I’ve known her all my life. Aunt Dort, I called her, short for Aunt Dorothy. But in the past few years, she became much more to me. As a child, I visited her house, played with her older daughter, ate her meals. One of my many aunts, I didn’t get to know her personally until I grew up and she grew older. Thirteen years ago, she moved to assisted living after radiation treatments for brain cancer. Not long after, I started visiting her. I didn’t visit often and at first it was out of obligation. But obligation soon evolved to enjoyment and friendship. With her loss of short-term memory, conversations were limited. Sometimes we talked about her life growing up. Sometimes I told her what was go
This week I’m recovering from an especially painful episode. Sometimes the skin on my hands have sores and the cracks when exposed to too much moisture. It’s not until the condition produces pain that I notice it. The treatment is three-fold: less exposure to moisture, application of a prescription cream and hand lotion, and more thorough drying of my hands. All of which take intentionality. This week I’ve also been thinking about my words. I’ve gotten the message in a book I’m reading, podcasts I’m listening to, and verses I’m memorizing (Proverbs 15). My words can wound. I need to use encouraging words. Here’s my problem. I avoid people who wound me with their words. I have been wounded so
