Pastor's Devotions by Tim Harris

Over the past few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time sitting with my dad, first in the hospital and now in the nursing/rehabilitation center.   In fact, I’ve probably never spent so much time with him—at least not in such extended periods of time.   And, what I’ve learned over the past few weeks is, we don’t always have to talk.   Sometimes it’s enough to just sit in silence.   For one, due to his illness, my dad has limited speech capacities. Thus, from his end of it, it is hard and exhausting for him to carry on an extended conversation.   But, secondly, in light of all that is taking place, so many of the things we would normally talk about seem so trivial. Although he still likes to know what is going on with the rest of the family and in the world around, it can seem so trite to talk about where we are going for dinner, the latest sale in the supermarket, and how the Yankees are doing.   Not that we don’t talk about any of that, but after a while it begins to sound like just a l

Without getting into too many details, these past couple of weeks have been very, very hard for my family and me.   My 85 year old dad who, up until the beginning of the year was relatively healthy, active, and independent, was suddenly hospitalized and is now facing some very difficult health issues—illness that will gravely affect whatever time he has left in this life.   These past couple of weeks, my siblings and I have spent much of our time with my dad in the hospital and now in a rehabilitation-nursing facility—all while trying to also take care of our mom (and our own families and jobs).   For me, the hardest part of it all is seeing the man who to me was so strong and invincible now so frail and in need.   It is strange for me to have to help him get up out of a wheelchair to get to the bathroom, to help him wash his face or brush his teeth, or have to watch over him as he eats his meals.   He was the one who always took care of us. He was the provider, protector, tea

Back in the month of January, Kim and I arrived home late one Friday evening on one of those very, very cold nights that we have been having throughout this winter.   Of course we couldn’t wait to get into the warmth of the house. But when I put the key in the door lock and turned it, I found that although the key turned, the door would not unlock.   The lock had broken.   We couldn’t get the door open—and we have no other door by which to enter or leave the house. Kim and I were locked out—stuck on the outside! Thankfully our daughter Joanna was home; she was actually locked on the inside. After a bit of discussion through the door and trying to figure things out, Joanna opened a front window, I found a chair, and at 11:45 p.m. on a freezing cold Friday night, Kim and I were climbing into our house through the window!   (We were hoping none of our neighbors would see us and call the cops!)   Once we were inside, like Joanna, we were now locked in. But, better to be locked in than