Author: Jane Foard Thompson

Jane Foard Thompson is an inspirational speaker and award winning author and poet. A former Montessori teacher in Texas and Utah, for eight years Jane and her husband were missionaries in Honduras, Central America. After working for the American Red Cross in Idaho, they now live in Florida, where she writes, leads music and women's Bible studies at their church, and enjoys nine grandchildren and her Golden Retriever, Lily.

Stuff happens

Before I went to sleep last night, and again as I awoke this morning, I tossed ideas to write about around in my mind — deep, profound subjects – or so it seemed.

However, on the way to my desk, I discovered that Lily, our Golden Retriever, had relieved herself some time during the night on our family heirloom, antique Persian carpet. Not just a little piddle, but a huge, soaked-through-the-horsehair padding-in-a-huge-puddle kind of pee.

solomn Lily
by Jack H Thompson all rights reserved

My husband had already tried blotting with towels and spraying with Odor-Ban, but the smell was deeply embedded in the fibers.

Definitely not the way I wanted to start my day.

Recalling that club soda is the best antidote to urine in a carpet, I blessed my daughter who had given me a soda-making machine, so I could produce as much unflavored soda as I needed.

The minute that grateful thought entered my mind, my spirit lifted.  And with that, the lessons I’ve been learning lately rolled through my mind.

I could curse the dog and grumble about the loss of time and my aching hand.

Or, to be really alive, I could choose to be grateful, no matter what. My attitude was up to me, and that, alone, would determine my experience.

I could choose to be in the moment, even one that stinks. Because living isn’t only on mountain tops or seashores or rose gardens.

If we don’t live in the daily or the grungy or the unwelcome times, we pass up most of our lifetime.

I had soda and towels and a body that generally responds to my commands. Smile.

So I poured and blotted, sniffed, made more soda, poured and blotted, and continued, giving thanks it was a rare, dry day in Florida, and a cool one at that, so I could open all the windows. I gave thanks for the large sliding doors out back that provided great ventilation, and for the recently installed screen cage that made it possible to have air without bugs.

I sniffed, made more soda, went for more towels, poured and blotted, and gave thanks for a washer and dryer to deal with the mountain of stinky towels I was creating. I even gave thanks for the ability to smell the faintest of odors, so I would know where and how much to clean.

The morning sped by with the next couple of hours of pouring club soda and blotting and scrubbing – making impossible any opportunity to write before time to provide the music for the Spanish service at church.

Nevertheless, because I had chosen to stay in the moment with a grateful spirit, I enjoyed the beautiful day and noticed the songs of birds recently arrived from up north.

birds
by Jack H Thompson all rights reserved

And I arrived at church with much more than my guitar.  My spirit was primed for worship because I had spent the morning giving thanks.

In spite of pain from my recent hand surgery, I was able to play the guitar for all sixteen songs. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed that my voice was stronger and clearer than usual, and with our music, we were able to invite the congregation into the presence of the Holy One.

Pipes
by Jack H Thompson all rights reserved

More than anything else, I am giving thanks for the work the Healer has been doing inside me, the wholeness I am experiencing and the ability to choose my attitude, to jump into Life with thanksgiving.

I couldn’t create that change all on my own.

God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.                                Ephesians 3:20  The Message

 

Let’s talk about it:

Have you had a challenge to your attitude lately?

Have you handled a hassle recently that felt like progress or growth?

Seize Life!

For a while now I’ve reflected on beginnings and endings, unaware of how much more personal endings would soon become. I’ve missed a week here, because I missed a week in my life – and almost the rest of it.

After a “simple” hand surgery Tuesday last, disoriented with too much pain medication in my system for my slow metabolism, terrible nausea woke me in the middle of the night. After staggering to the bathroom, I accidentally took too much of an anti-nausea medicine which is very sedating. In the morning, I only responded with groggy words and my husband was concerned, but knew a friend was coming by in an hour to pick me up for church, so he left my cell phone by my ear and went on to work, calling me regularly. After I hadn’t answered more than twenty calls, he left a full schedule of patients and rushed home. When it was clear that I was deteriorating, he called EMS, and followed the ambulance to the Emergency Room.

I awoke in the ER, thinking I’d just had the hand surgery, with no memories of the preceding 24 hours. I couldn’t get my words out to answer their questions and couldn’t move my hands to follow their instructions — the middle of a nightmare.

After an afternoon of CAT scans and other tests, copious amounts of IV fluids, a huge amount of confusion and a great deal of humiliation on my part, they ruled out a stroke. Towards evening, I was improving, so they released me to my husband’s care. We arrived home to find my precious youngest daughter with dinner ready, and my sweet, declining mother with her arms open wide.

It was days before I really understood what had happened, and even more days before I began to feel like myself, as I was weak, had little balance and huge amounts of brain fog. But even in the midst of the splitting headache and waves of nausea, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the people in my life – my husband and his love and intuition, my family and their loving care, my dear friends from church who called and prayed – one who came and took over when my daughter had to return to her family the next day, and prepared food to last us several days.

As a child, I was always told to wait until I was older to do what I wanted and learned early on to postpone enjoyment. Life was scary and harsh, so I engaged reality as little as possible. That helped me to survive a rough childhood, but that is no way to live. How many of our early-acquired defense mechanisms now keep us imprisoned?

In the days that followed The Big Scare, the fog lifted, colors seemed brighter, everything around me more beautiful, and the people in my life even more important. I moved in a deep current of the joy of living and the desire to make every moment count.

And gratitude, in huge waves and gulps, filling me, washing me and releasing me.

As Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes 9:7-10 in The Message

Seize life! Eat bread with gusto,
Drink wine with a robust heart.
Oh yes—God takes pleasure in your pleasure!
Dress festively every morning.
Don’t skimp on colors and scarves.
Relish life with the spouse you love
Each and every day of your precarious life.
Each day is God’s gift. It’s all you get in exchange
For the hard work of staying alive.
Make the most of each one!
Whatever turns up, grab it and do it. And heartily!
This is your last and only chance at it,
For there’s neither work to do nor thoughts to think
In the company of the dead, where you’re most certainly headed.

With a fresh sense of the value of each moment, for living now, valuing my priorities, I’m relishing each task, learning to make the most of all of my life, not waiting for high moments or perfect circumstances.

Letting my Lord’s love pierce me through and through, I am choosing to gift that freedom to everything I set my hand to do, whether loading the dishwasher, walking the dog, playing the guitar or singing in church, hugging a hurting friend, dancing with my youngest grandchild turning one, walking with my husband in the cool of the evening . . . the full range is exciting to embrace, and it’s all a wonder.

A new focus

Beginnings and endings of life offer more than statistics. We are often faced with an experience that pulls us from our daily-ness and refocuses us.

Recently I recalled one of those events that took place over six years ago.

After my grandson was delivered prematurely, he seemed fine for the first 24 hours, then his little lungs couldn’t keep his oxygen levels up. He was taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). That night I contacted friends and relatives across the world to pray for him.

I had no idea how serious it had been until I was sitting by him several days later, watching five medical personal working furiously on another little boy. They lost him.

A nurse approached and nodded his way. “That was your grandson on Sunday night. We’d done everything we could, but nothing worked. We’d about given up when, for no reason, he turned the corner and pulled through.”

I told her about all the prayers. She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know much about that kind of thing, but he’s alive, and it’s for sure a miracle.”

Unable to touch him because his heart rate would soar, I had to spend my few minutes of visitation time just looking, and talking and praying. When I drove away from the hospital, blinded by tears, I had to pull over.

newborn in NICU

“Lord,” I gripped the steering wheel and cried. “We’re grateful that you saved him, but to start life in a plastic box, IV’s and monitors all over his tiny body, lights blinking, monitors beeping and alarms sounding, with the background of rock music from the radio – what a terrible first impression! And we can’t even touch him and comfort him.” I wiped away the tears. “Please, hold him while we can’t. And do something to block out those sounds.” Feeling more peaceful, I dried my eyes and drove on.

Big sister holding him for the first time
Big sister holding him for the first time

About six weeks later my daughter brought the kids to stay with us while she and her husband enjoyed the rare treat of a dinner out. Before she left, she warned me not to let the baby cry because it would drive his heart rate up.

When he grew sleepy, my grandson didn’t want to be put down, but wasn’t really happy being held, either. He began to fuss. I waltzed around the living and dining rooms, singing as I held him close, rubbing his back, and doing whatever I could to calm him.

Without even thinking about it, I switched to Spanish songs.  I started Pescador de Hombres, about Jesus after the resurrection, calling to Peter from the beach and looking into his eyes and smiling with love.

sunrise on water by Jack H Thompson

My grandson froze. Then he looked up at me, and I swear, it was as if he recognized the song! His whole body smiled. He exhaled and relaxed against me, in a deep, peaceful sleep.

As I continued to walk and hum the song, I “heard” a still, small voice say, “That was the song I was singing to him while I held him in the NICU.”

I still get chills remembering it.

Healthy boy at home
Healthy boy at home

My recent experience was with my youngest grandchild. During her first time alone with me she was tense and hadn’t made a sound for hours.  Even though she was exhausted she didn’t want me to put her down. I had to walk and sing. Finally, I sat to give her a bottle and asked her older sister to bring a book for me to read. She brought her children’s Bible.

From her questions about miracles I ended up telling her about her cousin in the NICU, and the song.  Of course, she asked me to sing it.

Grammi holding Elysse at 6 weeks

I was barely into the first verse when the little one shifted in my arms and looked at me with a “Why have you been waiting so long?” look. She started singing along, her whole body engaged. I kept singing, and she grew more and more animated, as if her life were tied to that song. When at last I became hoarse and stopped, she grew quiet again, but contented and relaxed.

Our good friend Hugo Pena, the retired Bishop of Honduras, used to tell us to work on our Spanish, because that is the language of heaven. Could he be right?

One thing is clear, there is so much more going on around and in us than our minds are aware of, than we can comprehend with our five senses or any amount of logic.

It is the Lord of Grace — Love surrounding us, holding us, calling to us when we’ve gone far away, singing into our spirits, breathing life into our bodies and souls.

 I’m asking God for one thing,  only one thing:

To live with him in his house my whole life long.
I’ll contemplate his beauty; I’ll study at his feet.

That’s the only quiet, secure place in a noisy world,
The perfect getaway, far from the buzz of traffic.

Psalm 27: 4-5 The Message