Ephesians 5:1 (NIV) “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.”
Compassion
George’s arms were full of bruises from the workers at dialysis helping him in and out of the chair or from when he bumped himself against something. At ninety-five his skin was paper-thin, and he was on blood thinners, making the problem worse. Sometimes I felt sad, just looking at him. I would think to myself, poor George, he is so old and frail.
I also felt deeply sorry for my mother who all her life was such a loving and caring person. Her brain had failed, and she wasn’t herself anymore. A good thing she didn’t fully comprehend the seriousness of her dementia. Poor Mom.
These extra intense emotions I had for my parents only lasted a few seconds here and there throughout the day. A good thing they were short lived, otherwise I would burnout with sadness. Yet, wherever I found myself emotionally, I knew that my Father in Heaven wanted me to always be a kind and patient. My job was to help make my parents' lives the best they could be under the circumstances.
Often I would wish I didn't have this job as caregiver although some days were easier than others, but God was always nearby with His love, wisdom, and encouragement. He gave me everything I needed to continue being a caregiver, and His help was just a prayer away.
YOUR JOURNAL: Write about what the word compassion means to you as you care for your loved one.
TIP FOR CAREGIVER: Since my mother was incontinent and also prone to bedsores especially at the bottom of her spine, a nurse at the wound care center suggested that we use special cream that protects against a break down of the skin that can lead to a sore and an infection. I wish we had known about this cream before my mother developed bedsores. Your doctor or wound care specialist will be able to recommend the latest and best protective barrier for your loved one.
Winter Lookout
Outside there are
gray clouds,
gray grass,
gray weeds.
I shiver at the bare chill,
long for the warmth of summer,
and need a hug from God.
Any little happiness will do.
You see, I have this pain,
not sharp but dull,
sapping away my joy.
I want my foot on the gas pedal till sunset
with nothing pressing back home.
Chocolate and pizza will do just fine
as fill for this sinkhole of mine.
Also, if eyes were faucets,
I’d get sure, quick relief.
What I really need is hands of the clock
in reverse,
ticking back shared memories
Mom misplaced along the way,
but only Prayer and Paxil are left to me now.
