Stalled, half-spent, a balloon bouquet rustles, snagged in our pine tree.
“Party!” it must have recently signaled from somebody’s mailbox. Before it was stranded.
I recognize that wilted, half-mast look. I’m my husband’s caregiver, post-surgery—wishing I could muster something so buoyant as we navigate recovery’s prickly demands.
I didn’t expect to deflate so soon.
Stalled, or stilled?
Five weeks ago, our amazing surgeon created five bypasses for Dreamer’s heart.
Now, wonder and drama give way to incremental progress: slow knitting of breastbone and muscle, rebuilding strength and aerobic capacity one step, one breath at a time.
My virtuous plan was to do “small things with great love”—errands, chores, physical “assists” of all kinds.
How do long-term caregivers manage?
These days everything feels diminished. My busy brain needs to redefine, recalibrate, figure out what’s meaningful.
Am I stalled, or just stilled?
Or somewhere in-between?
When I was little, the stair landing fascinated me—a kid-sized, in-between space removed from my bustling mother’s view.
Remember A. A. Milne’s poem, “Halfway Down”?
Halfway up the stairs
Isn’t up
And it isn’t down . . .
. . . I’m not at the bottom,
I’m not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.
A window there ushered in lake breezes.
A mirror reflected a chest with oak leaf and acorn handles, tucked into the landing’s corner.
Riser, tread, landing, flight—even the carpentry jargon for a staircase suggests energy. Movement.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
On our landing there was also a leggy, stained glass shorebird that looked ready for flight. Cobalt blue, it stood watch, one foot everlastingly raised.
And here I am, still, this time on Dreamer’s landing, my steps, my foot too long raised.
A minor revelation
Centuries ago, John the beloved disciple lived on the tiny Greek island of Patmos for ten years. His loving ways drew the Patmians into the family of God.
They begged him to put the mystery of Christ into writing.
“He retired to a cave on a low hill behind the port of Skala,” the co-author of An Island Sanctuary writes, “where he remained for three days, fasting and praying in hope that the Holy Spirit would . . . give him the Word of God.”
Skala means “stairway” and “landing place.”
John’s writing reaches us today from a stilled, stalled out, in-between place:
“Dear friends, let us practice loving each other . . .”
The man said, “Practice. Let us practice . . .”
Of course we feel stuck and come up short—to lack is mortal, no matter how much we love those we’re serving.
Of course the mundane wears us down.
Fatigue dulls compassion.
Impatience abrades our attitude.
And irritation chafes, like rug burns from tripping on stair landing carpet.
Caught we are—in perpetual recovery, like those balloons in our pine boughs.
And it occurs to me that the point of it all is more loving than I ever imagined. Perhaps I am perfectly placed to be healed.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
This isn’t really
Anywhere!
It’s somewhere else
Instead!
Love greatly, one breath, one small act at a time.
Absorb grace like a bolt of light through cobalt glass, hearts everlastingly raised.
Heal and be healed.
Are you feeling stalled out? What steps will you take?
I remain (to quote John) “your companion in the kingdom and patience of Christ.” Rev. 1:9
I loved that landing too. And how fun it was to open the drawers of the chest one by one and find hidden treasures. And open that window wide for the breeze….
Oh, I love reading this today. Takes me back. That incomparable space, home, air, childhood . . . Love you!
Dearest Laurie thank you!! You, Bill and your family are continually in my heart and in my prayers. Thank you for sharing your amazing gift from God. Much love always and God Bless!!
Nancy, what a joy to connect with you again after so many years! And that’s a lot of years. 🙂 I’m so grateful for every prayer you’ve offered for us, even now, after all this time. Wow. Such an incomparable gift.
Blessings on your Easter weekend!
Love,
Laurie
This is another post I plan to save so I can return to it again at opportune moments.
Carol, I’m so glad it spoke to you. As a fellow writer, I know you’ll understand my gratitude. Having rewritten this post at least 8 times, trying to pull my thoughts and feelings into something cohesive, what a relief and reward to know the work speaks truth, has “staying power.” Thank you, friend.
With your words I Love walking around inside your beautiful soul. You touch my heart and poetically express universal emotions of pain and love in a way that I can bless both.
Dear Gena, I’m so grateful these words and images touched you. I’m wrapping your words around me today like a downy duvet, blessed to know you, blessed to witness your valiant journey as well. Love you!
Laurie, your gift of words are so lovely. I too was reminded of the stair landing in my childhood home. As a kid I’d jump from the shorter top flight of stairs onto the landing, stalling there before moving on. Our landing also had a door leading onto the flat roof of a porch…a roof that allowed for sunbathing and sneaking out for a 2 day canoe trip down the Rock River with my 4 sisters. We were stepping out, moving forward (much to our parents angst). Moving forward, stepping out or stalling after a big leap…whatever it be we know it’s God’s perfect place for us. I think of the contentment verse Philippians 4:12. Laurie, I pray you have contentment and peace, whatever the circumstance.
Ellen, thank you. I love hearing about your childhood landing. What a memorable place! I am picturing you there with your million-dollar smile among the sisters and mischief in the makings. 🙂
I’m really grateful you mentioned Philippians 4:12. Last week I read somewhere that “contentment is wanting what you have.” May it be so!
So grateful for our shared history, Ellie, and your encouragement today, and your lovely prayers. Thank you!
lots of breaths. lots of little steps. or no steps at all. just live. just love. just be, and be together because it’s a lonely journey otherwise.
Love you two and am praying for strength.
Glenna
Glenna, your no doubt hard-won words (having survived this yourself) are profound. I read them aloud to Bill, after our daily walk together. Thank you for gifting us with your wisdom today. And for praying for us with love!
Oh, Laurie, methinks you’ve been peeking in our house! These words certainly describe the state of play these days for me and my Philosopher:
“Fatigue dulls compassion.
Impatience abrades our attitude.
And irritation chafes, like rug burns from tripping on stair landing carpet.”
And yet, we may pause a while in-between here and where we want to be, draw breath, give thanks and tread on for another day, because grace meets us right where we are—stalled or deliberately still, weary or able to rise again.
You write so beautifully about this heading toward recovery and healing life we’re living. it’s not so different for everyone else, maybe just not quite so obvious to them right now.
The point of it all is summed up succinctly here, in a whisper akin to Mother Teresa’s: “Love greatly, one breath, one small act at a time.” We may not be able to do great things for God but we can all learn how to do small things with great love. Amen. Blessings, prayers and hugs across the pond to you and your beloveds. Hang in there, friend. It will ease up one day… xo <3
Joy, I’m captured (yet again!) by your gently tenacious faith. And by this: “It’s not so different for everyone else, maybe just not quite so obvious to them right now.” Thank you for enlarging my view when it’s all too easy to curl inward and withdraw some days.
When I googled the Mother Teresa quote, I was dismayed to find several sources claiming she never said those words. Whether she did or not, she embodied them, day after day. May we do no less.
Sending love back to you and Phil as you press onward. May healing and fresh stamina transfuse you, soles to souls.
I’d like to respond with something that can be a blessing to you in return for your masterfully written thoughts on loving, one step at a time, but it’s raining here this morning and my dear person-in-need is calling out of the gloom… “We need to get going,” he says, “the clock is ticking.” (Codeword for, I’m awake now, get off your iPhone). Sigh. Deep breath. Onward and upward. With perseverence, we can climb back into employment that will help us keep the house. But there are miles to go and many storeys to scale before we can rest assured. Thank you for your writing. It’s given me a holy pause and a reminder to pray for my precious sisters and brothers everywhere. Love to you and dreamer. Thank you, John, for your time in the cave, helping us to stay focused on Love.
Pacia, I’m resonating with that “sigh” and “deep breath.” The road before you sounds downright aerobic. I will pray for holy pauses between the relentless ticks of that clock. I’m so grateful my words offered you a respite, no matter how fleeting.
Sending love back, along with prayers for all the right doors to open as you two make your way “onward and upward.”
And yes, thank you, John for helping us return to the essence of it all, again and again. Amen
Thank you, and amen, dear friend! I met a man two months out of 5-way bu-pass last night at the Firat Friday Artwalk. He’s trhriving, but highly recommends doing whatever physical therapies the doctor recommends! Love and prayers for you both!
So good to hear those reports! Happy Palm Sunday to you and your handsome guy!!
So GOOD Laurie!!! We live too fast…love too loud….serve too fleeting. Our hearts are right but man…to just slow it all down and embrace the moments…hard, easy….fun, exciting…long, dreary, exhausting…BUT GOD!!! Be encouraged in this season of “the landing”. So often I experience the most challenge in attitude and ability right before the veil is about to lift. My prayers continue for you and your husband. Love you…sue
Sue, yes and yes. I really like your phrase: “in the season of ‘the landing.'” Gives it some gravitas amid fatigue and frustrations with myself. And this: “So often I experience the most challenge in attitude and ability right before the veil is about to life.” Those words are a booster shot for me today. Thank you so much, and thank you too for your prayers for us. Sending love right back.
I love these thoughts.
Thanks, Mike. Now if I can just live them! 🙂
Oh, long slow breath in, long slow breath out. Sighing with you as breath becomes stronger in you hoth.
‘both.’ ?
So apt, Jody. So companionable. Thank you for breathing a little ruach our way.
I was reading last night about healthy breathing in a book titled, French Women Don’t Get Facelifts. 🙂 I reaffirmed my need for warmly attentive moments of deep breathing throughout the day. Think I’ll do some right now . . .
Heart-touching as always, Laurie. First, I remember well that A. A. Milne poem! Second, one of my childhood homes also had a staircase with a landing. You described it so perfectly: a child-size space, cozy, and mostly out of Mother’s view. A large window graced that space in our house as well, offering an elevated view of our large side yard. To sit there did offer the sensation of not only being suspended in space but also suspended in time. And surely that’s how you feel while nursing Dreamer back to health: suspended in the space of your home (can’t be gone too long, right?) and suspended in time (because the world outside your door continues on without the two of you). And so my prayer is: God of all strength, straighten the crooked path of serving and healing and loving for these dear folks! (Please forgive the mixing in of a new metaphor!)
Nancy, how delightful to share landing memories! The more I’ve thought about my childhood home lately, the luckier I feel. It was a marvelous house, a worthy setting for a Gothic mystery novel (if moved to the wild moors). I’m glad to have inherited the carved chest as well as the blue stained glass shorebird, although it’s only been this past week I’ve seen them in this new light. I love how God makes images (and his word) new despite long familiarity.
I feel the deep understanding of your thoughts and prayer and thank you, friend.
Such a poignant and transparent flow of feelings and thoughts about the rigors of caregiving, dear Laurie… and so rich with an exploration of “the story beneath the story” – with all of its nuances and metaphors. May you find your “landing” pad and a still point from which to be held and witnessed. xo
Dear Melissa, your words and wishes enfold me like a featherbed. Or maybe it’s more like lying beneath a magnolia tree with its downward drift of blossoms. Thank you.
Beautiful! Thank you for sharing your journey. I’ve been a long term care-giver to my step daughter in days gone by. I’d like to think (now years later) that I was “stilled.” God slowed my life down and took away all of the things that I’d made big and important, when in reality they were small and not important. I looked at life very differently for a period of time and realized that He stilled my busy life to love and care for and pray for a young woman who desperately needed a focused care-giver. He gave me strength and wisdom at just the right moments… He taught me to be still and know that He is a God…not me. I’m just a vessel He is using and He will fill me when I need it. And He will let it empty out when I need it to be drained…so HE…The God of the Universe can fill it. Praying for you as you journey with your Dreamer! ❤
Jenny, how perceptively and compassionately you describe your experience. What a gift that time was to your step daughter. And to you.
I really resonate with the need to reevaluate priorities, and commit to the quiet pursuits that are truly meaningful in a season like this.
I’m especially moved by this statement: “And He will let it empty out when I need it to be drained … so HE … can fill it.” Amen. Ouch, but amen.
“One Day At A Time” (Merle Haggard)
“I’m only human I’m just a man (woman)
Help me to believe in what I could be and all that I am
Show me the stairway that I have to climb
Lord for my sake teach me to take one day at a time.
One day at a time sweet Jesus that’s all I’m asking from you
Give me the strength to do everyday what I have to do
Yesterday’s gone sweet Jesus and tomorrow may never be mine
So for my sake teach me to take one day at a time.
Do you remember when you walked among men
Well Jesus you know if you’re looking below it’s worse now than then
Pushing and shoving crowding my mind
So for my sake teach me to take one day at a time.
One day at a time sweet Jesus that’s all I’m asking from you
Give me the strength to do everyday what I have to do
Yesterday’s gone sweet Jesus and tomorrow may never be mine
So for my sake teach me to take one day at a time.
Yes, just for my sake teach me to take one day at a time…”
Laurie, I know you are Bill’s angel and he is so blessed to have you (just ask him!). Today is a new day You are doing fantastic. Love both!
Wow Karl, those lyrics are perfect. On my way to youtube now to hear the song. Sounds like one I’ll want to memorize. 🙂 Thanks friend, your love and empathy is shot in the arm for us both, and your recovery is a huge encouragement. Love you two!