a movie scene. It struck me, at that surreal moment, that we were making memories right then--that this could be a day my kids would talk about when I'm gone. More importantly, things like this will shape the persons they are becoming.
Most of us will not be remembered for "great" accomplishment or some big event in our lives. Our lasting impact may be the smile we give to someone at just the right time, or brief, yet sincere words with long-term implications. Whatever the case, our lives count the most when lived out through other people. It's wonderful to make memories, but even better to make a difference.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
No Thanks??
Morning sings! Most of us are still recovering from an incredible COEBA week. Hope you've gotten some rest by now and are back at it- relishing the joys of work, or, whatever it is you do. I had a thought I wanted to share today. It was prompted, in part, by a really nice note a recent houseguest left when he departed. It was basically a heartfelt thanks for our hospitality and a personal expression of what the time in our home had meant to his life. There were specific details mentioned, and it was obvious that he took real time to clearly express the gratitude he felt. The note really made us feel...well, good! There's no other way to say it. It kinda just made my day. It also made me think about the importance of expressing gratitude in our lives. I think we all feel that we are grateful for blessings- to God, to our friends, parents, etc. We often take time to internalize how fortunate we are. But if we're honest, we might admit that we are sometimes lacking in our expression of that gratitude to God first, then to the people who do and give and pray and work for our benefit. We take people for granted, failing to realize our duty to simply say, "thank you." As children we are taught "please" and "thank you", but I've discovered that many people have mastered the "please" part but are flunking out when it comes to expressing gratitude. One of the most encouraging things you can ever do is to passionately and sincerely convey your appreciation for what someone does that impacts you. It never gets old! It can make all the difference in their day. AND it helps you to better appreciate and recognize the blessings in your life and to avoid developing a sense of entitlement. The late Walter Hawkins coined the words to the classic song, "be grateful." I might go a step further and say, "ACT grateful." Tell them. Show them. Never be mistaken for an ingrate! "In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you." I Thess. 5:18. Love u guys. PM
Morning Shake
Don't we just love Fridays? There's something special about this day of the week. We anticipate a get-together with friends, plan a little shopping excursion, or, simply look forward to a few extra hours of sleep. Fridays create a happy outlook, in welcome contrast to the controlling regimen of the workweek. On the weekend **I** am in charge! I decide what I do. I even get to go to church. Yup, the weekend is about power. It's about control.
So how much "control" do we really have in our lives? Case in point. When the ground under my house started moving shortly after 5 am today--was I in control?? The 3.6 magnitude earthquake that rattled the DC area this morning was not a part of my plans, or anyone else's. But it happened! I was sitting at my kitchen table. When the rumbling started, I looked outside, wondering why the trash truck was making so much noise! It was all over in 20 seconds, and I forgot about it, until a friend asked me a few hours later if I had felt it.
The point is simple. We plan and map out our day. We anticipate things based on our priorities. But the reality is that God is categorically in control of not only our weekend, but our entire existence. It's great to have plans, but we should always live with the understanding of His power and ability to orchestrate the events of life and to alter our to-do lists according to His Master Plan. When we submit to HIS will--the unanticipated and often misunderstood events in life may surprise us, but they won't leave us shaking because we know Who's got the whole world--even my world--in His hands. Love you guys. PM
So how much "control" do we really have in our lives? Case in point. When the ground under my house started moving shortly after 5 am today--was I in control?? The 3.6 magnitude earthquake that rattled the DC area this morning was not a part of my plans, or anyone else's. But it happened! I was sitting at my kitchen table. When the rumbling started, I looked outside, wondering why the trash truck was making so much noise! It was all over in 20 seconds, and I forgot about it, until a friend asked me a few hours later if I had felt it.
The point is simple. We plan and map out our day. We anticipate things based on our priorities. But the reality is that God is categorically in control of not only our weekend, but our entire existence. It's great to have plans, but we should always live with the understanding of His power and ability to orchestrate the events of life and to alter our to-do lists according to His Master Plan. When we submit to HIS will--the unanticipated and often misunderstood events in life may surprise us, but they won't leave us shaking because we know Who's got the whole world--even my world--in His hands. Love you guys. PM
Just What the Doctor Ordered
Last Sunday night after church we were all hanging around late-like always-laughing and fellowshipping, still on the COEBA high. Soon after, in typical fashion, an overcrowded suv-load of rambunctious, well-dressed people was off to a local eatery to spend my money. Nestled in the group were my kids, Cam and Casey, 15 and 13 respectively (they think they're grown as much as I think I'm young). Cam had been complaining for some time about a sore on his leg that wouldn't heal-so long story short(ened)-we ALL ended up at the ER to get it checked out. We walked through the sliding doors to what resembled a scene from COPS as two officers mirandized a bloodied guy in restraints, right there in the doorway. Colorful language and sudden lunges indicated the suspect's disdain for our staring, so in a "non-Good Samaritan" sorta way, I stepped around the scene to sign in. "C'mon yall," I yelled back to the rest of the crew-my son included-still standing in the doorway pretending they weren't scared. After registering and going back into the ER, the nurse removed Cam's homemade dressing to gasp at the size of the large, oozing sore just above his left shin. We learned that the daily dosing of hydrogen peroxide, despite what we thought, was not helping the situation. The doc soon confirmed that this sore simply needed to be flushed daily with clean water and re-gauzed. It would take time, but this simple, regular procedure would eventually result in complete healing. Thinking about that episode this morning, I'm reminded of Eph. 5:26 where concerning the church, Jesus died "That he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word." Also, Psalm 119:9 which says, "Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by taking heed thereto according to thy word." People look to different sources to heal the wounds of life. Counsel, books, activity, meditation...these can all be "good" things, but there is nothing, absolutely NOTHING, that can replace the spiritual and emotional balm of the Word of God. Do you have scars that won't seem to heal? Do you have hurt that needs attention? Bathe yourself in the Word! Consistently. Daily. It will take some time. But you will find restoration that only the Great Physician can guarantee.
The Office
I was asked this week about how to cope as a Christian in a very non-Christian work environment. Not all of us are fortunate enough to be surrounded by God's people everyday. (Be thankful if you are!) For the few years that I worked a "secular" job I had to deal with constant profanity, off-color humor and mockery of my God and my beliefs. It was difficult at times and I genuinely hated going to work. There was often the temptation to cower to the constant barrage by simply blending in and not making waves. At other times it seemed like lashing out and telling them "what's what" might be the thing to do. But the counsel I received back then and what I shared with someone this week is simply this: The best way to cure the darkness in a room is to turn on the light. Positivity dispels negativity. Righteousness conquers wickedness. Application? Don't stress about fixing a bad environment. Lost people WILL act lost. (In fact, so do many professing Christians-but that's for another day.) What I'm saying is, don't spend your time being critical of their ways, shaking your head when they cuss, and getting upset at their actions. Turn on the light! Talk about your Lord, your church, your faith, your awesome singles pastor:). Read your Bible on your break time. Invite them church. Politely excuse yourself from the joke circle. Dress well and modestly. Avoid office cliques and gossip. Guard against "too close" office relationships. Get to work early and stay late. Excel at your tasks. Turn on the light!!! You'll be amazed at how much more people respond to what we DO than to what we SAY. One person can make a difference. Most of all, don't be fake. Be real, while mindful that it's not a spotlight for your praise, but for His. "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in Heaven." Matt. 5:16.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Status! Messengers! Report to the Pavilion!
Are you as confused as I am that this year is nearly half done? Oh so baffling is the ever-increasing speed of life.
At the beginning of 2010, or the end of 2009, I laid out 73 personal goals for the next 12 months. If you're wondering about the significance of my favorite number, check out http://www.themiraclemansion.com. This should help ease the irritation of my random, though, remarkably consistent reference to it. Then again, maybe not.
The title of this blog entry is a line from a play scene in which a superior demanded an updated progress report of his workers. I voluntarily took a little time last week to evaluate my 2010 task list as it stands right now. Probably a good thing to do at some point. This is what I found: Out of 73 goals, 26 are completed or well on their way, 11 (give or take) have been initiated but need some work, 29 (give or take) have never met me, and 7 (give or take) have left the building. They aren't goals anymore, or have morphed into something else.
So that's where I am. Much like me, these are a work in progress. Setting goals has been good. Each victory, failure or "to be continued" teaches me a valuable lesson and is an exhibition of my colossal weaknesses in the glaring spotlight of God's infinite power.
#74: Count on that.
Just a few of the "victories" (among others) that make me giddy...
#3. Bring Lora home from work for good.
She's in her final weeks of teaching. She's ecstatic. Score!!!
#6. Complete my novel.
75%. Up from 2% at the beginning of the year. Hardest, funnest thing I've ever (almost) done.
#41. Get Maureen to DC.
Hm... best way to do this? Offer her a job. It worked! She's coming!
#21. Throw Granddaddy a 100th birthday party.
August 7. All set.
#9. Improve my prayer life.
Definitely better. Definitely on the list for 2011.
#13. Be 100% accessible to my friends.
I've worked really hard on this. I think it's going well, but you'll have to ask them.
#40. Increase our Faith-Promise Missions commitment.
Started last Sunday. It really is a great feeling!
At the beginning of 2010, or the end of 2009, I laid out 73 personal goals for the next 12 months. If you're wondering about the significance of my favorite number, check out http://www.themiraclemansion.com. This should help ease the irritation of my random, though, remarkably consistent reference to it. Then again, maybe not.
The title of this blog entry is a line from a play scene in which a superior demanded an updated progress report of his workers. I voluntarily took a little time last week to evaluate my 2010 task list as it stands right now. Probably a good thing to do at some point. This is what I found: Out of 73 goals, 26 are completed or well on their way, 11 (give or take) have been initiated but need some work, 29 (give or take) have never met me, and 7 (give or take) have left the building. They aren't goals anymore, or have morphed into something else.
So that's where I am. Much like me, these are a work in progress. Setting goals has been good. Each victory, failure or "to be continued" teaches me a valuable lesson and is an exhibition of my colossal weaknesses in the glaring spotlight of God's infinite power.
#74: Count on that.
Just a few of the "victories" (among others) that make me giddy...
#3. Bring Lora home from work for good.
She's in her final weeks of teaching. She's ecstatic. Score!!!
#6. Complete my novel.
75%. Up from 2% at the beginning of the year. Hardest, funnest thing I've ever (almost) done.
#41. Get Maureen to DC.
Hm... best way to do this? Offer her a job. It worked! She's coming!
#21. Throw Granddaddy a 100th birthday party.
August 7. All set.
#9. Improve my prayer life.
Definitely better. Definitely on the list for 2011.
#13. Be 100% accessible to my friends.
I've worked really hard on this. I think it's going well, but you'll have to ask them.
#40. Increase our Faith-Promise Missions commitment.
Started last Sunday. It really is a great feeling!
Friday, May 7, 2010
A Pillar of Salt I Shall Be
Wow, it's May 8 already, and this is my first blog post of the year. Typically, I might be apologetic, but in my defense, I've taken on a major writing project that will be completed by the end of summer **knock on wood**, so I don't feel terribly bad.
I could not let May 8 pass without recognizing the one-year anniversary of my hospitalization. Revisiting that ordeal is not a pleasant exercise-in fact, I'd much rather forget most things about it. But given the facts that-one year later I am healthy, and I clearly recognize that what could have been WAS NOT-I can truly say that I've been blessed... I've got a testimony! He is worthy! Hallelujah, what a Savior!
In case you're wondering, I feel great. Recovery was 100%. I will always have lymphedema (actually, I always have), but it IS manageable and so, we press on!
I'd like to steal a blog idea from a friend (thanks OMY) and recycle an entry I posted last year shortly after all of this. If it becomes a real blessing to one person who is going through a tough time, then, from my heart I can genuinely say, it was worth it all!
Finally, I am indebted to my family, my Crossroads/COEBA family, friends everywhere and to the doctors and nurses of Virginia Hospital Center-without whom this wimp wouldn't have stood a chance.
Looking back,
PM
"Learning To Lean"
Originally posted Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 10:46am
About two weeks ago following our Wednesday evening service I started feeling sick. It had been raining that night, and I had been out in the rain more than I should, so I pretty much chalked it up to being a cold. This wasn't good. We had a Homegoing service in the morning and I still had to do the obituary program in addition to participating in the service, so feeling bad was really not an option. So I ignored it. It was about 2 a.m. when I realized that the fever and chills were not going to let me finish, so I decided to go to bed and get up early.
I did go to bed, and I did wake up early--about 4:30 with uncontrollable chills and, eventually a fever of 103F. I'd had the flu before, but what was this?? I had never felt like this before. Lora insisted we go to the ER. I called Dad and Mom to let them know, and to prepare Dad for the possibility that I wouldn't make the funeral. They said to keep them posted and that they would be praying. We got dressed and were headed to the ER about 6 a.m. when my parents' prayers must've kicked in. All of sudden I started feeling better. The chills subsided. The fever broke. All I could think was that this was the Lord allowing me to finish that program and attend the service. And that's what happened. I stumbled back to our kitchen table and by the grace of God completed it and sent it off to church for printing. Praise the Lord!
I walked over to church at 10:55, weak and drenched in sweat, but I made it. The choir was already seated in the loft. I joined the other three preachers in the procession to the platform. The next 90 minutes comprised a beautiful celebration of our dear sister who had gone home to be with the Lord. The choir sang wonderfully, seemingly in tribute. I felt invigorated. I don't know what I would have done had I not been able to witness that wonderful homegoing.
So now that it was over, the logical thing was to go home and get in bed. It had already been a really long day. I now realized that my brief respite from the "flu" was either an adrenalin rush or simply a Samson-esque moment from the Lord, because now, I couldn't move. I sat in the auditorium alone for about an hour. Finally, with Chad's help, I mustered enough strength to walk home. All of the symptoms were back, but worse.
The next hours of that Thursday were a blur as I can only recall tossing and turning all night and wishing for morning. When morning came I started wishing for night. I was miserable and nothing in the medicine cabinet seemed to help. It was around 5 p.m. when I told Cameron that I had to go to the ER. Lora and Casey were out and couldn't be reached. Cam and I headed out. I was so sick I almost let my 14 year old drive. Kidding, but I wished that he could.
When we signed in at urgent care, they handed me a mask. I guess there's still some remaining swine flu paranoia. Staring at the sign that read, "Patients will be seen in order of illness priority" assured me that I'd get some relief soon. Not so. Apparently my indication of flu symptoms was not as critical as "scraped elbow", "sprained thumb", and "banged head."
By now I was having trouble breathing and everything on me hurt. I also noticed my left shoe seemed really tight and my foot swollen. I figured I would ask the doc about that--if I ever got back there.
After two hours they called my name. My good son, determined to not leave his dad's side, followed me back.
Blood pressure-120/68 (terrific). Heart rate-normal. Fever-101F. Drew blood (after six fishing expeditions to find a vein-runs in my family, ouch).
"Looks like you got the flu, son."
He did NOT just tell me that, I thought. I already knew that. I told him about the breathing problems. So I was off to x-ray. The x-ray showed inflammation but nothing abnormal. Blood test came back normal, other than elevated white blood count which they thought was consistent with a virus.
"Wow! how long has your foot been like this?"
Like what?, I thought. I was now back in the ER bed and looked down at my left foot and ankle, which were now twice normal size. I just stared in shock.
The doctor took scissors and cut my sweat pants up to my knee. It was swollen all the way up and really red. When the doctor looks shocked, you know there's cause for concern. Next thing I know, I'm in an ambulance headed to a real hospital. Cam was still right there. That's my boy.
I eventually found out that I had developed a deep tissue infection which triggered stage three lymphedema. In a short period of time I was carrying nearly 50 pounds of fluid in my left leg. Thankfully my vitals were all good and the antibiotics were doing the job of flushing out the infection. I had never been hospitalized before, so that was a new experience. I know for sure that the hospital is no place to get rest. Being poked and prodded all day and all night made it anything but restful.
But they took good care of me over the five days I was there at Virginia Hospital Center. Sunday morning was tough. I hadn't missed a Sunday morning service in 28 years! Thank God for wi-fi! I even got several of the nurses to come and watch church with me. I pointed everybody out to them. They got a kick out of it when Dad mentioned my being in the hospital and the whole church wishing me well.
It wasn't until after going home last Wednesday that I realized that recovery was going to be such a major ordeal. They sent home with a picc line so that I can self-administer an IV for the next 14 days. Man. This a trip. In addition, I have to go to physical therapy almost every day for 2-3 weeks to work down the swelling. All the medication has kept me feeling sick and weak. Then yesterday they found that I developed an allergic reaction to the bandages or the medication, not sure.
When they unwrapped my leg, I wept. I had never seen anything so disgusting. I got so discouraged and went into immediate self-pity mode. Then I remembered how good God has been to me. I thought of all the people who have gone through so much worse than this. I thought about my wonderful wife who has taken care of me every step of the way. I thought of my kids, my parents and my siblings who would do anything in the world for me. I thought of the more than 60 people who came to visit me in the hospital. Then I thought of the pain Jesus went through for me. Silly Mike. Dumb Mike. How could I be so ungrateful with all God's done for me? "This I know; for God is for me. (Ps. 56:9) Forgive me, Lord.
The docs predict 100% recovery within a few weeks. I am glad for that! The other day I bought a cane. Wow, that was telling! I didn't want to, but it's really obvious that it is a big help. I had to learn to use it properly. By leaning on it at the right time it takes pressure off of the bad leg AND the good leg. The symbolism in my life is clear. Through all of this I've had to--perhaps for the first time in my life--learn to lean on the Lord. Situations clearly beyond our control or ability to fix teach us to depend on the One who is really in control. I've had to learn that, as I tend to be a self-fixer. I can't fix this one. But I'm so glad God can.
And that lesson, believe it or not, makes it worth it all! -mb
We can only know
The power that He holds
When we truly see how deep our weakness goes;
His strength in us begins
Where ours comes to an end.
He hears our humble cry and proves again . . .
His strength is perfect when our strength is gone;
He’ll carry us when we can’t carry on.
Raised in His power, the weak become strong;
His strength is perfect, His strength is perfect.
I could not let May 8 pass without recognizing the one-year anniversary of my hospitalization. Revisiting that ordeal is not a pleasant exercise-in fact, I'd much rather forget most things about it. But given the facts that-one year later I am healthy, and I clearly recognize that what could have been WAS NOT-I can truly say that I've been blessed... I've got a testimony! He is worthy! Hallelujah, what a Savior!
In case you're wondering, I feel great. Recovery was 100%. I will always have lymphedema (actually, I always have), but it IS manageable and so, we press on!
I'd like to steal a blog idea from a friend (thanks OMY) and recycle an entry I posted last year shortly after all of this. If it becomes a real blessing to one person who is going through a tough time, then, from my heart I can genuinely say, it was worth it all!
Finally, I am indebted to my family, my Crossroads/COEBA family, friends everywhere and to the doctors and nurses of Virginia Hospital Center-without whom this wimp wouldn't have stood a chance.
Looking back,
PM
"Learning To Lean"
Originally posted Tuesday, May 19, 2009 at 10:46am
About two weeks ago following our Wednesday evening service I started feeling sick. It had been raining that night, and I had been out in the rain more than I should, so I pretty much chalked it up to being a cold. This wasn't good. We had a Homegoing service in the morning and I still had to do the obituary program in addition to participating in the service, so feeling bad was really not an option. So I ignored it. It was about 2 a.m. when I realized that the fever and chills were not going to let me finish, so I decided to go to bed and get up early.
I did go to bed, and I did wake up early--about 4:30 with uncontrollable chills and, eventually a fever of 103F. I'd had the flu before, but what was this?? I had never felt like this before. Lora insisted we go to the ER. I called Dad and Mom to let them know, and to prepare Dad for the possibility that I wouldn't make the funeral. They said to keep them posted and that they would be praying. We got dressed and were headed to the ER about 6 a.m. when my parents' prayers must've kicked in. All of sudden I started feeling better. The chills subsided. The fever broke. All I could think was that this was the Lord allowing me to finish that program and attend the service. And that's what happened. I stumbled back to our kitchen table and by the grace of God completed it and sent it off to church for printing. Praise the Lord!
I walked over to church at 10:55, weak and drenched in sweat, but I made it. The choir was already seated in the loft. I joined the other three preachers in the procession to the platform. The next 90 minutes comprised a beautiful celebration of our dear sister who had gone home to be with the Lord. The choir sang wonderfully, seemingly in tribute. I felt invigorated. I don't know what I would have done had I not been able to witness that wonderful homegoing.
So now that it was over, the logical thing was to go home and get in bed. It had already been a really long day. I now realized that my brief respite from the "flu" was either an adrenalin rush or simply a Samson-esque moment from the Lord, because now, I couldn't move. I sat in the auditorium alone for about an hour. Finally, with Chad's help, I mustered enough strength to walk home. All of the symptoms were back, but worse.
The next hours of that Thursday were a blur as I can only recall tossing and turning all night and wishing for morning. When morning came I started wishing for night. I was miserable and nothing in the medicine cabinet seemed to help. It was around 5 p.m. when I told Cameron that I had to go to the ER. Lora and Casey were out and couldn't be reached. Cam and I headed out. I was so sick I almost let my 14 year old drive. Kidding, but I wished that he could.
When we signed in at urgent care, they handed me a mask. I guess there's still some remaining swine flu paranoia. Staring at the sign that read, "Patients will be seen in order of illness priority" assured me that I'd get some relief soon. Not so. Apparently my indication of flu symptoms was not as critical as "scraped elbow", "sprained thumb", and "banged head."
By now I was having trouble breathing and everything on me hurt. I also noticed my left shoe seemed really tight and my foot swollen. I figured I would ask the doc about that--if I ever got back there.
After two hours they called my name. My good son, determined to not leave his dad's side, followed me back.
Blood pressure-120/68 (terrific). Heart rate-normal. Fever-101F. Drew blood (after six fishing expeditions to find a vein-runs in my family, ouch).
"Looks like you got the flu, son."
He did NOT just tell me that, I thought. I already knew that. I told him about the breathing problems. So I was off to x-ray. The x-ray showed inflammation but nothing abnormal. Blood test came back normal, other than elevated white blood count which they thought was consistent with a virus.
"Wow! how long has your foot been like this?"
Like what?, I thought. I was now back in the ER bed and looked down at my left foot and ankle, which were now twice normal size. I just stared in shock.
The doctor took scissors and cut my sweat pants up to my knee. It was swollen all the way up and really red. When the doctor looks shocked, you know there's cause for concern. Next thing I know, I'm in an ambulance headed to a real hospital. Cam was still right there. That's my boy.
I eventually found out that I had developed a deep tissue infection which triggered stage three lymphedema. In a short period of time I was carrying nearly 50 pounds of fluid in my left leg. Thankfully my vitals were all good and the antibiotics were doing the job of flushing out the infection. I had never been hospitalized before, so that was a new experience. I know for sure that the hospital is no place to get rest. Being poked and prodded all day and all night made it anything but restful.
But they took good care of me over the five days I was there at Virginia Hospital Center. Sunday morning was tough. I hadn't missed a Sunday morning service in 28 years! Thank God for wi-fi! I even got several of the nurses to come and watch church with me. I pointed everybody out to them. They got a kick out of it when Dad mentioned my being in the hospital and the whole church wishing me well.
It wasn't until after going home last Wednesday that I realized that recovery was going to be such a major ordeal. They sent home with a picc line so that I can self-administer an IV for the next 14 days. Man. This a trip. In addition, I have to go to physical therapy almost every day for 2-3 weeks to work down the swelling. All the medication has kept me feeling sick and weak. Then yesterday they found that I developed an allergic reaction to the bandages or the medication, not sure.
When they unwrapped my leg, I wept. I had never seen anything so disgusting. I got so discouraged and went into immediate self-pity mode. Then I remembered how good God has been to me. I thought of all the people who have gone through so much worse than this. I thought about my wonderful wife who has taken care of me every step of the way. I thought of my kids, my parents and my siblings who would do anything in the world for me. I thought of the more than 60 people who came to visit me in the hospital. Then I thought of the pain Jesus went through for me. Silly Mike. Dumb Mike. How could I be so ungrateful with all God's done for me? "This I know; for God is for me. (Ps. 56:9) Forgive me, Lord.
The docs predict 100% recovery within a few weeks. I am glad for that! The other day I bought a cane. Wow, that was telling! I didn't want to, but it's really obvious that it is a big help. I had to learn to use it properly. By leaning on it at the right time it takes pressure off of the bad leg AND the good leg. The symbolism in my life is clear. Through all of this I've had to--perhaps for the first time in my life--learn to lean on the Lord. Situations clearly beyond our control or ability to fix teach us to depend on the One who is really in control. I've had to learn that, as I tend to be a self-fixer. I can't fix this one. But I'm so glad God can.
And that lesson, believe it or not, makes it worth it all! -mb
We can only know
The power that He holds
When we truly see how deep our weakness goes;
His strength in us begins
Where ours comes to an end.
He hears our humble cry and proves again . . .
His strength is perfect when our strength is gone;
He’ll carry us when we can’t carry on.
Raised in His power, the weak become strong;
His strength is perfect, His strength is perfect.
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