18 April
Today's journal entry is about some heroes that I have recently encountered.
The funeral was quite lovely. People came from all over to say goodbye to my grandmother, and to reconnect with the family she left behind. It was a happy affair, with people laughing and smiling, and with remarkably few tears. She was a wonderful woman who lived her long life in a very moral and upright way, and everyone who knew her respected her. Her death was seen as a blessing and her life something to be rejoiced over.
I also learned a lot about bravery and heroism over this very long weekend. While we were burying my grandmother, we were also worrying about my uncle Paul, who was trapped under his tractor for four hours during the reception. His son found him and lifted the tractor from off of him, and the two men who stopped to help slid Paul out from under the machine. What followed was a grueling three days in the hospital, where they treated him for his chemical burns (2nd degree burns over 60% of his body) and for his legs (the tractor cut off circulation from his legs for the entire four hours, and irrevocably damaged his muscle tissue) and his hands (he actually lifted the tractor off of his legs, twice, but could not pull himself free from underneath the machine) and for failed kidneys, which were simply not up to the monumental task of removing toxins from his system. Despite horrific pain, despite a prognosis that never used the word "hope" and despite the fact that he would likely never walk again if he survived, Paul actually echoed the words of my late grandmother: "Let God be glorified."
And Grandmama met him yesterday, the 17th of April, when he died, leaving behind a widow to run his farm, and four adult children: Ellen, Casey, Cody and Ashley.
Through all of it, all of us in the family prayed for miracles. We did not get the one we were earnestly praying for – the return of Paul to a healthy state. But we encountered a quite different miracle, in the form of a hero and warrior named Paul Ledford. Paul showed such strength. He did not ask for his life, although we begged God to spare him. He did not request healing, although we were begging and pleading with God that it occur. He also did not appeal to God that he be allowed to stay alive for his wife and kids. Instead, he placed his trust in God and prayed that the events would be used to glorify his creator.
Wow. It makes me rethink the whining I did about orals. It makes me rethink my "bravery" in the face of a cut on my finger (but it hurt!) It makes me rethink the griping about every little thing that came my way, and the very public moaning I always engage in, at length to anyone who will listen, about the agonies I am going through – emotional, academic, physical, social. It puts my disappointments in a very concrete perspective.
I know nothing of bravery, or of a stoic face when facing peril. I simply have never been tested on any level like that. Anything I have ever learned of heroism, I have learned by reading stories about people like my uncle Paul. But I have never seen anyone who actually did it.
His family is showing the same kind of amazing fortitude. Beth is strong; of that there is no doubt. She is, like her late husband, a farmer. And she is weathering this adversity like she has others in the past, with good spirits, pluck and determination to make it easier on everyone else.
I was also indirectly introduced to some other heroes this weekend: the amazing nurses that cared for Paul in the burn unit in Augusta, Georgia. They have the worst job in the world. You think your job is terrible? You know nothing. People don't go to the burn unit unless the situation is grim. Most who come in are almost certain to die. And while never giving up hope on the patients that come in, they have to personally despair because of the bleakness that they are surrounded by every day. These people are heroes with courage to face what I could not. And face it every day.
The nurse who had been caring for uncle Paul, after a twelve-hour shift, turned to my aunt and said "Mrs. Ledford, I'll be praying for you." She then turned to Paul, who was at the time unconscious, in, I believe, a drug-induced coma, and grabbed his hand. "Mr. Ledford," she said, "I am praying for you, too."
Then she turned to the nurse who was taking over the shift, and began informing him about the different complications, the different patients, making sure his information on everyone was up-to-the-minute. And when the conversation was over, my aunt heard her say to him, "I'll be praying for you."
And he replied, "I'll be praying for you, too."
And suddenly, there is no question where the strength to do the worst job in the world comes from. These people are faced with tragedy, every day, and face it with a fortitude that is simply amazing. I am a Christian. I pray. I was raised in a family where prayer was part of daily living. And yet I tend to turn to talk to God only when I am in anguish, fear, despair or terror. I do not make it a daily thing. These amazing people have strength to do what they do, serving those in pain, those dying and grieving, because they pray for one another.
Even at the end of the day, when they go home to their families, they their God to be with both the people that they served that day and for the next set of hands that will be helping them.
Perhaps that is the secret to their peace.
Please pray for this family. Paul was not a young man, but he was much younger than his years. His family is grown, but they are still in need of his presence. They face a difficult road, and they face it with a very conspicuous absence in their lives. They, and the people that love them, will need those prayers.
Today's journal entry is about some heroes that I have recently encountered.
The funeral was quite lovely. People came from all over to say goodbye to my grandmother, and to reconnect with the family she left behind. It was a happy affair, with people laughing and smiling, and with remarkably few tears. She was a wonderful woman who lived her long life in a very moral and upright way, and everyone who knew her respected her. Her death was seen as a blessing and her life something to be rejoiced over.
I also learned a lot about bravery and heroism over this very long weekend. While we were burying my grandmother, we were also worrying about my uncle Paul, who was trapped under his tractor for four hours during the reception. His son found him and lifted the tractor from off of him, and the two men who stopped to help slid Paul out from under the machine. What followed was a grueling three days in the hospital, where they treated him for his chemical burns (2nd degree burns over 60% of his body) and for his legs (the tractor cut off circulation from his legs for the entire four hours, and irrevocably damaged his muscle tissue) and his hands (he actually lifted the tractor off of his legs, twice, but could not pull himself free from underneath the machine) and for failed kidneys, which were simply not up to the monumental task of removing toxins from his system. Despite horrific pain, despite a prognosis that never used the word "hope" and despite the fact that he would likely never walk again if he survived, Paul actually echoed the words of my late grandmother: "Let God be glorified."
And Grandmama met him yesterday, the 17th of April, when he died, leaving behind a widow to run his farm, and four adult children: Ellen, Casey, Cody and Ashley.
Through all of it, all of us in the family prayed for miracles. We did not get the one we were earnestly praying for – the return of Paul to a healthy state. But we encountered a quite different miracle, in the form of a hero and warrior named Paul Ledford. Paul showed such strength. He did not ask for his life, although we begged God to spare him. He did not request healing, although we were begging and pleading with God that it occur. He also did not appeal to God that he be allowed to stay alive for his wife and kids. Instead, he placed his trust in God and prayed that the events would be used to glorify his creator.
Wow. It makes me rethink the whining I did about orals. It makes me rethink my "bravery" in the face of a cut on my finger (but it hurt!) It makes me rethink the griping about every little thing that came my way, and the very public moaning I always engage in, at length to anyone who will listen, about the agonies I am going through – emotional, academic, physical, social. It puts my disappointments in a very concrete perspective.
I know nothing of bravery, or of a stoic face when facing peril. I simply have never been tested on any level like that. Anything I have ever learned of heroism, I have learned by reading stories about people like my uncle Paul. But I have never seen anyone who actually did it.
His family is showing the same kind of amazing fortitude. Beth is strong; of that there is no doubt. She is, like her late husband, a farmer. And she is weathering this adversity like she has others in the past, with good spirits, pluck and determination to make it easier on everyone else.
I was also indirectly introduced to some other heroes this weekend: the amazing nurses that cared for Paul in the burn unit in Augusta, Georgia. They have the worst job in the world. You think your job is terrible? You know nothing. People don't go to the burn unit unless the situation is grim. Most who come in are almost certain to die. And while never giving up hope on the patients that come in, they have to personally despair because of the bleakness that they are surrounded by every day. These people are heroes with courage to face what I could not. And face it every day.
The nurse who had been caring for uncle Paul, after a twelve-hour shift, turned to my aunt and said "Mrs. Ledford, I'll be praying for you." She then turned to Paul, who was at the time unconscious, in, I believe, a drug-induced coma, and grabbed his hand. "Mr. Ledford," she said, "I am praying for you, too."
Then she turned to the nurse who was taking over the shift, and began informing him about the different complications, the different patients, making sure his information on everyone was up-to-the-minute. And when the conversation was over, my aunt heard her say to him, "I'll be praying for you."
And he replied, "I'll be praying for you, too."
And suddenly, there is no question where the strength to do the worst job in the world comes from. These people are faced with tragedy, every day, and face it with a fortitude that is simply amazing. I am a Christian. I pray. I was raised in a family where prayer was part of daily living. And yet I tend to turn to talk to God only when I am in anguish, fear, despair or terror. I do not make it a daily thing. These amazing people have strength to do what they do, serving those in pain, those dying and grieving, because they pray for one another.
Even at the end of the day, when they go home to their families, they their God to be with both the people that they served that day and for the next set of hands that will be helping them.
Perhaps that is the secret to their peace.
Please pray for this family. Paul was not a young man, but he was much younger than his years. His family is grown, but they are still in need of his presence. They face a difficult road, and they face it with a very conspicuous absence in their lives. They, and the people that love them, will need those prayers.
