Peace of the morning


As much of a struggle as it is to rise early, before my husband, and today, before my three-year-old granddaughter who spent the night with us, gets up–I am always happy that I did. 

The living room is dark, and I sit with my steaming hot cup of coffee in a room with a single candle lit. I find it amazing how one tiny flame brightens an entire room. 

Lately, I have been pondering much and most of it has a very sad and negative outcome. My husband is growing weaker, in more pain, and more disabled by the day. My ability to work is suffering due to the amount of time I am trying to help my husband in his day to day routines and medical appointments. Consequently, the finances are worse than ever. I ponder the thought that this personal injury case will outlive my husband and I weep often. I weep for the days, months, years and moments of spontaneity, of languishing on a vacation, or a quick bike ride, or walk to the dog park. I mourn for the loss of a loving embrace–made impossible because of his total cervical fusion. Those days were gone almost before they began, as he was injured just 4 years into our marriage. 

At times, my anger boils to a point where I find myself unrecognizable. Anger at the store responsible for his disability. Anger at the lawyers who constantly find new and creative ways to delay our case. Anger at the torpid movement of the legal system and the merciless treatment we have received for seven years. Anger at the doctors, who cannot seem to relieve his pain. Often, these thoughts overcome my emotions and try to rob me of my faith. 

 Imbedded in this, are the issues with my own health and each day, trying to put on a happy face, to muster energy to go on can be difficult when dealing with Leavaquin toxicity and Hashimotos Disease. I try to remain silent about my own sufferings, because his are so much worse–but there are days, moments when I do wallow in them. 

But, as awful as all of this has been, I would not want to travel this journey with anyone else. No matter  how his physical nature will become, I will always love him and he will always be my best friend. 

I don’t know how this will turn out, but this tiny flame sitting on my fireplace this morning, reminds me of Jesus, who is the Light of the world. His light dispels all darkness and gives us hope. If I can just keep my eyes focused on His light, and carry part of His flame within me, I think I will be OK. 

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