My husband is an optometrist, which means two things. First of all, as an optometrist he is qualified to do eye exams, treat eye diseases, remove foreign objects, prescribe glasses and just about everything else that doesn’t involve surgery. It also means that I’m like the shoemaker’s daughter who has no shoes. Let’s just say that scheduling an eye exam is much easier if you aren’t married to the doctor. Lucky for him, I don’t have a lot of eye issues.
Recently, however, I find my eyes to be more sore than usual. At first I thought it was just because I was tired but seriously, nobody could be that tired all the time so I mentioned to John that I thought I might have dry eyes. After a few days of nagging – I mean reminding – he brought home some eye drops that would help the situation. They did help, but since the drops were just in a sample container I quickly ran out and needed another bottle. Rather than “remind” him for days I decided that it would be quicker to just drop by the office and get some.
I managed to arrive at a time when John was between patients so he decided that he should look at my eyes to see if indeed they were really dry or if I was just imagining things. He didn’t say that of course, but I know that’s what he was thinking. So, I went to the exam room and let him put drops in my eyes that would color the tears. John says I complain more about this than any of his other patients. He’s probably right but I’m sure they are equally annoyed by said drops.
After a few minutes of shining bright lights in my eyes I hear what every patient loves to hear from her doctor; “Hmmm.” That can’t be good. “Hmmm . . what?” I say. John then tells me I have Epithelial Basement Membrane Dystrophy. “I have WHAT?” A list of questions flit through my mind but the fact that my husband isn’t crying tells me that it isn’t very serious. He’s very sensitive and believe me if there was something seriously wrong with my eyes he’d be crying before me. Of course, that’s because he’d know first.
John goes on to tell me that I can blame my parents because this is an inherited syndrome. My mother, by the way, refuses to take the blame. She either doesn’t have it, or isn’t aware that she does and since she has already messed with my medical history in so many other areas she is NOT willing to take responsibility for this one.
I asked for more details and John said I should look it up on the computer. (Like I said, shoemaker’s daughter syndrome.) I really need to warn him about suggesting to patients that they look things up on the computer. He’s not much of a computer wiz (HUGE understatement) so isn’t aware of the horrible things you come across when you look up medical issues on the internet. Tonight I ventured online to get more information about Epithelial Basement Membrane Dystrophy or EBMD as they like to refer to it.
EBMD is essentially like dry eyes but is really a spot on the outer surface of the eye that doesn’t attach properly to the surface below that. (I’m sure John could give you a much more technical description but it would take more space and sound much more doctor like.) Generally, EBMD doesn’t show up until after the fourth decade of life (thanks for that) and can be treated with a variety of medications. BUT, and this is my favorite part, if it doesn’t clear up, one of the treatments is epithelial debridement, which is essentially scraping off the outer layer in hopes that it grows back and attaches properly. Thanks honey, I’m so glad I looked that up. Doesn’t that sound like fun?
Somehow this reminds me of when I was younger and had just gotten my braces off. The orthodontist looked at me and said, “Now don’t forget to wear your retainer. If you don’t wear it your teeth will all go crooked again and we’ll have to start all over.” After five years of braces that was some good motivation.
I’m thinking that those eye drops John gave me are like gold. If I don’t use them, there could be some “scraping” in my future. This information does beg the question, “why wasn’t John crying?” Clearly, he doesn’t think it’s very serious; that’s all I can figure. But, to be on the safe side, I’m going to go find those drops.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Cactus are like People
It happens every year. The beginning of December rolls around and suddenly I realize that winter is setting in, which can only mean one thing. I'm going to freeze. So, in a desperate attempt to survive the oncoming winter months I start cashing in frequent flyer miles for flights to warmer locations. This year, a friend and I decided that Phoenix, Arizona was the place to be.
So, here we are trying to take in all the area has to offer. The other day we decided to visit the Desert Botanical Garden. I must admit, I've never been a huge fan of cactus but I guess age has changed my perspective and now I find them to be quite fascinating. There is a certain allure to the desert that is unmatched in other areas of the country. I never cease to be amazed by the uniqueness and beauty of God's creation all over the world.
The other thing I noticed is that the cacti are as unique as people. I mean really, look around; you've got your tall, skinny people; short, squatty people; those with spikey hair, a variety of colors, etc. Cactus are the same way; short, tall, spikey, mulit-colored, and interesting.
This particular cactus is one of my favorites. They stand there tall and proud, like a soldier. Thier appendages give each one its own personality and make them look like they are waving, or holding up a road sign. (As you can see I sometimes have quite the imagination.)
The birds are obviously fond of the tall, statuesque cacti also. Personally, I can't imagine sitting on something so prickly but hey, I'm not a bird. Each of these cacti have an extensive water resevoir inside which may be what attracts the birds.
Just like people, sometimes you have to look very closely to find the beauty. In another couple of months I think this whole area is going to come alive with beautiful, blooming cacti. What a bummer I can't stay and watch it all unfold.
This cactus seems like the deserts answer to pumpkins. Though I doubt they'd be much fun to carve, I think they are just adorable. (Yes, I just called a pumpkin adorable.)
My friend, Debbie, tells me that my pictures made the desert look even better than it was in person. I don't know about that but I love the pinkish, purple color scattered about this cactus. Simply beautiful, in it's own crazy way.
These little guys remind me of sea urchins but don't be fooled; they won't close up when you touch them; most likely they'll leave you with a bloody finger.
To be honest, this cactus creeps me out a bit. It kind of reminds me of a bunch of snakes. Eww...let's move on.
The colors in the desert come alive as the sun sets. Simply amazing.
So, here we are trying to take in all the area has to offer. The other day we decided to visit the Desert Botanical Garden. I must admit, I've never been a huge fan of cactus but I guess age has changed my perspective and now I find them to be quite fascinating. There is a certain allure to the desert that is unmatched in other areas of the country. I never cease to be amazed by the uniqueness and beauty of God's creation all over the world.
The other thing I noticed is that the cacti are as unique as people. I mean really, look around; you've got your tall, skinny people; short, squatty people; those with spikey hair, a variety of colors, etc. Cactus are the same way; short, tall, spikey, mulit-colored, and interesting.
This particular cactus is one of my favorites. They stand there tall and proud, like a soldier. Thier appendages give each one its own personality and make them look like they are waving, or holding up a road sign. (As you can see I sometimes have quite the imagination.)
The birds are obviously fond of the tall, statuesque cacti also. Personally, I can't imagine sitting on something so prickly but hey, I'm not a bird. Each of these cacti have an extensive water resevoir inside which may be what attracts the birds.
Just like people, sometimes you have to look very closely to find the beauty. In another couple of months I think this whole area is going to come alive with beautiful, blooming cacti. What a bummer I can't stay and watch it all unfold.
This cactus seems like the deserts answer to pumpkins. Though I doubt they'd be much fun to carve, I think they are just adorable. (Yes, I just called a pumpkin adorable.)
My friend, Debbie, tells me that my pictures made the desert look even better than it was in person. I don't know about that but I love the pinkish, purple color scattered about this cactus. Simply beautiful, in it's own crazy way.
These little guys remind me of sea urchins but don't be fooled; they won't close up when you touch them; most likely they'll leave you with a bloody finger.
To be honest, this cactus creeps me out a bit. It kind of reminds me of a bunch of snakes. Eww...let's move on.
The colors in the desert come alive as the sun sets. Simply amazing.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Are You Kidding Me?
Did you know that January is National Organization Month? Who would have thought that I'd actually be on time for something? If you recall, my last blog was about organizing my kitchen cupboard, complete with labels. Just one cupboard, mind you, but it's a start. The other day, though, I was sort of forced into an "organizational spree."
I was attempting to complete some work on the computer when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, my internet completely quit working. This, of course, would never do. I tried all of the typical tricks; unplug the modem, unplug the wireless router, restart the computer, etc. Nothing worked. So, I called my internet service provider and told him everything I'd done, and then asked for his help. What did he say? "Ma'am, could you please unplug the power cord to the modem?" Really? Weren't you listening? Didn't I just tell you that I already did that? But, I obediently unplugged the modem - for the third time - with no change. So, the helper guy tells me that he'll need to send a technician to the house. Perfect, I can't wait to see him. (All implied sarcasm intended.)
As I hung up the phone I surveyed my office desk and realized that this would never do. It was a mess, beyond a mess really. I had avoided cleaning the plethora of papers off my desk for way too many months. I figured an hour or two would be needed to get it clean enough for me to avoid embarrassment when the technician showed up.
It's amazing what you can throw away if you wait long enough. I was surprised to discover that more papers were "filed" in the recycling bin than anywhere else. I was also surprised to find fourteen recipes on my desk; including the one I searched for at Christmas. Who put them there, I wonder?
Finally, after five, yes five hours of filing, throwing, and organizing, I picked up one of the last pieces of paper left on my desk. There was an email address written on it so I opened my email program to add said address to my contact list, thus allowing me to throw that last little post-it note away. And, what do you suppose happened? Sure enough, my email started receiving messages, which means, of course, that now my internet was working.
Are you kidding me? I cleaned that desk off for no good reason? The technician isn't coming? Apparently the modem, which sits on my desk behind the computer, has an issue with claustrophobia and needed some space. It's the only reasonable explanation. Either that or God knew I needed a little nudge to get this job done. He probably heard it was National Organization Month before I did.
I was attempting to complete some work on the computer when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, my internet completely quit working. This, of course, would never do. I tried all of the typical tricks; unplug the modem, unplug the wireless router, restart the computer, etc. Nothing worked. So, I called my internet service provider and told him everything I'd done, and then asked for his help. What did he say? "Ma'am, could you please unplug the power cord to the modem?" Really? Weren't you listening? Didn't I just tell you that I already did that? But, I obediently unplugged the modem - for the third time - with no change. So, the helper guy tells me that he'll need to send a technician to the house. Perfect, I can't wait to see him. (All implied sarcasm intended.)
As I hung up the phone I surveyed my office desk and realized that this would never do. It was a mess, beyond a mess really. I had avoided cleaning the plethora of papers off my desk for way too many months. I figured an hour or two would be needed to get it clean enough for me to avoid embarrassment when the technician showed up.
It's amazing what you can throw away if you wait long enough. I was surprised to discover that more papers were "filed" in the recycling bin than anywhere else. I was also surprised to find fourteen recipes on my desk; including the one I searched for at Christmas. Who put them there, I wonder?
Finally, after five, yes five hours of filing, throwing, and organizing, I picked up one of the last pieces of paper left on my desk. There was an email address written on it so I opened my email program to add said address to my contact list, thus allowing me to throw that last little post-it note away. And, what do you suppose happened? Sure enough, my email started receiving messages, which means, of course, that now my internet was working.
Are you kidding me? I cleaned that desk off for no good reason? The technician isn't coming? Apparently the modem, which sits on my desk behind the computer, has an issue with claustrophobia and needed some space. It's the only reasonable explanation. Either that or God knew I needed a little nudge to get this job done. He probably heard it was National Organization Month before I did.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Armed, but Not So Dangerous
I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s Resolutions. They just have way too much potential to make me feel like a failure. Last year I wrote a blog in January stating that instead of writing resolutions, I’d set goals. Somehow that seemed better. Everyone says that goals are good for us. I even read a Twitter post recently by psychologist Dr. Henry Cloud that said, “people who set goals are happier than those who don't.” After reading through the list of goals that I wrote down last January, I’m not convinced that his theory is correct.
In January 2009 I wrote down 15 different goals; personal, spiritual, and work related. At least a few of them should have been pretty easy to accomplish. In other words, some of them were lame goals. But, how many did I accomplish? THREE! Do I feel happy now? No, as predicted I feel like a failure. I hate feeling like a failure. Dr. Cloud says that in order to reach our goals we need to commit to a process, not a set goal. In other words, if I want to write a book, I don’t put “write book” down as my goal. Instead I set my goal as “spend two days a week writing.” At least I think that’s what he means, but it still sounds like a set goal to me. And, by the way, I did set “process oriented goals” last year. It still didn’t work. Maybe my failure stemmed from not looking at my list of goals at least once a month. I don’t know. I think I need more information to make this work.
In light of my 2009 goal setting fiasco, I’ve decided to set only two goals this year. And, I’m happy to share them with you. I might need you to hold me accountable come August.
Goal #1: Never refuse free plane tickets. It’s a reasonable goal that shouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish. The exception, of course, would be if someone I’ve never met offers to pay my way to India or something like that. Other than that, I think this is a goal I can easily achieve.
Goal #2 will be a little more challenging. I’ve mentioned before in my blog that there seems to be an organized person inside of me screaming to get out. This year, I’m going to give the girl a break and let her have a few days of my life. I’m tired of searching for things. The way I figure it, the old saying “A place for everything and everything in its place,” will be a lot easier to accomplish if there truly is a place for everything. After 34 years of keeping house, I’ve come to the conclusion that my biggest organizational issue is that when I don’t really know where something should go it just sits around on any flat surface I can find as it waits for a home. Flat surfaces are very dangerous!
My plan is to spend a little time each week systematically cleaning out cupboards, drawers, and closets. I’m going to be ruthless. The garbage man will notice heavier loads; the Goodwill man will know my name; my kids will be saying “please don’t send anything else home with us. We don’t want it!”
And, I’m armed. I have a label maker and I know how to use it. If you decide to get organized, a label maker really makes the whole process more fun. John will be lucky if I don’t start labeling his underwear!
I’ve already made some progress. The Christmas decorations are all labeled in their boxes and yesterday I cleaned out one kitchen cupboard. In said cupboard I found 2 jars of mayonnaise, three boxes of expired tapioca (which sadly I looked for at Christmas and couldn’t find even ONE), countless containers of sprinkles (do they get stale?), eight cans of soup (John feels more secure with soup in the cupboard), and a number of other items that were way past prime. I just know that you are dying to see my newly arranged cupboard. Sorry, I didn’t take before shots. It was one of those spur of the moment decisions and cans were already strewn about the kitchen before I even thought of a photo. Trust me, it was BAD!
So, we’ll see how the year goes. If I can see the top of my desk by the end of February, I’ll be thrilled. Baby steps . . .
In January 2009 I wrote down 15 different goals; personal, spiritual, and work related. At least a few of them should have been pretty easy to accomplish. In other words, some of them were lame goals. But, how many did I accomplish? THREE! Do I feel happy now? No, as predicted I feel like a failure. I hate feeling like a failure. Dr. Cloud says that in order to reach our goals we need to commit to a process, not a set goal. In other words, if I want to write a book, I don’t put “write book” down as my goal. Instead I set my goal as “spend two days a week writing.” At least I think that’s what he means, but it still sounds like a set goal to me. And, by the way, I did set “process oriented goals” last year. It still didn’t work. Maybe my failure stemmed from not looking at my list of goals at least once a month. I don’t know. I think I need more information to make this work.
In light of my 2009 goal setting fiasco, I’ve decided to set only two goals this year. And, I’m happy to share them with you. I might need you to hold me accountable come August.
Goal #1: Never refuse free plane tickets. It’s a reasonable goal that shouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish. The exception, of course, would be if someone I’ve never met offers to pay my way to India or something like that. Other than that, I think this is a goal I can easily achieve.
Goal #2 will be a little more challenging. I’ve mentioned before in my blog that there seems to be an organized person inside of me screaming to get out. This year, I’m going to give the girl a break and let her have a few days of my life. I’m tired of searching for things. The way I figure it, the old saying “A place for everything and everything in its place,” will be a lot easier to accomplish if there truly is a place for everything. After 34 years of keeping house, I’ve come to the conclusion that my biggest organizational issue is that when I don’t really know where something should go it just sits around on any flat surface I can find as it waits for a home. Flat surfaces are very dangerous!
My plan is to spend a little time each week systematically cleaning out cupboards, drawers, and closets. I’m going to be ruthless. The garbage man will notice heavier loads; the Goodwill man will know my name; my kids will be saying “please don’t send anything else home with us. We don’t want it!”
And, I’m armed. I have a label maker and I know how to use it. If you decide to get organized, a label maker really makes the whole process more fun. John will be lucky if I don’t start labeling his underwear!
I’ve already made some progress. The Christmas decorations are all labeled in their boxes and yesterday I cleaned out one kitchen cupboard. In said cupboard I found 2 jars of mayonnaise, three boxes of expired tapioca (which sadly I looked for at Christmas and couldn’t find even ONE), countless containers of sprinkles (do they get stale?), eight cans of soup (John feels more secure with soup in the cupboard), and a number of other items that were way past prime. I just know that you are dying to see my newly arranged cupboard. Sorry, I didn’t take before shots. It was one of those spur of the moment decisions and cans were already strewn about the kitchen before I even thought of a photo. Trust me, it was BAD!
So, we’ll see how the year goes. If I can see the top of my desk by the end of February, I’ll be thrilled. Baby steps . . .
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Dance, My Friend
A little over a year ago I wrote on my blog about my friend, Lacey, who, it appeared, was dying. Two weeks later though, she was healed and home again. Truly, it was a miracle. No one held out much hope for her healing, yet Lacey (and the antibiotics) fought the infection in her lungs and lived. She still had her cancer, however, so we continued to pray.
Lacey’s cancer spent the last year invading her entire body. Yet Lacey remained strong in her faith and belief that her earthly body would be healed. We all did. Despite our prayers and faith, on Wednesday, January 6, 2010, Lacey took her final breath on this earth and seconds later took a new, fresh, unencumbered breath on the shores of heaven.
There is really no way for those of us left behind to make sense of this great loss. I am not a great theologian, and truth be told, I’m pretty sure most of them struggle with these kinds of situations. They boggle our earthly minds. I have spent this past week pleading with God to miraculously heal Lacey. I know I wasn’t the only one praying that way. And, though some may call me crazy, I know that against all odds God could have done that. But He didn’t. And, I know that He has reasons that will one day make perfect sense to me. It just doesn’t make sense today.
Lacey was one of the strongest women I know. She fought her cancer with a determination that I’m fairly certain I could never muster. She always had the sweetest smile on her face and she rarely complained. But, besides her sweet smile and indomitable spirit, there is one thing about Lacey that I will never forget. One day, when I was talking to her she said, “I decided a long time ago that I can live like I’m gonna live, or live like I’m gonna die. I’m choosing to live like I’m gonna live.” Nothing says it better than that. I know healthy people who don’t “live like they're gonna live.” Some days I’m one of them.
Tuesday night when I was reading my Bible and praying for Lacey, there was a verse that stuck out to me. The end of Mark 5 tells the story of Jarius’ daughter who had been ill and even died. Jesus went to Jarius’ home and, despite the wailing of the mourners, went into the Jarius’ daughter's room and in verse 41 it says, “Holding her hand, he said to her, “Talitha koum,” which means “Little girl, get up!”
Oh, how I had hoped that is what Jesus had done in Lacey’s hospital room on Wednesday. In some ways, I’m sure He did. I can imagine Him saying to her, “Come on baby girl, get up, I’ve got something to show you that’ll blow you away.”
Sweet Lacey, you will be greatly missed but you dance, girlfriend, on those streets of gold.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Anniversaries and Applause
The other day I attended a 50th wedding anniversary celebration for our friends, Marty and Alicia. Wow, 50 years! That is a long time to wake up next to the same person every day. Actually, for a long time, Marty got up for work in the wee hours of the morning so there probably hasn’t been a whole lot of waking up next to each other in the last 50 years. Perhaps, that is the key to their lasting relationship. Regardless, it seems in this day and age, that my friends have beaten the odds and that is a great reason to celebrate.
At the party I ran into my friend, Marilyn. Marilyn was the pastor’s wife of the church we attended when we first moved to Minnesota. She was also the church organist, and by far, one of the best accompanists with whom I’ve ever sung. She and her husband are now enjoying retirement but that has not stopped Marilyn from playing the organ. She was telling us about the organ she bought for her house.
Imagine the uses for an applause button. One could certainly see how nice it would be to have an ovation when you finish playing a little Bach toccata or Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, but I can see a multitude of uses that have nothing to do with music. How fun would it be, say, to have applause when you get out of bed in the morning? “YAY, you did it, you got out of bed!” Personally, I could use the encouragement. Then again, maybe that’s too early. I’m not really ready for an audience at the crack of dawn. (Who am I kidding? I’m never up at the crack of dawn.)
There are other times during the day, of course, where applause would be appreciated. Some clapping would certainly be in order when I finish doing the laundry, tidying up the house, or cooking dinner. Just imagine how that would spur me on to do more. Feeling a little down about yourself? Maybe some applause would perk you up? Lost a couple pounds? Congratulate yourself, and have the audience join you.
I don’t play the organ so that investment might be a bit much, you know, just for the applause, but it turns out that you can buy a sound machine that not only applauds but also makes wolf whistle noises. Wouldn’t that be handy when you are trying on new outfits? I think they might be onto something.
I probably won’t go out and buy a machine to applaud for me, but would like to offer a little to Marty and Alicia for their 50 years of marriage. Congratulations my friends, on a promise kept. May you share many more years together.
Friday, December 25, 2009
A Christmas Story
It's after midnight on Christmas eve, so technically it's already Christmas, and I should be in bed; but, I wanted to share a Christmas greeting with you before the day is out. As you might expect, Christmas doesn't leave one a lot of time for writing a blog so I'm going to share a little story that arrived via email today. Yes, I know, there are plenty of forwarded stories and you may have read this before, but I think it's worth reading again.
The story is called "The Table Cloth." I have no idea if it's true. It doesn't really matter. What does matter is that we should never give up believing that God is a God of miracles. If He weren't, there would be no reason to celebrate today. If you haven't already done so, give Him your life and watch Him do amazing things. He'll walk you through the good times and the bad; love you like you've never been loved; and prepare one incredible home (mortgage free) for you in heaven. Really, it's the only birthday gift He wants from you, today. And the best part? It's the greatest gift you'll ever get, too.
Have a blessed Christmas, my friend, and enjoy the story.
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.
They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc., and on December 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.
On December 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.
On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church.His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.
The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity, so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.
By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.
She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.
Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten "The Tablecloth". The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria.
When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. He was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.
The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church.The pastor insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving.
The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier.
He helped the man climb the three flights ofstairs to the woman's apartment, knocked onthe door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
The story is called "The Table Cloth." I have no idea if it's true. It doesn't really matter. What does matter is that we should never give up believing that God is a God of miracles. If He weren't, there would be no reason to celebrate today. If you haven't already done so, give Him your life and watch Him do amazing things. He'll walk you through the good times and the bad; love you like you've never been loved; and prepare one incredible home (mortgage free) for you in heaven. Really, it's the only birthday gift He wants from you, today. And the best part? It's the greatest gift you'll ever get, too.
Have a blessed Christmas, my friend, and enjoy the story.
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.
They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc., and on December 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.
On December 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.
On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church.His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.
The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity, so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.
By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.
She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.
Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten "The Tablecloth". The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria.
When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. He was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.
The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church.The pastor insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving.
The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier.
He helped the man climb the three flights ofstairs to the woman's apartment, knocked onthe door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
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