Celtic hymns play softly, diffused through the baby monitor that keeps our ears tuned to his needs in the other room. Now and then the voice of his son drifts through the monitor as well.
“How’s that, Dad?” he asks. “Are you comfortable?”
The weak voice of his father replies, the celtic flute swells again and conversation lulls.
From where I sit on this porch, I see the overlay of our lives. The dedicated nurse and daughter, devotion and expertise in one petite package, stands at the counter surfing the net, gathering information. His wife of almost sixty years, his soulmate, concentrates at the sunroom table, sorting his medication for the new week. Another daughter and two more sons will come by sometime today and pick up the slack in the reigns, caring for the house and yard which once were the domain of their father. Everyone lends a hand.
From the corner of the porch, I ponder the marble and brass statue of a boat on the glass table near the window. Its full sails push the vessel forward while an inscription on the main sail reads, “I can do all things through CHRIST who strengthens me.” All things is a difficult description right now, and my own weary heart questions sometimes if His strength really transfuses as easily as it sounds in this promise.
These waters are rough, the horizon unchanging, our course uncharted. But a promise is a promise. If this one isn’t true, He isn’t God.
The hymn draws my attention again, its lyrics carried by the lilting tones of celtic instruments. “. . . Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight, be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight. . . Thou my best Thought, by day or by night, waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.”
When perspective blurs, He is my vision.