. . . the journey . .

What do you say when someone is hurting? Isn't that always the first thing we think of when we are faced with the news of a new illness or tragedy? It's hard. Sometimes there just isn't anything to say. One of the best responses I have ever heard was simply this.  "I don't know what to say, and I don't know what you need to hear, but I'm here."  Simple and profoundly honest. I expect you want to say something helpful, I feel like that too, but I have found that words sometimes mess up the love my presence wants to convey. So I am learning to hug.  I am learning to share tears. I am learning to squeeze the hands that have reached out to me and simply love. Later, there will be time for words. Now is the time to just BE. Don't let not knowing what to say ruin that.  Blessings Kathy

My mother has macular degeneration.   So did her mother.   In time, it may well be my plight also. I don’t like it.   But it is what it is. Today my niece told us of receiving a letter from the Eye Bank telling her that her husband’s eyes, donated at his recent untimely death had given sight to someone overseas—and to someone in Missouri. What a beautiful legacy.   He is gone to us, but somewhere, his life goes on and that is a comfort. In the gospel of John, chapter nine, we read the story of how Jesus healed the blind man.   I was struck recently when reading the account, of the part the blind man had played in the event.   Jesus, you see, was the source of healing, Jesus was the one who stopped, took the time, and even the risk . . . working on the Sabbath was not allowed . . . Jesus applied the mud, and gave the direction: “Go, Wash in the pool of Siloam.” But only the blind man could respond; could complete the miracle; could be obedient to the command.   Because he d