Thankfulness
1. For the love and goodness of God--permeating, surrounding, upholding, guiding my life and loved ones.
2. For my faithful, caring husband. He has been faithful to God, to his calling, and to me--with singleness of heart and eyes. He is a good, dependable husband, father and grandfather.
3. For the Word--seven times pure, true and absolute; a sure foundation, eternal; the expression and history of God at work in humanity; grace and mercy applied to our lives.
4. For my kids: Danny, with his wonderful wittiness and insight; faithful to the Lord and His calling; standing firm in the midst of the fire. For Natalie, who loves him dearly.
Chrissy, my little girl, beautiful wife and mother; so very talented and creative--not even aware of all her potential. For Matt, gifted beyond comprehension--good husband and father.
5. For my lovely, talented, unpredictably-creative grandchildren. Their potential and destiny still unknown, untapped--but secure in God.
6. For my dad and mom--incredible heritage; siblings--related by blood and by our love for each other; our memories of rich experiences in life.`
Friday, November 26, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
POLIO—IN THE NEWS, BUT NOT NEW
________________________________________
Polio is in the news again, but for some, it never went away. This new outbreak recently reared its ugly head on another continent, far from our own doorsteps, but not so long ago we lived the terror here too. In the decades of the thirties, and especially the forties and fifties, public swimming pools, playgrounds and sidewalks—anywhere children normally played—were mostly deserted. Parents lived in fear, cloistering their children indoors, when the spectre of polio stalked their communities.
But the mass epidemics of the Twentieth Century seemed a mystery to scientists, who conjectured that perhaps the discovery of bacteria as causing illness led to more hygienic habits. This was a good thing, of course—but which left children with less immunity against the contagious virus
My own grandfather contracted polio circa 1882, though the rural doctor was not able to diagnose the illness, except that the young boy suffered a high fever and lingering paralysis, which left him with a limp the remainder of his life.
In 1947, I myself, came down with polio at the age of 18 months becoming paralyzed from the waist down. The life-long residual effects were evident as soon as the paralysis passed: a withered left leg and spinal deformity. After several orthopedic surgeries, and with a full-length leg brace, I achieved the ability to walk reasonably well.
Many well-known people from every profession are included in the hall-of-fame list of polio survivors. Some familiar names: Actors, Alan Alda and Donald Sutherland (who both played Hawkeye on M*A*S*H), Mia Farrow; movie director, Francis Ford Coppola; Judy Collins, singer and song-writer; Itzhak Perlman, famed violinist; Robert McNamara, former U.S. Secretary of Defense; Jack Nicklaus, pro-golfer. Sir Walter Scott (an ancestor of mine, incidentally), historical novelist and poet, was left lame after developing what we now know as polio, though it was undiagnosed at the time.
.
A retired schoolteacher, Eleanor Abbott, contracted polio in 1948. While confined in hospital she invented and designed a game—Candy Land—for the children recuperating there.
The most well-known polio survivor, of course, was our 32nd president, Franklin D. Roosevelt. The March of Dimes—an organization that helped hundreds of thousands of polio survivors, including me—began through his efforts and influence. My hospital care, surgeries and prosthetic devices were covered in their entirety by the generous, warm-hearted giving of millions of school children, who carefully inserted their dimes on the donation cards, then turned them in at school for the March of Dimes.
Thankfully, other than these heart-breaking incidences in under-developed countries, polio is no longer a threat. In 1955 the announcement of Jonas Salk’s successful vaccine resulted in hundreds of thousands of children lining up to be inoculated. Modern science declared a major victory in the fight against disease by vanquishing the deadly, menacing wraith of poliomyletis.
But, thousands of us still face its consequences as a daily fact of life. Of course, like World War II vets, there aren’t many of us left, and when we’re gone, barring—God forbid—another massive outbreak, polio will have passed into history.
Possibly the most intriguing aspect of polio survivors is exactly what that word signifies: We view ourselves not as victims, but fighters, warriors battling for our very existence. Every movement must be re-learned, thought out, planned ahead. What amounts to a small hill for others is cliff-climbing for us. A staircase becomes Mt. Everest; spring-loaded doors a steel trap. Challenges face us at every turn, but something within us rises to meet it. We do not give up. We improvise, innovate, sometimes fall (literally) but get up again and keep going. And we survive. Stronger, more resilient, perhaps, than others for whom movement is easy, unencumbered—thoughtless, even. The majority of survivors exhibit Type A characteristics. Thus polio has made us.
I can say, without a doubt, that my handicap has been a blessing, shaping me beyond the mere hereditary qualities of parents and ancestors into who I am today. I quote notable photojournalist, Dorothea Lange, whose polio left her with a withered leg and limp. She commented, “It was perhaps the most important thing that happened to me. It formed me, guided, instructed me, helped me, and humiliated me. All those things at once. I've never gotten over it and am aware of the force and power of it.”
Life throws some unforeseen, course-changing events at us, but by God’s grace, it is what you make of it. As of a few years, I have experienced a gradual but noticeable diminution of physical strength, resulting in the need to use a wheelchair. For short distances, I am able to walk with a cane. Over-used joints, fulfilling unintended functions for more than 60 years, are wearing out. I remain grateful for the parts that work reasonably well and for good health, all things considered.
I have accomplished many things my doctors predicted as impossible, or at best, difficult: in my childhood, learning to ride a two-wheel bike; carrying two healthy pregnancies and rearing two rambunctious children; as well as serving in ministerial roles with my husband in third-world countries.
Though doggedly independent and self-reliant to a fault, my increasing needs have required me over the years to ask for assistance, even from strangers, and I derive pleasure in their across-the-board, wholehearted willingness. People like to be needed. Even the most unlikely—at least to my age-linked viewpoint, such as the heavy-metal rockers with purple mohawks and innumerable piercings who hurried to open a door for me—have been more than eager to assist.
I am grateful for those who offer to help, who do so not knowing if they’ll be rejected, brushed off, or even resented. Thank you for caring.
Perhaps it is this cheerful giving and receiving of compassion that weaves us together in the intricate fabric of God’s creation. Something such as polio, intertwining dark, somber fibers into the embroidery of life, can reveal the brightness of that better side of humanity. Thus humankind’s best potential is highlighted in colorful threads of mercy and humility.
Connie Schisler Vellekoop
November 13, 2010
Polio is in the news again, but for some, it never went away. This new outbreak recently reared its ugly head on another continent, far from our own doorsteps, but not so long ago we lived the terror here too. In the decades of the thirties, and especially the forties and fifties, public swimming pools, playgrounds and sidewalks—anywhere children normally played—were mostly deserted. Parents lived in fear, cloistering their children indoors, when the spectre of polio stalked their communities.
But the mass epidemics of the Twentieth Century seemed a mystery to scientists, who conjectured that perhaps the discovery of bacteria as causing illness led to more hygienic habits. This was a good thing, of course—but which left children with less immunity against the contagious virus
My own grandfather contracted polio circa 1882, though the rural doctor was not able to diagnose the illness, except that the young boy suffered a high fever and lingering paralysis, which left him with a limp the remainder of his life.
In 1947, I myself, came down with polio at the age of 18 months becoming paralyzed from the waist down. The life-long residual effects were evident as soon as the paralysis passed: a withered left leg and spinal deformity. After several orthopedic surgeries, and with a full-length leg brace, I achieved the ability to walk reasonably well.
Many well-known people from every profession are included in the hall-of-fame list of polio survivors. Some familiar names: Actors, Alan Alda and Donald Sutherland (who both played Hawkeye on M*A*S*H), Mia Farrow; movie director, Francis Ford Coppola; Judy Collins, singer and song-writer; Itzhak Perlman, famed violinist; Robert McNamara, former U.S. Secretary of Defense; Jack Nicklaus, pro-golfer. Sir Walter Scott (an ancestor of mine, incidentally), historical novelist and poet, was left lame after developing what we now know as polio, though it was undiagnosed at the time.
.
A retired schoolteacher, Eleanor Abbott, contracted polio in 1948. While confined in hospital she invented and designed a game—Candy Land—for the children recuperating there.
The most well-known polio survivor, of course, was our 32nd president, Franklin D. Roosevelt. The March of Dimes—an organization that helped hundreds of thousands of polio survivors, including me—began through his efforts and influence. My hospital care, surgeries and prosthetic devices were covered in their entirety by the generous, warm-hearted giving of millions of school children, who carefully inserted their dimes on the donation cards, then turned them in at school for the March of Dimes.
Thankfully, other than these heart-breaking incidences in under-developed countries, polio is no longer a threat. In 1955 the announcement of Jonas Salk’s successful vaccine resulted in hundreds of thousands of children lining up to be inoculated. Modern science declared a major victory in the fight against disease by vanquishing the deadly, menacing wraith of poliomyletis.
But, thousands of us still face its consequences as a daily fact of life. Of course, like World War II vets, there aren’t many of us left, and when we’re gone, barring—God forbid—another massive outbreak, polio will have passed into history.
Possibly the most intriguing aspect of polio survivors is exactly what that word signifies: We view ourselves not as victims, but fighters, warriors battling for our very existence. Every movement must be re-learned, thought out, planned ahead. What amounts to a small hill for others is cliff-climbing for us. A staircase becomes Mt. Everest; spring-loaded doors a steel trap. Challenges face us at every turn, but something within us rises to meet it. We do not give up. We improvise, innovate, sometimes fall (literally) but get up again and keep going. And we survive. Stronger, more resilient, perhaps, than others for whom movement is easy, unencumbered—thoughtless, even. The majority of survivors exhibit Type A characteristics. Thus polio has made us.
I can say, without a doubt, that my handicap has been a blessing, shaping me beyond the mere hereditary qualities of parents and ancestors into who I am today. I quote notable photojournalist, Dorothea Lange, whose polio left her with a withered leg and limp. She commented, “It was perhaps the most important thing that happened to me. It formed me, guided, instructed me, helped me, and humiliated me. All those things at once. I've never gotten over it and am aware of the force and power of it.”
Life throws some unforeseen, course-changing events at us, but by God’s grace, it is what you make of it. As of a few years, I have experienced a gradual but noticeable diminution of physical strength, resulting in the need to use a wheelchair. For short distances, I am able to walk with a cane. Over-used joints, fulfilling unintended functions for more than 60 years, are wearing out. I remain grateful for the parts that work reasonably well and for good health, all things considered.
I have accomplished many things my doctors predicted as impossible, or at best, difficult: in my childhood, learning to ride a two-wheel bike; carrying two healthy pregnancies and rearing two rambunctious children; as well as serving in ministerial roles with my husband in third-world countries.
Though doggedly independent and self-reliant to a fault, my increasing needs have required me over the years to ask for assistance, even from strangers, and I derive pleasure in their across-the-board, wholehearted willingness. People like to be needed. Even the most unlikely—at least to my age-linked viewpoint, such as the heavy-metal rockers with purple mohawks and innumerable piercings who hurried to open a door for me—have been more than eager to assist.
I am grateful for those who offer to help, who do so not knowing if they’ll be rejected, brushed off, or even resented. Thank you for caring.
Perhaps it is this cheerful giving and receiving of compassion that weaves us together in the intricate fabric of God’s creation. Something such as polio, intertwining dark, somber fibers into the embroidery of life, can reveal the brightness of that better side of humanity. Thus humankind’s best potential is highlighted in colorful threads of mercy and humility.
Connie Schisler Vellekoop
November 13, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
A TIME TO MUSE ABOUT TIME
“Teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.” (Ps. 90:12—NRSV)
I've been thinking a lot about time, lately. Not CLOCK time, but CALENDAR time. Clock time gallops along, ticking merrily through the day, reminding us that there are things to accomplish, chores to be slogged through. Meals need to be whipped up and ingested, and a daily list has to be checked off (if you're one of those Persnickety List People) before sagging into bed at night, brain on the verge of flat-line.
We talk about "beating the clock, working against the clock, watching the clock, marking time, killing time," referring to daily deadlines or lack thereof. We have clocks, watches (at least older people do—younger ones just flip open their ever-at-hand, ubiquitous cell-phones), iPods, Blackberries, and other electronic devices. Our frantic, panting, scrabbling life styles require us to be ever glancing at time-pieces, yet they still don't tell us much about the Relentless March of Time. Mostly, we're grateful for that welcome sleep which marks the end of the clock-watching (unless one has issues with insomnia—"is there any possible way to turn the mind off at night?!")
The calendar, however, is another whole ball-game. Twelve measly pages flip through at warp-speed.
I just completed my sixty-fifth year of life. I am now older than my mother when she died. Granted, she was unconscionably and unacceptably young for her life to have ended. But, the Calendar continues to move forward, unimpeded by my protests and denial. I am 65. There is no avoiding or changing it.
Actually, heaven looks pretty appealing. Mom is there, and more and more people I’ve known and loved. And I’ll have a new body—unhampered by polio. Best of all, Jesus is there—the Focus and Culmination of time and eternity.
I am not brooding or morose—merely looking at the facts. I have probably 25 or so more years here on God's little planet—maybe a bit longer, since longevity is a family trait. I've accomplished a few things, but not nearly as many as I had thought by this stage.
Someone said once, "Most of what we do for God is inadvertent—'accidental'" It's sort of like on the way to doing something else we touched a life, spoke a word, or encouraged someone. There are times we even get to find out we did something right. Mostly, we'll probably only get to see our fruit when we get Over There. And then it won't matter—Jesus will get all the glory anyway.
So, as I see it, the most important thing is to stay faithful, plugging away for the long haul at whatever seems to be the task at hand that God puts in front of me; don't get carried away with any sort of feeling of self-importance; shooting stars burn out quickly—so shine steadily where I'm put. I don't want to end my days a sour old woman, and for that reason I plan on aging gracefully—a jolly old lady to the end—one that kids and cats like being around.
So I'm going to keep dyeing my hair red; wearing lipstick and blue eye shadow, watching my diet and pushing myself to do that dratted hour per day on the exercycle. Most important—I'm going to keep on loving Jesus, my husband, my family. And I’ll always reach out to people and maybe get to bless a few along the way.
Heaven will wait.
I've been thinking a lot about time, lately. Not CLOCK time, but CALENDAR time. Clock time gallops along, ticking merrily through the day, reminding us that there are things to accomplish, chores to be slogged through. Meals need to be whipped up and ingested, and a daily list has to be checked off (if you're one of those Persnickety List People) before sagging into bed at night, brain on the verge of flat-line.
We talk about "beating the clock, working against the clock, watching the clock, marking time, killing time," referring to daily deadlines or lack thereof. We have clocks, watches (at least older people do—younger ones just flip open their ever-at-hand, ubiquitous cell-phones), iPods, Blackberries, and other electronic devices. Our frantic, panting, scrabbling life styles require us to be ever glancing at time-pieces, yet they still don't tell us much about the Relentless March of Time. Mostly, we're grateful for that welcome sleep which marks the end of the clock-watching (unless one has issues with insomnia—"is there any possible way to turn the mind off at night?!")
The calendar, however, is another whole ball-game. Twelve measly pages flip through at warp-speed.
I just completed my sixty-fifth year of life. I am now older than my mother when she died. Granted, she was unconscionably and unacceptably young for her life to have ended. But, the Calendar continues to move forward, unimpeded by my protests and denial. I am 65. There is no avoiding or changing it.
Actually, heaven looks pretty appealing. Mom is there, and more and more people I’ve known and loved. And I’ll have a new body—unhampered by polio. Best of all, Jesus is there—the Focus and Culmination of time and eternity.
I am not brooding or morose—merely looking at the facts. I have probably 25 or so more years here on God's little planet—maybe a bit longer, since longevity is a family trait. I've accomplished a few things, but not nearly as many as I had thought by this stage.
Someone said once, "Most of what we do for God is inadvertent—'accidental'" It's sort of like on the way to doing something else we touched a life, spoke a word, or encouraged someone. There are times we even get to find out we did something right. Mostly, we'll probably only get to see our fruit when we get Over There. And then it won't matter—Jesus will get all the glory anyway.
So, as I see it, the most important thing is to stay faithful, plugging away for the long haul at whatever seems to be the task at hand that God puts in front of me; don't get carried away with any sort of feeling of self-importance; shooting stars burn out quickly—so shine steadily where I'm put. I don't want to end my days a sour old woman, and for that reason I plan on aging gracefully—a jolly old lady to the end—one that kids and cats like being around.
So I'm going to keep dyeing my hair red; wearing lipstick and blue eye shadow, watching my diet and pushing myself to do that dratted hour per day on the exercycle. Most important—I'm going to keep on loving Jesus, my husband, my family. And I’ll always reach out to people and maybe get to bless a few along the way.
Heaven will wait.
PROUD OWNER OF NEW iPad!!
Following up my previous blog: my incredible husband GAVE me an iPad for my 65th Birthday (plus the Blue Tooth external keyboard)!! I had $200 in my iPad Fund and he paid for the rest. I am having great fun learning it (as long as I can consult my "Techie-Assistant-Son-in-Law." Actually, I've already been able to use it very efficiently to take notes for a debriefing I did with an EF missionary.
There's a slim possibility I may write another biography--this time for a well-known Elim person, and the iPad will be very useful for note-taking at interviews. I will have to take your advice, DV, on the "coolness factor" and get John Lennon sunglasses and a beret.
The learning curve is as big as Kansas, but I'm gettin' there!
There's a slim possibility I may write another biography--this time for a well-known Elim person, and the iPad will be very useful for note-taking at interviews. I will have to take your advice, DV, on the "coolness factor" and get John Lennon sunglasses and a beret.
The learning curve is as big as Kansas, but I'm gettin' there!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)