SelahV Today by hariette petersen

When You Lose Your Zest

for life, do you resign yourself to mediocrity?  to the blah, ho-hum, apathetic attitude of who cares?

of course not.

When we find ourselves sitting in park, we need to rev up our engines, check the rearview, the side mirrors, and adjust our seats.  We need to either back up and start over or put our lives in drive and move!

LiFe lives; it does not sit in neutral.

I find my zeal and enthusiasm wanes when I do nothing.  When I sit around and look at all I have not done, and dwell on what I should have done, then the air goes out of my balloon.  The flowers wilt.  The lights dim.  The shadows get darker.  It's easy to fall into that trap of complacency.  Especially after a month of frivolity, of planning for a big event, of great expectations.  When the day of celebration is over, life has to go on.  It has to get back to normal, or what we consider a typical routine.  And sometimes, after a season of dismissing routine, we find ourselves yearning to live on the edge of expectation, of excitement, of finding something new beneath the tree or around the corner.  We are ready for change and don't even know it.  We want to take down the tree, bring back the familiar things we are comfortable with seeing.  However, that does not satisfy that inner desire for freshness. 

We want that zest, that energy, that anticipation to be restored, to linger, to feed our emotional needs.  Little do we realize that it is our mind and spirit that needs to be energized.  We need new batteries.  Fresh flowers.  Warmer, sunnier weather.  And no, it is not a vacation we need--though one might be in order if we fail to give our bodies any rest.  So, what do we do?

Plan.  Plan the garden.  Plan a pergola.  Plan a day trip to the nursery.  Plan an afternoon in the mountains (easy to do here in Lawton, we have Mt. Scott and Medicine Park just 20 minutes away).  Go sit by a lazy river and watch the barge flow by.  Go visit the zoo or aquarium.  Head for the biggest florist shop in town.  Go breathe life.  Bring home some plants or start some hyacinths in a bowl. Take some pictures. Buy a jigsaw puzzle of flowers and beautiful things. Peel an orange and read a new book.  Paint a picture.  Make something--anything...just don't sit there in neutral.  Go visit some shut-ins with a box of your Christmas photos. If nothing else, go buy a box of "Thinking of You cards" and send them to everyone you think may need a bit more zest in their life today.  ~hariette petersen

Photo provided by Vicky Doran, my new Pinterest Pal. Visit her today HERE at DAY BRIGHTNERS.

MONDAY MOURNING MOANS

It's official.  Today is Monday and it is one of the least loved days on the weekly calendar.  For most folks it is the first day of a work week.  For others, it's just another day and is sometimes their "saturday".   Antique shops are notorious for taking Mondays off.  I don't really have any complaints about Monday to speak of.  I have a deadline for my newspaper column on Mondays, so that makes it a rather significant day to remember.  Other than that, I try to take it easy on Mondays and spend a lot of time writing for the week.  For me, it's easy to sense the presence of God and hear Him speak when I read His word on Mondays.  I attribute that to the time I spend focusing on Him in Sunday School, Worship and such.  So Mondays are kinda sweet for me...a day of reflection...a day of planning the week ahead.

Never fails when I go to Facebook, the moans and groans are almost audible.

My blogposts get the most readers on Mondays, too.  So I suppose there is a lot of folks leaning back in their recliners, sipping coffee, sweet tea or energy drinks.  I have it on pretty good authority, if there is any leftover cornbread from Sunday dinner, that a dear friend of mine might even be spooning the soggy stuff out of a glass of buttermilk while he reads Monday-morning bloggers rant, rave, moan, groan, grumble and complain about everything from theology to rain on their parades.

It's odd when you think about it.  We have been given only so many days appointed on earth to breathe, to love, to enjoy, to pursue happiness, yet so often we are found begrudging the existence of the hour at hand.  Wouldn't you think after a Sabbath day of rest, we'd appreciate another day of living with the blessings of God? 

I remember one of the sweetest prayers my elderly daddy ever prayed on a Monday morning.  It was at breakfast as his feet dangled over the edge of his nursing-home bed.  His hair was rumpled, his tee-shirt stained from midnight snacking, and he bowed his head.  In between oxygen-fueled breaths, he says, "Thank you, O Lord for another day of living.  Thank you for Your protection last night.  I especially thank you for this food before me, and pray You use it to nourish my body.  Watch over Shirley and my family and give Hariette a safe trip home.  In Your precious son's name, I pray.  Amen."

Then with his feeble, shaking, Parkinson's-afflicted hand, daddy would lift up the rubbermaid lid to find his usual runny tasteless, scrambled eggs, dried out cold toast, and bowl of grits.  No salt allowed.  No sugar.  No fat.  I'd look at that tray and watch my father's labored breathing, and wonder how in the world he could be so thankful for another day of living.  Yet, he was.  Today, he is fully whole and feasting on the bounty of the Lord.  What a neat thought the LORD just put in my head.  It's enough to make me want to count my blessings for awhile.  How about you?  selahV

ABUSE OF THE ELDERLY EVERY FIVE SECONDS

I headed for the check-out at Hobby Lobby.  As I approached the empty counter, another lady, probably in her early fifties, came out from a side aisle without a cart, and blocked my way.

"C'mon, mother!  Get over here!" she snapped. Her elderly mother had stopped at a little section in the store to read some plaques and magnets. "What are you doing?  Great; you're going to miss the line by reading those things. You don't need them," she huffed, continued to block me from the check-out, and grumbled, "Fine.  I will stand here and wait. But you are going to hold up the line."

Her elderly mother, stooped, and leaning over her cart, moved haltingly as she turned her cart, her cane hanging on the handle.  Just a few skeins of yarn lay in the cart.  I understood.  I can't walk around the store without a cart to lean on, either.  As I stood there observing this scene, it struck me how impatient this younger adult-daughter was.  She snapped, huffed, and snarled.  She shook her head in exasperated shame.  Anyone could tell she had no respect for her mother, just disdain and contempt.  Pity.

How often does this happen today in society?  I do not know.  Does this contempt lead to greater abuse?  A jerk?  A shove?  I do not know.  But it is definitely not the first time I have witnessed a scene like this of late.  For years I watched my elderly father slowly draw his breath, and take baby steps to walk to the bathroom in his assisted living center bedroom.  I watched peas, cream corn, and soup dribble down his chin onto his white tee-shirt.  Something inside me always wanted to help, to reach out.  But Daddy was proud and did not want that help.

Dignity in the latter years of life is scarce but protectively clutched to an elderly person's soul.  What do they have left?  Their health is failing.  Their eyesight dims, their hearing goes, and their tastebuds lose all sense of taste.  They become dependent on their children--the very children they gave at least 18 years of their own lives, if not more, to raise, to feed, to clothe, to clean up after, to chase, to chauffer, to teach, to pray for, to guide.  And what do some elderly parents get in return?

Not even the time to peruse a few knick-nacks in a store.

It was all I could do to muzzle my mouth.  I was angered.  I was aggravated.  I wanted to ask the lady if she'd like to go ahead and I would take her mother home.  I wanted to intervene.  I could not.  I said nothing.  I thought about myself.  I realize I am getting older.  Though not so ill I cannot drive myself to a store, I do have difficulty walking around the mega-stores now.  It's harder to reach things on the lower and higher shelves.  I spend more time deciding between brands.  I wonder.  How often do I annoy a younger, more able person with my hesitation?  How long will it be before I am the one in the way...the one who impedes another from doing what they want to do in a timely fashion?

I wonder, too, should we be addressing this in our churches today?  When do we stop honoring our fathers and mothers?  Should we be teaching our younger adult members to respect their parents, their grandparents?  Other elderly church members?  What happens if we do not?

According to Elder Abuse Daily, Data and Statistics on February 15, 2010:

There are nearly 6 million cases of elder abuse every year. That's approximately one case every five seconds.  Unfortunately, many of these cases go unreported.  According to EADaily.com's projections, California continues to be the state with the greatest number of elder abuse cases in the U.S., with 36% more than that of Florida, a state with second greatest number of elder abuse cases.  Alaska has the fewest in the U.S. at approximately 8,900 cases per year.  Just five states account for over 1/3 of all elder abuse cases in the U.S.  California, Florida, New York, Texas and Pennsylvania have the most cases annually.

"You shall rise before the gray headed and honor the presence of an old man [or woman], and fear your God: I am the LORD." Leviticus 19:32

In our church, we have an elderly veteran who lives at our nearby Veterans Home.  Some men go pick him up each week for church.  He gets in his wheelchair, and is pushed up and down the halls.  He sits in Sunday School with others and fellowships in the department.  Later, someone pushes him to the sanctuary and parks his wheelchair at the bottom of the stage stairs.  A couple of men assist him as he slowly and feebly makes his way up the stairs to the choir loft where he sings praises to a God of mercy and love.  Whenever I see him go up the stairs and come down, I am moved.  Tears of deep respect fill my eyes.  I am grateful for this example before our congregation.  I am grateful the youth in our church sit at the base of those stairs each week and are witnesses to the honor that younger, stronger, more able men show this veteran.  They preserve his dignity as surely as he once fought to preserve our freedom.  As they honor the presence of a gray-headed old man, we see the reverence they have for the Lord.  selahV