“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
Encore Tulip and Daffodil Performance
Last fall I planted some “late” season tulips and daffodils. While not all of them seem to have bloomed, many have, so I am blessed with an encore performance of mostly white or pale yellow flowers (not planned). The delicate beauty of the various shades of white and yellow stands in lovely contrast to the riot of color I had going on over the past few weeks – almost like a different garden. To add to the beauty, I have some of the flowerbeds edged in various succulents, which are looking pretty impressive filling in the front row and edges.
It was 13 years ago today that my dad was called Home to heaven. May I share his story of how God drew him to Himself?
My dad was a mechanical engineer by training, so could figure out how to fix most anything long before the advent of YouTube tutorials. If he didn’t have the right part, he’d get creative and make something else work. Our family jokes that he could fix just about anything with duct tape.
My dad learned later in life that there was one thing he definitely couldn’t fix by his own ingenuity. His own sinful heart. I was about 12 years old when my dad realized he needed to trust Jesus for salvation from sin. I was old enough to notice his dramatic spiritual transformation — a change that carried over into every aspect of his life.
Mom once shared with me that Dad would spend every lunch break at work reading the Bible he kept in his car. He read through it so many times that it fell apart. Dad repaired it with his favorite tool: duct tape. I displayed that Bible at my dad’s memorial service in 2008, but it disappeared sometime during mom’s battle with Alzheimer’s a few years later. I did find another Bible, similarly repaired (pictured).
Not long ago I sat down with my Dad’s well-worn Bible in my lap and began to page through it, stopping to read his notes in the margin. It was clear to me that he spent much time exploring this copy of God’s Word too. The Bible had a few special things tucked in the flyleaf, including two cards I had sent him — it meant a lot to me knowing that he had treasured those cards enough to save them.
My heart got all tangled up with emotion when my eyes spied two sheets of lined paper in my dad’s familiar handwriting. These were the notes from which my Dad shared this testimony of faith with the congregation at Garfield Baptist Church on March 31, 1971.
Today, dear readers, on the 13th anniversary of his homegoing to heaven, I would like to share dad’s testimony with you, just as he wrote it, with a prayerful hope that God will use it for His Glory .
March 31, 1971
Jerry Boyles - A Son of God
Matthew 10:32 - "Whosoever therefore shall confess me before man, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven."
It is a shock to learn at the genetic age of 39 to find that you are a spiritual babe. I have been a church member since the age of 11-12 but do not recall being asked personally, 'Do you accept Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?" I could not give an affirmative answer the first time this question was posed on a Monday night visitation by Gene Klingbeil and Ed Newton, but it did start the wheels turning. I admitted to being a sinner and I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior on Monday evening November 9, 1970 with the assistance of Rev. (Edward) Fuller, Mr. (Everett) Huebner, and my family. I was baptized by immersion by Rev. Fuller on Dec. 27, 1970.
I base my salvation on John 1:11-13 "He came unto his own and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God."
My assurance of salvation is: John 10:28 "And I give unto them eternal life: and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand."
At this point in Dad’s testimony, he made a note to himself to “Give thanks to AWANA and Sunday School.” Those two ministries of Garfield Baptist Church were very instrumental in my coming to Christ and growing in my faith too. I love knowing that when God drew me to Christ, my family would soon come to know Him too. Dad concluded his testimony in this way:
Being a spiritual babe I have a lot of "catching up" to do. I'm going to need all the help I can get from God and this congregation. I feel that I've had much help from both. I hope, if accepted as a member, that I can be an asset to this church.
In Jesus Name,
Jerry R. Boyles
Right hand of fellowship, Thursday, April 8, 1971
The calendar reads May 1st today, but our temps are in the high 80’s and winds are blustery with gusts up to 50 mph. It feels more like summer than spring. I gardened a bit today, but it’s a little too windy to enjoy it. My hubby suggested we go visit the Allen Centennial Garden. This beautiful public garden is really an outdoor classroom nestled within the heart of the UW-Madison campus.
We smiled as university seniors donned their cap and gown and posed for friends taking informal iPhone portraits along the paths of this picturesque place. On other occasions, we have seen professional photographers taking engagement or family portraits, and we have even stumbled upon a wedding taking place in a reserved area of the garden.
This garden often mirrors my own in its stages, so I was not surprised to find that we were catching just the tail end of this garden’s tulip and daffodil show. A few weeks from now, the “show” will change once again as iris and peonies put on their own performance.
It was so windy, it was hard to take photos, but here are a few tulips which were still looking pretty fabulous. I especially loved their collection of potted tulips.
Once in awhile I am able to observe the student interns and volunteers hard at work planting and maintaining this beautiful place. I sometimes wish I could borrow them for a weekend or so to help spruce up my own place. As I’m growing older, I will admit that I am having more trouble keeping up with the tasks of gardening. But as we walked the garden’s paths today, I couldn’t help but notice that some areas seemed a bit unkempt. One sign pointed to the reason this garden seemed less than tidy. I had to laugh when I read it and told my hubby that I needed this sign for my own garden.
Weeds or not, no matter what’s happening at any particular time in this lovely place, I know I will leave having been glad I had been there. That’s just how I want people to feel when they visit my little plot of God’s creation.
Having grown up a few states away from my own grandparents, I vividly recall those long “summer vacation” trips from Wisconsin to Ohio and West Virginia…and back. Three sweaty siblings elbowing each other in the backseat of our sedan in the years before our family car had air-conditioning. I loved seeing my grandparents, but the trip, not so much. Memories of that once a year trip make me feel particularly blessed to have our daughter Beth and her family living about ten minutes away from us and able to stop by often.
In case you’ve never met him, this is my “little brother” Brad (I previously introduced him here and here). We weren’t particularly close growing up, but I have spent the past six years getting to know him on a level I hope that most siblings will never have to experience.
Brad was a freckle-faced, mischievous kid who had lots of friends, but I knew something was different about him with respect to his ability to learn. He went to a special school for a few years, but my parents never let on to any particulars related to his ‘special education needs’ until one day when I was about 12 years old. I don’t remember what was happening at the time, but Brad was having trouble with his school work and I think my dad sensed my annoyance with my brother over something trivial. I don’t remember Dad’s exact words, but he took me aside and urged me to be kind to my brother and try to help him out because life was harder for him than for most.
I do remember promising my dad that I would try harder to be kind. Little did I know then just what that would entail, but Facebook reminded me earlier this week that six years ago I arrived in Milwaukee to look after my mom who was in the mid-stages of Alzheimer’s and ended up taking my brother to the emergency room at the VA Hospital in Milwaukee. That trip resulted in a series of appointments and a battery of tests, which led to a diagnosis of colon cancer and various cancerous skin issues, in addition to unmanaged diabetes. And so began my opportunity to keep the promise I made to my dad more than 50 years prior ago as I embarked on my ministry of care for my brother, driving him to and from various appointments in treatment for all of these problems. Somewhere along the way it was determined that Brad had experienced some mini-strokes and that he was cognitively impaired – the neurologist called it vascular dementia. It soon became apparent that it would be wise to move both my mom and my brother to live near me
Brad’s room at a nearby nursing home is scheduled for much needed renovation this summer, so the management asked families to help their resident clean out extra items. I stayed for a bit after we returned from Brad’s doctor appointment last week to take care of that. We tackled his nightstand together first, starting with a bag full of unopened cards that people had sent him. There were Easter cards, birthday cards and even a few from Christmas. I opened each of the cards and read them to Brad, reminding him of who people were if he didn’t remember them. Then, I packed up his winter coat and a few items of clothing that he doesn’t like to wear. There were a few t-shirts which were frayed and stained, obviously his favorite shirts to wear, so I took them with me and told him I would purchase new ones.
Someone had gifted Brad with cookies at Christmas. He pointed to the tin on his nightstand (pictured below) and told me he had saved it because he thought I would like it. I don’t know what it was about that simple gesture, but it meant a lot to me that he thought about something I would like. Honestly, even though he had eaten all of the cookies in the tin, it was like a belated Christmas gift.
Mr. Robin Redbreast perches like a king on the purple garden chair -
Pudgy tummy rounded and very handsomely red-vested.
I wonder where he and his queen have built their perfect cup-shaped nest?
In the eaves, atop the downspout, or in the leafy shelter of the crabapple tree?
Cheerily, cheer up! Cheerily, cheer up!
My robin friends require nothing from me, not even to be fed.
Crabapples and blueberries are choice morsels, and juicy worms make a fine dessert.
Their hop-run-run-run hunt for tasty fare is entertaining to watch.
How many baby robins will join them this year; two broods or three?
Cheerily, cheer up! Cheerily, cheer up!
My robin friend takes wing abdicating his backyard purple throne,
Landing on the fountain, he cocks his head, first left, then right.
Mrs. Robin joins him from her treetop perch for a splish-splashy fountain rendezvous.
Then, off they flit to the locust tree where the king serenades his queen with his song.
Cheerily, cheer up! Cheerily, cheer up!
We’ve been in rainy Louisiana this week enjoying more than “raindrops on roses,” but also enjoying whiskers on kittens (four cats) and the playful antics of three dogs (sometimes five) in the home of our friends and gracious hosts, Don and Melinda. Our little vacation started out sunny and beautiful, but most of the week has been more than a little wet…
yet still beautiful, as these photos of Melinda’s garden will prove.
The rain hasn’t dampened our quiet fellowship. Together we have enjoyed Melinda’s amazing cooking (she truly loves to cook), a never-ending tea-time, the challenge of putting together two 1,000-piece puzzles, or our time spent binge-watching episodes of British tv’s “Pie in the Sky” and “Rosemary and Thyme” trying to see who can figure out whodunit before the detectives. Oh, and I must not forget the menagerie of critters!
As wonderful as every single minute of our vacation was, it was nice to pull up into our driveway tonight and be welcomed by lovely daffodils and tulips.
Thank you to Jon the Propagator for hosting this fun, around-the-world garden tour each week.
The summer of 1982, my neighbor Adele reached over her backyard fence and handed me a freshly dug perennial from her lovely garden. In passing me that tiny bit of her garden, she inspired me to create my own garden. I have been a do-it-yourself gardener ever since. Like my gardening inspiration and mentor Adele, I use traditional tools like cultivator hoes, trowels, and other hand tools, rather than power this ‘n thats to get the job done. My idea of a rototiller is to go in the house and ask my hubby to come outside and dig for me. He can dig in a matter of minutes what it would take me days to dig.
Likewise, most of the other members of my “gardening staff” all call me “Grandma.” Other than occasionally paying a grandchild to help pull weeds or pick up seed pods from our locust tree, or a friend who is temporarily out of work, I have never hired anyone to help me in the garden.
Okay, I will admit to a tiny twinge of jealousy as I see landscaping trucks in the neighborhood. It sure would be nice to hire a professional landscape artist to draw up a plan for that Pinterest-inspired garden space I have been dreaming about – complete with the cozy two-story structure with a little sitting room beneath and a cozy bunkhouse above which would provide a grandkid-friendly (and fun) summer sleep space. It would be so cool to have a landscaping crew, each with more muscles than Wayne and I combined, jump out of those trucks and in a matter of days transform my garden space into the luscious dream garden I have in my head.
Oh, I have loads of ideas!
As nice as it would be to have a professional landscape team doing all the grunt-work, I must admit there is a special joy and satisfaction when I look at God’s wonderful artistry in our gardens robed in summer’s splendor and realize that “we did this” ourselves.
No one can rightly call his garden his own unless he himself made it. ~ Alfred Austin, Poet Laureate 1986
We call them caregivers. Some caregivers are paid to do the job (and I’m SO thankful for them), but most are not financially compensated.
They just care. And give.
I hope my second article will be an encouragement to caregivers. My little series is based upon an article from Alzheimer’s TODAY called Tiny Gifts That Are TREMENDOUS, where Mary Kay Baum shared a helpful A-to-Z list of caregiving suggestions [Click here to read the original article]. My caregiver friends, come along with me as I share how these tips played out in my own caregiving journey. Last week I gave you my spin on A-B-C; this week, I’ll share my thoughts regarding D-E.
Do mention your name, looking at me.
One day I was helping my mom look for her checkbook (a frequent activity in the mid-stages of Alzheimer’s). As I sifted through the contents of her purse, I pulled out a list of names. Taking a closer look, I could see that the names were those of some of her closest friends at church. Each name was written out several times, as if she were practicing, trying to cement the names in her mind. I could imagine my mom sitting in her Bible study trying so hard to recall the names of people she had known for years.
It was during this period of time that I realized just how much mom was struggling with the names of the people she knew and loved. In retrospect, it was probably the reason she began declining invitations to social events and had not been regular in her church attendance.
One way we tried to help my mom was to create laminated photo cards which listed the names of the people in the photo and how they were connected with mom. I would get that photo out for her when that individual came for a visit. It helped mom save face by prompting her with the visual cue she needed to remember the names of her guests. As her dementia progressed, she just liked carrying all of her laminated cards around in her purse and seemed to enjoy sorting them and reading the captions.
ENJOY quiet times with me like reading to me.
Reading to my mom was a bit tricky. She was pretty hard of hearing, but I’m so proud of my grandkids (her greats) who did their best to include their great-grandma by reading with her. My youngest grandson George was amazingly good at this. He knew how to put on his loud voice and would snuggle up to her and look at books with her whenever he would visit.
Mom had a special spot at our kitchen table. Whenever the great-grands would come, they would try to do something at the table. Sometimes she’d join in the fun, other times she would just watch.
I’m not going to lie. Having a front-row seat to the heartbreak associated with mom’s onset and advancement of dementia was a hard place to be, but I’m glad I had the opportunity to be a blessing to her during that time. My bank of memories is full to the brim with more special moments than difficulties.
As dementia progresses, the ability to interpret the words written on the page becomes more difficult. Since mom enjoyed coloring, we purchased adult coloring books with simple devotional thoughts and Bible messages so that mom could continue to read. Members of the family also created photo albums with brief descriptive captions–she truly enjoyed looking through those too. Those same photo albums gave less familiar friends and paid caregivers something to do with her too–a connection and something to talk about and enjoy together.
It is my hope and dream that by sharing my own experiences – the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful – someone else will be encouraged in their life as a caregiver. Sometimes, sharing just one caregiving idea will give another caregiver the hope that they can DO this hard thing.
For more helpful information about Alzheimer’s please visit:
The Alzheimer’s Foundation of America puts out a fine publication aimed at providing helpful information for those who love and care for others with Alzheimer’s disease and other types of dementia including vascular dementia (what my brother has), Lewy Body dementia, Parkinson’s, alcohol-induced dementia, and others. Their purpose is stated in this way:
Mission: To provide support, services and education to individuals, families and caregivers affected by Alzheimer’s disease and related dementias nationwide, and fund research for better treatment and a cure.
Alzheimer’s Foundation of America
If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you know I have a similar mission or purpose in writing. In addition to sharing the fun stuff in life that comes from my joy in barefoot gardening, grandkids, and following Christ, I have a deep desire to encourage those who are in the trenches of caring for a loved one or friend with Alzheimer’s. We call them caregivers. Some caregivers are paid to do the job (and I’m SO thankful for them), but most are not financially compensated.
They just care. And give.
Today, I’m sharing an article from Alzheimer’s TODAY which should be of great help to ALL caregivers. Tiny Gifts That Are TREMENDOUS is a thoughtfully written A-to-Z list of caregiving suggestions compiled by Mary Kay Baum of Time for Us Camp in Dodgeville, WI. [Click to access Alz.-Today-Vol.-15-No.-4-LR.pdf]
This article resonated with me. As I read each point the article made, I could think of several examples from my own caregiving journey with my mother. Over the next few weeks, with the permission of Alzheimer’s TODAY, I plan to share a few of the things I learned along the way. It is my hope and dream that by sharing my own experiences – the good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful – someone else will be encouraged in their life as a caregiver. Sometimes, just one unexpected word of encouragement can help someone have the courage to keep going. Sometimes, sharing just one caregiving idea will give another caregiver the hope that they can DO this hard thing.
So, caregivers everywhere, come along with me as I share how these tips played out in my own caregiving journey. We’ll start with ABC.
APPROACH me from the front and avoid startling me.
Gracious, this is so important! Many people do not realize that as the brain deteriorates, the field of vision and the ability to interpret what is in that field of vision becomes increasingly limited. I learned early on to approach my mom slowly from the front. Swooping in from the side, or reaching around her from the back, even if it was just to give her a hug, would cause her to jump. When she was frightened, she was less likely to be cooperative and sometimes even became combative. When mom entered into assisted living, those who followed this guideline had greater success in encouraging her to take medications, get dressed, eat…whatever. Those who would approach from the side and hurriedly shove a cupful of meds or a spoonful of food into her mouth could almost count on resistance.
BEND DOWN or sit down near me if I am in a wheelchair.
Even if a loved one is not in a wheelchair, no one likes to be hovered over. In addition to being seated in a wheelchair, imagine trying to understand what is being communicated when your field of vision is so small. Before you read any further, please put your hands in front of you. Next, touch the tips of each thumb and each index finger (the pointer) together. Your hands have created a small circle. Now, put your eyes up to that circle and look through that small circle. That, my friend, is the field of vision through which the typical person afflicted with Alzheimer’s interprets their world. Let that little exercise, imperfect as it is, inform the way you approach your loved one.
My mom needed to see my smiling face, read my lips and facial expressions, and observe my actions. I would try to have lunch with her every day that she was in assisted living. Mom had a tendency to wander away from the table during meals. Having me there eating with her helped her stay at the table and gave her the visual and social cues she needed to eat.
CALL my name gently and with a smile.
I’m notorious for talking to my husband from the other room, or worse yet, as I’m walking away from him. It’s a bad habit – lazy on my part, and disrespectful, actually. Precious caregivers, we can NOT do that with those who have Alzheimer’s.
We need to practice the art of getting close and putting a gentle smile on our face as we speak to our loved ones. When I needed my mom’s attention, she needed to hear AND see me say her name. A smile made communication more pleasant for both of us. Mom could read frustration on my face even when she could not hear my voice well (she was profoundly hard of hearing). I could save both of us frustration by just remembering the ABC’s.
Approach her from the front
Bend down or sit near her (get my smiling face in her field of vision), and
Call her name gently.
For more helpful information about Alzheimer’s please visit: