Men create religion. Spirituality comes from within.
Men make religion. Why is that? Religion of sport. Religion of work. Religion of God. Religion of politic. Religion of drink. Religion of food. Religion of country. A conscientious effort to pursue a topic to the penultimate.
Edie is a Facebook contributer to group directed towards caregivers supporting people who are dealing with Parkinson’s disease. She posted this prayer to the group a few days ago.
A Wife’s Prayer (in the life of a Caregiver) By:Edie Kynard 02/22/20
Lord, as we face this day together, please help me to handle each moment with strength.
May my attitude be positive, my hands gentle when administering help and my heart full of compassion.
Please lift me up when I am down, show me the humor in awkward situations and nudge me when I lack understanding.
Send me aha moments for us to grow through, messages from above for us to share and empathy so that I can step into his shoes and readjust my attitude.
I’ve asked for a lot Lord, but the most important is my request for forgiveness when, in human error, I tread upon his heart.
So please …keep my feet planted in solid faith so that I can sow seeds of kindness and not weeds of grumbling toward the many tasks at hand.
Fill me with wisdom so that when we walk this journey together we don’t get lost along the way.
In Your holy name, Amen.
I don’t know where I’m going from here, but I am taking the spirit of this prayer with me. Many tasks. Easy to get lost. Helping Cheryl to deal with Parkinson’s forces me to look inside and reflect. And I wonder what purpose this disease has.
Perhaps a discovery of what love is and what it is not?
All of us have particular likes and dislikes. Certain comfort foods are associate with meals at certain times of day.
What about chocolate for breakfast?
And sometimes you have to cry. Sometimes you have to tease. Sometimes you grieve for a past life. You may remember it differently from what actually was but the nostalgia is real.
Or you could have chocolate for breakfast.
In the now in the present you keep pushing. Sometimes you laugh. There is joy if you look for it. You can look away to the past.
Or you could have chocolate for breakfast.
Favorite things, favorite foods, favorite places attract you to the old times. Do not disparage the old times. Do not despair of the present times. New things are new favorite things.
Like you could have chocolate for breakfast.
With love all things are possible or so it is said. Chronic disease in a loved one is an opportunity for a deeper love. A deeper truer attachment to one’s own self and the one you love.
It may turn out that you love chocolate for breakfast.
Good times are not all in the past. Good times are now. Merely time is required for the nostalgic longings. Can the circular thoughts coming with age and dreary-ness cause a view of one’s own rear?
And destroy the idea of chocolate for breakfast?
Or is the idea of chocolate for breakfast a metaphor for youth and vigor? Count Chocula a satisfactory conclusion? Or a new beginning. Of something precious. Of someone precocious
Enough to try chocolate for breakfast?
I truly do not want to learn how to sew, be a seamstress, or do other related crafts. I am male and in my 70’s. I do not need that. And yet I must.
That is silly attitude. When you have spent 50 years with someone occasionally you will disagree with her. When you love someone so deeply that you are willing to turn away from your own self-interest to take care of her during a chronic illness it is possible to smother her in the care-giving.
Learn how to sew. Just do it. Do not arrogantly display your new found skill set. You are the helper. You are the holder of pins. You are the threader of bobbins. You are the crimper of snaps. You know where to find interfacing in the fabric store. Be proud that you know what interfacing is! Do not imagine you are in charge of project scheduling. The illness’s symptoms will set the schedule. Relax. Enjoy the moment.
Lord have mercy! It is easy to have a fight when your lover, wife, partner, mother of your children, your rock, the person who shares your vision, the center of your universe is gifted with a chronic illness. Parkinson’s disease is not always debilitating but it can be and it can be so for the one who has it and the one is helping the one who has it. It can be exhausting.
In the morning she is way off. Movement is hard. Fingers are numb. She has finally fallen asleep after a restless night, when I get her up so she is not way off her medication schedule, she is angry with me and with herself. As the day progresses she improves but I have not moved out of care-giving mode. To her it becomes smothering. An argument ensues over who will cook dinner.
I have to give in. She cooks dinner. It is like old times when we were younger. She is and always was a good cook. Comfort food. I am more experimental which occasionally turns disastrous. I really miss the old times occasionally. But it is also good to enjoy the present.
Perhaps, just perhaps, I need to enjoy the moment.