A View From A WheelChair

I'm learning while I sit in this wheelchair, it is not as relaxing and fun as it looks. If I could trade places and push instead of sit, I would. Believe me. Now that I've been here--and it isn't a permanent place--unlike some who are in wheelchairs, I've learned some things:

When in a wheelchair:
1. You see children in strollers eye-to-eye. They look at you and chuckle! A big person at their eye level is unique--and they like it.

2.  When an occupant in a wheelchair meets another occupant in another wheelchair, we have camaraderie. We always smile at one another and give a shake of the head in understanding.

3.  When sitting in a wheelchair, people look at you, curious about why you might be sitting there. I've found it's nice to smile when they look, to let them know it's ok to look.

4.  In the future, when I'm free of my "buggy", I'll always look around in a public restroom to make sure no one in a chair needs the handicapped stall. It's designed to be large for a purpose--those wheelchairs are bigger than a person and it's necessary space!

5.  Whether I'm in a wheelchair or pushing one, or just plain 'ole walking, I'm going to try to smile more. I always knew that, but I realize it even more now. It isn't that much fun in this spot, but here I am. I'm going to make the best of it. And smile. I feel better. They feel better.

6. Because of my wheelchair, my grands are learning to be servants by pushing and fetching and just being helpful in many ways.

7. It's a different view down here in the chair. I see lots of couples walking hand in hand, delighted to be with each other. I see big, tough looking tattooed guys tenderly hold a toddler's hand, I see all shapes and sizes of people. Humanity is a wonderful creation and full of beautiful differences.

The Apostle Paul wrote a long time ago:

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. (Philippians 4:11)

In our GriefShare class, we often share with others about learning our "new normal". I guess I need to  learn my new normal--from the chair. I've been assured by the doctor I will in about five weeks, be able to put put weight on my foot with a boot cast. But for now, this is my normal. 

I'm having a wonderful time, vacationing with my family in spite of the wheelchair. I'm so grateful we were able to complete our many months in planning to spend time with this one branch of the extended Rudberg/Graybill/Mozena clan. We have many to share time and love with--and we are blessed.

Here we are at the Magic Kingdom

Thirteen Days In...

I am learning about having the attitude of Christ in this time of slowing down and the healing of the broken bones in my ankle. I don’t want to talk about me and my injury so much as what I’m learning during this time.

I am learning it can be difficult to be the one being served. I’ve always been the giver of comfort, the doer for family or spouse. Now, I’m having to ask for things because it is too difficult to do by myself.

I am learning how difficult is is to be handicapped. It’s scary in a wheelchair going down the slope of a driveway or being tipped back in the chair to enter a doorway with someone else guiding the chair. I like to be in control of things and in this case, I’m having to let go and allow someone else to fetch and push me along. Using a walker takes a lot of energy too. By the time I’ve moved from one room to another: move walker forward, use my good foot to hop forward, move the walker ahead one step, hop again. By the time I’ve arrived at my destination, I’m breathless—me the hiker, climber, outdoors woman I claim to be! All of this is new to me. And I don’t like it! 

 I’m learning I can be a servant in ways while I’m in this non-motion state. I can encourage with words. I can use lots of “please” and “thank-you’s”. It is a state I don’t particularly want to be in, but it can be used in a positive way, too. 

 I’m learning in my darkest hours how near my Savior is to me. When Jim is quietly sleeping beside me and I get niggely little fears in my head—"what if I have a blood clot and it stops my heart?", "what if I hurt myself when I move my body forward?", "what if I’m in this state for the rest of my life?" kinds of thoughts. He listens to those thoughts and fears and quietly tells me “You’ll be all right. I’m here with you.” 

I told Jim I had some of those fears last night. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me. I would have talked to you.” And I could have, but sometimes, I need to give those fears to the Savior, who loves me too. 

I was reminded by something we read this morning in Philippians 2: 5-8 You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had. Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead  he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a slave and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross. 

If the God of the Universe can humble himself to become a mere human being—and die a criminal’s death for me, can’t I humble myself and submit to a walker, a wheel chair, or crutches? I can—with God’s help and a reminder of His servant’s heart.  

Shiver is serving me with her purring presence

Here in our RV, in the backseat, waiting for my chauffeur to drive me to our next destination

Stay tuned for my next addition. Hopefully this week, while I'm with family at Disneyland, I'll learn more lessons!

The Plans We Make

I try to write a blog each week, but this week was a little different.

It started with my birthday on Wednesday. We celebrated a day early so my grand girlie, Annabel and I could share the day. Annabel's is May 1, mine, May 6.  We had a wonderful Cinco De Mayo theme. Jim and Erika planned the menu perfectly. We had chicken fajitas, corn pudding, salad, and chili rellenos. For dessert, of course, chocolate cake.

Jim and I planned to take a week at the beach so I could begin completion of my next book, Beyond Second Chances. We camped at Cape Lookout State Park and enjoyed walks on the beach, beautiful sunsets and lots of writing times.

On the weekend, Jim's sister Rosaleen and her husband Ron joined us and on Saturday evening, we planned a fresh seafood fest. Ron volunteered to cook and we ate the seafood in courses. First, we had baguettes with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Ron fried up some oysters, and we enjoyed the tasty morsels and cole slaw, took sips of chilled white wine and dipped our bread in the olive oil.

Next course was fresh scallops sautéed in butter. Divine! Ron announced he would start the next course: fried razor clams. "Let me get something to read, while you cook," I said, and dashed off to our campsite to find the paper.

Enjoying our seafood

What happened next was completely out of our plans. I stepped into our RV and tripped--I guess--all I know, I was tumbling in mid-air and landed crookedly on the ground. I had extreme pain and knew I'd done something very serious to my ankle. 

All of our nicely made plans for progress on the book disappeared. I was frustrated with the pain, frustrated that now things would be different than what we'd carefully planned. Instead of complaining about how our best made plans were foiled, I thought it would be nice to point out what did work out:

1.  There was a hospital 20 minutes from our campground.

2.  There was excellent care given there--and they recommended we go to Vancouver right away for surgery. 

3.  We used the bed in the RV to transport me to Peace Health, where they were waiting for me at ER.

4.  My surgery took place early Sunday morning--I didn't have to wait all day--performed by a leading orthopedic micro vascular surgeon.

5.  The staff at PH were wonderful caregivers and we felt like we were family.

6. Throughout this time period, we experienced God-given calmness during the all night ordeal.

I came home on Tuesday and meals were ready, a system to take care of our meal schedules were in place--Jim can't do everything after all. I received phone calls offering equipment for my convalescence. A scooter for when I can use it--a snazzy burgundy. A shower chair and other things. All because people care and want to help. 

Thank you Mary Jane!

Tonight, my sister will be here with me while Jim takes my daughter, Erika, to "Phantom of the Opera"--I was supposed to be there at curtain call, but I'm glad they can enjoy it.

I will be honest and say I wish this wouldn't have happened. That I didn't crush my ankle, have to cancel some of our plans. 

We can make plans for our future but I'm learning that the outcome can be different than what we expect.

So, I will plan. Try to finish my book. Check my calendar frequently so I don't forget what's on there, and rest in what God has ordained for my day. And not fuss too much when my plans are foiled. There's always tomorrow.

Cape Lookout--stunning view--before the accident

Comfort---and Hope

"Hope," she said. Each person was to say what they learned in our GriefShare class. This was the final session. Jim asked each person to share what they'd learned during the thirteen weeks together. Others shared, but this one word statement caught my attention.

Each person in the group had suffered ultimate loss. One, a mother. Another, a husband. A wife. A sister. A good friend. A father. Some experienced wrenching unexpected death. Others expected the death, but it still was wrenching. Each in their own way stumbled into the mind-numbing reality that their loved one was gone. There were tears shed each week, for that's often what grieving people do. There were shattered dreams and anguish shared. 

We comforted one another each week by listening to their story. But there was more. We sought the comfort of our Heavenly Father, the ultimate comforter. We learned to tell Him our sorrows and pain. 

Each morning, Jim and I read Scripture and this verse caught my eye as we read in the last letter to the Corinthians:

Finally brethren, farewell (rejoice)! Be strengthened, (perfected, completed, made what you ought to be;) be encouraged and consoled and comforted (emphasis mine); be of the same [agreeable] mind with one another; live in peace, and [then] the God of love [Who is the source of affection, goodwill, love, and benevolence toward men] and the Author and Promoter of peace be with you.

2 Corinthians 13:11 (amplified) 

Does that mean now that the thirteen weeks are over that we've arrived and there's no more pain? No. But we're a little farther down the the road of grief. Some have moved a little more forward than others. For some, it takes more time to walk the road. 

Our hope as leaders of GriefShare,is that each person can rest in those words written more than two thousand years ago--and at this time in their lives, be strengthened. Be encouraged. Consoled. And most of all, be comforted.