A Third Way

Thanksgiving.

This year found me on the couch crying big tears. I told my husband how I can hardly make it through the day since my broken molar was replaced with an implant a few days ago. I’m in pain and I look like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky VI. That’s what I feel like, come to think of it. I feel like I’m in a script that should have had one run and I’m starring in the dreaded encore.  

How can my body be knocked down this low, again?


I can name some truths that are residing in my body, and yet somehow I struggle to bless that my body is needing tons of sleep, Advil, and tenderness.


Ten days ago my husband, my sister and I flew to Colorado to be present as my Dad’s oncologist informed us that chemo will no longer kill his tumors. We interviewed caregivers and made plans. My body barely made it through that day. By the late flight home, I was tense as a slinky stretched out by a toddler. You know that slinky isn’t ever going to be the same.  

I fear that I won’t either.  

My sisters and I couldn’t pull off a big family Thanksgiving, so I was crying with my husband over making a meal for the five of us.  It felt like climbing a 14er. He was gentle as ever and said that he could easily make the turkey and surely our teenagers could clean up.  They did it. I mean, it was just as good and I laid on the couch and napped listening to their banter. My love for my family was brimming.

2018 has been a tough year. I welcome its departure. I’m begging God to speed up time so there can be a close to this chapter. I’m learning that though I despise my body’s inability to be at the top of its game, other people have mercy.

I’m changing my prayer right now.  


Jesus, could you help me have the mercy for myself that others have for me?


By Shandee Mikesh


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