I stopped blogging last September, discouraged, I guess because no one seemed to be out there reading my blog (oh, vanity). I thought I needed to find a new direction. And that turn in the path eluded me.
There were, also, a few other obstacles. My leukemia/lymphoma reasserted itself and worsening blood counts left me with less of my normal energy, plus a great deal of time was spent at the doctor’s office in the infusion room receiving therapy. Therapy will continue again next week as I become one of the first people to receive the recently approved Arzerra (ofatumumab…what a name!) treatment.
Then, yesterday, I was surprised to find an email in my inbox inquiring about my absence from blogging…about my health or other reasons for being a laggard (my phrase). It was from Lisa Rosewell, who blogs at http://ifyoucouldreadmymind.wordpress.com/ Over the past year, Lisa’s blog has grown slowly to express the variety and depth of her many interests. One of those, membership in a very small (in my case very, very small) traditional Anglican congregation, we share: hers in Texas and mine in Nevada. Lisa’s site also reflects beautifully her interest in music and participating in people’s politics, i.e. the 9/12 freedom march in Washington D.C., and her blog expresses her faith in God’s grace.
Lisa’s email has re-energized me to begin blogging again. I’ve thought I had no more to say and have been instead forwarding what others say, about politics mainly, to a list of friends, whom I hope I am not burdening with so much insightful commentary.
But I do really have some things I want to say. For example, right now I am looking at the sky as the sun rises over Reno. It’s red, purple, and pale blue, etched against the rugged outline of the nearby, snow frosted hills…even though I can see only a swatch through the office window. Of course, red-in-the-morning means sailors-take-warning. It will be a stormy day, grey again later, and we will have wet in some form because, as my daughter told me so many years ago when she was three: “The trees are shaking.”
And there are tales of my wonderful grandkids. Maddox is now 4 ½, still jumping through life, so full of energy; he will be a rock star (as he believes he is already) or a skateboarding/BMX daredevil if he continues on his present path…or maybe, Spiderman.
Ione is almost 17 months now, with a smile and charm that can erase any trace of grumpiness in her world, which, however, doesn’t preclude an occasional, comical and short lived display of temper when regal charm meets the word “no.” She clasps my finger (and her granddad’s) and leads us around. On walks now, we stop and investigate melting piles of old, dirty snow and rocks and whatever other small treasures appear along the sidewalk. She still doesn’t have a lot to say in English, but she chatters emotively in her own tongue.
And then there are those who pray for me because of my health. I find it a little disconcerting to be prayed for, which is not to say that I am not very very grateful for the prayers, which come from family and friends and people I don’t even know. But it’s been a little bit like accepting a gift I believe I haven’t merited.
I remember my mother telling me and my brother and sisters frequently, “T’is better to give than to receive,” but also telling me at a later date that it’s important to be able to receive a gift graciously. She didn’t put that in a religious context, but it is the essence of Christian faith, really, to receive the gift of God’s grace that not one of us can ever “deserve.”
And it’s like that with prayers. So I thank all those who pray for me, and I try imperfectly to pray for others. I am not systematic about this as I feel I should be, so if someone forgets to pray for me, I can certainly understand, and honestly, sometimes I hope that they do forget as I do, so I shall feel less guilty for my neglect. I haven’t yet been able to hang on to living as a faithful Christian throughout an entire day…or perhaps even an entire hour, so I know how needy I am of God’s all-inclusive love.