I Love the Sun
a story of hope, sunshine and humanity
When we value ourselves based on how much we make, how we look & what other people think of us, we’ll never amount to much & always come up short. or fat.
It’s only when we get pretty on the inside, in the heart – which comes by serving others – that we will ever feel like we belong.
Like we’re enough.
Sometimes it’s within the most mundane of moments that we’re reminded of our human-ness and the whole sum of reasons God puts us on this earth. I received a mundane moment gift during one of the last times I took my dad to a dialysis treatment. Imagine you’re at the fair rolling up to the Tunnel of Doom where the big WHY ME sign is glowing and the doors clang shut behind you.
Welcome to kidney dialysis.
The Big D.
Dialysis really gets down to the drudgery of living. Yes, it’s life saving and it’s a blessing and it’s a privilege afforded to the more fortunate of souls. It’s also dirty and depressing. Blood being removed from 30 people in a big treatment room doesn’t rank on anyone’s Top 10 Things to See list. Dialysis hurts sometimes. Techs have bad days, ports get infected, veins collapse, some people don’t come back next time…it just hurts. It makes you cold when your blood is removed from your veins, spun through the giant cotton candy machine and put back in your body. Your blood. Only different. And yet, for 18 months, 3 times a week for 5 hours….that was Papa Bill’s hangout.
I was leaving the building after getting my dad comfie and situated and had to push through the front doors (dirty, nasty germ infected doors) and the weather hit me like an oven. Ugh. So hot in Vegas. The streets melt and shimmer in your face. You pick out clothes based on back sweat showing or not.
It's. Just. So. Hot. The sun is always shining.
Oy vey. Always with this sun.
Does Mother Nature not know my dad is dying? Is God not even noticing me or giving me credit for keeping it all together every time I tuck my dad’s blankets around his little legs and make sure his feet are covered and warm and make sure he can reach his water and his medicine for his blood pressure and his lunch I pack for him…
So that’s me, dragging it out the front doors, eyes to the ground mind you so I don’t step on anything sticky or ishy, and I hear “Excuse me, is that the sun?” I stopped and turned to the right of the door. A guy in a wheelchair had finished treatment and been wheeled outside by a tech to wait for his bus ride home. His back was to the sun. I walked around in front so he could see me. He asked me again, “Is that the sun? Where is the sun?” Aaaaahhh, mystery solved my blind friend. I said “Nahhh, man the sun is behind you. Would you like me to turn you towards it?” His grin lit my world.
If you’ve ever heard the million watt smile described….that was it.
I felt that smile physically. I got warm. (Not warm from the SUN activating my back sweat, but warm in my chest. In my heart.) At that moment in time, I swear the wheelchair handles were radioactive. A million, trillion little butterfly cells danced all around us. Bumping into each other, into us, into the wheelchair – there really almost wasn’t room for all that love and gratitude being shared by two people. He never stopped smiling. “Thank you! I LOVE the sun. I DO love the sun!”
The gift I received on gratitude is one I'll never forget.
How often do we forget to be grateful for the sun? For the routine, the mundane? Especially in a town where the sun shines all the time. It’s a reality check for us to walk through life with our feet touching the ground.
Newton says we hafta.
- But don’t let gravity affect your heartstrings.
- Don’t let the weather affect your temperament.
- Don’t let another affect your dreams or goals.
- And for Heaven’s sake, please don’t let fear or shyness prevent spontaneity.
You might miss the sun.