I don’t know what to do. Should I shout for joy, or crawl in the bed and cry? Do I put a halt on my thoughts, my feelings, my prayers so that I can remain the same?
Do I fear the change itself, or myself once I’ve been changed?
Will I stop loving those I’ve always loved – to make room for the new ones that have wiggled in?
Will these changes eventually hurt, like the changes I’ve made in the past have hurt? Will I be blessed like I’ve been blessed before with other changes?
Does God understand?
Okay, so maybe I went a little too far with that last question….ever heard of “the slippery slope”?
My husband says that once I get on a roll, I can’t stop….
I love the folks that we minister to.
Now…I’ve said it out loud. Now you know my deep, dark secret. I am officially loving these people.
The little mission in our city that we’ve had the privilege of attending the last year has become so special to me. The people so very dear…..
One lady, Otilia who has been diagnosed with cancer in various places throughout her body, is clinging to life at the hospital. She was the first person to tell me, “I love you”.
It was just a few short weeks after we began attending the mission. She hugged me, (unusual for Portuguese, usually it’s only kisses) and she held on a little longer than I expected. She pulled away and as slowly as she possibly could, she told me she loved me. Speaking slowly helped me to understand every word she said. And all I could say in response was “thank you”, not knowing how to say “I love you too”.
I wanted so desperately to tell her that I loved her too, but I couldn’t and it was extremely frustrating. So I repeatedly said “thank you” feeling inadequate the whole time.
Otilia loves my children. She’s crocheted hair bows for the girls, given them enough candy to rot every tooth and always requested one of them sit by her, since I had so many, I needed to share.
Brooklyn was the only one brave enough to sit next to a lady that she didn’t understand, thus a friendship between the two began.
Otilia has asked the kids to call her “Bia”. A short version of great-grandmother.
Bia weighs all of 85 pounds, soaking wet. She always insists we stand EVERY time we sing at church and she would come to each service bearing fresh cut flowers from her yard. We’ve not had fresh flowers in quite a while now. She’s been sick since Christmas.
Tonight Michael and Brooklyn visited her in the hospital. Brooklyn took her a picture she had drawn for her and when they returned Michael’s face was drawn and serious. All I could ask was, “Is she bad?” and he nodded.