I can’t believe Christmas is already over. It was a different one for us, I might say. Five of the six people in my house (my parents were here) at some point had one of two stomach viruses, and the four of us who live here permanently all had colds. Our two year old has Reactive Airway Disease, which meant that his cold turned into something akin to asthma. So instead of celebrating the yuletide with eggnog and candy canes, we sat by the tree drinking Gatorade and taking breathing treatments. There was no decking the halls with boughs of holly, but we certainly stocked the hall bathroom with lots of toilet paper and Kleenex. Overall, though, we didn’t miss a beat. Christmas was still about Jesus, family, and watching my husband (the only one who didn’t get either stomach bug) stuff himself with more food than should be legal in most countries (I love you, Honey!). Really, though, we did have a great holiday together in spite of everything working against us!
Christmas night I talked for 50 minutes on the phone with my 96 year old grandfather in Florida. I forget how fascinating it can be to have a conversation with him! He told me stories of working in the rock quarry as a young man, and things he could remember that happened when he was two. He filled me in on family members I never got to meet, and ones I should know but only vaguely remember from the last reunion we had some 15 years ago.
He also told me how sad he was that his neighbor and long-time friend had died just the night before on Christmas Eve. Then he was rather candid and honest about his own health – reminding me that he is legally blind from Macular Degeneration and that his lack of appetite has caused him to loose so much weight that he’s afraid he might “blow away in a dust storm”. As I listened to him and thought about how only two people came to visit him on Christmas day, I came to my own conclusion that he must be terribly lonely and sad. His overall thought about his own life, however, is completely different. I can’t even begin to count how many times he said in amazement and wonder over his situation, “I’m just blessed, that’s all there is to it.”
I hope if I live to be 96 that my attitude is as grateful as his (although I know I won’t live that long – I’m praying for the rapture to happen before my boys are teenagers. I work with teenagers, remember?). Despite all that’s in his life that the rest of us can only see as obstacles, he knows in his heart that he’s blessed by his Father in Heaven. I love that. I also love his philosophy on living: “I just get up and do something. If I don’t like what I’m doing, I just do something else”. 96 years of life on this Earth and he’s boiled it all down to that. I’m so stuck in this busy routine of things I “have to get done” that I can’t even imagine being able to live so freely, but I think he’s really got a point in some ways.
As I prepared to say goodbye I told him that I hoped he enjoyed the rest of his Christmas evening. “Oh, I will,” he said. “And I’ll enjoy the day after that, and the day after that one, too!” I hung up the phone and looked at the mess of Christmas presents scattered in played-with pieces all over our living room floor. I listened to the littlest one of us cough, and walked past some stale sweets that normally would have been eaten if we had all had our appetites. It seemed overwhelming at first glance, and maybe even a little disheartening in a sense. But you know what I realized in the midst of it all? I’m just blessed, that’s all there is to it. Thanks for reminding me, Granddaddy.
Christmas night I talked for 50 minutes on the phone with my 96 year old grandfather in Florida. I forget how fascinating it can be to have a conversation with him! He told me stories of working in the rock quarry as a young man, and things he could remember that happened when he was two. He filled me in on family members I never got to meet, and ones I should know but only vaguely remember from the last reunion we had some 15 years ago.
He also told me how sad he was that his neighbor and long-time friend had died just the night before on Christmas Eve. Then he was rather candid and honest about his own health – reminding me that he is legally blind from Macular Degeneration and that his lack of appetite has caused him to loose so much weight that he’s afraid he might “blow away in a dust storm”. As I listened to him and thought about how only two people came to visit him on Christmas day, I came to my own conclusion that he must be terribly lonely and sad. His overall thought about his own life, however, is completely different. I can’t even begin to count how many times he said in amazement and wonder over his situation, “I’m just blessed, that’s all there is to it.”
I hope if I live to be 96 that my attitude is as grateful as his (although I know I won’t live that long – I’m praying for the rapture to happen before my boys are teenagers. I work with teenagers, remember?). Despite all that’s in his life that the rest of us can only see as obstacles, he knows in his heart that he’s blessed by his Father in Heaven. I love that. I also love his philosophy on living: “I just get up and do something. If I don’t like what I’m doing, I just do something else”. 96 years of life on this Earth and he’s boiled it all down to that. I’m so stuck in this busy routine of things I “have to get done” that I can’t even imagine being able to live so freely, but I think he’s really got a point in some ways.
As I prepared to say goodbye I told him that I hoped he enjoyed the rest of his Christmas evening. “Oh, I will,” he said. “And I’ll enjoy the day after that, and the day after that one, too!” I hung up the phone and looked at the mess of Christmas presents scattered in played-with pieces all over our living room floor. I listened to the littlest one of us cough, and walked past some stale sweets that normally would have been eaten if we had all had our appetites. It seemed overwhelming at first glance, and maybe even a little disheartening in a sense. But you know what I realized in the midst of it all? I’m just blessed, that’s all there is to it. Thanks for reminding me, Granddaddy.
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