. . . the journey . .

Mike and Sarah's daughter Lorelei Jean Terral with Grandma Write a comment...

at Jim's 70th Birthday dinner First Baptist Church Lawton Ks

It's time to write again.  This is the blog that I used when Orin was sick.  The blog I used through my journey with cancer. The blog I sporadically used in between then and now.  I've been quilting, and grand-mothering and  starting a new marriage as a pastor's wife.  Now, I start another phase, as caregiver for my elderly mother.  My Blog title before was Therefore will not we fear... from Psalm 46.  Most of the time we didn't, but when we did, the blog title was there to remind me that God had it in the palm of his hand.  As I reflected on the title, I knew, that His Word was no less important and fear no less manageable, but I realized that a new title perhaps reflected the purpose and direction of my writings. The Journey.  Life is one.  All of life.  Not just the brief time we spend on this earth but the whole of it.  It is an exciting trip, a boring trip, a sometimes difficult, sometimes painful trip.  But a trip it is and so we travel. and for a little while n

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

    When I think of coffee and Swings, I think,   I should think of a warm sunny morning and sharing a just brewed cup of coffee with a good friend or mate . . . or perhaps all alone, just me, my bible and God. But I don’t. Coffee and Swings take me back to the summer of 2008. I was working, and going through radiation treatments for breast cancer. The hospital was right across the street from where I worked so it was easy to slip over for the ten minute treatment. It seemed like almost nothing in the course of my day. Nothing, that is, until I got home from work. Perhaps it was somewhat due to the 30 minute drive. I would get in the car just in time to hear a chapter from whatever book was being read on “Stories of Great Christians” on my favorite station. I would relax. Drive. And arrive home almost too tired to get out of the car. A cup of coffee would help . I would brew it. And quite by accident I discovered the magic. One day I took the cup of coffee and a passage of scriptur