May my hands be Christ's

"There's more than a thousand ways for Christ to have hands in a busted world so the brokenhearted can find a deeper kind of whole." - Ann Voscamp

Lord, may my hands be yours.  Give me your heart and help me to see others the way you do.  Lead me and guide me where you want me to go.

Another visit with Tim

Yesterday I picked up Martha and we drove out to Newark for another visit with Tim.  He, like always, was happy to see us and eager to go out for a ride.  He seemed more there today, and when we got in the car I wanted to listen to Dad play his guitar and harmonica on CD for us.  It's like having a little piece of him on our visit, so I said, "Let's find Dad!"  As soon as I said that he looked right at me... probably thought I was a bit crazy.  Along the ride he looked at me and smiled just like he used to.  I love his smile and told him so.  Martha and I chatted on the ride, asking Tim a few questions along the way, but he didn't respond.  I noticed he had a small gash with a fading bruise above his left eye and couldn't help but wonder if he's being treated well... after all, he was being abused by a caretaker (who has been fired) not too long ago, and there is an investigation that is still incomplete.  When we dropped him off at his home he gave me a nice, sweet, tight (but not too tight) hug.  He hasn't given me one like that since our dad died.  Martha had gone to sign him back in, and I felt bad that she missed out.  He's usually in a hurry to get to the bathroom and isn't always so generous with his hugs, but you never know when he'll have a special surprise hug for you... you just never know.

Michael's haircut

He wouldn't pose for a photo, but Michael got his hair cut today.  He went to the barber for the 1st time since he was about 8 (he usually either buzzes it with the clippers or Flowbees it.  That's the haircutting machine that hooks up to a vacuum cleaner.) He had grown his hair so long, and he has so much of it that it was just too much.  He said he wanted to do something a little different with it.  He told the barber to leave it longer on the top.  He reminds me so much of my dad with this haircut.  Now when he pushes his food around on his plate while he's talking over dinner tonight, he will remind me even more of my dad than ever. :)

Taking a Break

I am taking a much needed break from facebook (even though I really don't want to) to get my priorities straight.  I found it to be taking up way too much of my time.  I'm really not sure when I'll go back to it.  I've ordered a great book, The Broken Way, by Ann Voscamp, and am looking forward to it coming in the mail soon.  I even vacuumed, did 2 loads of laundry, washed, dried and put away dishes, and cleaned out the fridge before I left for work this morning.  It's amazing what I can get done when I'm not scanning through facebook all the time. :)

Visits with Tim

On Christmas Eve Martha and I took a drive out to Newark to visit Tim.  Martha baked him an apple pie for Christmas and brought it for him to share with some at his home.  He was thrilled.  We had a nice ride and he seemed more alert today... less drugs, I'm sure of it.  When we got back to his place after our ride, he even posed for a picture with Martha and I, and with a smile on his face!

Yesterday I went to see him alone because Jim and Michele were visiting from Minnesota.  I told Tim that, and that Martha loved him and would come the next time.  He seemed a little zombie like when I picked him up, although he was happy to see me, as usual.   His shoe laces were all untied and I was afraid he might trip on them so I tied them for him.  He quickly ate his goodies, as usual, some baby carrots, wheat thins, and a few small store bought cookies.  I got my face in his in the car (at a stoplight) for some forced eye contact, and he looked at me with warm eyes and smiled.

Out For a Drive

10/28/16: So today I had a meeting reguarding my brother Tim.  About 10 people, caretakers, social worker, psychologist, nurse...  I wanted to address the fact that for the past year or so Tim has pretty much been a zombie and doesn't react to us.  In fact, the last time we had seen him he actually turned away several times when Martha and I tried to look at him.  Pretty much what I heard these people tell me in relation to my concern was that Tim is happy, he smiles, he has eye contact with them...  I was told that I don't see this probably because he is due for his next med ("happy pill") at 4:00, and we come at 2:30, meaning it's pretty much worn off.  Gimme a break!  They said that maybe Martha and I should come earlier, picking him up from Program.  I told them that he used to respond to us, and I passed around pictures of him happy and responsive, and a picture of him in a zombie like state.  Not sure I got anywhere with the meeting, but at least they know how I feel.  I ended up losing it and crying.  Hate it when I do that.

11/4/2016: Today I went to visit Tim alone because Martha had some other obligations.  He seemed maybe slightly less zombie like, although he was grinding his teeth when I picked him up and did it off and on through our whole visit, only stopping when I put my hand gently under his jaw and asked him to please stop.  I told him that he would be very sad when his teeth were all ground away and he could no longer eat apples and things that he likes, and that would make me sad too.  He ate the cut up apple and the peanuts and 5th Ave bar I brought him, but never looked my way and never smiled like he used to do up until last year.  I stroked the back of his hair and told him about why Martha wasn't there, and that she loved him and would probably be there next time.  I also told him that I would be going on a cruise and wouldn't see him for 3 weeks because of it.  I told him Hannah had a baby boy, asked him if he remembered Mom singing a certain couple of songs she used to sing him all the time (which I then sang), and we listened to Dad play his guitar and harmonica.  We got the standard chocolate frosty, which Tim downed in less than a minute, while I tried to keep his shirt clean by wiping all his messy drips.  I called Robyn (one of his caretakers) when I got home because she had mentioned something about Tim maybe being unhappy when he went out with us because maybe "his knees hurt" getting in and out of the car.  I told her that he doesn't act unhappy, but rather it's his complete lack of emotion that concerns us.  I told her if I waved my hand frantically in front of his face, I don't even think he'd blink.  It's almost like he's had a lobotomy.  I told her it's really heartbreaking to see him in this state.  She said she understood.  We'll see if things change at all.  I love him.  Sad he got a life like he did... but I know even he has blessings to count.

I Wanna Live it Well...

Live It Well

Switchfoot

Yeah
(I wanna live it well)
Yeah, yeah
(I wanna live it well)
Yeah

Take the burden from my arms
Take the anchors off my lungs
Take me broken and make me one
Break the silence and make it a song

Life is short; I wanna live it well
One life, one story to tell
Life is short; I wanna live it well
And you're the one I'm living for
Awaken all my soul
Every breath that you take is a miracle
Life is short; I wanna live it well, yeah

I wanna sing with all my heart a lifelong song
Even if some notes come out right and some come out wrong
'Cause I can't take none of that through the door
Yeah, I'm living for more than just a funeral
I wanna burn brighter than the dawn

Life is short; I wanna live it well
One life, one story to tell
Life is short; I wanna live it well
And…

The One

The day is dark and I can't see
The path I'm on or what's in front of me
But I will stand on this I know
You will never let me go

For the one who holds tomorrow
Holds me in His hand
And I will not fear the future
I'll trust the Great I Am

His love is deep, His love is wide
A fountain flowing like a crimson tide
My stains were scarlet, but this I know
They've been washed as white as snow

For the one who holds tomorrow
Holds me in His hand
And I will not fear the future
I'll trust the Great I Am
Who has been and always will be
Reigning on His throne
For the One who holds me in His hand
Is the One who holds it all

Though the world shall fade away
And the sky may even fall
You are strong enough to save
You're the one who holds
Every heart that is afraid
You hear our desperate call
You are strong enough to save
You're the One who holds it all
You hold it all
You hold it all

For the one who holds tomorrow
Holds me in His hand
And I will not fear the future
I'll trust the Great I Am
Who has been and always will be
Reigning on His throne
For the One who holds me in His hand
Is the One who holds it all
You're the One who holds it all
You're the One who holds it all

Streams in the Desert

I was crushed...so much so that I despaired even of life, but that was to make me rely not on myself, but on the God who raises the dead" (2 Cor. 1:8, 9).

"Pressed out of measure and pressed to all length;
Pressed so intensely it seems, beyond strength;
Pressed in the body and pressed in the soul,
Pressed in the mind till the dark surges roll.
Pressure by foes, and a pressure from friends.
Pressure on pressure, till life nearly ends.

"Pressed into knowing no helper but God;
Pressed into loving the staff and the rod.
Pressed into liberty where nothing clings;
Pressed into faith for impossible things.
Pressed into living a life in the Lord,
Pressed into living a Christ-life outpoured."

Petra, It is Finished

"They searched His face for anger;
For vengeance in His stare;
Instead of eyes that burned with hate
a look of love was there."
(Petra -- It is Finished)

Oh, Lord, make me more like you every day.

Prayer: by Max Lucado

How hard can it be? I have friends who excel in prayer. They inhale heaven and exhale God. They would rather pray than sleep. I sleep when I should pray. They belong to the PGA: Prayer Giants Association.

Not me. I’m a card-carrying member of the PWA: Prayer Wimps Anonymous.

Hello, my name is Max. I’m a recovering prayer wimp.

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SPECIAL COVERAGE: The power of prayer: For America's future

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It’s true. I doze off when I pray. My thoughts zig, then zag, then zig again. If attention deficit disorder applies to prayer, I am afflicted. When I pray, I think of a thousand things I need to do, and I forget the one thing I set out to do: pray.

Sure. We all pray some

But wouldn’t we like to pray More? Better?

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SPECIAL COVERAGE: The power of prayer: Enhance your life

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Prayer is not a privilege for the pious, not the art of a chosen few. Prayer is simply a heartfelt conversation between God and his child. My friend, he wants to talk with you. Even now, as you read these words, he taps at the door. Open it. Welcome him in. Let the conversation begin.

Prayer really is that simple. Resist the urge to complicate it. Don’t take pride in well-crafted prayers. Don’t apologize for incoherent prayers. No games. No cover-ups. Just be honest honest to God. Tell him everything that’s on your heart. Your worries, your fears, your unfixable fixes.

But here’s the thing about prayer. If it depends on how I pray, I’m sunk. But if the power of prayer depends on the One who hears the prayer, then I have hope.

And if the power of prayer comes from the One who hears it, then I don’t have to be timid.

You heard me right. Our prayers shouldn’t be bashful or half-hearted. They should be bold.

Boldness in prayer is an uncomfortable thought for many. We think of speaking softly to God, humbling ourselves before God, or having a chat with God but agonizing before God? Storming heaven with prayers? Wrestling with God? Isn’t such prayer irreverent? Presumptuous?

It would be had God not invited us to pray as such. “So let us come boldly to the very throne of God and stay there to receive his mercy and to find grace to help us in our times of need” (Hebrews 4:16 tlb).

So how do we go from prayer wimps to audacious prayers like that?

We start by consulting God in everything. Always. Immediately. Quickly. Live with one ear toward heaven. Keep the line open to God.

I saw a piece of his heart...

 He laughed when he saw this picture of himself.

              He was still laughing from the previous picture when I showed him this one.

 I showed him this picture and asked him if he remembered having dinners at Grandma and Grandpa's ever.  He looked at it and said, "I remember that."  I thought it was nice that he answered because he doesn't usually respond back to me, although one of the workers, Robin, told me when I picked him up, that he had been talking more.

Then I showed him this one.  There was a stack of pictures, and we were looking at several.  At one point I looked over at him to see him silently crying, but quite hard.  Big tears streaming down his cheeks.  I apologized for upsetting him and told him sometimes it can be hard looking at pictures with so many people who are no longer with us anymore, and told him that we will see them again some day, but I'm really not sure why he was crying.  I saw raw emotion and felt like I saw a piece of his heart, but I can only guess why he was crying.  He pulled himself together and I rubbed his hand and told him how much I love him, but by then I was teary too.  I checked on him when I got home and the girl who answered the phone said he seemed happy and had just downed a cup of coffee.

Yesterday I went to visit Tim alone because Martha had to babysit Josh and Jake, and Priscilla had a job interview.  When I arrived he was sitting at the dining room table and had just finished coloring a large picture, with markers.  One of the workers (I forget her name) saw me and said, "I want to know who taught Tim to color so nice, and who taught him to say his prayers?"  She said he prays every night.  I told her that our parents always prayed with all of us and I'm sure that's where he got it.  It made my heart do a little dance.  My autistic brother prays!  I wished my parents could have heard that!  What a blessing it is to know that my brother knows the importance of prayer and does it daily!  We went out for our drive and I explained to him why I was there alone and told him that the next time it would be more than just me visiting.  We listened to a CD of  Dad playing his guitar and harmonica, he ate the goodies I brought him and I talked to him about how strange it was to see Mom's hands on the ends of my arms (my hands look just like hers to me).  He gave me some sweet looks along the way... I love him.  I took a blurry selfie of us upon our return to his house....

Sinuses and Painting

Well, I'm loving the warmer temperatures we've been having, but evidently my sinuses don't.  I am struggling to get rid of a sinus infection without having to take antibiotics.  I really hope I get to enjoy spring...
On another note, my husband doesn't want to go shopping with me today.  I'm thinking about painting the boy's bathroom and getting them a new shower curtain.  They have told me that their shower curtain is somewhat juvenile.  The colors on it are pastel and they've had it for many years, so I think it's probably past time to change it, and today is suposed to be rainy. Off I go. I'll report back later with some before and after pics.

My Day...

Today I got up early and saw my husband off to work.  He had to go to Corning today, and I was not able to get back to sleep after waking and thinking about my mother in law's plant that I was watering at her house while she's in Florida for the winter.  It's quite top heavy and I found it quite slumped over when I went to her house after work yesterday.  The plant is very sentimental to her since it belonged to her dad, so I REALLY don't want to be the one to kill it.  I decided to go there today and bring the plant home, and while I was at it, buy Steven a belt at the mall close to her house, since his broke.  When I got the plant back here, I made two nice little popsickle stick stands to prop them up. :)  I then got on the treadmill for a bit, did a load of laundry, some vacuuming, did the dishes, took a shower, and went to pick up Martha for our drive out to Newark to visit our brother Tim.  He's been sick for a couple of weeks (Ecoli infection) and was in the hospital so we were anxious to visit.  He seemed well, but it was very apparent that he had been quite sick since he lost a lot of weight.  He looks good!  He needed to lose a few pounds, however that's not a great way to do it. :P  After dropping Martha off back at her house I headed for Wegmans where I bought some dinner stuff.  Sage and Pecan Pork Tenderloin served over a bed of spinach, and drizzled with a blackberry vinegar drizzle, was on the menu.  Since I am trying to stay away from potatoes, baked cauliflower with salt pepper and parmesian was served with it.  It was quite tasty, but the next time I make that cauliflower I will spray it with olive oil rather than drizzle it, so as to get the parmesian cheese to stick better while baking. It was just the two of us for dinner, Dave and I, since Steven and Michael had to work.  They'll be home later wondering "what's to eat?"

Michael has figured out what direction he's going for college.  He has made the switch from Computer Science to Accounting.  He will need to get a Business Administration degree at MCC before transferring for Accounting elsewhere.  He's having a great semester so far and is signed up for 16 credits next semester and 2 summer classes.

Steven is busy working about 60 hours a week between McDonald's and Pittsford Wegmans.  He loves to work and is quite the saver.

Well, off to do a P90X workout with my hubby, adios!

It’s possible to cling to our own lives so tightly that we forget we’re not our own. -Chuck Swindoll

Serving God

Consider the way you’re to work for Him. The word heartily doesn’t mean frantically. It refers to an all-in attitude. It also anticipates the joy you can experience when you serve Christ wholeheartedly in things He has actually wired and gifted you to do. And the commitment to serve heartily requires you to be in God’s Word regularly. You cannot afford to wander away. Time in Scripture is like a briefing for the days’ activities in the place the Lord has called you.
People are counting on you to be a faithful servant, whether they realize it or not. You have an awe-inspiring privilege to work in Christ’s kingdom. If you open your heart to this, you will begin to see an array of service opportunities set before you each day.
When we start to feel weary, we must fix our eyes again on Colssians 3:24: “You are serving the Lord Christ.” Especially when we get discouraged, we can rest in the truth that our lives and what we do aren’t about us—they’re about serving the Lord.

Help me, Lord.  I want to be a faithful servant.

Love & The Outcome - King of My Heart - with lyrics

“The Degree to which I am blessed staggers me... the degree to which I take that for granted shames me." -John Green

An Unexpected Reunion

As I was reading "Far From Home" by Joseph Stowell this morning, I came across this story that made me cry.  It's a true story, and it's a great reminder to me how much God loves us.

Marcel Sternberger was a methodical man of nearly 50, with bushy white hair, guileless brown eyes, and the bouncing enthusiasm of a czardas dancer of his native Hungary.  He always took the 9:09am Long Island Railroad train from his suburban home to Woodside, NY, where he caught a subway into the city.
On the morning of January 10th, 1948, Sternberger boarded the 9:09am as usual.  En route he suddenly decided to visit Laszlo Victor, a Hungarian friend who lived in Brooklyn and was ill.
Accordingly at Ozone Park, Sternberger changed to the subway for Brooklyn, went to his friend's house, and stayed until mid-afternoon.  He then boarded a Manhattan bound subway for his Fifth Avenue office.  Here is Marcel's incredible story.

The car was crowded, and there seemed to be no chance of a seat.  But just as I entered, a man sitting by the door suddenly jumped up to leave, and I slipped into the empty place.
I've been living in New York long enough not to start a conversation with strangers.  But, being a photographer, I have the peculiar habit of analyzing people's faces, and I was struck by the features of a passenger on my left.  He was probably in his late 30's and when he glanced up, his eyes seemed to have a hurt expression in them.  He was reading a Hungarian-language newspaper, and something prompted me to say in Hungarian, "I hope you don't mind if I glance at your paper."
The man seemed surprised to be addressed in his native language, but he answered politely, "You may read it now.  I'll have time later on."
During the half hour ride to town, we had quite the conversation.  He said his name was Bela Paskin.  A law student when World War II started, he had been put into a German labor battalion and sent to the Ukraine.  Later he was captured by the Russians and put to work burying the German dead.  After the war he covered hundreds of miles on foot until he reached his home in Debrecen, a large city in eastern Hungary.
I myself knew Debrecen quite well, and we talked about it for a while.  Then he told me the rest of his story.  When he went to the apartment once occupied by his father, mother, brothers, and sisters, he found strangers living there.  Then he went upstairs to the apartment that he and his wife had once shared.  It also was occupied by strangers.  None of them had ever heard of his family.  As he was leaving, full of sadness, a boy ran after him, calling, "Paskin bacsi!  Paskin bacsi!"  That means "Uncle Paskin".  The child was the son of some old neighbors of his.  He went to the boy's home and talked to his parents.  "Your whole family is dead," they told him.  The Nazis took them and your wife to Auschwitz."
Auschwitz was one of the worst Nazi concentration camps.  Paskin gave up all hope.  A few days later, too heartsick to remain any longer in Hungary, he set out again on foot, stealing across border after border until he reached Paris.  He managed to immigrate to the United States in October 1947, just 3 months before I met him.
All the time he had been talking, I kept thinking that somehow his story seemed familiar.  A young woman whom I had met recently at the home of friends had also been from Debrecen; she had been sent to Auschwitz; from there she had been transferred to work in a German munitions factory.  Her relatives had been killed in the gas chambers.  Later, she was liberated by the Americans and was brought here in the first boatload of displaced persons in 1946.
Her story had moved me so much that I had written down her address and phone number, intending to invite her to meet my family and thus help relieve the terrible emptiness in her life.
It seemed impossible that there could be any connection between these two people, but as I neared my station, I fumbled anxiously in my address book.  I asked in what I hoped was a casual voice, "Was your wife's name Marya?"
He turned pale.  "Yes!" he answered.  "How did you know?"
He looked as if he were about to faint.
I said, "Let's get off the train."  I took him by the arm at the next station and led him to a phone booth.  He stood there like a man in a trance while I dialed her phone number.
It seemed hours before Marya Paskin answered. (Later I learned her room was alongside the telephone, but she was in the habit of never answering it because she had so few friends and the calls were always for someone else.  This time, however, there was no one else at home, and after letting it ring for a while, she responded.)
When I heard her voice at last, I told her who I was and asked her to describe her husband.  She seemed surprised at the question, but gave me a description.  Then I asked her where she had lived in Debrecen, and she told me the address.
Asking her to hold the line, I turned to Paskin and said, "Did you and your wife live on such-and-such a street?"
"Yes!"  Bela exclaimed.  He was white as a sheet and trembling.
"Try to be calm, I urged him.  "Something miraculous is about to happen to you.  Here, take this telephone and talk to your wife!"
He nodded his head in mute bewilderment, his eyes bright with tears.  He took the receiver, listened a moment to his wife's voice, then suddenly cried, "This is Bela!  This is Bela!" and he began to mumble hysterically.  Seeing that the poor fellow was so excited he couldn't talk coherently, I took the receiver from his shaking hands.
"Stay where you are," I told Marya, who also sounded hysterical, "I am sending your husband to you.  We will be there in a few minutes."
Bela was crying like a baby and saying over and over again, "It is my wife, I go to my wife!"
At first I thought I had better accompany Paskin, lest the man should faint from excitement, but I decided that this was a moment in which no stranger should intrude.  Putting Paskin into a taxicab, I directed the driver to take him to Marya's address, paid the fare, and said goodbye.
Bela Paskin's reunion with his wife was a moment so poignant, so electric with suddenly released emotion, that afterward neither he nor Marya could recall much about it.
"I remember only that when I left the phone, I walked to the mirror like in a dream to see if maybe my hair had turned gray," she said later.  "The next thing I know, a taxi stops in front of the house, and it is my husband who comes toward me.  Details I cannot remember; only this I know- that I was happy for the first time in many years...
"Even now it is difficult to believe that it happened.  We have both suffered so much; I have almost lost the capability to not be afraid.  Each time my husband goes from the house, I say to myself, 'Will anything happen to take him from me again?'"
Her husband is confident that no horrible misfortune will ever again befall them.  "Providence has brought us together," he says simply.  "It was meant to be."

Skeptical persons will no doubt attribute the events of that memorable afternoon to mere chance.  But was it chance that made Marcel Sternberger suddenly decide to visit his sick friend and hence take a subway line that he had never ridden before?  Was it chance that caused the man sitting by the door of the car to rush out just as Sternberger came in?  Was it chance that caused Bela Paskin to be sitting beside Sternberger, reading a Hungarian newspaper?
Was it chance- or did God ride the Brooklyn subway that afternoon?