Thanking God and Thanking You

I don't have a word burning with passion that demands to be written today. Instead, I simply want to say thank you. You loved Sam well, and you grieved along with me. In so doing, you loved and blessed me more than you'll ever know.

Yesterday, I saw a friend from church when we were eating lunch at a local restaurant. "I've been keeping up, and I'm still praying for you," Kim assured me. It was all I could do to say thank you. I wanted to weep with gratitude.

Your prayers have mattered more than you know. In truth, they've mattered more than I expected. I'm so grateful. Thank you.

Your physical help has been invaluable. From visiting Sam, singing to him, reading Scripture to him, and introducing him to spray whipped cream (thank you Jerry and Sonya Iverson for that joy) while he was still in my home, to visiting, washing his face, kneeling at his bedside, singing to him, and sitting with him while I was gone, you've done what I could never have done alone. You've loved him and treasured him in tangible ways he understood. 

Sam felt loved, because he was.

I've received so many comments on posts, texts, emails, calls, and offers of help that I'm humbled and stunned. I can't begin to reply to them all, but I've read and treasured every one. Friends have shown up at my home to help with tasks they knew were needed but I could barely begin to accomplish. Again, I'm so grateful.

Ryan has been home since Thursday evening. It's been like the balm of Gilead to have him here. We've laughed, remembered, and begun to look toward a life without Sam. 

Ryan said, in his eulogy at Sam's funeral, "I don't remember a time without Sam because he's been there every day of my life. . . I told the people at work I was going home for my Grandfather's funeral." That's what Sam was for Ryan: A constant in his life. The grandfather my daddy would've been if he'd lived to see and know Ryan. 

Tomorrow, I'll attend the memorial service for my decades-long friend who taught me that an ordinary person like me could be a writer. He cheered me on from a distance, even when his writing career took a long pause. I hadn't seen him in years, but he often emailed me encouragement for a line well-written or a post that touched his heart. 

His tragic death is one more blow that, added to Sam's dying, seemed like too much at once. It's not. Today, both he and Sam are whole and rejoicing at the throne of God. They're with their much-loved wives and families and their long-served Lord.

Tuesday, I'll resume my "normal" life. I'll go back to the office, open my computer, and start emailing missionaries again. I'll work on prayer projects and plan for upcoming speaking engagements. I'll make a start on a mountain of thank you notes that are long overdue. 

More passionate blog posts will come, but none will be more heartfelt than the thanks I offer today. You've been the hands and feet of Christ to me, and you've helped our Lord carry Ryan and me through this very hard time. We're eternally grateful to God and to you.

Though expressions of gratitude vary from one language to the next, the meaning is still the same, and equally heart-felt. May God bless you for the love and generosity of spirit you've shown to us.

Shukraan. Merci. Gracias. Grazie. Thank you.

"I thank my God every time I remember you." Philippians 1:3 NET Bible

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In case you missed the last post, here's the link: Caregiver Chronicles: True Success: Living Like Sam

Caregiver Chronicles: When Sam Couldn't Stay and I Had to Say Goodbye

A lot can change in three weeks, and it did. Sam could stand with assistance, take a few steps with his walker over to his recliner, enjoy Wheel of Fortune, and go to church when I left. He could still dress himself with a little help, and boss me around like an expert. He could eat three meals a day and enjoy a morning cup of coffee.

The day I left him at Sanctuary Hospice House for respite, we rolled him to his room. He was too tired to sit up, he told us, and wanted to lie down. In that moment, I knew I'd never take him home. 

"You better eat while I'm gone. If you don't, you're gonna be too weak to go home," I told him. "I'm gonna be upset with you if you go on a hunger strike." 

Sam gave me a tired smile. "I'll do the best I can," he promised.

The hospice personnel kept me informed with updates that steadily broke my heart. He wasn't eating. He was losing weight. Less responsive. Not swallowing water.

The hardest thing I ever did was stay in place 6,000 miles away while Sam drifted toward eternity. I sure hope the three week long sacrifice was worth it. 

Ryan, my son, loved Sam with all his heart. He drove from Atlanta and spent several days with him, hoping to help him hang on. Sam rallied remarkably, and they had one good day out of the four he was here. Ryan dressed him, drank coffee with him, and spent time with him. 

It was the last time Ryan would ever see Sam alive. I'm so grateful for the few "awake" hours they had together. 

My friends and church family visited Sam often, and tried to prepare me. "Sam looks terrible," they told me. "He's at death's door." 

When I arrived, the nurses tried to prepare me, too. "He hasn't eaten more than a bite or two since Ryan left. He won't drink at all. He looks bad."

I've seen a lot of sick people in my almost thirty-year career as a physician, but I couldn't have anticipated the reality of seeing someone I love so very near death. Mere hours after my return home, I stood at his bedside, choked back tears, and turned to the nurses. "I'm not gonna be able to take him home, am I?" I asked. They shook their heads and I saw tears glisten in their eyes, too.

A part of me thought I could will Sam to come back from the valley of the shadow of death, but it was a false hope born of desperation. Over the weekend, I read most of the New Testament, Isaiah, and the Psalms to Sam. I sang hymns. I prayed. I begged. 

Sam's relentless trek toward heaven would not be slowed. In the depths of my heart, I didn't want him to be delayed, but I didn't want to let go, either. By Sunday afternoon, I reeled from lack of sleep, and finally went home to rest for a while. I needed those few hours to make it through the next two days.

Yesterday afternoon, I had just returned to his room when his breathing changed. I sat at his bedside, my two dogs curled up at his feet, and thanked him for all the good he'd done. For loving my son, being willing to try all the crazy schemes I cooked up, for protecting me, teaching me so much about gardening, livestock, and the land. For teaching me to shoot a gun, set a trot line, and how to catch two fish with a single cast. . .

His periods of apnea steadily increased until his breathing finally stopped. At 4:55 pm, Sam stepped from this world into the wonder and beauty of eternity. He shed the frail body that had encased his soul for eighty-seven years as he did. He has a new body now, and white robes, and crowns he's probably already left at the feet of Jesus. He's seen our Lord, which was what he most wanted, and his baby daughter that died, and his beloved Jamie. 

I'm sure gonna miss him, but I'm comforted with the assurance that I'll see him again, as well as by the Bible passage Sam loved best:

"Let not your heart be troubled. . . In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you until myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. . . I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me." John 14:1-3, 6 kjv

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Visitation is Friday, November 10th 12:30 to 2 pm with memorial service to follow in the choir room at Hope Church, Tupelo.

Sam always thought cut flowers were a waste of money, so we arranged for a special "Sam's Fund" at Global Outreach at his request. Marla Nunnelee (daughter of his long-time friend and coffee-drinking buddy, David Coleman) will administer it and use the funds where most needed. We thought about giving it a fancy name, but Sam always wanted to be "just plain Sam," so that's how we named his fund. 

In lieu of flowers, memorials can be made to "Sam Wiley Memorial Fund" by mailing your check or money order to: Global Outreach/ PO Box 1, Tupelo MS 38802. Be sure to put "Sam's Fund #5136" in the "for" line. 

Caregiver Chronicles: A Matter of Perspective

Sam is a man of habit. Seriously.

I was never more shocked than when Ryan convinced him to buy a pack of colored t-shirts. For most of the three decades I've known him, Sam has worn a white t-shirt in the summer and a white t-shirt with a denim snap-shirt over it the rest of the time. His sleeves are always unsnapped.

When we moved Sam to my house, I took charge of his clothes and laundry. I won't mention his organizational methods, but it took me a while to find his three denim shirts. One had a sleeve with missing elbow fabric and one's collar was in shreds.

Those shirts were as soft as a baby lamb, but they looked terrible. I didn't want to take him out in them, at least partly because I didn't want people to think I didn't care. 

"Sam, you need some more denim shirts," I told him. "When you can't get your arm in the sleeve because your hand goes through the hole in the elbow, it's time for a new shirt." 

He was having none of it. The shirts were comfortable...the collar felt good...he had one intact sleeve. The list went on and on. Finally, we came to the real reason. "Them shirts is expensive." 

"What do you mean by expensive?" 

"They're nearly $25 apiece. You can't just go buy one of them shirts."

I wanted to weep. Sam was wearing tattered shirts because he thought $25 was too much to spend for one long-lasting shirt? 

Yes. He was.

I looked at my closet, bulging with clothes, and thought about how many items cost more than $25. When I made "doctor money," I didn't worry about $25 for a garment. Now that I'm on a missionary budget, I'm extremely frugal. My most recent clothes purchase was two used shirts for $5 and one for $10. Even on my new budget, that price for a denim shirt that will last for years doesn't seem too high.

Sam closed the discussion, but I kept bringing the topic back up. Finally, I asked where he bought the shirts and he told me, but cautioned me about the expense and warned me not to buy more than one at a time. 

The next time someone gave me a break, I went in search of denim shirts with snaps and bought two. One to wear and one to wash. (I'm big on clean clothes.)

When I got home and presented the shirts to Sam, he was shocked at the extravagance, even though the shirts he had were barely wearable. 

Those shirts will probably outlive Sam, but they've made me reconsider the priorities to which my closet attests. 

We, the church in America, are, for the most part, the wealthiest people in the world. I can't comprehend the limited resources of those with less in this country, much less the poverty in other places around the world.

When an elderly man agonizes about a $25 denim shirt, can I justify my own extravagance? 

Everything we have is a gift from God, including the money in our bank accounts. I wonder if He's happy about how we've used the resources He's loaned to us. 

I've begun to ask God about every purchase. "Is this how you want me to spend Your money?" "What groceries do You want this week?"

It's changed my spending considerably, and my giving.

Today, let's ask God about our priorities. Are they in line with His or not? What changes do we need to make in our spending? In our giving?

Who do we know who needs help from the riches God has entrusted to us?

"No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and be enslaved to money. Matthew 6:24 NLT

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In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: The Missionary and the Failed Evangelism Effort

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If you feel led to partner with this ministry (US, Middle East, the digital world), here's the link to give your tax-deductible donations: Global Outreach Acct 4841 

Or you can mail your check or money order to: Global Outreach/ PO Box 1, Tupelo MS 38802. Be sure to put Account 4841 in the "for" line.

Caregiver Chronicles: The Four-Week Anniversary

Sam Wiley one Christmas morning a few years ago. 

Yesterday was the four-week anniversary of Sam moving to my house. As you may know, if you've been reading this blog for a while, Sam is my 87-year-old neighbor who's health is failing. He's on hospice now and isn't able to live alone anymore. 

You can read about his move here: When the Time to Move Finally Comes

I love that picture of Sam (above). He was still strong and active and enjoying life. His wife was still living, and he still laughed a lot. He still took his wife out to eat almost every week. He still joked with his coffee-drinking-buddies at the local store almost every day.

Life has changed, and he's not sure it's for the better. His parents, siblings, wife and most of his friends have left this earth for eternity. 

He misses the days of breaking horses, riding the tractor, fishing in the lake, and catching two fish with one cast. When he tells those stories, the things he loved come back to life again.

We're not just reviewing the past, however. We're looking toward the future. Earlier this week, Sam said something that took me by surprise. "I guess you know I'll be better off dead." For a moment, I thought he was depressed, but he wasn't. He was looking toward heaven. 

We paused for a few minutes and pondered all that's to come. Sam loves gospel music and, in heaven, there'll be the best music possible. Sam loves gardening, growing vegetables, and growing azaleas. In heaven, there'll be trees along the river of life with a different fruit every month. He misses his family and friends. In heaven, he'll have a happy reunion with the people he loves the most.

The funny and poignant stories I've written make it may sound like it's been a lovely four weeks. It has been a wonderful time, but it hasn't been easy. Someone asked me yesterday, "How do you do this?" 

My answer, "God called me to it. I'm just doing unto as I want to be done unto."

Sam's had sleepless nights after napping through the day, grief as his body continues to weaken, fear when he's confused, loneliness when he has fewer visitors than he hoped. 

I've had all those emotions along with him, plus a sense of isolation when I can't leave him alone and there's no one to sit with him a few hours, sore muscles from lifting a man a foot taller than I, uncertainty when hard decisions must be made and Sam can't help make them, grief that my way of life since 1989 has changed forever. 

There will never be another Sam. He always told me there would be, and I believed him because I wanted him to be right. I know now that Sam was wrong. 

Sam has the heart of a gentleman and the humility of a servant. He took delight in teaching me new skills. I learned to set a trotline, shoot a gun, and plant a garden from Sam. He took just as much delight in doing the dirty jobs he considered beneath a lady. He protected me, sometimes more than I wanted.

Until he had a subdural hematoma in 2004, I had never taken out my own garbage. I'd never mowed my own grass. Never driven the tractor. Never built a barbed wire fence. I'd rarely been to the feed store for myself and never unloaded hundreds of pounds of feed at a time.

After he had surgery, I had a crash-course in Sam-work. I'm a better woman for it, but I still miss the days when Sam served with such quiet joy.

It would be easy to miss the blessings of the past few weeks in the midst of everything that's been going on, but we're savoring those, too.

The body of Christ has surrounded us with care and assistance and the kind of food Sam loves. Our new hospice provider's staff has loved us, been patient with us, and made us feel both safe and optimistic. We have all the equipment we need, from bedside table to comfy recliner to electric hospital bed, and a good bit more. 


We have peace, hope, love. 

Not all our tears have been sad tears. We've had some happy tears, too. We rejoice when he can stand alone, change his clothes without assistance, eat a full meal. We're excited when he knows where he is and why. 

We still celebrate our victories.

You've journeyed with us, and we're grateful. You've encouraged us, given us hands-on assistance, and prayed us through. We couldn't have made it this far without you, and we're both eternally grateful. 

We have a ways to go, so I'm hoping you'll be patient as I write (far too often) about our trials and victories. I hope you'll read alternate topics when this part of my journey is too painful to write about. I hoping you'll celebrate with us and, when times are hard, I hope you'll weep with us.

Most of all, I'm hoping you'll keep us in your prayers. 

"Bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:2 ESV
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Please like and share to extend our digital reach. 

In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: When Andy the Pig Smelled Like a Pig

If you feel led to partner with this ministry (US, Middle East, the digital world), here's the link to give your tax-deductible donations: Global Outreach Acct 4841 

Or you can mail your check or money order to: Global Outreach/ PO Box 1, Tupelo MS 38802. Be sure to put Account 4841 in the "for" line.
#Sam 

Caregiver Chronicles: When the Caregiver Needs Some Care Given

It's a good thing my friends are looking out for me. If not, I'd probably have collapsed by now. 

For those who don't know, my elderly neighbor Sam moved into my home earlier this week. 

He was already on the farm when I moved here in 1989. He worked for me until his health began to fail. He still lived in the one bedroom cottage he's occupied since 1960 until his move a few days ago. 

I've looked after Sam ever since his wife died. Carried him to the grocery, helped him with his food, prepared meals for him, managed medications, and gone with him to doctors' appointments. In addition to full-time ministry, writing, and caring for my own home and property, it's been overwhelming.

The move and those first few days were stunningly hard. Sam had problems I hadn't foreseen, and we needed solutions right away. Frankly, I was so stressed about then that I couldn't come up with a solution if my life depended upon it.

That's when the body of Christ stepped in and did what Christ envisioned. 

One of my friends called from the grocery store. "What do you need right now? I told her. "I'll be there in thirty minutes," she assured me. And she was.

Another friend called with the same question. I could only find one pair of Sam's pajamas. That was no problem. She came bearing two new pairs of pajamas so I wouldn't have to wash so often. 

Those sweet actions are the hands and feet of Jesus in action. 

The dogs needed grooming in the worst way. I've been doing their grooming for nearly two years in an attempt to trim expenses. This time, there was no way I could wrangle enough hours out of the day to make the attempt, so I decided to take them to a new groomer. 

I texted my friend. "Do I have to have them there by 9 am? Because I'm not sure I can get Sam up and out in time." No problem, she assured me. She'd come get them and drop them off. I could pick them up later. When she arrived and saw our situation, she decided to bring them back, too. And take them to the vet for me to get the shots they needed. 

The hands and feet of Jesus were in action again.

Sam was sick on Friday. I'd done all I knew to do, including pray over him and beg God to help. Finally, I asked God to send someone to pray with us. And He did. 

Two friends came by, brought peaches and prayers, and read from the gospel of John. Sam and I were worn out, and it was balm to both our souls.

The hands and feet of Jesus arrived just in time.

When our friend brought lunch yesterday and saw the difficulty Sam was having, she didn't hesitate. "I have exactly what you need at home. I'll be right back." She was. I had no idea what to do, but she'd been in our situation before, and she was right. 

By yesterday afternoon, I was exhausted and ready for a moment to myself. Another friend came with snacks to eat, rocks to paint, and supper to stick in the fridge. Before fun, though, she intended to help me do whatever task needed doing. We did the one I'd dreaded the most, and spent the rest of the time visiting over paintbrushes and rocks.

Last night, I crawled in bed less tired than the night before. As I've looked back over the last few days, the thing that's most remarkable is the love that's been lavished. I've taken my needs to the Lord and He's met them through His people. No one person has done all the work, but many hands and hearts have helped us, supported us, loved us. 

It has taken the body of Christ to do this hard work of loving my neighbor as I love myself, and we, Christ's hands and feet, have done it together. 

There are people all across this world who are loving others by being caregivers. Unless you've been there, you can't imagine how very hard it is. We, body of Christ, can share the load, if we will. 

Today, consider who in your circle of friends and family is serving as a caregiver and ask our Lord how you can help. 

Some of the help I've been given requires hours of time. Others spent less than thirty minutes helping. It's not the duration of the help that's mattered so much. It's the timeliness of it. 

When you help a caregiver do what must be done, you, too, serve as the hands and feet of Jesus. You, too, become the one who loves your neighbor as you love yourself. 

Some of us are called to take our neighbor into our homes. Others of us are called to help them. We all have a part. Which part do you have? Let's be sure to step up and reach out. 

Someone is counting on you.

"Do unto others as you would like them to do to you." Luke 6:31 nlt

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Please like and share if this blog post has touched your heart. It extends our digital reach in significant ways. Thank you.

In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: Guest Blogger Debbie Pharr: Words of Faith or Words of Fear

If you feel led to partner with this ministry (US, Jordan, the digital world), here's the link to give your tax-deductible donations: Global Outreach Acct 4841 

Or you can mail your check or money order to: Global Outreach/ PO Box 1, Tupelo MS 38802. Be sure to put Account 4841 in the "for" line

When We're Made for Relationship and We Are Dying Without It

Someone asked me to give a little Sam update every day and I said no. Here's why: Bringing Sam, my dying neighbor, into my home, is overwhelmingly hard and I'm not good at it yet. It's all-consuming, and I need to talk, and write, about something else when I can. 

We've done what I said we would, and it doesn't seem remarkable to me. I knew it would be hard, and it is. I also knew I would get used to it, and I will. I'm not there yet, but it won't take long. I hope. 

Before much time has passed, I'll begin to see the humor in the midst of the struggle, and laugh about it. I'm not there yet, either, but it's not far away. When I reach that sweet point, our struggles will be fodder for humorous stories. We'll all laugh together about how good God is in the midst of a trial. 

Sam's a sweet man who needed a place to stay. I had extra room. Loving my neighbor as I love myself requires that, if they have a need and I can meet it, I should. So I have. 

A friend of mine had that same attitude when someone she knew needed a liver transplant. She offered a piece of her liver. Her neighbor had a need and she could meet it, so she offered to do it. 

There's nothing heroic or amazing about this kind of giving. I'm doing what Jesus clearly described in Scripture. This is what sacrificial love looks like. We're all supposed to love like this. The world would be a different place if we did. It would be the place Jesus intended when He suffered, died, and rose again for our sins.

Within twenty-four hours of moving Sam to my house, he was better. Eating a little. Drinking more protein drinks. Gaining strength. He's getting around with his walker now. Joking. Tapping his foot to music. Talking for hours with visitors. 

He was dying, with mere days to live, but the interaction with people and the constant care have made a difference. His life has been prolonged. No doubt about it.

We were made for relationship, and Sam's living proof that we can die without it. He nearly did. A daily visit and two or three phone calls a day would be enough for me, I think, but not for Sam. He's an extrovert who needs lots of interaction. 

I'm an introvert who needs lots of alone time. Sam's need has collided with my own. I've sacrificed my need for his, because that's what we're supposed to do.

Here's how the Message explains it:

"If you've gotten anything at all out of following Christ, if His love has made any difference in your life, if being in a community of the Spirit means anything to you, if you have a heart, if you care - then do me a favor...Put yourself aside, and help others get ahead. Don't be obsessed with getting your own advantage. Forget yourself long enough to lend a helping hand." Philippians 2:3

"Forget yourself long enough to lend a helping hand."

I'm forgetting myself for a while and lending a helping hand, in the name of Jesus, just as Scripture tells us to do. 

This is supposed to be the default behavior for Christians. We're all supposed to be doing something with this same degree of love.

One day, we'll have the opportunity to explain to Jesus why we did or didn't love like this. I'll explain why I delayed so long. "Sam didn't want to move," won't be the real reason. "I wanted to keep my space to myself," will be. 

I've repented of my selfishness more than once. I've been forgiven. I'm pressing on. 

I don't think I'll have to explain how hard it is, how many tears I've cried, how I can't begin to comprehend how much better Sam is after a simple change of location. 

I'll say one thing with certainty. The Spirit of God helped me through. Just like Jesus said He would. This is a hard kind of love, and we never have to do it alone. 

This love, my friends, is unstoppable. We can change the world with it, if we will. So let's get started today. There are more than enough Sam's to go around. 

Don't merely read about love. Ask God who's waiting for your love, then give it. 

Love big. Love hard. Stun the world with the love of Jesus. It's difficult, but worth it. 

"This is my commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you."  John 15:12 nasb
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Please like and share if this blog post has touched your heart. It extends our digital reach in significant ways. Thank you.

In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: (a Caregiver Chronicle) When the Niceness of Jesus Overflows from Us and Changes the World

If you feel led to partner with this ministry (US, Jordan, the digital world), here's the link to give your tax-deductible donations: Global Outreach Acct 4841 

Or you can mail your check or money order to: Global Outreach/ PO Box 1, Tupelo MS 38802. Be sure to put Account 4841 in the "for" line
#sam #loveoneanother 

When We Made Up Our Minds about a Hard Thing, and We Did It

No one should have to face death by themselves. When you give your word, you keep it. Those two truths helped us do what had to be done. There were, of course, a few Scriptures that helped us, too...

- greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friend. (John 15:13)

- do unto others as you'd have them do unto you (Luke 6:31)

- love your neighbor as you love yourself (Matthew 22:39)

Those verses describe the love Jesus has, the love He intended us to have. We become more like Jesus by doing what He says, so we did it. 

It's that simple. It's that hard.

My neighbor, Sam, came to live with me yesterday. He'll be here until the end. It wasn't an easy decision, and it wasn't an easy move, but we both knew it was the right decision.

We made it through the first day and night.

There were a few moments when I thought we might not. When the man setting up the bed found a broken clip and asked for duct tape to fix it...when Sam told a friend on the phone that he was just spending the night for one night...when we planned Sam's funeral and his obituary...when the baby monitor picked up the cyclic whooshing of the air mattress pump so well that the noise nearly drove me crazy...

Overall, though, it was a beautiful day. 

At the beginning, Sam was so frail and weak that he barely made it to my car with his walker. It was a demonstration of enormous resolve that he continued to walk when he was barely able to move one foot in front of the other and had such dizziness that he could scarcely see. As he crawled into the car and sank into the leather seat I thought, "This is what tough looks like."

He says his tongue doesn't work and he can't eat, but Sam managed to get a bowl of ice cream down, as well as several Boosts. By the end of the day, his skin wasn't as pasty, his smile was back, he was speaking more, and he was a little stronger. He could get to the bathroom and back to the bed without staggering (well, not as much staggering). He wasn't as short of breath.

Late yesterday afternoon, Sam was seated in the same recliner my Mama occupied five years ago. Same exact spot. He looked over at the hospital bed and back at me. "I never thought I'd end my life in a place so nice." It was all I could do not to weep. This is what grace looks like. Unmerited favor, for both of us. 

I'm tired this morning, but content to know that we've done what I promised I'd do back in 1989: Take care of Sam and let him stay here on the farm as long as he lives. 

We're both grateful for the outpouring of love and prayers. We're so grateful for all those who have called, texted, emailed, and come by. For those who have done some of the myriad of tasks I haven't had time to do. For all those who will help us along this way.

I can't do this alone and I'm grateful I don't have to...thank you all. This beautiful international digital community has become family to me and I'm grateful to be a part.

I'm not doing anything special. I'm doing what we're all called to do: loving our neighbor in the same way we love ourselves. 

Today, please keep praying for us. It's the only way we'll make it through. 

But don't just pray; do more...look around and see which neighbor God has assigned to you. Who should you love as you love yourself? For whom should you lay down your life? 

Obedience is hard, but it's always worth it.

"Great love hath no one than this, that on lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13 nasb

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Please like and share if this blog post has touched your heart. It extends our digital reach in significant ways. Thank you.

In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: When the Time to Move Finally Comes

If you feel led to partner with this ministry (US, Jordan, the digital world), here's the link to give your tax-deductible donations: Global Outreach Acct 4841 

Or you can mail your check or money order to: Global Outreach/ PO Box 1, Tupelo MS 38802. Be sure to put Account 4841 in the "for" line

#sam #loveyourneighbor

Where We Are Now

Today, I'm not writing a theological treatise or telling a touching story. I'm acknowledging that all of you who follow my blog have become family to me. Today, I'm sharing the hard part of my life with you. 

I'm trusting you to handle it gently.

For those who don't know, I bought my farm in 1989. Sam Wiley had worked there for two decades and he didn't want to move. He loved farm work and he loved the farm. The woman who sold the farm to me didn't exactly make keeping Sam on a condition of the sale, but it was strongly encouraged.

I agreed to let Sam live on the farm for the rest of his life and to look after him. 

I was much younger then, and I didn't know what that would mean for me, personally, over the years, but I'm living it today. When you give your word, you keep it. If you don't, it says a lot about your integrity. It you keep your word, it does, too. 

Sam is now 87. He's a widower with no children. He has one living sibling who's in a nursing home. He has no family that's involved in his life to any significant degree. I'm his caregiver, and happy to be so.

He has Parkinson's Disease. He's increasingly frail and, in the way of people who are chronically ill, has mostly lost his appetite. He's said for years that he doesn't want to have life-sustaining treatments in an impossible situation. Really, who does want that?

Sam understands eternity and he knows where he's headed. It's a much better place than where we are now. He doesn't begrudge the passing, but he'd like to have a lot fewer symptoms than he does. We're learning to cope. He's on hospice at home, and they've been wonderful.

Yesterday was our hardest day yet. He awakened so dizzy he couldn't sit up and so weak he couldn't feed himself. I spent most of the day taking care of him.

That doesn't make me a hero or anyone special. Sam's not a hero, either. Many of the people I know are either the one who needs care or the one who gives care. We're just two people going through life the best way we can. The difference is that we're doing it "out loud" in a way that allows people to know. 

Late yesterday, I posted a request for prayer on Facebook. The outpouring of love and prayers was incredible. Within two hours, Sam was enough better that he ventured over to my house. His "misery" was much lessened, and we're both grateful. 

Sam loves a crowd. He's energized by a lot of people. He loves the crowd of people at church, even when he can't remember names and can't always remember faces. This morning, after our very hard day yesterday, we'll load up the walker and go to church again. I desperately need the fellowship, in my way, and Sam needs it in his.

I'm a bit of a loner and a very private person (believe it or not) and "out loud" living is terrible to me, but I know that I'm called to this life of "modeling" the life of a disciple. I'm doing it because I want to be obedient, so I share my life and my challenges. 

This is what it means to live your faith as a disciple: 

- You love God enough to do what is impossibly hard just because He asks it.

- You love your neighbor as yourself, even if it's difficult.

That's what I'm doing. It's nothing special. It's what we're ALL called to do. 

People always ask what they can do to help. Here are a couple of suggestions:

1)  Pray. The best thing you can do is pray that Sam's suffering will be limited and that we'll both have the strength to persevere to the end. 

2) Visit Sam. If you live in Blue Springs and Sam has known you for years, stop and visit. Strangers confuse him, but he welcomes people he knows. Brief visits are best. Share a Scripture. Read a few verses to him. Pray with him. His stamina is not good, so he can't visit long at a time, but he enjoys a brief visit. 

3) Be patient with me. If I don't answer your messages, texts, or calls, please understand. If I don't respond to birthdays or offers of help, please know that I'm not intentionally rude. If a blog is "late," please check back. I have an overwhelming load right now, but it won't last forever and God will bring me through, just like he always has. 

I'm literally doing the best I can. 

4) Get involved. If you're not involved in the life of at least one person who needs what you can give, (other than family) you should be. Loving your neighbor as yourself might be hard, but it's an act of obedience, and it will be worth it. Nothing thrills me more than to see others doing what God has called us all to do. 

I know that, when I write about Sam, I make him "alive" in the hearts of people who read what I've written. That's what writers do. Bring characters to life. If I'm successful as a writer, you will want to respond to Sam, but what you need to realize is that there are "Sams" living near you. God has placed people who need you just as much as Sam needs me. 

Don't cross a city limit to love on Sam when you're supposed to go down the street and love on your own "Sam". 

Today, start loving your neighbor as yourself. It's okay to start small, but it's not okay to refuse to make a start. 

"Jesus replied, 'The most important commandment is this...Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength. The second is equally important: Love your neighbor as yourself. No there commandment is greater than these." Mark 12:29-31 nlt

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In case you missed it, here's the link to yesterday's post: When the Light is Out but You're too Stressed to Notice

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Or you can mail your check or money order to: Global Outreach/ PO Box 1, Tupelo MS 38802. Be sure to put Account 4841 in the "for" line

#loveyourneighbor