Tag: blindness

Random writing Promt

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Once upon a time, my daughter gave me a little writing journal. It is full of hundreds of writing prompts. Ice breaker group session questions are the kind that get people laughing or crying. I guess the emotional response is your choice.

My Scrappy Entrelac Stitch blanket, or prayer shawl, or something yet to be determined.

Today I decided just to get the juices flowing, I would pick one. The first one that I read was “what is something thoughtful that someone did for me?” And naturally, I thought of this journal of course. She bought me this journal. How nice. Just when I am not sure what to write about, and I don’t really want to talk about the same old things, here lies the little black thought provoker. Wasn’t that kind of her?

The next question was a little disconcerting. “when did you feel uncomfortable in some situation? How did you handle it?” Well, unfortunately, that was just today. And I can’t really write too much about it because it’s a little fresh. But when someone asks me to do something that is way beyond my comfort level, I ususally ask my husband to handle it. I get that sinking feeling that makes my anxiety want to go through the roof. Then I try to figure out how can I say “No” in the most polite way possible.

I usually make hats for the grand kids, but this year I made some for their friends, all in one family particular. I hope they fit! and this entrelac stitch pattern practice was a fail, so I had to start all over with a larger hook size.

The next writing prompt is more in my ball park. “What do people ask or tell me most commonly and how do I respond?” Well, the biggest issue that I have is my RP blindness and the continued decline of my eyesight. The most common and uncomfortable topic is people asking if they can pray for my healing. This desire for God’s healing is usually quite a cause for relationship drift. Why? because most people would rather have me healed they me required to help. Yep, I said it. most people would rather give God my rpoblem than take on my problem and help me . I guess it makes them feel uncomfortable that my eye sight will continue to decline and that I am well aware that someday I may be blind.

So, that’s how the prompts work huh?

Get right to the point of squirm already.

The next question is about regret. What is my biggest regret? That’s a tough one. I could pick one about my doggie owner me, or about my parenting me, or about my spouse life togetherness. Or I could just not answer today.

One day while at the littlest’s house, Kona napped and the baby (almost one) learned how to roll and trun and tried to get Kona to come to her. About three weeks later, she learned to fuss and tap her hands on the floor and get him to come to her. She clapped and clapped in delight to his response.

Living life with no regrets is hard to do. Living a life happy and full inspite of regrets is the answer.

How do I find motivation to keep one foot in front of the other when life does not add up to my expectations? Today is one of those days. The dark cloud seems to take every desire to move away from me even while the sun shines forth its brilliant warmth. So of course, the gloomy that kept me from moving much the other day, is now just the optisite in blinding light that keeeps me sitting within the shadows.

So today the thought process must be more dialed in or tuned in. But tuned in to what? Our sermon series at church is “Attitude of Gratitude.” The passage from the Psalms was a good one. Being thankful and making a list is sometimes hard to grasp. And being thankful inspite of life’s circumstances is a choice. Psalm 138:3 is the verse that I chose to focus on this week, “ On the day that I called, You answered me: my strength of soul You increased.”

The little succulant trunk planter my father in law made for me.

When it was cloudy, wet and almost fifty degrees, I went outside to find another one of these little pine needle succulants doing very well. Now it is nearly zero and the wind chill has made breathing outdoors difficult. The little plant, not yet succumbed to the cold, woked as an excellent specimen in this little planter. The little miniature “trunk” planter is so cute. And the plant has such a funnny story. My father in law thought that it should “grow” rather than just clean the air. So he fertilized it. When I retrieved the plant five months later, it was a giant bush! So I just cut off all of the tips and put them in the succulant soil mixture. And then I had two dozen plants instead of one.

Christmas is only a week away. And yes I find that the world has been painted by the color of my husband’s father’s passing. It took us nearly two weeks to get the tree up, lit and decorated. We watched a television show for distraction. There aren’t any gifts wrapped yet. The purchasing has begun, but we are struggling with the “spirit” of Christmas. Loss colors our lives iwht colors that are unseen to the naked eye. My hope is that we find joy in all of the memories. My prayer is that we find hope in sharing the stories with those her in our lives this season.

Stacking Logs

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Today’s hymn study is “At the Cross” by Isaac Watts. Some one such as I could have no idea what it means to grasp the Cross as the only hope in this life. Yet I must embrace this one and only Hope for it is the only way to remove the burden that weighs down my heart for those whom I love and perhaps NOW I can be happy all the day for Christ truly is the only true weight lifter in this life I live.

Coping with going blind often has its challenges that lead me to have nightmares that I do not understand. Sometimes having to be a statue in the midst of the moving storm about me is the best option for navigating the day. Like the recent Christmas during the summertime. The constant ebb and flow of the people that are there often lead to to feeling much like a log jam on the river as it heads to the sawmill!

Preparing for life changes has led me to learning how to “give up” things that drain my energy. Being the sit still person in the crowd use to make me feel like I was alone in the crowd. There are moments when I feel perhaps the Lord is rather teaching me how to be the lighthouse on the rocks for others. A person to come to who will listen and empathize and give the Hope of Jesus into their lives.

Then there is night. Where I have this recurring dream. One in which I am standing amidst a pile of logs that need to be stacked. Organized into size appropriate piles. Stacked neatly and ready for use. I feel lost. I feel overwhelmed. I feel like the whole lot will crash about me once again and I will never escape the never ending pile. No matter which way I turn the logs are all in a jam.

Psalm 61 is a prayer from the depths of the pit. So is Psalm 42. But today all I can thing is “How long? O God? How long?” My very soul is weary and sad. I am utterly disheartened and lost.

Depresson is settling in again. The nightmares about stacking logs of all various kinds and sizes have returned. Along with the constant over riding feeling of anger at everything. The headaches are back. The sleepless nights. The old enemies are here to ruin me.

Trying to do anything is like working with an elephant on my chest, a bear on my back, an alligator in my brain, and a Tasmanian Devil running circles about me and a hyena laughing constantly in my ear. The high pitch whistle of the dryer does not help any of these things.

Kona is just a week away from being one year old. His therapeutic nature is thriving. He is becoming such a good boy!

My dogs did not make me happy. They became more and more work. And they wake me up out of my sleep just when I finally get some. They bark at nothing just to irritate me. Charlie does not make me smile when he refuses to even come when called. Honey rolled in so much awful stench this previous month that we shaved her to nothing and then I didn’t even want to look at her. Skinny doodle is not pleasing to my eyes at all. (Well she is gone now.) Kona has decided to keep getting into things just to get bad attention and then never gets any good play time. *note the whole dynamic of my household is much calmer without a hyper golden doodle. Resolve that we will never have a hybrid man made disaster dog again. And so I decided to re-home Kona. Only to realize that it was Honey that had to go.

Life feels so hopeless right now. Food is not even fun anymore. It is so much work to cook when the eyesight is not there for the recipes. I get so dizzy that the turning around in circles is awful.

Becoming… use to be about someone’s beauty…. We would say “oh, she is so becoming!” Well, there are days looking in the mirror is avoided. I don’t find myself so very becoming. Especially when…

Becoming blind…

My two grand daughter’s becoming good little artist at their activity table.

Going to my daughter’s to help only lends to making me feel more helpless than ever. The meal prep is impossible for me to help. The house is so kid cluttered that it is a nightmare for a blind person. All of her chairs are so uncomfortable for me that it does no good to go to the chiropractor just to have my tailbone go out by the end of the day. My enjoyment in going to “watch” kiddos is hampered by the fact that the house is so dark I rarely can really “see” them anyways.

God, how long? Do I have to keep trying to do what fails and does not bring me joy? How long do I have to keep pretending that happiness is something that can be grasped. My life feels like a grasping after the wind. My hands want to hold water that satisfies and my cup is empty.

Must the nightmares go on? I am standing within a stack of logs that need to fed into the stove. Some of them are the wrong size and only let the stove billow out smoke while I try to push the logs into it. Some of the pieces can be pulled out and rearranged to fit properly. But many of them are ashen and on fire themselves. I sweat and scream as I try to desperately get the logs back into the hot stove. My eyes are burning with sweat and tears. My lungs are burning from the smoke. Soon my lack of air makes me pass out and my empty cries wake me up to the “real world” where I am still going blind. Still can’t find my way out of the stack of logs and still can’t figure out which way is the bathroom without using my hands to tell me where I am.

How long O God?

Must the nightmares go on? I am standing in a long narrow hallway where there are log stacks on either side of me. Somewhere near both ends the wall of logs has fallen. I am desperately trying to put the stack back so that it will remain upright. Suddenly I see my family in the chasm below and while I stand with one leg on either side of the pile of logs, they begin to fall. I begin to fall. I scream at them to get out of the falling timbers and begin crashing to the ground. The logs are hitting me everywhere. My head, my back, my arms and legs are getting pinned by the logs. I am screaming and still falling. Suddenly I wake in pool of sweat and try to find the bathroom nightlight. It has moved again out of my line of view and I panic as I try to put it into my eyesight.

How long O God?

Until my eyesight closes in and what will be the last thing that my eyes will make out for my memory to see? Why must I have such a vivid imagination and the nightmares keep me up at night?

MONDAY MORNING

This morning I am pulling the log out of my own eye. Yesterday I experienced something emotionally that made me feel literally sick to my stomach. I will try to tell the story as briefly as possible.

While I was away and at church with my mother and sister’s family, I had asked a neighbor to care for my puppy. I forgot that perhaps my daughter would have been available. It probably would have been all avoided otherwise. And of course this neighbor had an eventful day in an of her own. Meanwhile, she and a friend did come over and proceed to help themselves to some of the plants in the greenhouse. All good I had said they could. When I realized however that the beautiful propegation “mother” plants in the clay pots had been removed. I began, my emotional being was scarred. First experience for me was trying to figure out how to handle this. And then I began to recall all the things that my mother has been through this past month. Especially her wondering where something was that we had removed from her house. My remorse and full emotional impact of evertyhing that has occurred flooded through my mind.

Doily on left made by my mother’s Aunt Gertrude. Two of the many white milk glass dishes. The china “ash tray” that was in my mother’s grandma‘s collection.

My mother’s sense of abandonment, her feelings that some are treating her roughly, and her confusion about why they won’t let her have her things if she wants them. Most people do not understand the work involved in propagation of pelargoniums or geraniums. It is a long wintering project of mine that gives me something to do and to get out of my lazy crochet chair. The value of the plants to me is more than five of ten dollars. Let alone a mother plant that has been in the same giant clay pot (which itself is spendy). The whole weight of my mother’s heart seemed pressed upon me and they care of her emotional well being was heavy upon my own heart.

While my mother had some strokes and lost some short term memory connections for cooking and feeding herself meals, the long term memory about things and even the family genealogy and history is very strong. And she still knows the heart of her children sometimes better than they know themselves.

How can I express to my siblings that she knows who has disrespected her life work. She knows who honors the value of each item that she worked hard for all of those years. She was a lowly bank teller, and budgeted for her every spending penny. These were her things and she has the right to them all. Anyone who thinks that “out of sight” is “out of mind” on the elderly is fooling themselves. Long term care is often for those whose long term memory is still quite vivid.

And it’s time for a fruits of the Spirit checkup. While I am becoming more and more like my parents as I grow older. The real question is -Am I becoming like Christ?

Love… sitting at the table with my older sister we made the conclusion that our marriages are truly based on love. There is no score keeping or reward system. We do for each other (our spouses and selves) what we can out of LOVE. Joy can be found if you pick up the rocks that are often in the way. Sometimes the joy is found under the the toughest search. But if we lift up the leaves on the bushes, the berries are there. Peace often eludes me for sleep. But sometimes a night without air in the airbed reminds you just how peaceful and comfortable your own bed is. When patience is no longer part of how we handle the over flowing cup of life, it’s time to step back empty out the “busy” and take more time for Jesus one on one time. Gentleness can return to our normal conversation language when we fill up with the right stuff! Goodness is all around us. Even when the physical buildings and bodies we watch are crumbling down, it’s the indwelling Spirit that shines forth. Faithfulness is so hard to grasp when life seems to close down on me with all of it’s ugliness and suffering. But God is ever faithful and supplies all of our needs in Christ Jesus. Meekness is not something anyone knows thses days. I pray that God will allow me to use the wisdom and insights that He gives me with meekness that empowers others to Hope in Jesus also. Self control is lost among all of the bitterness and strife that people through away at each other’s feet. If only we can hold our tongues when those edges creep in and learn to hand our trials over to the Savior instead of lashing out at other’s like the venomous being that so easily deceives.

Lord, Help me to do more things in my life by heart… like playing the piano by heart. When it feels so natural to grab some lady by the hand in the nursing facility and say, “Come let’s play piano together.” And it is so natural to play piano by heart. Loving, talking, and showing Jesus to others by heart. Let it become natural for me to share my insights and the reason for the hope that lies within me.

Surrender

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Proverbs 17:1 “Better is a dry morsel with peace and quiet than a house full of feasting with anguish and strife.”

Surrender. A word one often associates with unique circumstances. Surrender your will. Surrender your hopes and dreams. Surrender your dog. Something I never thought that I would do.

The past month my life felt like anguish and strife constantly. Peace had so far eluded me that even night time was a battle for sleep. It took me over six weeks to discover the true problem.

The source of strife can be so elusive sometimes. She wanders away just when you think peace and enjoyment is about to be yours, strife strikes once again. The amount of strength and energy that it requires to strive after this constant battle is exhausting.

About a month ago, our Honey Doodle started to be bored and listless. She took the energy out of me just looking at her. Finally on Saturday morning the rope snapped. She had left me to do my watering and ran off to roll in something dead once again. My energy level was already zapped by allergies and asthma from the morning dew. I had just finished a phone call with my daughter. In my duty I reached to grab the frisbee and toss it for an attentive dog, only to smell that horrible stench. I snapped.

After about five minutes of being controlled by my anger, I collected Kona from his “little horse trailer” outdoor crate, and went into the house. My first call was my husband. I let him know what happened, that I had snapped, and that I was officially DONE.

My second call was to my sister to help get me down out of my anger volcano. The lava was everywhere. There was no turning back. I had spent six years trying to be a “strong” personality with this doodle dog and I could no longer do it. Being strong voiced, commanding and boisterous is not WHO I am. My energy level is minimal. I can not run six miles every day with a golden doodle. And that is what she needs.

Even throwing the frisbee for twenty minutes three times a day was not enough. She required more than I can give. My thought process included wondering if I could take care of Kona in the next ten years. I had not even been thinking that Honey was the source of my energy drain.

This morning when I heard the preacher on the radio talking about this Proverb, I was amazed at it’s timing. Does God really care that my dog and I did not get along? Does God know how sorry I really am that she was not the right fit for me and my anger was so easily roused by her every behavior?

I read the book last year about “Dog Mirrors” and how Honey was just being the mirror of my inner turmoil. Honestly there are some ways that may be true. Like my anxiety when going outdoors has been rather high this past two months. The allergies and asthma that drain my energy make me constantly wonder if the asthma will let me get back to the house before “black out” time. Well, I know she read anxiety as “anxious activity” and became more agitated and moved more herself.

Like when it was time to go somewhere and I was looking for my things, she would jump up and get RIGHT in the way. Her movements would always be just a few steps in from of me making me more and more agitated because she would block my way, block my view, or keep me from finding my shoes. It was SO NOT HELPFUL. And always made me more aggravated and I could never get her to STAY in one spot until I was ready.

Here’s a note if you are ever around a visual impaired person-Stop moving around all the time. If you can’t sit still to carry a conversation, don’t be friends with a peripherally challenged individual. I knew a gal one time that wanted to be helpful to me, but whenever we were together she behaved just like Honey. Always moving and I could never decipher where she was going to sit next. Rather than sitting in one chair and visiting, it’s like she was a honey bee checking the nectar level of every chair in my living room. I did not invite her back into my life.

So now that the dry morsel is peaceful to eat… shall we move on?

Surrendering my dog was not something I ever had in mind when I got that dog. But I am not the right fit. She is too exuberant in her greetings to strangers and I have NO CONTROL over her bad manners when people come to visit. Of course I haven’t much control over Charlie either, but he does not zoom around like his pants are on fire when someone comes to the acreage either. And he is very treat motivated. Cookies work to get him to come to me.

This week should be much more peaceful. As soon as I get to the chiropractor to fix all the things out in my back and shoulders from her bad behavior Saturday morning.

Kona looking out the window the day after

When I left her on Saturday, I felt like some great weight had been lifted from my back. We will have a few things to adjust to in the house or outside, but already I prefer the quieter life.

Thus far

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Struggle bus rather than sleeping is one of my common life challenges. So the other night when my brain took off on it’s highway robbery, I found myself thinking about all these things once again. Setting up stones…. Our acreage is full of really large rocks. Many of them were picked up from the fields around and placed in the “rock pile.” Once years ago, someone lined the driveway with the rocks to keep drivers off of the lawn. My father-in-law still hates to see the rocks even in landscaping. My preference is to put them into the landscape and garden areas, rather than a pile that grows weeds and trees.

Not many people know what an Ebenezer stone is. Or even have ever heard of such a thing. Milestones are more commonly recognized, like growing and walking, driving, graduations, etc. Middle of the night statue building and laying stone walls while sleeping? Never.

My favorite Bible verse is from I Samuel 7:12, “Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen, and called its name [a]Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far the Lord has helped us.” What makes this verse a Milestone Marker for me? The idea that one thing is ending and another beginning has always intrigued me. Marking transitions in life, whether they be new jobs, careers, or life changes is important. But most important is recognizing how you got there and how you will accomplish the next. “Thus far the Lord has helped us!”

New phones are never easy for the visually challenged. But for me, I simply put the new one down and it takes weeks rather than days to learn everything. We get use to doing things a certain way, and when that way “expires” life moves on in a different manner. Sometimes rather slowly.

Brain fog that follows a sleepless night is probably the worst The ability to function well and do anything with precision is hard. So I spend the majority of the time crocheting some pattern that is very repetitive. The past two weeks I finally finished my virus stitch shawl that I started two years ago. It is quite beautiful. And yes, it makes me look like I was born in the wrong century. I don’t care. I love making and wearing shawls

This little area of the yard is passed by daily. It is very strongly and “Ebenezer” for me. “The bridge that once was…. “. Has such a story. The wood was once a fort over the sandbox, then the fort in the trees, and now the bridge on it’s own island (haha). The wheel was found in the lilac bushes. The only wagon wheel we found on the place so far. The basket that came from my sister’s driver’s mother’s attic. The stones that were brought in years earlier from the field. Each piece has it’s own history. Then there is the tree stump planter we just made from one of the sixty plus year old trees in the grove that are falling one by one. This year being three years into drought, many of the trees are simply hallow and tired of standing up.

“Thus far…”. Birthday celebrations are in the works for both of our moms this year. My mother at eighty and his mom at ninety. Celebrating life is so important. “The Lord has helped us”. We can see the elderly living this even more so than ourselves. For them, it is sometimes hourly that the Lord helps them. Each day holds it’s own Ebenezer as they march from sunrise to sunset. Waking each morning requires a call to the Lord for help just to rise out of the sleeping chamber. Of course it is because of the tale of Christmas and Ebenezer Scrooge that many of us think of old as grouchy. But sometimes I make a mental list of all the challenges our mothers face each day just to remind myself that my milestones are few.

Last night I survived an allergic reaction without an EpiPen. And we made a symptom checker that told us “NEXT TIME” these things occur, it is time for the epinephrine. . It was rather scary, and though I new something was not right, it did not occur to me at the time that it was an allergic reaction. Now I know. Thus far the Lord has helped me, but my husband says, next time the Lord will have to remind us to use the EpiPen!

Color My World Pumpkin

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John 8:35 “And a slave does not abide in the house forever, but a son abides forever.” NKJV. Abiding freedom that comes from Jesus the Truth brings us up out of slavery to the past, sins, and bondage to world views that are not His way.

In actuality, this blog was written nearly twenty five years ago. At the time I was putting together the song track for my music debut. The result was twelve songs that told my life story. Each one shared a slice of both my spiritual journey and my coming of age. While the music continues to sneak back into my thoughts now and again, the sharing of these songs came to a standstill at some point. Perhaps looking at each one still give me some peace. So for the foreseeable future, I am planning a “focused writing clinic.”

Right now the creativity in my life has gone into fast track. Keeping up with all of the ideas has forced me to start making lists again. I have lists for everything: what I want to write about, what I plan to crochet, what books I want to listen to, what music I should look up, what plans I have for the garden and greenhouse, and anything else that comes to mind. And for some reason, I am not wore out before I even get started. Yay!

First up Stained Glass Windows. This song was written in my college years as I sought to understand my early growing up years. Originally focused on the first ten years, I think that it actually goes clear through my teen years. what the words mean to me now is different than what it meant at first writing.

Sundays during my childhood always meant church. This past year when church has become a time on Sunday when we sit and watch a live feed, is simply not quite right. All those years of pretty dresses, fixed up hair, shiny shoes, and church music really had a strong influence on me. I loved the music part of church of course. The clothes were just a bonus. (However, getting me to put on a dress these last few years requires summer temperatures.)

The churches that we went to always seemed to have stained glass windows, and so did the houses that we lived in. Old buildings have a history to them that is undeniable. These windows were not my focus as a child. Though they were beautiful works of art and I can picture them in my mind’s eye to this day.

It is what happened during my thirteenth and fourteenth year of life that changed me to the core. I had already had my “Come to Jesus” moment by the time that life would change me forever. I knew who I was, or so I thought I did.

Then came the “mean people” years. Mean classmates, mean men, mean peers, mean parents, mean church people, mean friends. Though I guess if they were mean, that would declare that they really were not my friends in the first place

God chose to color my world pumpkin.

Color my world pumpkin?

Yep. And being a spring baby (birthday in April) this was not my favorite color. I remember when I asked my parents to let me have a yellow room. All was not really my choice, as they proceeded to put up pink wallpaper and gold carpet, and my Grandmother made me a pink with grey bedspread. I never liked any of it. The room was just not quite cheerful enough. Of course, I also lived in one of those houses with a tower room and the windows were at sky level. Talk about the real life “Tangled” experience.

I suppose if you mix pink and yellow, you get orange.

And so that’s what happened.

About the time I could get a drivers’ permit (in my state it was fourteen) my mother decided it would be best to get my eyes examined first. Off to the eye doctor she took me. The only local doctor that had any experience with Retinitis Pigmentosa was alarmed at the progression of the disease in my eyes, and he took drastic measures He prescribed pumpkin colored spectacles.

Well, that about sealed the deal with any hopes for friendship that I might have with my peers. Growing up in small town America meant that since I was no longer athletic material, I was out of IN. Yeah, I said that just the way I wanted to. Mean came into my life more that it had ever been before. I was picked on, teased, called names, and basically treated terribly by everyone who had a capacity for ruthlessness.

Coloring my world pumpkin may have saved my eyesight so that I would be able to drive for the next twenty eight years, but it gave me an “orange tinted” view of all those around me. Some people are simply rotten clementines. I hope they grew up.

Everyone has rose colored glasses. You really can’t deny it. No matter what has happened in your life, all of these situations and experiences effect one’s worldview. Knowing this about yourself, and about others is what makes us human.

It’s when we can take off our pumpkin colored shades and put on someone else’s color for just a moment that makes us relatable, friendly, and healthy.

I don’t know what color glasses you look through. Maybe like me life has handed you some very difficult set of circumstances. Maybe you are one of the lucky ones, with the “rosie” view of the world. I doubt it. Everyone has stained glass windows in their worldview. We don’t have a choice about it. It’s what window pane we choose to look through at others that matters.

Sometimes we have to take the spectacles off. Sometimes we have to put the glasses on. Sometimes we have to clean the lenses to get a better view. Blindness is not always a physical disability. Sometimes blindness is in the heart and soul. Sometimes pink blends with yellow and makes orange.

Disclaimer Alert! I don’t really like pumpkins. Okay, it is fun to watch them grow and it is cool to watch them change colors. I use to love the taste of pumpkin pie, but these days even that does not agree with me much. I would rather have a “squash” pie that tastes just like pumpkin only better-because it agrees with my system. And I am not a fall lover, so the loaded pumpkin decorations are not really my thing either. So it is now obvious to me why my CD failed. The picture was taken in the fall and the coloring is fall. For this “forever spring” garden lover, the CD should have had a spring picture and it should have been color toned to my spring palette with some yellow on it. Oh, well.

From animation to art

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When disability changes personality

One night last week, my mind found a hundred different sunset silhouettes to keep me occupied through the sleep hours. Wonderment filled me as I woke, had I ever seen any of these pieces in real life? One in particular was a tree swing, only the rope’s obvious use and frayed strings were more evident. Another was a scene from the Disney movie Bambi that is actually a fire in the back ground. One was the two doves on the tree branch, but with more leafage than the one below. And there are the fishing scenes on the lake, and the moored boats next to docks. While three hours looking for any silouettes on the internet was an empty handed fishing trip. The only ones in my dreams that sort of matched were these two. Each one in my vision did not have an ovious sunlight, the sun being off to the side of the actual object of focus. Sunset is implied rather than targeted.

And why would such art images fill my mind so much? I am unable to dissolve their possibilities in my mind. Each one just keeps recurring at some point in the day. What does this thought process mean to me? And why a sunset? I am not a prophet, I don’t think. Are these prophetic in their nature or a symbol of the past?

More revelation has come to me over the days since these images first appeared to me. I see so much more than the setting sun or a tree swing resting from its flight. The waters of the lake have no ripples from the jet-skies, or the breeze. Each item seems quiet, tranquil, peaceful.

At rest.

Years ago, my brother and I would write little plays and act out various performances. Remembrances of woodbox stages, and piano bench theatre fill my memory. We dressed up as pirates, or Indians and cowboys, or maybe Cleopatra, it does not really matter. Imagination was lord and we were King and Queen of the drama world in our home. From those days I learned to mime, to pretend, and to fib my way through our play day.

Throughout my childhood, from my early temper tantrum fits into my teen years, I learned the power of dramatic and emotional hand gestures. These seemed quite effective in the whole of conversation, speech, and relating an incident to an audience.

Until…

One day as a teenager, during my “waitress” years, I learned a valuable less about the tragedy of lost peripheral vision and hand gesturing. My father (who is the carrier for my families genetic retinal degeneration) was telling some story as he often did. While dramatizing his tale to a table of men, he used his hand to gesture some scene. Unbeknownst to him, I was coming in with his refill of coffee. I had tried to get his attention, but everyone knows how difficult it is to get my dad to quit talking. Interruption is not much of an option. Needless to say… the coffee got spilled.

Those were the days of my growing up. Many instances like that very one happened frequently. The challenge was to wait long enough to get noticed. Or to have the patience to wait out the telling. Or to simply never serve. Some chose the later. Gradually my father leaned not to wave his arms about while fabricating his stories. Sadly, it took me a few years to lean this dismembering of my arms and hands from conversation.

And not too recently, a plate full of desert was easily sprung to the floor when because of my lack of sight, my hands reached out for the item only to flip it through the air. Videos of food flying, cakes tipping to the floor, or cups leaping through the air are not funny to me. They are a part of the surprise of visual impairment. Sitting perfectly statue is the best response to the possible “Boo!” Not really so fun anymore.

One example that still frustrates me is my children’s club teaching years. Much of what one does while teaching children is achieving compliance so that the teacher can do her job. One particular student of mine never learned to stay in his designated space. I was actually okay if he did not sit, but the wandering into my space caused acciden after accident. My frustration reached its boiling point each week at lesson. Every night, I would go home in tears because Nathan would get “HIT” every week either by my arm, hand, foot, or another appendage. Could he never learn that I could not see him coming towards my path? I cried every week, because this child made teaching club miserable for me. My eyesight made teaching kids impossible.

Finally we made it to the end of the year and I quit teaching kids club at church. I was heart broken to end on such a sour note. I loved teaching, but children have this nasty ability to move faster than my eyes. Peripheral vision is key to dealing with “needy” children who cannot comprehend another might have some disability that clashes with theirs. I was so sad.

Ending my teaching due to my eyesight.

Yep, It was just one more thing my eyes had taken away from me. Grief set in for some time. I still don’t want to attend a Vacation Bible School program or any child focused event. It hurts. I still want to teach. But it is not possible. These encounters with moving targets still continue. I can’t even read children’s books very well because the text is so unpredictable on the pages. It’s all over the place. Up, then down, then in the middle, and sometimes on the edges. Uff. It’s just too much to feel lost all the time.

So RP changes personalities. Where does the teacher in me go?

What happens to the dramatic, funny girl that once loved to tell a story and get laughs from the room?

One time someone told me, I acted like I did not want to be in a particular place all the time. Actually, that’s not it at all. When someone hands me a cellphone with an image to look at, I simply do not see the gesture. My focus has been on their face, and unless the words indicate their actions… It is not within my perpheral anymore. People in a room throw conversation around like a hot potato. It has become difficult to follow who is talking and where the ping pong ball is now. There are times it gets so tiring, I just don’t try to follow it.

So interjecting appropriate conversation has become difficult when there are more than two or three people in a group.

But just becuase I miss a lot of conversation cues, does not mean I miss every facial gesture. Sometimes I am completely passed up when a “picture” on said phone is shown. This does hurt. Not intentionally, but it does. Sometimes, I see someone roll eyes in my direction at another person because I missed something. Yes, that hurts too.

So I have changed.

From animation to still art form, I have become the unused swing hanging from the tree branch. While everyone else around me is playing baseball, or croquet in the lawn, I miss the whole thing. The ball wizzes right by my head and I haven’t seen a thing. I am lost. And no one has found me.

I am blind, but now I see. I see that I cannot be the same animated dramatic energetic self I once was. Moving too quicly through any space could be hazardous to my health. Having a friend that can’t even sit still for a conversation is not my cup of tea. I had a friend like that once. She was so busy bodied that I would get a head ache trying to figure out where she was all the time.

Now I see that being lost all the time might just be part of who I am. Getting my dog to figure out that she has to be my eyes is the task at hand. If she becomes a new tripping hazard….

Well, the blind fold might have to go up for a day to teach her that she is IT! When I am around people that do not see me as blind becuase there is no blindfold, well, life turns into a still life form in a piece of art. I become a silhouette sitting on the dock while others are gazing at a glorious sunset. The suns rays are not my friend, so I am looking at the silhouettes. The sky has a beautiful orange and pink glow. I hope I don’t forget it.

While the dough rises

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First things first

This morning while I contemplated what the day should have in store for me, I remembered that someone in this house said that caramel rolls could be a daily occurrence at mealtime.  Seeings that it has been four days since the cotton-candy-like cinnamon roll melted across my tongue, I decided to get the dough going after the kitchen clean up.  So while the dough rises, I am thinking about all the quotes about bread.

While the earth’s voices can get you hooked on Panera bread, or sandwich shop commercials there is voice far more compelling.  Deuteronomy 8:3 comes in the middle of a narrative about the Israelites journey through the wilderness.  While I am not in a fourth year journey of desert land, there are days when I feel being blind and living in the country has given me a wilderness lifestyle that is akin to hermit living.  But if I really wanted to get the analogy correct I could say that I am stuck between the walls of a Sinai monastery.  But that’s pretty depressing.

Back to Deuteronomy.

When Jesus was in the wilderness for forty days, he was tempted three times.  The first temptation was food.  Issn’t that amazing? Most people find that it’s being alone that tempts them to eat the whole bag of chips.  Or the half-gallon of ice cream.  I’m not like that.  I’m one of those people that could easily forget to eat.  The day might stretch clear into the afternoon, before I realize that I haven’t had any lunch yet.  Food is not my driving motivator. Which is good, because I can’t drive, and I would probably going to every fast-food emergency food establishment at my hour of need.

“Man live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that proceeds form the mouth of the Lord.”  When bread is not the sustenance of the would, that what is?

This year at Christmas time, we were blessed to be ministered to by our daughter’s devotional from young adult retreat.  It was a three part letter that the Camp where she worlds sent out during the week leading up to the Christmas worship season.  While it was rather long, we did take the time to read each of the letter installments.  Her ability to lead us into the season in awe and worshipful reverence was such a blessing.  It’s that very thought provoking  devotion that made me think about my goals for the new year.

First things first.  Put first things first.

And the most important first thing in my life has been finding my sustenance in the words of our Lord.  Jesus is the bread of life .  He will be my everlasting manna during this journey into a visual wilderness that continues to make me feel lost.

When I look up to find a doorway or a wall instead of the way to where I thought I was going, I will remember that He is with me.  When the dog comes out of the darkness of my peripheral black hole, I will find solid in Jesus.  When my nose finally heels in its new crooked state, I will remember the brokenness that my Lord endured for me.  While Jesus set his eyes on the way before him, knowing that the cross lie in his path, this I will remember when my path is interrupted by an opened cupboard door.

Being visually impaired and on the journey to blindness, I will put first things first.  Though I refuse to use my walking cane in my own home, I will ask my Lord for grace to endure all the brokenness that comes from this journey.  This year the Bible verse that I chose to be our family’s theme verse is Luke 1:37.

“For nothing will be impossible with God.”

When we bow our heads

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What the flowers teach us

The sunflowers have bowed their golden heads. Not to the sun, but to the changing season. As the temperatures at night have dropped into the low fifties the large 14′ plants have dipped nearly to the ground. The sure sign of the coming fall is here. 

Last week  I gathered my helpers and we cut all the beautiful red headed ones off the plants. With lots of requests for some seed, hopefully the heads will dry and not mold. The volunteer plants that came up this spring from my daughters first packet of seeds a few years ago have multiplied quite beautifully. 

This summer we fed bees, butterflies, and a beautiful yellow finch. While others were filling bird feeders, our seeds and pollen kept a host of creatures quite happy. We knew the migration of the winged creatures was soon. Yesterday in the morning -when of course I did not have my phone-I witnessed five monarchs and three bees all in a one foot square area of the zinnias that are also product of saved blossoms. 

Though I was late on burying the wildflower seeds in my tire garden, but the winged critters still had time to enjoy them. We are not as excited about the insects that have found the vined fruit in the outdoor garden. Tomato beetles and such have devastated about half the crop. Next year I really am going to just toss the plant babies that I have no room for. Overcrowding in the garden creates a regular feast for the little bugs. 

As the world groans under the seize of hurricane winds, devastating floods and unimaginable earthquakes, some people   bow their heads in awe of the Creator. Yet others raise fists in defiance. 

Through all the seemingly business of taking care of plants my heart has been weighted down and my head feels the gravity of loneliness. Recently that weight has driven me to inventory my life and search out those who might feel it’s weight also. 

My first recourse is always to search scripture. The story of Hagar banished to the wilderness continues to draw me to a similar well. In Genesis chapter 16 she finds herself at a fountain. Her realization that God sees her prompts her to rename the spring: God Who Sees Me.  

While my eyesight continues to steal vision from me and I am now often missing seeing things, people, or the dog chasing a cat and running right into my legs and knocking me to the ground- I am pulled towards this idea that God Sees Me. 

I bow my head frequently. To see the path. To recover from a branch slap in the face. To ask God to help me with the loneliness of country life.  And as a watch care over the greenhouse and the gardens I am often reminded again how much my eyesight makes me miss. Then one small little creation gives me pleasure. 

One flower, one taste of goodness, one bowed head of a sunflower. One fountain and tractor tire pond. In my lonely alone garden moments God Sees Me and I am  blessed with the growth of some new thing. Sowing and reaping might fill my time and keep me busy but the God who sees me is the One who sustains my life. 

From head to toe and now ribs, oh no!

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The daily surprise of RP

Everyone loves surprises, right? Well if you are talking about birthdays or gifts of course. If you are considering accidents and natural disasters NO!  

Living with retinitis pigmentosa involves an element of surprise that for the most part includes chaos and a lot of spilled milk!  The first body parts to suffer are the toes and the head. Unless the person with RP wears  steel- toe boots there’s a sure factor that there will be some broken toes.  

The funniest broken toe problem that I had was when I grabbed to left shoes to wear at church and didn’t check them until church. On top of that we were headed to take our eight year old to camp after that. So it was a Kmart stop on the way to Des Moines for a pair of flip-flops so that little toe could be free to be fat as it pleased! I remember walking through Kmart barefooted and wondering if they would kick us out!

RP loves foreheads, faces and noses. The greetings to those unsuspecting places can occur daily when one is tired. The not so funniest moment for me was when the teeter totter kissed me right between the eyes!  The whack could be heard throughout the whole acreage.  I had picked up a snake and was going to scarce my husband with it when the end of the see-saw bit me pretty hard. I flew back and landed on my back knocking the breath out of me. Should have been on video. We could have won with that one!  I broke my nose that time.  

Kitchen cabinets should roll up like roll-top desks. Who ever decided hinges were a universal cabinet feature did not have RP.  Every time we moved to a new house I learned by the school of hard-knocks about the cabinet doors. When will we ever learn to shut those doors right away?  If you have RP and live with someone that does not-the kitchen can be a war-zone of dishwasher doors and such. I have a permanent dent in one shin from the dishwasher door.  Uffda!

I use to claim that I never broke any bones. Well it just wasn’t as noticeable. The toe or the nose doesn’t get a cast for your friends to sign. My sister broke her arm going down the slide as a child. I remember helping her get dressed. That was the era of girls shirts that buttoned in back. Really we had to help each other before the casted arm. Not sure why I remember it especially as a casted arm thing. 

My grandmother was the first family member to have the degenerative eyesight. I don’t remember that she ever broke anything until her age related osteoporosis began to affect her life.  However I have an uncle with the disease that broke his leg during his career from a stair step fall. It was a pretty bad break.  The story helped me to be quite cautious of stairways. His hanging back two steps behind other walking companions has kept him from further accidents. He has not adopted a trusty walking-cane yet. Never understood why. 

My father also inherited the disease. His numerous broken bones began quite early in his twenties. But his cowboy behavior was the beginning of many woes. The more dangerous approach for him has been using a cane, a GPS device and walking in an old community with various pitfalls and oddball curbs. His favorite saying is “Concrete doesn’t give!” (Meaning budge, move, or dent.) Bones are no match for concrete. The hard cement wins every time.  We are all a little glad his GPS will not hold a charge anymore. The hospital doesn’t need anymore of his hard earned money. 

So how did this rib-thing happen anyhow? I was headed back to bed when the doggie gate I had placed in front of the door greeted me and the rug under my left foot slipped backwards. My ribs hit the gate with full hug force.  The blow took away my breathe and the rest is history that I don’t want to repeat. Needless to say, I have already planned to give the gates away. My memory doesn’t serve me any better than my eyesight, so tripping triumphs can’t exist in my home anymore!  

The puppy that caused me to think that I needed the gates in the first place has been spending more time outdoors. She may have learned something about compassion from the whole experience. Gentle, and sit NEXT to me are now part of our vocabulary. 

Those eyes! Usually what people say when looking at a gorgeous baby. Or blue eyes that are deep pools of water. Well, for those of us with RP those eyes are sometimes not very helpful. So getting a dog that will truly be a “watch” dog is a great goal of mine. Teaching “those eyes” to be my eyes might just break me-literally!  I sure hope we can learn from our mistakes and keep my home a safe-zone from now on.