I bit the bullet.

I took a dive.

I joined the club.

After almost 40 years of not being able to hear much out of my right ear due to an accident, today, I can hear again.

Just in time to listen to the crowd roar tonight.

Go Blue Devils.

This evening, I am grateful for enough in the bank to get a new ear.

I am grateful for the whatever it is that is making it not so rough to accept this new season.

I am grateful for hair over my ears.

And I am grateful for cute shoes.

Good honk.

It is what my cousins Debbie and Sheri used to say instead of the typical Charlie Brownism, “good grief.”

It is fitting right now. Part of this new plant-based eating plan we have undertaken includes the addition of Indian Gooseberry.

I can almost guarantee you haven’t ever had one. But I double dog dare you.

Good honk it is not for the faint of heart.

Good honk it is not for the wimps who throw in towels easily.

Good honk.

It is so bitter and tart, it has to be consumed in powder form, called amla powder. A daily dose is 1 teaspoon, I kid you not. And 1 teaspoon is DI.FIH.COLT. to get down.

This berry has the highest antioxidant content of any food known to man, 200 times more than blueberries.

This berry has the 2nd highest content of Vitamin C, right behind camu camu fruit, whatever THAT is.

The average American meal has 25-100 units of antioxidants. One tiny teaspoon of this honker has nearly 800 units of antioxidants.

On this Friday evening, I am grateful for a few things.

1. My work family ordered a bag of amla powder and did a test kitchen yesterday, sending us the video so we could see them try it before we did. And they are going to do this with us. I love them all.
2. Sara was here with us as we attempted this bitter nastiness, so she has an idea of what SACRIFICES we are making to change our lifestyle and get Sam to healing.
3. Sam didn’t throw it ALL up.
4. I didn’t throw ANY of it up.
5. We are now 4 teaspoons down. Just 47,000 more to go.

There are some things you just have to do. It’s so routine you don’t even think about it. At least, that is the way it is in our home. Brushing teeth every morning. Turning off the light when you are finished in the room. Making the bed. Doing the dishes as you cook so that they don’t pile up and prolong clean up later. Praying before you get out of bed each day, before meals, when you are angry or upset or excited or anxious or sad or depressed or fearful…and as your last thought as your eyes grow heavy in the dark of the night.

Winter brings more routine tasks. Antifreeze. Dripping faucets. New furnace filters. Changing the closet and drawers from summer clothes to sweaters and hoodies and coats and gloves. Treating the sidewalks, shoveling snow, and brushing snow off windshields.

Brushing snow is so easy. The snow is soft, quickly blown into the breeze of the sunshiny morning with each pass of the tool, and it leaves the windshield a sparkly clean, unlike having to use the scraper side when it is icy and gloves are left in the car because I didn’t realize it was icy and would require effort.

I am grateful for Westlake Hardware, their ice scraper, and the fact that I got to brush snow off the windshield yesterday morning.

I am grateful for a small group of friends who are my go-to when we need prayer.

I am grateful for toothpaste and a toothbrush.

I am grateful for a Halloween card from Delores that made me laugh. She sent us two Reese’s wrappers with the explanation that the candy didn’t last long enough to send to us.

I am grateful for lotion as the dry air begins to dry out my hands.

I am grateful for snow in October, even though the mums decided they were not okay with it all.

I am grateful for a message on Sunday about coveting and contentment.

I am grateful for a great friend who painted our home and blessed us with his presence all last week. Sam has a knack for finding the best craftsmen with the best attitudes. This home is filled with their workmanship.

I am grateful for a fireplace to enjoy with Sam this fall and winter, and for his planning and preparation so we would have plenty of wood.

I am grateful for the sound of leaves crunching as I walk through the yard and the fact that in the same week, I could enjoy leaf crunch AND snow quiet.

I am grateful for new Christmas stamps.

I am grateful for the relationships we have with Sam’s doctors.

I am grateful for a simple message given to me because of Tater the cat drinking his water. He meowed and meowed and then I noticed his bowl needed water. He drank and drank and drank and drank, and first, I was taken aback by his thirst. And then I watched him drink. It was consistent, small little “laps” with his tongue in rhythm with the bowl of water. His routine.

Psalm 42.

In this “winter season” of our reality, I want to thirst for God like Tate thirsted for water. I need to. I need to have consistent little “laps” of His Word, constantly crying out to God through my thoughts and my spoken prayers. “I need You. Sam needs You.” As The Message puts it: I’m on a diet of tears—tears for breakfast, tears for supper.

But as verse 11 shows me, it is a season. And God is God. He is our stability. He is our Rock when everything else around us feels like sand:

Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul? Why are you crying the blues?
Fix my eyes on God—soon I’ll be praising again.
He puts a smile on my face.
He’s [our = Rhonda and Sam] God.

It’s routine. Like brushing snow.

The hum of the pickup tires on the quiet highway this morning lulls me into deep thought. I glance over at Sam, one hand on the wheel, keeping a watchful eye on the road and the dark ditches, mindful of glowing blue orbs, indicators of deer ready to cross. He is also deep in thought…and dread, I suppose.

As I watch him, he looks over at me, the predawn sky just beyond his profile. He smiles warmly.

As we were gathering the meds and supplies and breakfast and water to make this trip once again, Alexa played, “You are My Hiding Place,” by Selah. It’s kind of our thing on these early mornings, attempting to keep the fears and the realities at bay, putting our focus on our call to trust God in all this.

“You always fill my heart with joy, and deliverance, whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You, I will trust in You…”

I am grateful for Sam’s warmth in a simple smile, for his strength in adversity, for answers to prayers unspoken, for grace given freely by my employers who understand all too well this caregiver role and the stress that accompanies it, for early morning quietness as Sam faces yet another treatment, for the incredible gift of predawn colors, for school bus drivers who commit to picking up the farm kids on cold dark October mornings before the rest of the sane world wakes.

I am grateful for eight grandchildren who have increased our heart size and given us laughter and swollen chests and tears and muddy shoes and laundry to do and Amazon shopping carts full and…plans of reasons to live.

Sam: “I would have never had this blessing, Rhonda.”

I need this to last forever.

I find myself, these days, in a daze.

A lack of focus one day, unable to carry out a simple task, distracted by random thoughts that then morph into an hour gone by with nothing accomplished.

This can be followed by an obsessed focus on cancer research and alternative therapies another day, needing to know all the things right now, because time is fleeting.

And in the middle of it all, I beat myself up internally, because my Savior, my Father, is here with me, in the background, just waiting for me to acknowledge His Presence, His ever present help in times of trouble. And the gifts He continues to give to me are given without thanks, without response, without focused gratitude. I hear others around me verbally express their thanksgiving, the things they are learning from scripture, the insight gained from study and reflection, and the more I hear, the worse I feel, because I am not “measuring up” as a follower of Christ.

This morning, I read from my David Jeremiah/Aunt Patsy Uncle Charlie/Dad devotion: “As we mature in our walk with the Lord, we’ll learn more about His goodness with every step we take. Our faith isn’t a religion, but a relationship. Prayer and Bible study aren’t simply rituals, but conversations. Our God isn’t just a distant force; He’s an ever-present friend. The focus of our faith is getting to know Him better.”

Right now, I guess the Lord is my ever-present friend who is “sitting shiva” with me. I am counting on Him not caring that I do not have all the words, all the scripture quotes, all the insights and revelations. I am counting on Him to just quietly sit with me when I am feeling the weight of the world in my shoulders. I am counting on Him to be okay with my silence.

This old Friends Church hymn is my background noise today. I am just a few years old, but I can hear Mom’s alto while she strokes my hair, my head in her lap, unknowingly learning these words that will stick with me all the days of my life. Roy Quick and Shirley Dunn are singing at the top of their lungs. Lowell is at the pulpit, rocking up and back on the balls of his feet with a heavenly smile on his face. Josephine is looking at him adoringly, and Carolyn is at the piano, leading us all as we sing…

Each step I take my Savior goes before me,
And with His loving hand He leads the way,
And with each breath I whisper “I adore Thee;”
Oh, what joy to walk with Him each day.

Ref:
Each step I take I know that He will guide me;
To higher ground He ever leads me on.
Until some day the last step will be taken.
Each step I take just leads me closer home.

At times I feel my faith begin to waver,
When up ahead I see a chasm wide.
It’s then I turn and look up to my Savior,
I am strong when He is by my side.

I trust in God, no matter come what may,
For life eternal in His hand,
He holds the key that opens up the way,
That will lead me to the promised land.

Today, I am grateful for days without daze.

I am grateful for a relationship with God.

I am grateful for silence while He is “sitting shiva” with me.

I am grateful that I can just talk to Him without all the flowery stuff and I don’t have to show off to the world that I know scripture and phrases that prove I am a Christian. I can just talk to Him, and that is all I need. That is all He needs, too.

I am grateful that as I listen to the thunder, as I work while the rain falls, as I notice the beauty in a purple hydrangea or the way a spider web is perfection, I also have the knowledge and realization that God, who created it all, isn’t out there beyond the stars.

He is my day.

He is my clear blue sky in the daze.

He is my ever present help in times of trouble.

He gives me these incredible gifts, even when I am silent and do not acknowledge.

For His understanding and unending love, I am grateful.

In the middle of Iowa on this Monday afternoon, we carry baggage for a week.

We carry snacks for an army.

We carry two family members who are along for the ride, ready to offer emotional and physical support as needed this week.

We carry medicine, supplies, technology for work, and a small stack of books to continue learning about healthy eating and alternative cancer therapies.

We carry text messages from co-workers and friends, offering prayers of support and messages of encouragement.

We carry anxiety and worry.

We carry stress and sleepless exhaustion from an unexpected beginning to this week.

We carry a dented left front fender and a bug-spattered windshield.

We carry laughter and stories as we converse and reminisce about all the things.

But we also carry hope for a great week at Mayo and positive results.

We carry pictures of grandchildren, “hanitizer” for the sticky and the germy, and a hidden bag of M&Ms because be real.

We carry enjoyment of road trips and each other’s company.

We carry prayer for loved ones who need it, and prayer for the driver in the hospital.

And we carry gratitude for God’s protection last night, along with some ibuprofen for a stiff neck.

I thought I was going to die this morning. It wasn’t a “life flashing before you” kind of moment when a semi truck is seconds away or anything.

It was a big honkin’ “this is going to make me healthy” pill.

I am no nada not joking.

Life is a comedy act but not a laughing matter, ya know. Sam had just left for work and Tate the cat wasn’t even around to witness – he was out guarding the compound from the evil stray cat and enjoying his laid back life pouncing on grasshoppers, while I was inside thinking “this is the big one.”

My day begins at my desk in front of three big monitors. My devotions are done, I peruse Facebook for a few minutes, and I gather 15 supplements in the palm of my hand and swallow them all in two batches before diving into research and email sending for my job.

I USED to think supplements would counteract all the junk food and picky proclivity and I would be graced into good health. My former herb-and-vitamin-loving mom-in-law begged to differ, but one thing I DID learn from her was how to swallow a massive amount of supplements all at once. There might have been a few stupid challenges many years ago to see who in the family could down the most at one time…I digress.

Today was like every other morning at this stay-at-home job. I had finished my egg, cut a few apple slices, and got to swallowing my nutrients. Every once in a while, one will go down wrong, and it takes a bite of something or a swig of water to help it go down the pipe. But today was a different story altogether.

This particular swallow brought that deep down in the pipe pain that doesn’t go away with extra swallows – it was past the point of swallowing. I am typing the word “swallow” too much. But I was swallowing and swallowing and the pain just got worse. I drank my water. Swallowed. Several times. Swallowed. I sliced a couple of apple slices and downed those. Swallow swallow. Still major crying out pain quietly to myself. And I began to have a hard time breathing to the point of minor panic and no breathing.

To make a long story a little shorter, I thought I was going to die this morning and I am grateful I did not.

I am grateful that Sam didn’t come home to find me unconscious in my apple and horse pill spittle.

I am grateful I didn’t fall down the stairs as I was desperately trying to figure out how to dislodge and breathe.

I am grateful Tate the Potato wasn’t panicked and stayed calm albeit with his unsympathetic, annoyed stare.

I am grateful I wasn’t on a video call with the office co-workers who would have laughed at my distress while calling 9-1-1 which would do no good out here where the town siren is the distress call of choice.

I am grateful I had enough sense about me to watch myself suffocating to near death in the bathroom mirror, looking at my horrified face with the thought, “THIS is not how I was supposed to go.”

And I am grateful that God had the same thought.

False alarm, Tater. Sorry to interrupt your morning hopper hunt.

How many times did I cause my parents pain after I grew up and was no longer “theirs?” What were the choices I made that made my mama’s heart hurt?

I can think of so many…but at the time, I was too engrossed in my own life and my own selfish world to even comprehend the silent impact my choices had on the ones who raised me.

I have a friend who is grieving a decision her child has made, and it has stirred a flood of emotions for me, as well. I watch her hurt and love hard, quietly being a mom who cannot change a mind, who has lived a life full of experience but is helpless to advise one who is determined to proceed down a path.

It is difficult mothering an adult child. Our duties to shelter and protect and train that we once took for granted in the middle of physical exhaustion and living life with littles now comes to the forefront of our mind after our duty to shelter and protect and train is long gone.

Parenting an adult child now shifts to quietly listening, showing up when asked, only offering advice when requested, welcoming with open arms, and showing that unconditional love, even when the love is not always returned.

Today, I am grateful for wisdom that comes with age. 54 years in, I know now how Mom and Dad felt.

Today, I am grateful for the pain, the tears, the loneliness. These emotions are reminders that God blessed me with the responsibility of motherhood and gave me two beautiful and priceless gifts, and even though they are now gifts from a distance, they are still my responsibility to uphold in prayer and mine to love hard.

Today, I am grateful for the reminder that I am not perfect. Just because I am a mom does not mean I am perfect. I am human. I have feelings. I have good days, and I have not-so-good days. I made and still make choices and decisions in my adult life that make others cringe, and I must learn to show grace, give space, and forgive, just as others have done for me.

Today, I am grateful for the beauty of a mother’s love, for my friend’s wounded heart that shows she loves hard and is the best mama for her adult child.

Today, I am grateful to still be the mom of the most wonderful girls in the world.

Today, I am grateful for the opportunity, once again, to be in Overland Park for the week, working in my office office, not my home office.

I am grateful for Dad’s couch.

I am grateful for a really cool movie that made me need tissues last night – Overcomer. Great story.

I am grateful for work friends.

I am grateful for dawn pink clouds before they change to white with the sun and everyone else wakes up.

I am grateful for road construction when it is done.

I am grateful for the “er-er-er-er-er” sounds of these amplified katydids all the stinkin’ night because they remind me how peaceful small town USA is without them.

I am grateful for an hour and a half of solitude in the office before the rest of the crew arrives.

I am grateful for Tate the Potato, Chief, Pistol, Topo, Panther, Katie, and Sneakers – cats have the funniest names.

I am grateful for a space heater even in summer – office air and sitting for hours requires one in my books.

I am grateful for dental cleanings and routine maintenance.

I am grateful for car washes that I don’t have to do myself.

I am grateful for meandering out of my comfort zone. It’s good for me.

And I am grateful for Psalm 46.

…for the simple message of “I love you, buddy. I am right here.” – Rain, 001

…for soft Tater fur and the calming of the purr.

…for the carbonation of a ginger ale.

…for his understanding and ear when my overwhelm overwhelms and I just can’t keep the caregiver stress under the rug.

…for the smell of a clean t-shirt.

…for a kind chemo nurse who takes time to visit.

…for the peace of watching Sam sleep through his treatment.

…for a purse large enough to carry all the things.

…for best number in the world 11 grandchildren, thanks to a new grandson.

…for quiet devotions as we travel down the road with a beautiful sunrise.

…for timeliness of Geri’s encouragement.

…for prairie grass.

…for Parker, Reilly, and Tatum’s first day of school pictures sent in a text.

…for my husband who loves me and tells me.

…for an oncologist who speaks reality mixed with compassion.

…for the anticipation of autumn.

…for a relationship with God who whispers in our devotions, “I love you, buddy. I am right here.”