Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Direction


Where do you go when you don't know where to turn for answers? What do you hold onto when you don't exactly know what to hold onto? When your child is having medical issues...or behavioral issues...or mental health issues and you've done all that you know how to do...what then?

I pray and turn it over to God.
I cry.
I share with my good friends who understand.
I write.
I hold onto hope.
I wait.
Sometimes I put my grandfather's compass in my pocket.

My grandfather was a tough, old Norwegian. He hunted and fished. He loved the outdoors. He even saved a couple of lives when people were lost in the woods or drowning in a river. He was an amazing man. Larger than life. When he passed away I discovered his compass which he must have worn on his wrist when he went off into the woods. The compass is worn and looks like it has had a lot of use. I imagine it provided my grandfather with quite a bit of direction when he was unsure of where he should go.

Sometimes I put it in my pocket. Hoping for direction.

Looky Daddy's daughter is having seizures and they could use some good luck and positive thoughts.

6 comments:

Brian said...

Thanks, Jodi!

According to the compass in the picture, I should right now be heading for my kitchen. Which is, coincidentally, where the beer is. Good on ya, Jodi's grandfather!

Anonymous said...

God, that's such a worry- I'm so sorry to hear about your friend's child! I just plain worry until I burn out I think. I google until my fingers fall off and then I blog! Wish I had a family compass- you're very lucky!

Anonymous said...

God, that's such a worry- I'm so sorry to hear about your friend's child! I just plain worry until I burn out I think. I google until my fingers fall off and then I blog! Wish I had a family compass- you're very lucky!

Anne said...

I like the idea of your grandfather's compass in your pocket. We do need a guide don't we? Anne

Nora said...

Oh, if it were all so simple that a compass would take care of it, eh? Sigh.

Anonymous said...

I can't tell you why I do it or what it means, but each night when I drive toward my southern home and my southern life, I whisper these words: "Lowenstein, Lowenstein."