Coming Up On Sixty

I remember when my dad had his first big heart attack. He was 37. Crazy to think about because I am 32. He was working like crazy to support his big family and coming home after his ten hour shift to remodel the kitchen. He really is the kind of man that I look at and think, wow, he is good at everything. He would often come home from work and get on the ground and wrestle with all of us. He fixed everything and fixed it the right way. He was the best driver (something important to us Johnstons). He was my basketball couch and biggest cheerleader at softball games. I think he was convinced that I could of gone pro. He also took us to church every Sunday and made sure that we all had our first communions and reconciliations. We put money in the offering at church even though we did not have much. He was a hero and to a little girl he was invincible. So 37 is a bit young to die. Too young to die. Too young to leave behind 5 girls and 1 boy with their mamma to take care of him. Not many die and live to come back and talk about it. But my dad is not a normal guy. He is the seventh son of a seventh son and their is magic in this. So he did the magical thing and died and came back to life! And thanks to God that he did! My dad is now approaching he 60th year and we are planning a huge party for him. I do think that we are all a bit surprised that he is still here. But more then being surprised, we are grateful!! He is a man of many talents. He is a man tested by hard Providences and remained loyal and faithful. Not many men get to care for a wife as sick as my mom was and I must say that he did it with grace and integrity. I remember when my mom was super sick at the end of her life and she was really getting into knitting. At this point in her sickness she was home-bound. My dad went out and bought her a truckload of yarn and needles. When she got super into card making, he made sure that she had ample ink and paper to satisfy her Hallmark adventures. He loved and adored her. He was loyal and kind. He never, never said a selfish word to her or acted in a way to make her feel like a burden. It was the kind of love that inspires! It is the kind of love not easily forgotten. It is the kind of love that invented its own language! The kind of love that had him crawling into her hospital bed again and again. It was the kind of love that stayed strong for us kids when our mother passed on leaving him behind and broken. It was the kind of love that gave us an example to follow. And this man has been an example to us all on how to be a son, constantly taking care of his mom by bringing groceries, visiting often and always speaking of grandma with awe. By being an example as husband and caring for my mom with a loyal admiration that was breathtaking. By being an example as a father in providing for a large family and working off our tuition so that we could go to private schools. By being an example of grandpa and continuing to help us all out with our individual families. By being a good man. Hears to my dad and many, many more years with us!

Little Pests

I have been in bed the past couple of days. I have been bogged down with sickness and can say that I have not meditated on anything other then feeling horrible. I wish I was holier then that but I am not. Being sick really is a pest. And it is a pest that I do despise. I keep trying to make this very clear, trying to offend this pest so that it stays far away from me. But it seems to take a liking to me. It is kinda of like cats. I really do not like the feline. I try and make this clear as well. But they love me. They love to rub against my leg and purr like they have really found a great friend. But alas my cats and sickness seem to really like me. I wish their was a solution. But I have come to understand that my lot is full of headaches (migraines really) and cats. The cats I think are more tolerable. Enough with the cat (I should say cats because our cat is about to bless us with more fuzzy felines!). My mom was sick. She was the kind of sick that never went away. she was the kind of sick that eventually took her. I never thought I would resemble her in this way. I always thought I was stronger. I always thought of myself as healthy and able. And I really am not sick like she was. But I am more like her in this way then I thought I would be. The problem is, every time I host a dinner, a party really anything, I get bogged down with a migraine. It really does seem that my little body cannot handle hospitality. This really bugs me because I love, love having people over. I do struggle with this. If I host, then my family suffers the next day. And Jason has become part house-wife because of this. I am young and want to be strong and not feel at war in this body daily. Weakness of any sort is hard. Weakness in body is a constant reminder to me of the pardox we all are. New life in Jesus, called to leave the old man and his old ways and walk with the Spirit in new life. But this new life is residing in a fallen body. There are things about this old man that will not "die" until I really die. And it is not untill I am raised from the dead, that the new man will get to walk in his new body. Our culture is obsessed with preserving our decaying bodies. They grasp after this like it is the way to new life. But Jesus really is the way the truth and the life and it is by following him daily and dying daily that we find new resurrection life. And this is how we live and it is a reminder to us that when we have that final death, that it will most assuredly be followed up by resurrection. So here is to living in a body fallen and decaying and remembering the promise that we have victory over death in the end.