To Unfriend the World

For GG 112

Where do I go to unfriend the world?

If I see images of cruelty to man or beast on my Facebook, I can choose to X that person from my daily feed.

If I, or any of my rational friends, start an innocent commentary and receive nasty, divisive comments on my Facebook feed, I can nix those persons from my Friends list without their even knowing.

If I see an article pass by that indicates a terrorist group hates us and that we should be afraid to go to the mall or a show or anywhere other than our own backyards, I can Hide those scary posts from appearing and click on a Scrabble game to calm my nerves.

If I cry out for help or affirmation and am ignored, at least I have the option to unfriend a person or just withdraw from a group, but

where can I go to unfriend the world?


“I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me.

Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows.

But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” ~John 16:33



It Was a Weird Christmas

7.jpgMy spouse wasn’t feeling too well;

it was a lonely, cold feeling, knowing family and friends were far away and would not celebrate this night with us; and

there were no decorations taken down–no tinsel or twinkling lights (except those in the sky)–because, well . . . it was just a weird sort of Christmas.

There was a deep sense of disappointment and rejection from those we thought were worthy of our trust, and

that added to the pain of it all.

So we just hung out together–just the two of us.

Until there were three.



We did have a kind of weird Christmas alone and with sickness, but it got me thinking that the first one was a bit weird, too, until all heaven broke loose. 🙂


People Don’t See You


People don’t see you; they see

your cane,

your chair,

your walker.

They see your tremor and your white hair, and

the you you used to be and

the you you are

are supplanted by images and stereotypes and judgments.

You were young once.

You had dreams once. You have dreams now.

And momentary kindnesses feel patronizing, just putting a round peg in a round hole


they think they know all there is to know about you.

This weakness snuck up with little warning, and there you were full speed ahead—and your life blended in with all the other capable doers, even though you were ever trying to stand out—

be different.

And now you are.

But you don’t want to be this different—so different as to not be seen

or listened to

or valued.

Because people don’t see you; they see

your cane,

your chair,

your walker.

And they judge you as you pull into the handicap spot; but

when you peel yourself out and start to hobble, there’s the momentary tut-tut of support before you become invisible once again, and all that is left is

the cane.


I have been hobbling around lately because of a knee injury, and it got me thinking as I relied so heavily on a cane (resisted the walker). Often when we view those with health aids, we see the disability as the person. Somehow it is hard to look past the device. The personhood of the individual becomes invisible to the predominance of the device. The handicapped become a category; and unless you push in and get close, it is easy for their personalities to disappear in the disability.

I felt this somewhat a few years back when I used a motorized cart in a store when I was first getting out again after breaking a rib. It was an odd experience to feel some people were looking down on you literally and in other ways, too–judging your need, assessing your worth, pitying you. And in those moments, I felt a lesser version of me to these strangers than I would have before.

When we meet people out and about, when they roll or hobble in to our churches and our places of employment, do we go out of our way not just to perhaps help or make a broad path; but do we see them as people worthy of getting to know–people with personalities and worth who stand apart from their weakness?

I am going to try harder.