It Helps Being a Cubs Fan

Well, Christmas has almost officially drawn to a close and by the looks around my home, it has been another day filled with gluttony and greed. A Kindle Fire sits next to me about to further addict my feeble mind. Tell me why a grown woman with two masters would have any interest in using a virtual slingshot in the attempts to injure some green pigs. Why? I’ve already installed more apps than I could possibly ever use, but it gives me a sense of pride to have them all lined so neatly in a row.

I also got more jewelry to add to my Pandora collection. Once again, here is a symbol of straight greed. The jewelry won’t help feed my family or warm our home. World hunger and cancer still afflict our world, but I am still thrilled with my new beads.

Bob did quite well with new clothing items following a very determined lesson by our daughter. There is no glitter or glitz. Good job. I have two plain scarves that literally surround my neck as I type.  I pray that I will soon be too thin for my new slacks, but I am losing weight slower than our sea cucumber traverses our big tank.

I can see from where I am sitting our hall door stocked with holiday greetings from family and friends. This year, about half are pictures of cute families grinning out at me. I am curious about whether the background noises would be as pleasant if I could hear the pleas and cries of the photographer.

Our tree is next to me, complete with those big bubble lights that fascinate my husband. All the ornaments tell a story. I can sit and just stare at the tree while treasures of the past float through my mind. OR, I can sit and just stare off and pretend I am thinking of the memories.

Above the TV are my Eleven Days of Christmas in the form of nutcrackers. Next year Day 12 will join them. They stand watch over the room, an artistic line all impeccably dressed for the holiday season. The Three Wiseman sit on a table by the tank ready to bear gifts for the Christ child. Other nutcrackers fill my home, all gifts from Bob after he first saw my 99-cent Wal-Mart variety. Yet he stands next to my German sculptures in a place of honor.

The coffee table is filled with remnants of our holiday dinner. There’s my water bottle and fruit plate next to a plate once holding Christmas cookies. What does that say that the cookies have been transformed into just a measly assortment of crumbs while the fruit plate still has half of its wares?

But my poor husband lies upstairs, a painful example of his worn frame. He fell last night on our front porch steps only to relearn that when the body meets the concrete, the concrete wins. He hurt his shoulder and hobbles worse on his legs. The pain is a cold affront to his pride and heart. He is tired of hurting and doesn’t understand the long duration of his pain. In many ways, he has given up. He cries out to that babe in the manger demanding reasons and assistance. The chronic nature of his neurological injuries has been too chronic.

A funny little aside that hopefully will bring smiles. Our late night service was filled with people who have somehow managed to learn to love us since we have held our long time membership with this congregation. I stood in front of one such fabulous family last night. The moving choirs and brass had the walls echo in wonder and my head vibrate in pain. I stood in the hall for a short while but needed to be IN the service. After I get a migraine, my vertigo usually shortly follows. Such was the story last night. I was swaying away to the music, unable to catch my balance. It was as if I had sampled the communion wine, change that to guzzled the communion wine prior to the service. I was rocking away on my cruise ship feeling kind of confident that I was remaining vertical. Then I glanced behind me. The family in the row behind me was ready to catch my fall as their arms following my wavering form. That’s love.

But I sit on the couch with the light of our tree and pathetic Bears on TV. Maybe I can sometimes better address my own chronic pain because I love Chicago sports. If I can have this much patience for a better “next year” for those Cubs, I can wait a little longer on my chronic pain.

So love fills this home, despite half of us snoring away trying to ease his pain and the other half typing away to describe life here in Roselle. I move slowly when I move and my creaks can be heard miles away, but I know a baby was born for ME! That’s an amazing truth to reduce the pain and alter the focus of this final hour of Christmas. I am blessed. Life is good.

God Uses My Chronic Pain to Prove that Life is Good:

     -  I don’t know if being a Cubs fan makes the duration of chronic pain easier or vice versa. I do know that life is good.