Facebook | Spirituality From A Wheelchair

Facebook Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "A troubling time brings sadness, anger and frustrations. At the same time, it may end strained relationships, form new bits of wisdom and a new outlook on life. Crumbled pieces are swept away, as a new self begins. God is silently in the wings nurturing this fresh start on living in His world."

Facebook | Spirituality From A Wheelchair

Facebook Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "We must tend to our bodies as we do our gardens. We nourish it with water and get rid of the chaff, separating it from what is essential for growth. We treasure these gifts God has given us, different but so alike. Tending to both will bring out God’s spiritual abundance of loving our neighbors as we do ourselves."

Facebook (1) | Spirituality From A Wheelchair

Facebook (1) Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "I could make a list of all the things going wrong in my life or I could turn around and make a list of all the good things going on in my life. I believe I will choose to do the latter. Our Lord will smile."

Facebook | Spirituality From A Wheelchair

Facebook Spirituality From A Wheelchair: "Spirituality From A Wheelchair We can get into the habit of routines, forgetting to take in life itself. Do one thing different today. As you do so, you can say to God, 'See, God! I can do something differently! Now I think of you as I do so!'"

A QUIET MOMENT

It is 2:00 AM. A candle is lit, while my lavendar incense rests elegantly in a delicate vase nearby, releasing a pleasant, soothing, fragrance. Slowly, I sip my chamomile tea with milk, as I attempt to put my mind into a sense of calm. What dreams I will have, picturing fields of lavendar. The rays of the sun will show off all their glory, as I breathe in the sweet, heavenly smells of this exquisite, purple flower.

A LOOK AT SEPTEMBER 11

Many of us can remember the day President Kennedy was assassinated. We know where we were when we heard the news. We can say the same about hearing the news of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. There were also the unexpected deaths of Elvis and John Lennon. Each individual left some form of impact on us. We could tell other generations how it was like, being part of history.

We had no idea that the next chapter in history would involve the assassination of thousands, on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. The killings this time were not prominent figures of our society. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters died that day. They kissed and hugged their families good-bye that morning, expecting to return home that evening. Many were looking forward to the upcoming football season, while others were thinking about the open house that evening at a child’s school. There were the newly engaged, dreaming of wedding plans, and those finding out they were going to become a mom or dad, excited to become a parent for the first time, or maybe for the second or third time. The new baby would join the family of siblings, ages two and four.

There were others flying to get home, anxious to be back with their loved ones. Some were on business trips, preparing to make a presentation or be attending one. Cell phones were at work, callers telling those on the other line to have dinner ready, looking forward to a favorite casserole. Still others were in the military, doing what was necessary to keep our country the safe place that it has been since 1776.

In an instant, all of this was taken away from us. Instead of mourning one individual, there were those thousands of individuals to mourn. The wrath of one group of people changed innumerable lives. Mommy or Daddy would not be coming home; those season tickets for an NFL game would go unused. Weddings were not going to take place and becoming a parent within the year was no more. In its place were fear, grief, tears, questions and anger. Dissipated was the nuclear family, broken, unable to be replaced.

Living two thousand miles from this heinous act, I could provide prayers for many. However, to feel the terror those did on that day is not something I can empathize. I can express my condolences, but I cannot say, “I know how you feel.”

I was not covered with ashes, the results of destruction. I did not hear the sounds of panic, nor did I take in the odors they inhaled. When I shut my eyes, I do not see plumes of smoke, the mass running of thousands to nowhere, or people jumping from windows to their death. I did not have someone knock on my door to say my loved one didn’t make it, nor did I have to rush from one person to the next, photo in hand, to ask if someone had seen this important person in my life.

It has been nine years since the assassinations. Those who were in grade school are now in high school. Weddings have taken place and babies have been born. The void remains, however, of those lost that day. Survivors remember as if it happened yesterday.

Many more have lost their lives since then, giving up their freedom so we may keep ours. Loved ones continue to experience falling to their knees in agony, after hearing of another death. The sense of security no longer exists as it did before. The unknown lingers heavily on the minds of all people. There is a look of alarm in the surviving victims, never letting one’s guard down. Lives have been rebuilt, but not at the same endurance and strength as before. There is a determination to be the ones in control, but in the back of everyone’s mind is the thought to be careful, to be ready for anything.

I commend those who were directly affected on September 11, 2001. They have had to keep living, in spite of the torment experienced. Time goes on, with that second hand never slowing down on the clock. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into months and months into years. No one can turn back time. It has been a long, continuous, journey, not over yet. My prayers and compassion will always be there, as they travel this arduous road.

AT LONG LAST

Greetings! At long last, I am back to my writing. It has been quite awhile since I felt well enough to write. I went in to get medical tests done, only to come out worse than before the tests. Apparently, the tests triggered something else in the body, causing additional problems.


At times, I have felt so ill that I began to wonder if I would ever have a quality of life again. Those fleeting thoughts only lasted seconds, as I knew my life was much better than that of others. I had food to eat, water to drink, a roof over my head and a dear family to care for me. I also felt that my suffering was nothing compared to that of our Lord Jesus. In fact, I became closer to Jesus because of all the additional problems.

It is easy to take for granted what each of our days brings us. We tend to be busy from the moment we open our eyes and get out of bed each day. There is the morning rush, getting out the door, not wanting to be late for our destinations. Around us, everyone else is also running, usually with a sense of worry. “Will there be much traffic? Will I find a parking place? I hope I can get a seat and not have to stand during the ride. Why do I have to attend that meeting? It is always such a waste of time.”

Nowhere, in these conversations with ourselves, or with another person, is there a thought for God. We are just too busy. Our days remain busy, taking care of this need and that, forgetting the need to say a prayer, thanking our Lord for another day. At the end of the day, there is again the traffic to deal with on the way home, the meals to fix, the family activities to attend, the helping with a child's homework, and the house to clean. There is the television show to watch, so everything has to be complete by then. Once again, there is not the time to think about a prayer, praising Jesus for getting through one more day.

It is a vicious cycle, day in and day out. It is not until our health changes, and we cannot keep up with our hectic lives, do we sit back, remembering whom it is that lets us have a family, gives us beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and makes fertile ground so we may have food on the table.

Though I continue to wear out easily, I am adjusting to my new quality of life. I continue to pray for others listed in my prayer journal, aware we are never alone as we carry our crosses. Overcoming our challenges is a motive of God’s, teaching us to become stronger in our faith. It is faith that gives us hope. Once we have hope, we will believe God is right there with us, as we climb through the obstacles to reach our goals. If we fall, God will help us rise and persevere, no matter the journey. Thank you, dear Lord, for always being there.

Hope, Faith and Wisdom

When I lose something, I get mad at myself, wishing the item could speak, saying, "I am over here!" Until I find my lost item, I have a hard time doing anything else. My mind is remains focused on the displaced article. I do stay calm while searching, unlike my husband. As I hear the sounds of frustration coming from the other room, I know he is madly trying to find something. I stay quiet, not wanting to add to his anxiety.

Eventually, we do find what we have misplaced, letting out a sigh of relief. We easily forget how much time we spent looking, moving on with our lives. It is not always so easy, though to forget and move on when a life is lost. I recently heard a story from a 13 year old, about her mother passing away when she was only ten. As the story unfolds, I forget to take a breath, as it is such a tragic occurrence. I am learning not only about the loss of a mother; this young person feels responsible for her death. Why? Because a goodnight kiss was not shared the night before this terrible fate.

For three years, this child has internally taken the blame. I do what I can to console this young person, attempting to ease the thoughts, that it had nothing to do with a goodnight gesture. It was an unexpected illness. I wish I could make life as it was before for this precious little being. What I can do is remember to keep life in perspective. If something is not where I usually keep it, it is no big deal. I will picture the solemn face of an innocent child understanding the true meaning of a loss. Though somber, the young teen tells me hope and faith remain. Someday, mother and child will reunite in Heaven. Once again, I learn it is the wisdom of a child where I learn the true meaning of life.

EVERYTHING

EVERYTHING


Recently, I finished a book by Jan Karon, the writer of The Mitford Series. The books are a joy to read, about the happenings in a small community. The main character is a preacher, who can get himself into different predicaments. If he is not involved in one directly, he is there to assist someone get out of the difficult situation he or she is in.

I came to a part in the book that left quite an impression upon me. Father Tim is to stand in for another preacher, to give the weekly sermon. He does not know how to begin his sermon, much less what to say after he makes his introduction. Suddenly, the words come to him, “In everything, give thanks.” He knew these words came from the Bible, but how could someone give thanks for everything?

This got me to thinking how hard it is to give thanks for everything. After all, life is not always a bowl of beautiful roses. Still recovering myself from a painful procedure a few days ago, I do not exactly want to thank the medical team for the pain inflicted. People get the willies just hearing what happened. However, I am thankful I was placed in excellent hands. The doctor was friendly and relaxed, as were others in the room. The nurse was special, someone you could think of as being ‘everyone’s mother.’ Afterwards, I had my family greeting me, taking care of me during recovery. How thankful I am, to have loved ones surrounding me.

We face different levels of challenges in our daily lives. What we must do is trust in God as we greet them, having the faith to know we can make it, not giving up on hope. Without hope, we would be lost. We wonder how we can keep living after a dearly loved one passes. What we have to do is have the faith to know we will see our beloved again someday. We thank God for the hope we grasp onto until that day comes. We give thanks for the friends, families and strangers placed beside us as we struggle through each day.

The past cannot be altered. We have to say thank you for the time we did have together, picking up pieces of wisdom from those whom have gone before us. Those seeds of wisdom are planted, bringing forth words of faith and hope to all generations. We say a prayer of thanks for those words, which blossom and fade, leaving more seeds to grow and prosper the next year, and the year after that.

If things always go smoothly, we forget to take time to actually see and feel what has been given to us. We do not inhale a deep breath and let out a sigh of gladness, just for life itself. No, things do not always go the way we want. It is not always up to us to decide on what is to happen with our lives. We thank God for giving us the freedom of choice, asking Him for the strength of faith, hope and love when the choices of others affects us. We thank Him for His trust, while coming to terms with our excitements and sorrows. We are thankful for those words of wisdom, always reseeding, allowing us to grow in His Spirit, today and always.

THE TREASURE OF ALL TREASURES

Describing what a treasure is depicts different images in everyone’s mind. For a child, it may be a ladybug seen on a blade of grass. A young teen may treasure a new pair of shoes, now the fad. An older teen will love the improved cell phone. As a young adult, there is the dream car, waiting many years to save the money to buy one. The older adult will treasure memories of their children, as they go through their growing years. The senior adults treasure the letters and cards sent by the grandchildren, keeping them by their favorite chair.


As I reflect upon my treasures, my loved ones are invaluable to me. My faith and God are priceless as well. Thinking back to my years of teaching, I will never forget the treasured gifts I received. What made them so special was that they were handed to me with such strong emotions.

I never worked at a school located in an upper income class neighborhood. My students came from homes where a chicken is served once a year on Thanksgiving. There were no birthday presents. They had never been to a restaurant, not even to have a popular fast food hamburger or taco diner.

One year, I had a boy, about nine years old, who started to bring me a present a day. I was still in my first years of teaching, taken with his generosity, knowing how his family had little money. Some days, it was a candy bar or a package of sunflower seeds. At times, it was a small paperback book, usually one meant for a teenager. He had proudly signed his name and mine inside the cover of each of them. After this had been going on for a little over two weeks, a couple of his classmates approached me, out of earshot of the bighearted gift giver. Apparently, he was going to the little store down the street from the school, stealing something to give me the next day. I was horrified!

After school that day, I called the manager of the store, describing the child who frequented his store daily. I said he had been stealing something from him daily, over the past few weeks. There was a silence for a moment on his end, coming to life suddenly, announcing to me, “Here he comes, RIGHT NOW!” The phone went dead as he went to pursue the gift-giving robber. My student was back in class the next day, as if nothing ever happened. I am not sure what the manager said to him in the store, but it must have made an impression, as all presents stopped. I dimly remember going over to the store, offering reimbursement for all stolen items. The manager did not charge me, only glad that the stealing had stopped.

Having stolen items on me was not a treasure, but it still spoke to my heart. I treasured the thought that the boy wanted to make me happy. I had made him happy in my classroom; now he wanted to do the same for me.

Another year, I had told students how much I loved the Spider Man comics. This was years before there was a movie on the webbed creature. They loved to hear my excitement, as I would tell Spider Man episodes. It made me become a person, just as they were, not someone who came in from nowhere at the beginning of the day and return to nowhere at the end of it. This is the typical thought of a student, that there is no chance a teacher has any other kind of life.

As Christmas came around that year, a student approached me, having something wrapped for me. It was rolled up tightly, a ribbon circling the gift several times. His eyes were big, standing in front of me, as I unwrapped his gift. Inside the wrappings was his own treasure; a very well worn comic book of Spider Man. I almost started to cry, it meant so much to me. He had so little at his house, yet he wanted me to have his most valuable possession. This meant more to me than the many boxes of chocolates teachers were getting from students living in other neighborhoods. I will never forget the token of love shown. He knew what Christmas was truly about, not the television ads on what would bring meaning and happiness.

I had another highly-prized gift handed to me another year. The mother of a particular student did not like me. She truly despised me. Her mentally challenged son had passed from one year to the next, playing games all day long. Now that I had him, I did not want the games. I wanted him to learn to read, write and do math problems. His mother was furious I was having him work. Sometimes, he would come up to my desk to warn me his mom was coming by after school to yell at me. He would continue to come up numerous times on that particular day, to tell me the time was getting closer for his mom to yell at me.

In time, the mother began to see how much her son had learned. He was asking her to buy the classical music I played in the class as they worked, had outstanding penmanship, could read and was multiplying numbers. She was now showing up after school, coming in with her sponge and bucket of suds, to clean the classroom for me. She would ask me if I remembered how much she used to hate me, as she scrubbed one desk after another. I grinned, assuring her I certainly did recall those times.

At the last week of school, her son proudly handed me a wrapped gift from him and his mother. He said they saw the book on a table outside a store and decided it would be the perfect gift for me. Inside the wrappings was a book. The title was, Love and Desire and Hate by Joan Collins. A little summary inside the used book cover talks about the love, greed and lust action, a definite page turner. It is signed, with pride and with love, by both the mother and son. This became another treasure, though I must admit, I never did read it. The mother came by after school, her eyes twinkling as bright as her son’s, over this gift. I hugged them both, saying how special it was to me. The mother, who worked two or three jobs to put food on the table, said they just had to buy the book for me, as I was now important in their lives.

I would never trade my riches with anyone. If I did, I would lose those treasured memories that came with them. True treasures always come from the beloved heart.

MY CHOICE

On a daily, short, reflection I write on Facebook, “Spirituality From A Wheelchair,” I posted recently about my prayer to God. I asked Him to forgive somebody I know. God immediately responded to my prayer, telling me, “I already have forgiven. Now, it is up to you.” This was a revelation for me. My eyes opened wide, followed by a smile. Of course, He has forgiven, as He does not hold grudges. We are the ones whom are guilty of this.

Granted, it has taken me a long time to learn not hold onto a grudge. I was even holding a recent grudge, as I asked God to forgive another. It is an on-going process to move on, instead of remaining stagnant. I have had to ask God to help me move-on, to give me to the strength to do so.

I can be stuck in a whirlpool, asking repeatedly, “How can I forgive this person who has done harm to another of God’s family? Because of those actions, others will never be the same!” I am not progressing anywhere in my life as I continue to ask this. If I take my faith seriously, then I must leave this vicious cycle behind. It is not going to change what has happened. All it does is let me focus on the perpetrator rather than on the innocent victim. I have let badness take priority over goodness.

It is amazing to me that once I have taken the path of forgiveness, that person’s face and name is no longer taking precedence in my head. The actions of a co-worker, someone close to me, or a person I only heard about in the media, is no longer in my thoughts. It is as if God has this enormous chalkboard eraser, wiping my slate clean, as soon as I say I have forgiven.

I cannot just instantly say, “I forgive,” because if I do, I do not feel the sincerity in my words. However, I do not let it linger, as I used to do. At times, I do ‘pass the buck’ onto God, asking Him to help another understand the difference between right and wrong behaviors. I no longer will carry it on my shoulders.

There is such a relief in my tight muscles as I let it go. I may also pray for the troubled one, but now, it is at a different level. There is no longer a feeling of wrath; rather, there is an emotion of being at peace.

I silently ask others to live in the image of God, not in the image of my ideas. God has made each one of us unique and special, holding gifts, burdens, joys and sorrows. We are the ones who must make the choices with what He has given us. If we recognize the choices of others as being in error, ask God to help them get back on the correct path, during their spiritual journey.

A little first grader told me once how angry she was when she saw someone steal a sweater at the store. She wanted to get very angry with the person, proceeding to ask me why this person would take something he did not pay for. I told her about choices God gives us. Continuing, I asked her to pray to God to help the man understand not to this anymore. I gently told her not to stay angry. She could not change this man, but to pray for him. Let him feel God’s love. When he becomes aware of this love, he will not want to take things not belonging to him.

Challenges are part of our daily lives. As God told me, “Now, it is up to you.” These words will remain in my thoughts. I will take the challenges and be at peace with my decisions, living in the image of God.

THE HANDS

For a number of days, I have been contemplating how important our hands are. My mental and written lists have grown endlessly. I realize I could write a thesis on their significance. Just as I wrote that last sentence, another use of them came to my mind, as I scratched a bug bite!

We can join our hands together for many different reasons. I put them together in the form of prayer often, extending outward toward the heavens. I do it in formal prayer and constantly to say another thank you to God for one blessing after another He bestows upon me.

There is also the pressing of the palms together, fingers squeezing opposite hands. Anxiety is expressed. It might be watching the race, excited to see who will win. Maybe it is while watching a movie, the unpredictability hardly able to take. There can be the squeezing of the hands in tenseness, not knowing what the recent medical tests will foretell.

While in the dental chair, I’m sure the dentist looks down at the hands, to see if the patient is handling the procedure with a sense of calmness or one of being quite nervous. I have willed myself, through prayer, to appear quite calm for the dentist. In reality, my fear begins as soon as I hear him or her sit down on that stool on wheels behind me, in the dental chair, rolling up to be by my side.

There are the hands of a brand new baby, so very tiny. There is not a mark on them, so fresh and new. We study those hands, wondering how they will be used in the newborn’s lifetime. The first thing we tend to do is reach out our hands to those wee fingers, watching the grasping of them being wrapped around ours. What joy this brings! A connection is made, a feeling of a warm love being shared between two of God’s souls.

The infant grows into a little being. We hold onto the child’s hand, to protect him or her from fear, or while crossing the street. We put band-aids on those tiny scratches, hands busy at work while at play.

It is a blissful moment as the toddler reaches out for our hand, taking us to see an amazing sunset, the fruit in the garden, or to smell a flower. We can get busy rushing through each day, only to have a child remind us what really counts, as we live and breathe the air of the Holy Spirit.

As the individual grows, food and shelter are necessary for survival. Those hands nurture crops to raise an abundant harvest. . It is shared with others. .A created shelter, made by the hands of many, gives a place to live, bringing friends and family together.

As friends and family gather, there is the greeting through a handshake, placing the hands and arms around one another in a hug, and the holding of hands while sharing a blessing of the meal. After the meal, there continues to be sharing, during board or electronic games, all needing the hands.

Noticing the hands of all who gather, there can be seen hands showing life has not been easy. They are rough to feel and have a look of leather. Others may be soft to touch, but hold deep lines of wisdom There will be the teen, whose body has not yet grown into his or her hands. In time, they will show the signs of experience, just as those who have made it through those struggling years.

We see the hands of honesty as a promise is taken. It may be a creed for an organization, or while taking an oath of office. A hand usually goes up to express what is being said is the truth. Those same hands are raised to give out blessings to our brethren.

Gifted hands provide enjoyment for others, through the many art forms, whether it is music, calligraphy, something on canvas, or dance. The given talents can take our breath away, letting us forget about everything else in life except for the moment.

To join hands in marriage, becoming one, is beautiful. The unity of hands will bring forth many memories in the years to come.

Last night, a story was shared of the mother who saw only a wounded soldier’s hands, seen on the national news. The moment she saw those hands, she knew they belonged to her son, as only a mother would. She made the proper phone calls to ask about him. Soon, there was a knock at her front door to acknowledge it was indeed her son; he had passed away while fighting for our freedom.

God holds us up with His hands. His son died with his hands raised, on the cross. He holds up everyone, at all times, not allowing anyone to hold burdens alone. His mother holds us in her gentle hands, never judging, only giving unconditional love. We only have to open up our hearts to receive the affections of the Holy Family.

Let all of us raise our hands in prayer, for those hurting, those needing a blessing, the joys and the struggles, and in thanks, feeling the eternal love and blessings given to each of us.

Marie T. Morrison
July 20, 2010