It's odd the types of things that become part of your daily existence with long-term illness. We've begun using Dad's skin color as a barometer of his strength level and by that we can tell from across a room if he's feeling a bit unsteady. Over the past two weeks, we've commented to each other that his sallow skin tone has given way to a more lively color. This week he said, "I just need to get out and pound some nails." On Saturday evening I called Dad to check in and found him rehanging errant gutters. This was after he'd worked on his bathroom sink plumbing and completed several other outdoor projects. As the two of us sat down to some well-earned, hand-tossed Domino's, he said he wasn't winded or exhausted and hadn't felt this good since last November. On Sunday, he did a devotion during the Sunday School Promotion service and then preached hard Sunday night.
What does all this mean? As we've said before, it means he's stable. He's not bleeding. And for the first time in many months, we can say he's finally getting stronger.
God's good!
