Worry

Worry

What does worry buy you?

A change of heart from the one you love?

Not likely.

What does worry buy you, I say?

Justice, getting even, settling the score.

No way.

What does worry buy you?

A dance or a date?

Does it buy you time,

 or energy, or love.

None of the above.

Does it change the diagnosis?

of the child or the mate?

Can you spend worry on solving the problem?

It doesn’t work that way.

Worry buys you nothing,

But there is hell to pay.

Worry costs one dearly.

It costs you sleep and exhausts you deeply.

It costs your peace

and being at ease.

Worry is a robber

that takes your life away.

Thief it is,

and costly

and there is hell to pay.

What does worry buy you?

Not joy nor peace nor ease;

Worry is a robber

 who steals serenity.

Don’t give your heart to worry;

but keep that thief away!

Nor let it kill your hope, your faith;

For there is hell to pay.

New Living Room

Here the living room is empty.  The off-white carpet has become more' off' than white.  New carpet is ordered.  Furniture has been moved.  The installer is on the way.

One of the things that made me postpone new carpeting so long was dreading the disruption caused.  In order to have this empty room,  everything had to be dismantled and piled elsewhere.

But the truth is, everything else in our lives has been disrupted since Gerry's injury,  so disrupting the living room seemed to fit just where our lives have landed at the moment.

Part of the furnishings are stashed in the kitchen area, the other part in the dining area.  The television cabinet was the hardest piece to move.  But the gliders under the corners made that a piece of cake.

When the room was empty,  I began to see other possibilities.  That's the nice thing about a clean slate, a new beginning, an empty room.  Soon I began to develop a new plan for arranging the furniture.

Gerry had some concerns following his injury, and those issues did not begin to abate until Saturday or Sunday.  By Monday he began to think he was going to be fine and recover completely.  That, ironically, coincided with the arrival of the new carpet and the "new living room".   New start. New beginning.

Now everything is put back together.  Gerry is put back together.

The living room is much cozier and warmer than it was, with a multi-toned carpet.   Now, hopefully we will be good for another ten years,  both in terms of carpet, and good health!!

Gurney in the Hallway

The only thing wrong with this picture is that it doesn't show all the other gurneys in the emergency room hallway, nor the many nurses, doctors staff, machinery on wheels, or the crowd of people.  It is a very sterile view of the chaos and drama of the real thing.

Yesterday I spent at least twelve hours with gurneys in the hallway of emergency rooms when Gerry injured himself skiing.  It could have been life-threatening, considering that he has only one kidney, and that is what was hurt.

First we went to the Cortland emergency room.  Then they decided to transfer him to Syracuse.  After about five hours in the first emergency room,  they said they were ready to transport him, so I hurried home to get him some clothes (he only had ski gear) and rushed off to Crouse Hospital.  By far the hardest part of the day was the hour and a half waiting in the waiting room for his ambulance to arrive.  I was convinced that he must be in there somewhere in the hall, and I wanted to be where he was!  But they said he was not.

Meanwhile,  I experienced a slice of life I rarely get to see.  The waiting room of the ER was filled with people who are the lost, and indigent, the hurt,  misfits, clearly wounded in a variety of ways.  I sat next to a young man who I later learned was homeless and in need of detox.  (I heard the social worker talking to him in the hallway.)   Eventually,  the ambulance arrived and I was re-united with Gerry to go through the next six hours of waiting, praying, trying to relax, waiting, hoping, watching, listening, trying to rest, waiting, having CT scans, waiting.

Around midnight we learned that the injury seems to be a contusion or bruise of the kidney, and not a laceration, that all bodily functions were working properly, that x-rays showed nothing else broken.  Finally we were released and sent home for him to take it easy and heal.  We thank God that the diagnosis is good and the damage minimal.

I cannot recall a time when it felt so good to be home!

Basement Boxes

(Not Really Our Boxes)

I don't remember exactly what got me motivated to start going through boxes in the basement today.   I think I started off straightening some shelves, or looking for a particular photograph.   I found an old shoe-box with ten year's worth of church and family photos.  A treasure trove!  There was one there of me and Gerry that I especially love, so I brought it up and put in in a frame to enjoy.

 I was surprised to realize that I don't even know what is in all of the boxes stored downstairs. I have been slowly going through them and condensing and downsizing.  It is a process.

One cardboard box actually contained desk drawer contents--things like post-cards, labels, a white-out pen,     note pads and a whole assortment of other goodies.  I could remember the source.  When we moved out of Moravia,  and I also had to move out of the church office, and leave the desk drawer pristine.  It was too hard to sort through a bunch of tiny insignificant things, so I dumped it all in a box.  That was ten years ago!
Today I emptied that box and will put to use what is usable, and will re-cycle the box.

Yesterday, being New Year's Eve,  I put away the Christmas decorations, tree (we both moved it) and ornaments.  Today being the first day of the New Year, I continued with my organizing, throwing away, sorting, and creating order.   There is something about a new year that does that to me. I like to somehow have a clean slate.  For 2013, that was accomplished by emptying old boxes in the basement, I guess.

Someday, I'll have to figure out how to get rid of the bookcases filled with books, and the notebooks filled with sermons. Even though I have kept them, I have always always written fresh ones. I visited a retired pastor in his mid-eighties a year or so ago.  He told me he had gotten a dumpster and just thrown everything away at once.  I found that shocking, but it may be the solution eventually.

The basement is always filled with work yet to be done.   Someone will have to do it, someday.