God will not Forget You

For my mother, Sharon Mayforth, in honour of Alzheimer’s Awareness Month.

You may continually misplace your keys

Misfile your favourite recipe

Drop a word or two or three

You may lose all track of time

Or lose your way on your way home

Or not recall you’ve told that story once or thrice before

You may forget to water plants, to feed the fish, or put on pants

Yes, there’s a chance you will forget to bathe or brush your teeth or comb your hair

But more than this, I’d be remiss, if I did not mention that amidst these small and trivial things, much greater matters will give way

You’ll lose your very sense of self, your independence, and your health

Confusion will become the order of the day

You’ll wander through your muddled mind and find the jumbled words and ghost of memories past do not express your needs and is there anyone who understands?

The biggest grief will come when you no longer recognize the ones you love

They will be strangers all

Before you think, if this befall you that you’ve been committed to some special sort of hell

And lose all hope and finally despair

I tell you

God will not forget you

He did knit you in your mother’s womb

He knows you as the artist knows each brushstroke and the finished piece

Your worth is not diminished by diminishing capacities

His love does not depend on you possessing all your faculties

No loss can separate you from the love of Christ

He’s carved you on His hands and feet

Though this may be your final trial

Please know that in a little while

You’ll be the blessed one to see Him face to face

And clarity will dawn

And you will rest in Him, confident that you will not forget again

No

God will not forget you

The feature pic is an edit by me of a pic from Pixabay. Footer from Pixabay. Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 Scroll down to the bottom of the page to follow me or sign up to receive my posts via email. Follow me on Instagram. Take a peek at my Redbubble store Pollyeloquent.redbubble.com and my clothing design page on Le Galeriste. Thank you for giving me some of your precious time!

Mountains are for Climbing

Many of you know, if you’ve been reading my blog for awhile, that I struggle with an eating disorder. You can read more about that here. Lately, with the ongoing threat of Covid and the increased patient load at my workplace (you can read about what I do here), I’ve been succumbing to the urge to rapidly consume the contents of my cupboards, healthy or otherwise. I recently took the important step of booking an appointment to see a professional about my problem. I’ve always been a self-helper. Whenever my behaviours resulted in too many unpleasant outcomes, I would read widely on my issues and adopt new coping strategies. Often, this would produce small, lasting changes, but I’m finally ready to admit that I’ve done what I can and I need another’s perspective and guidance.

I Have a Dream

My Prayer for 2021:

Cleanse me.

Heal me.

Help me.

Change me.

I believe it was March 2019, Pre-Covid. It’s all rather fuzzy. The moments are piling up and describing them in regards to when they happened is becoming more difficult, trying to extricate them from the pile is too arduous a task. Maybe it doesn’t matter. It happened regardless of when. I was staying with my sister. She had planned a get together for the young ladies of her community and had her daughter invite her friends and spread the word. She gathered poster boards, magazines, coloured papers, felts and pencils of every hue, stickers, jewels, glitter, and glue. She encouraged the girls in attendance to think about who they wanted to become and what their future might look like and make a visual representation. I live 10 hours from my sister and usually fly there. I  wasn’t interested in carting an unwieldy poster board onto the plane, but I still wanted to participate in the exercise. A scaled-down version would have to do. At the beginning, my sister handed out a small, sturdy card to be used to record our thoughts and it was just what I needed. Brevity is a good thing. Something I’m not known for. 😀 When one has an excess of goals, one often doesn’t reach any of them. We must hone in on our heart’s desires and leave the periphery lie.

Hangin’ in the Comfort Zone

I’ve always been nervous around needles. In college, I joined a group of my fellow students to donate blood. The nurse pricked my finger and I stumbled like a drunk into the other room where another nurse intercepted me, steering me to safety. “We won’t be taking blood from you today,” she said wryly. In University, while enrolled in the Dental Hygiene program and after being immunized, I was told I stood up and abruptly fainted, smacking my head on some nearby equipment on my way down. I woke up lying in a bed, unsure as to where I was, and, most unfortunately, pantsless. I was informed that, once on the floor, my bladder let go. Poor, prone, pony-tailed Polly lying in a puddle of pee in front of her peers! To this day, I use the restroom before any sort of procedure involving a needle. I couldn’t even watch my daughter get her ears pierced in the mall at Claire’s without sitting down next to the table and putting my head between my knees.

Impervious: Pondering the Pandemic

Let fear dictate your path and there won’t be a path to dictate.

In 2019, we visited our neighboring province at the end of October. “Why on earth would you do that?” some may ask, as Saskatchewan is not known for being a vacation destination due to its austere scenery. We happened to be on our way back from Manitoba, where we attended a seminar for my husband’s work as a pastor. We decided to take a day and explore Regina. Even though it wasn’t very wintery where I live in Alberta, I decided to throw in my winter wear as a precaution. Canadians know that winter often shows up unannounced, without regard for your preparedness, especially when you’re still sporting shorts and flip flops. On that note, last winter I did something I haven’t done in 20 years. I bought a new winter coat and not just any winter coat, but the mother of all winter coats. It’s a burgundy puffer jacket with a faux-fur trimmed hood that effectively turns me into the lion king. My daughter has informed me that it makes my head look like a shriveled pea, not a very attractive thought, but, let me tell you, I put that baby on and go outside and, despite the cold, I still feel nearly, and delightfully, feverish.

A Prayer for the World

Our Father

You who are light and love, purity and power

Creator and sustainer of this whirling ball of rock and soil, sloshing blue, and leafy green

Whimsical mastermind of all humankind and creatures wild and wonderful

I normally do come to you with petty problems, small concerns

I dare to pray this day for the whole world

There’s a microscopic killer on the loose

But you know this

A tiny terror that has us by the throat

To take our breath away

And we’re getting crazier than usual down here

We’re taking

When giving is what’s called for

We’re worried bout an ever-growing list

Our health

The health of family and friends

Our mortgages

Food on the table and bills stamped paid

Clean hands and butts

Yes, we’re a little nuts in this regard

It’s hard

To know what to believe

With all the cautionary and, at times, conflicting chatter we’re bombarded with

The only news in town for quite some time

And some of us do fear will lose our minds

Sequestered in our homes for endless days

Reluctantly withdrawing from the human touch we crave

To quell the spread of said uncaring, merciless bug

Oh, God, take out this miniscule thug!

You who’ve always been the champion of the vulnerable and weak

Come to our aid for some have no defense

You who healed the masses when you walked upon this earth

Do so again

Stretch out your hand and let your healing power flow

Allow the suffering among us to draw near and touch your cloak

You who give the breath of life

Exhale

We need a fresh infusion

Yes, and more

Our scientists and doctors need your wisdom to advance against this wily invasion

Our healthcare workers need your strength and shielding in the fray

We all need your assistance, your divine provision

For every day, businesses are shut and jobs are lost

Our costs are soaring

Our children need tending

Our nerves need calming

As chaos threatens to engulf us

Please give us the peace you promise

Renew our trust in you and your great love for us

And fill us with compassion for our neighbours

Help us do what must be done to see that all of us get by

In this most troubling time

In Jesus’ name I pray this,

Amen and amen

Posts come out when I feel like it. 😀 Scroll down to the bottom of the page to receive notifications of my posts via email. Thank you for giving me some of your precious time!

Move it and Lose it: A Former Fatty on Going Lean

The word fat has been in my vocabulary since I was a child. I’m sure there was a time when I was small in size, but I don’t remember it. I was never a wisp of a girl, it’s not how I’m built. When I see pictures of myself in preadolescence, the first word that comes to mind is stocky. I’m reminded of an impish boy pointing at me on the playground, his eyes flashing, as he sang, off key, the popular, Ball Park Frank’s jingle, “They plump when you cook ’em”. He wasn’t inaccurate. Plump. That’s me, for most of my life anyway.

It Snot What you Puke

I don’t like being sick. I suspect most of you are with me on this one. I like to relax, but only when it’s my choice. Bed rest when you feel like death on dung is not near as fun.

Bite My Muffin Top

I read an article the other day written by a personal trainer. I don’t have my own personal trainer ( I kinda feel like I’m talking about a pet) and I don’t believe I’ll ever have the need for one. Why did I read the article then? Because I’m obsessed with my weight and how I look, like countless others on the continent. I’ve read the diet books, the workout books, the anti-diet and anti-workout books. I’ve swallowed the latest infomercial’s hype and bought videos that make me feel foolish, look stupid, and want to stop. I purchased one plastic contraption where the only exercise I got out of it was kicking it to the curb on garbage day. I’ve done the dusty stationary bike, those monotonous aerobics, the funny breathing exercises,the tedious weight lifting routines and the lie down and trim down Pilates. (I’ll admit I enjoyed the lying down part.) I wanted to see if he had anything new to say, any wisdom to impart that would inspire and motivate me to take better care of my body. What was I thinking? He’s a personal trainer. It’s in his best interest to tell us that there is no mind game, no pill that eats up fat cells like Pac-Man, no food that will release the stores of chub we’ve been self-consciously hugging. The success of his business depends on the premise that extreme physical exercise supervised by a glowing Adonis who eats hamburgers wrapped in lettuce (a travesty) is our only hope of becoming the Jennifer Aniston we were meant to be.

The Gift of a Giggle

Salty patient without a filter, grabbing my flab, as I leaned over her to adjust her pillow: “I see you’ve got your winter tires on.”

Me: “They’re all season.” 😀

 

Author’s Note: This was written when I worked as a health care aide on the geriatric wing of the local hospital.

The other day, my daughter and I made pizza together. I bought some pizza dough in a tube which, as I’m writing this, sounds gross, but what are you going to do, if you’re not a domestic goddess? We started well in advance of when we needed to be done. We read the directions, popped the tube, and Rose went to work rolling out the dough. Only, it didn’t roll out. While I grated cheese, I watched her grapple with it, her frustration increasing with every pound of her delicate fists. I figured it needed a little more muscle. I put the big guns to work. I kneaded, pressed, and patted it. I massaged it with all the pizza love I had in me and, if you’ve seen my wedding cake, you know I have some formidable pizza love. It remained on the cutting board, a cold, unyielding lump the color of death. Even the rolling pin hardly put a dent in it. Meanwhile, the time was fast approaching when my big husband would bound through the door, growling like a hungry bear. I began to get desperate and a bit silly with exhaustion. Why not? I thought to myself. Nothing else I’ve tried has worked. I whipped that inflexible blob into the air, tossing it just like I’d seen elderly, Italian gentlemen with moustachios do it. I whooped and hooted and tossed, delirious, insane, no longer caring about the time or that what I was doing was making no difference in the dough at all. The difference it made was in me. It released the tension I was feeling. It melted away the frustration.