Blog Bio I said “No!” to repainting the walls

Photo by JOSHUA COLEMAN on Unsplash

As I sit at the dining table with my laptop, I look up at the walls. From here I can see parts of the kitchen, hall, and living room walls. While I have an office, I prefer working here where I can look out the window at the park and not feel closed in.

A while ago my sister was helping me decorate and said she’d be glad to repaint the walls. I shook my head, “No!” I’m not ready to change my walls. While faux painting might not be the latest fashion any longer, I love my walls. Looking at these walls brings back many positive memories.

When the walls were painted, our kids were teens and didn’t need all that much supervision. We also were headed out to a Fredrickson Family Reunion in Northern Minnesota. In fact, we took over the whole resort for the week. It was a wonderful week of food, family, boating, swimming, games, and, of course, shopping.

While we were gone, our friends made plans. Paul, the PA for my orthopedist, and Paul’s wife were both close friends. At that time, we had a circle of close friends. Since I would be coming home for surgery in the near future, which would keep me housebound for a while, our friends decided our house could use a makeover. While we were gone, they cleaned did some minor repairs, and sponge-painted the walls, and, from what they said later, had a fun time doing so. Our friends had planned to finish up and put everything back before we arrived home.

We had no idea our friends planned to do this. We also had planned to take our time coming home, breaking up the fifteen-hour drive into two days. But, once we got on the road, we didn’t want to stop. All we wanted to do was be home. We took food and other breaks, but we didn’t stop for the night.

It was late by the time we arrived home. I think our son Chris took the key and opened the front door. We followed him in. We stared at our house. Remember furniture hadn’t been put back in place as yet. In confusion, we backed out again and checked our address. Was this our house? Yes, it was. Entering again, we stared at all that had been accomplished that week. It felt like a new house.

How could we even begin to thank our friends for all they’d done for us? We couldn’t, but we could give thanks and accept the blessing they’d provided. Our friends were so excited to see our response. No, I am not ready to repaint my walls. I may have those memories stored inside my heart but seeing them every day also reminds me to give thanks for friends and their willingness to take their time and effort—and money—to redo our home.

Despite the hurts and sorrows of life, we can look up and be thankful when we take time to remember those walls in our lives and count our blessings.

Published in Kearney Hub as my column 11/08/2022

© 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

Feel free to share

Blog Bio Energy, age and learning what's important

As a child, I had endless energy. I wooshed through my days. In Siren, Wisconsin, I walked from one end of our small town to the other, though I was only in first and second grades. I visited friends, played with pets, and told imaginative stories.

At home, I had chores, such as making my bed and helping to keep things clean. Dad patiently showed us, kids, the proper way to make a bed with the covers smooth, and corners just so. That meant I needed to learn to slow down and not just tug my covers up and forget them.

In Wyoming, I was allowed to wander the hills behind and around our home, in daylight hours only. I carried a pocket knife and my father taught me how to stay clear of rattlesnakes and what to do if I could not.

In Kansas, as a young teen, I contracted Rheumatoid Arthritis. Pain and exhaustion became my companions for years. But thanks to prayer and effort, I entered a more healing phase and regained some of that energy. In college, even from a wheelchair, I actively entered into going places and doing things with friends. After college, extensive surgery got me back on my feet. I married my husband I started my married life.

While I continued to have surgery and I often needed to rest in the afternoon, I was involved in home, church, and community activities. This only increased when our children arrived. Sometimes I was incredibly tired, but I still kept up a schedule of home, writing, and everything else. When my books sold to publishers and were available everywhere, organizations began asking me to speak, adding another layer of activities. I got very good at making and keeping schedules. Sometimes I got stressed out, but I also enjoyed my life.

After the kids left home for college and to start their own families, I settled down to writing and speaking and church activities. My career was going well. I landed a good contract with Harlequin’s Love Inspired brand that’s sold at most book and department stores. Yet, I needed more effort to get everything done on my list each day. I realized I needed to pare down that list. Still, my days were full.

The big change came with a bad fall that put me in the hospital for 2 ½ months, with a trach and feeding tube. While I was eventually able to lose the trach and feeding tube, it took me over a year to fully recover. Now things were different. My aggressive edge was gone. My energy was quickly depleted each day.

Each year, I find it more difficult to complete a long list of things. In fact, it seems to take more and more time to get less and less done. My list is often things that I need to do as well as things I don’t want to forget.

I realized my writing would pass away as would most everything else I did. What mattered was my relationships with Keith, our kids, grandkids, other family and friends. Now, a phone call from family or friends takes precedence over my daily list. I am thankful we are relatively healthy. I am thankful I am still writing and selling. I also still find the energy for those things that matter most. my faith, my family, and the freedom to honor both. I am blessed.

(c) 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

Kearney Hub Column 5/30/2022

Feel free to share

Blog Biographical The Secret Helper and a Lesson in quiet Generosity

This happened when our two children were still very young. They grew up knowing Mom might be laid up with another surgery, often a joint replacement surgery, that entailed months of recuperation.

Before my 3rd knee revision, Martha's* name and face scarcely registered. I expected the operation to be quick and fairly straightforward. After all, I'd been through this type of surgery several times to repair the damage done to my joints due to Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis.

Instead, I ended up with a splint holding my leg straight for two months. Weak and easily tired, I realized getting back to normal was going to take a while. After I returned home from the hospital, Martha brought over a delicious chicken casserole.

"Cooking is not my thing,” she apologized. “I'd much rather clean and do housework. If you ever need help, give me a call."

Many times in the next weeks I thought of picking up the phone, but pride held me back. I hated asking for help. Sunday after Sunday Martha asked my husband how I was doing, adding, "Have your wife give me a call."

One day the house, my continued weakness, and my frustration became too much even for my stubborn pride. I couldn't keep up with the many household tasks required with two young children in the house. Hesitantly, I called Martha.

The very next morning she brought over her heavy-duty vacuum and a will to work. Within a short time, she turned my disaster area into a livable house again. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I thanked her--profusely.

It didn't end there. A few days later, she returned carrying two baskets. Giving them to my then two and four-year-old she said, “These are for your toys.” She added a toy to each as an incentive. Then she cleaned my house again.

When dinner hour approached, Martha endeared herself to my children (and to their harried mother) by ordering a fast food meal for us. Martha's generosity and willingness to serve put me to shame. When I tried to pay her, she shook her head. "I'm not interested in money," she said. "Just promise one thing."

"Sure. What?""

Don't tell anyone what I've done." She hesitated. "This is one of those things my left hand is doing that I don't want my right hand to know about."

Smiling, she added, "Pass it on...just pass it on."

While I could not thank Martha publicly for all she'd done to encourage me during a lonely, frustrating time, I could do what she asked. And I do. Whenever I get the opportunity, I try to be a "Martha" to someone else who needs a secret or not-so-secret helper.

(c) 2001, 2020 By Carolyn R. Scheidies
*The name Martha is a pseudonym.

A version of this article first appeared in the now defunct magazine THE WITNESS, Summer 1987.
Feel free to share