Prairie Pastoral

July 27, 2022 | 1 Comment

As We Wait…

Minnie was a sweet lady I would visit at her home south of town. Frustrated with her lack of progress in physical therapy after a fall, she’d ball up her fist, scrunch up her face, and say in a stage whisper,

“I want patience, and I want it now.”

Oh, Minnie, we are with you.

When will I get a break? When will it be my turn? When will it get easier? When? There are no easy answers to these questions.

I’ve read whole books about patience. I pray for it all the time. I know the answers I’m supposed to give to others and myself. “It’s all God’s timing,” or “Trust God. He will provide.” My answers are true, but they’re not necessarily what I want to hear when the good news is slow to come. [Read more…]

June 23, 2022 | 1 Comment

My sort-of sabbatical (Part Two)

“Saddle embolisms of pulmonary artery.” That’s what my discharge papers say.

Neither the ER doctor nor the admitting doctor made the customary quip, “You’re lucky to be alive,” but another doctor from the congregation who came over to the house later to interpret all the diagnoses shook his head. “Good job still being alive,” he said. And he gave me a fist bump.

I know that life is precious and precarious, but that’s typically head knowledge. It’s another knowledge altogether when I’m in the ICU being poked and pumped with blood thinners or my husband is ranting around the house about the pharmacy that “tried to kill my wife.” So many people have since told me of their experiences with pulmonary embolisms (past tense), but a fair number have also approached me, rather stricken, to share about loved ones who died of the same. Precious and precarious indeed. [Read more…]

June 6, 2022 | 2 Comments

My supposed-to sabbatical (Part One)

It’s Monday of the second full week of my supposed-to sabbatical. I was supposed to be in Ventura, CA, on the beach, for the month of June during my sabbatical. I was supposed to be walking dunes and eating at quaint cafes before taking long naps in the afternoon. I was supposed to be visiting with friends and colleagues. I was supposed to be reading and writing, free of the ordinary concerns of home and church.

But, several pulmonary embolisms later, my doctors have advised me that travel is questionable and staying by myself (however charming the accommodations) is out of the question. So, I’m trying to take sabbatical time at home. Ha! It turns out that my supposed-to sabbatical involves a whole lot of housework, because—you know—I’m home, so there are seven loads of laundry, [Read more…]

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