She had the most glorious idea yesterday. She gave me the choice of telling me or surprising me. I, of course, gave permission for her to spill the beans.
For her birthday, she has requested the digital recorder that I have that is like what Pastor has and what I have been using to make my recordings of the Book of Concord for others to use. I, of course, was fully on board with that idea immediately. She sings all the time, so I quickly envisioned a whole library of Bettina songs.
When she was here, during that altogether too brief moment, she showed me a gizmo that, apparently, the whole world knows about but I: the iPod touch. There, in this small wonder, were all Pastor's hymns, and she could log onto the Internet with it through wi-fi. I read one of my blog entries aloud to her in bed so we could talk about it. Amazing. In that moment, all my future trips to ER shifted into something much more bearable. If I got one of those gizmos, then I could listen to hymns and sermons whilst getting treatment. If there was a hot spot, I could also log-on and check email.
Bettina had, as I said, the most wonderous idea given that I have not stopped talking with her about all the possible ways I might gain such a technological marvel. Believe me, I have spent many a minute thinking about acquiring one. For one, there is a "check in the mail" that would cover the entire cost, but it has been in the mail for well over a week now even though it is coming from just 20 miles away. For another, I received an unexpected credit from Amazon for a less-than-speedy delivery on a purchase I hadn't even known was late. Still, the check has not arrived and part of me is feeling quite impulsive. Never purchase on impulse.
Back to her idea, though: Bettina thought that a great thing to do would be to start recording the bible for me, so that she could be with me when she couldn't be with me! That way, I would have hymns, sermons, and the Living Word at my fingertips. SIGH. Such mercy!
Needless to say, I have been fervently hoping one of the birthday gifts she opens will be the Olympus WS210-S.
But back to my thoughts about help. What to do?
Even if I could afford to do so, how can I find someone to hire who would do what family or friends would do? I mean, tomorrow is trash day. I missed recycling the past two weeks and my bin is overflowing. Carrying it to the curb, however, is not something I should be doing right now. Carrying the bin on a good day makes my chest tight. Right now, it would be a less than wise choice.
Today, at work, a woman who volunteers at one of our properties stopped by to see me. Not knowing what the past week has been like for me, she made one of her pithy comments and I laughed. I laughed and then coughed so hard that I saw stars and dropped immediately to the floor, barely able to keep from fainting. I am standing on a high wire and have so little balance. This happened even though I have been nebulizing every 4-6 hours quite faithfully. I suspect this is going to be so for a while.
And then there is the whole virus thing, lingering still. Two other women in the office are struggling almost as much as I to regain vigor. So, at least I my lack of accomplishments at work of late are not isolated. Still, I am tired and weak and very dull-witted. And my ears hurt! You're not supposed to notice your ears are there at all.
Hmm...a notice for employment:
- do a load of underclothing
- pick up a few groceries
- prepare a meal
- take out the recycling
- walk my beloved buttercup around the block
- stand on a ladder to put something in the attic
- sit with me while I wait for my heart rate to recover
I'd spend more on the person coming and going than the time it took to take out the trash. Not that hiring someone is really an option even if I could figure out how, where, who.
Part of me has wondered if it is a Southern thing or a Protestant thing. In the South, people help other people all the time. In church, that was all we did. Works aplenty. In high school and college, my youth group was constantly doing helping projects. The youth minister would call out a need and a group would always respond, finishing the task or work day at McDonald's or Chili's or this rather amazing ice cream shop that was a precursor to Cold Stone Creamery.
There was this one time, when a couple had gotten into trouble trying to become dairy farmers. A host of us schlepped out to the farm and sickled grass, mucked out the barn, repaired the porch, painted the house inside and out, sewed curtains, and a slew of other chores. Such hard work. Such joy.
So was it a works thing or a Southern thing?
But thinking about needing help has had me thinking about the calendar I made for myself. A dweeby thing to be sure, but I created it after a woman from church mentioned that this is the first year that I will be a Lutheran from beginning to end. It is my Lutheran calendar.
The "artwork" I used are images of stained glass windows. I miss them. Silly. Strange. Childish. I have always enjoyed gazing upon stained glass windows in church, thinking about the artisan who crafted them and the subject which inspired them. I also added quotes from some of my favorite writers, Martin Luther, Johann Gerherd, and two pastors I found online. The quotes are not merely pithy statements, but deep, dense explorations of truth. Things I can chew on all month long.
On the calendar, I added all the Sundays of the church year so that I can better learn the seasons. I think it is special that Pastor always knows what Sunday it is, where we are in the rhythm of the Church year. I believe this is so because of the purpose of the Church year, to teach us about the Gospel. Would you not agree I need to know more of the Gospel?
Besides, already I have been able to use the calendar hanging on my wall to talk about my faith, such as it is. The pile of books on my desk--the bible, the Book of Concord, the Treasury of Daily Prayer--serve the same: an opportunity to both share what I have learned of objective grace and the proper distinction between Law and Gospel and to rehearse what I know to be true, rather than what I have learned from experience, which is not based on truth.
One of the quotes I found but did not use was on how we have nothing to fear since Christ conquered death, He conquered all the wiles and assaults of the devil. And yet...and yet...I have been walking in terror for nearly a weak. It is so very difficult for me to stand beside and watch the frailty I face and the battle to breathe...and I hate, very much hate, when my heart it racing and my whole body is vibrating like a plucked guitar string. No melodious sound streams forth from I at times such as this. I am not praising God. I am not rejoicing in my suffering. No, I am struggling with despair.
Funny, I've been thinking so mightily about my faith, about my struggles, about needing help, about being alone, and about this wee little bit from Pastor W's blog:
"You shall be my witnesses." It's not a command. It's a promise.
SIGH. Ever I think of works, even as I strive to lay such folly aside. What about my witness? I despair. What light is there in tears, in hurt, in utter weakness?
In order to retain the Gospel among people, He openly sets the confession of saints against the kingdom of the devil and, in our weakness, declares His power. (Apology, Article V, 68)
It's not a command. It's a promise.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
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