I started writing this while sitting in a hospital waiting area. Thankfully, there was a Starbucks in the building, so a very tall coffee sat next to me.
My one-year-old nephew went into the ER this past weekend. Once he was in a room, and I was able to see him, I was slightly taken aback. He was hooked up to so many things. And meds were being pumped into his little body. All to help him be more comfortable as they ran various tests.
Photo by Marcelo Leal on Unsplash
It was hard looking at my little Buddy lying in a huge hospital bed. I couldn’t help but find myself thinking about my dad. Some eighteen years ago he was in and out of the hospital due to prostate cancer.
My father, Bruce C. Stanley, passed away on Sunday, April 15, 2001 – Easter Sunday. This time of year always proves to be hard at different moments. The joy is always accompanied by the sorrow. The bustle of family and friends visiting is now the companion of an emptiness of missing him. Continue reading
Go to sleep, baby girl, go to sleep.
Close your eyes, your pretty eyes, and go to sleep.
So you can dream of being the captain of a great, big, ship, exploring the wonders of the world.
when i hold your little hands in mine
i can’t help but wonder what your hands will hold
will your hands give food to the hungry?
will they raise up in protest of discrimination and racism?
will they hold a book into the wee hours of the morning?
A number of years ago while part of a work camp in Durham, North Carolina, I was assigned to work with a group of young people on the house of an elderly African-American woman. Before even meeting her, I was informed that she was a cancer survivor who had adopted her two granddaughters. I decided that I was not going to get to close to this woman. I was going to be there for the young people and minister to them. That, I had decided, was my purpose that week.