Thanksgiving at the Whitman Home

Family Slideshow

Compliments of my lovely daughter, Savannah!

Many of the colored pictures are from our summer vacation. Yes, the one that started this whole foot surgery mess. So, I watch this slideshow with mixed feelings. ;-)

Agony of de Feet!

I hate to be a whiney baby...but this whole recovery thing stinks. I mean, people keep bringing me food every day. I haven't been able to do the housework that I so love to do. Someone else is carting my kids all over creation. People are calling me every single day to say, "How are you? I've been praying for you. Feel better soon!" My husband has to help me up, down, and into bed. I have to have my foot propped on three thick pillows. I have been robbed of the privilege of doing laundry.(Please stand by while I regain my composure.) I have been stripped of my God given right to go to the bank, to dash in and out of Wal-Mart, to stroll to the library and return books that are 6 weeks overdue, to make a last minute run to the grocery store right before it closes. Is anyone shedding a tear for me yet??? It's rough, I know, but some how, some way, I will survive.

A little tongue in cheek humor there. Actually, all of the above represent the beautiful side of recovering from a major surgery. Of course, if you don't have a strong network of family, church or otherwise, you might not have the wonderful help I do.

I can't thank the Jefferson Lighthouse Baptist Church enough for all their sacrifice and help during this time. The family of God has stood by my bedside many times, whether it be hospital bed or my bed at home. It's been a thick and thin relationship that has never given way under the pressures. I can only hope to return the blessing to each of the ladies. God knows my heart. I want to, more than anything I want to.

However, there are some agonies of de feet that I have to come to terms with on my own. With all the positives, there are some negatives I have to deal with, and to be honest, I don't have an easy time dealing with them. For instance, I am immobilized to the point that I can't even do a simple task. That greatly aggrevates me. I was sitting here last night with our dinner guests, (they had brought us all the yummy fixins for tacos and stayed to dine and clean up) and I noticed this enormous cobweb. Under normal circumstances, I would have done all I could to detract any attention from what seemed to be obvious. But instead, I just sat there in my wheelchair helplessly awaiting the cobweb's debut. I don't know if my dinner guest noticed it, but all I could think was, "Some creature sure was busy during this past 2 weeks!" Doesn't make a homemaker feel too good.

Although I don't miss grocery shopping, I miss being able to drive. I won't be able to drive for another 4-6 weeks. That's a real bummer because I really dislike asking people to run errands for me. And with Kevin's busy schedule, it makes it double hard on him.

It sounds fun to ask someone to hand you something that is 6 feet away from you, but after a while, you just want to be able to do it yourself. However, getting it yourself is not that easy. My foot is supposed to be elevated above my heart. So in order to get something even six feet away, I have to remove the leaning tower of pillows, de-recline the recliner, pull myself up on my crutches, and hobble the few steps away to get whatever it was I wanted, find a way to carry it back to the recliner (hopefully in my mouth or under my arm squeezed beside my crutch). And then if I drop it! AACCCCKKK!!!!!! To sum it up: I have to really want it bad to get it myself. It's just so much easier to ask someone else to get it. But asking someone else comes with a twinge of guilt. ;> Vicious circle, I know.

It's not only the guilt of always having to ask someone else to do a simple task for you, it's also the fact that you like the way you do it better. Oh boy, this is a real issue for me. As I wheel through the kitchen in my wheelchair, I am at eye level with my countertops. When I see crumbs, microscopic though they may be, I ask, "Dear Lord, where have I gone wrong? I have shown these kids time and time again how to clean this counter. Where's a dishcloth...." Now this is where I get in real trouble with my husband. As he wheels me out of the kitchen, I am wiping the counter as I go, just a'pitchin' a hissy fit. Then I start in about the microwave, and the refrigerator, and the sweeping, and the mopping. Oh, wait...that's how I am even without surgery! Seriously, I want to reclean what my husband and children are trying to clean, and it wouldn't be so bad if my hands, or in this case, my feet, weren't tied.

Another form of agony I feel is my restriction from the piano. My surgery was on my pedal foot, so I can't play the piano for at least 6 weeks. Now that makes me sad. I have tried crossing my legs and using my left foot on the pedal, but it is too awkward. I will enjoy hearing the choir from the pew for a change, but I will greatly miss my place on the piano bench.

Yes. The agony of defeat, or de feet. Either way, I'm experiencing it. I know I'll come out on top, but arising as the Victor takes alot out of a person. It most definitely takes a lot out of their family. I'm thankful for their help, and I'm thankful to God. Without them, I could never be victorious at all.

Above all, I want to be thankful that my condition is very temporary. I'm not permanently confined to a wheelchair, and my prognosis is great, of course. Lest I should be seen as unaware of how great I've got it, I want to say I see sunny days ahead!

Driving Through the Concrete Jungle with My Little Monkey

For most people, April 15th holds a huge significance. For me, it's October 15th-the real last day you can file your federal income tax return. Just call me the Queen of Income Tax Extensions.

I, your humble blogger, am solely responsible for getting together a year's worth of tax clutter and getting it safely (and accurately) in the hands of a capable accountant. And lucky me, my accountant is located on the other side of Atlanta.

Why the long drive, one might say? Why not go to H & R Block? Well, if you know anything about Minister's taxes, the question is a non sequitur. But if you are unfamiliar with how complex the tax codes are for clergy, let me give you an analogy I use for the difference between men and women: normal tax return=mouse; clergy taxes=keyboard. No offense to anyone that uses the services, but I don't trust my taxes to a "Block" head.

A typical appointment with my accountant last approximately 3 hours, excluding the drive there and back, which adds another 3 hours. An all day event, indeed! But the most dreadful part is the drive through what we local yokels call the "Concrete Jungle"-Atlanta to all others.

I was accompanied by my youngest son, Jordan. He was bored to death sitting at the accountant's office for almost 5 hours today, but his presence allowed me to zip through the HOV Diamond lane, restricted to 2+ passengers. (Thanks son!) He munched on salt and vinegar chips while I chain-chewed my Orbit gum. He constantly chided me for chewing 4 pieces of gum in one hour, but I can't stomach the stuff when it loses it's flavor.

So....it was me and the little guy, all the way there and all the way back. He kept calling out the names of cool cars that passed us. He would point to cars and say, "That's a......" "I want one of those!" He's a source of perpetual chatter. So much like his Mom, God love him!

We enjoyed over an hour of Rush Limbaugh. Even at the age of 13, Jordan has more political sense than many adults. He knows why Obama would be bad for us, and he knows why McCain isn't the best the Republican party had to offer. He asked why money was such a problem when we can print more. I had a hard time explaining that answer. Hearing all this gloom and doom about the stock market has this kid thinking!!

But he was also getting tired of riding. He kept asking, "How far is it to this place?!?!" And boy was he ever ready to get back in that car after sitting in the accountant's office all day. We thought we would surely hit alot of traffic, so we grabbed a bite to eat before we hit I-75. My little monkey loves Krystals. I opted for Chic-Fil-A. Once again, we listened to talk radio. Herman Cain....now there's a guy I would vote for! And Jordan loved hearing him.

So there we were, on our merry way, at 7:15 p.m., trekking back through the Concrete Jungle on the edge of darkness. Atlanta is a scary place in broad daylight, so night time makes me really nervous. Now I know that the 95 pound boy sitting next to me would have been no match for a mugger. He wouldn't have been able to assess any car problems had they arisen. But there was such a comfort in having him in the seat beside me. I felt protected even though logic would dictate that I was the protector.

Have any of you ever felt that way about your son or your child? Just their presence brings comfort and assurance. Just the everyday conversation, hearing them tell about the world as seen through their eyes, can produce an intellectual conversation that can't be parallelled by a member of Mensa.

There is something so profound about children. It's masked with simplicity, but make no mistake; connecting with your children is always deep. It's overwhelming when I think about this relationship that requires constant cultivation. God has given us only one opportunity to raise our children, yet I'm afraid that opportunity is squandered by looking for opportunities. I have found the most opportune times to cultivate are during the drives to the grocery store or while running errands.

It was just an ordinary day, but it became so much more. A drive I dreaded was enriched by the presence of my little monkey, Jordan. My curious Jordan. I'm so thankful to the Lord that my son can be my friend!