How One Woman Redefined Her Bucket List

Barb was used to taking care of people. In fact, she loved helping her patients at Ascension, where she retired after 45 years as an RN and Registered Respiratory Therapist.

“I wasn’t looking forward to retirement,” she says, “because my work was so rewarding."

As word got out about her retirement plans, the same question popped up in her conversations. “So Barb, what’s on your bucket list? I didn’t have an answer, so I felt that I needed to create one. And it doesn’t seem acceptable to lay back a bit.”

She felt there were all sorts of unspoken expectations. Will she be busy enough? Will she be productive and contribute? Will she do things that others only dream of doing?

Barb did have a few ideas in mind. She wanted to read more books, travel to Israel, and she’d always wanted to learn how to swim.

So as a woman of faith, she prayed about it. Her Bible study raised questions in her mind that stirred her heart…what might it look like to be a living sacrifice and what exactly does one do with a servant’s heart?

In the weeks of pondering those questions, Barb recalled a talk she heard about filing up your life and pouring it back out. In fact, she kept a dry sponge on her desk - a visual reminder that as you soak up the blessings in life, the sponge gets full. And the idea of course, is to squeeze that sponge back out by helping others.

“How can I use my new season of retirement to pour into others?” she wondered.

Shortly before her last working day, a coworker shared her enthusiasm about a healthcare mission trip she experienced. The idea intrigued Barb for reasons she couldn’t explain.

This particular group, Word of Life Missions, offered short term trips that brought both medical help and the gospel to the poor around the world. But as is true with so many situations that are unfamiliar to us, doubts and fears quickly loomed overhead Barb’s head like storm clouds.

“Yes, I had doubts. Particularly, what if I didn’t have the strength to endure a trip like that at my age? And how would I overcome the language barriers? And would I be safe?”

At the time of writing this post, Barb was preparing for her fifth trip (twice to Guatemala and the third time now to the Dominican Republic). As she reflected on those initial fears, she smiled a knowing smile.

“You know, God just took care of all of those things. I went on my first trip still plagued with doubts and a little fear, but they were quickly soothed. There were wonderful interpreters who made conversations with our patients easy and meaningful. There were people in place who bent over backwards to make sure we were all very safe. And my age has never been a factor. God always gives me the energy and strength I need without fail.”

So, was this God’s will for her all along? If so, how did Barb know that these trips were what needed to be at the top of her bucket list?

“It was a combination of things, you know…prayer, questions that tugged at my heart in Bible study, and feelings of warmth and fatherly love from God. I felt it was important not to overlook opportunities that came my way.”

With tender eyes and great peace, Barb thought back to her original bucket list.

“All of those ideas were ‘I’ centered. I want to read more books. I want to see Israel. I want to learn to swim. And those are all nice things. But when my focus shifted on how to pour into others, this new season of life made so much more sense to me.

Most of us know how we’re gifted, what we’re good at and it makes us feel comfortable to do those things. But what if God is working new gifts into our lives? I feel that’s what He’s doing with me. He’s stretching me and using me in new ways that aren’t familiar. And I’ve grown so much as a result.

I’ve learned it’s not always about what I want or think. Sometimes God has something completely different in mind. Something so much better than what I could dream of for my bucket list.”

Being a Warrior in My Own Home

Let’s be honest, most of my days are filled with cleaning dishes, entertaining a whiny toddler and putting things back in their places after said toddler blows through the house like a hurricane.

Seriously, toothpaste ends up in the kitchen, socks under the dining table, cooking spatulas in the shoe bucket. I’m thankful our house is a little bungalow or else it would take me hours to go from room to room replacing things.

A good day usually means I get a shower in. Actually, a good day means I get some writing in. I usually opt for the keyboard over the shampoo when given twenty quiet minutes, sorry hubby.

It all seems the exact opposite of being a warrior on a battlefield. Warriors wear armor, shout battle cries, risk their lives and gain glory each and every single day.

I am fascinated with King David’s Mighty Men in the Bible, who have crazy tales of admirable feats. There’s one story in which David says he wishes he could have a drink of water from the well in his hometown. At the time, his hometown of Bethlehem was occupied by the enemy, the Philistines. That’s no problem for three of David’s Mighty Men. They risk their lives, breach enemy lines and smuggle back a pouch of water for David’s parched throat. (2 Samuel 23:15-17)

At another time, one of David’s men, Benaiah, fights with a lion and wins. (2 Samuel 23:20)

And a third battle that fascinates me is when Eleazar stands his ground against the Philistines while his army flees. The Bible says his sword became fused to his hand. Thanks to God, Eleazar beats the Philistines almost single-handedly. (2 Samuel 23:9-10)

Glory and honor. Fighting against a dark force and beating the odds.

Minus the blood and guts, there’s something really cool about being a warrior. It’s being called to fight for something, it’s taking action against a dark enemy, it’s finding courage when there really shouldn’t be any.

So I’ve been toying with the idea that maybe I CAN be a warrior—in my own home. Maybe I’m in training. A young Jedi, I suppose. (I got you, Star Wars fans.)

I fight for my family and I fight hard. I fight to keep our basic needs met—ya know food on the table and babies in clothes, ahem CLEAN clothes, kinda thing. I also fight to keep us physically healthy—doctor appointments, medicine, cleaning to keep the germs away, although notably not my strong suit.

I also fight to keep us doing things that are mentally engaging, and restful and social—fulfilling those needs.

Now spiritually I could do more, but my husband and I pray and pray hard for our marriage, our children, our children’s spouses and futures and more. That’s definitely a battle.

There are many times I want to give up. I want to stay in bed all day and stare at the ceiling, oh that would be beautiful. But I get up. I face another day, another battle and fight sometimes valiantly and sometimes just enough to keep us alive.

But the truth is that my role as a mother at home is honorable. I may not have stories written about me in the Old Testament, thank heaven, but I am certainly a HUGE part of my son’s and my husband’s stories. I may not slay thousands or risk death by battle wounds but if I didn’t do what I do then my household would crumble.

Yes, it’s a much smaller scale but it’s really important. And while I’m changing another diaper, or putting all of my son’s books back on his shelf (again) it doesn’t feel very admirable, but it is. It’s a thousand tiny, small things done with love that lead to one big thing— impacting someone’s world.

One husband, one son at a time.

I can raise my sword to that.

Her Chairs

Mom worked every day of her life. Advanced age and debilitating health weren’t about to change that. She woke early, drove a 45 minute commute and then began the chore of getting to her second floor office. Congestive heart failure limited her steps. If she walked too far wheezing and panting made her desperate to catch her breath. It was especially hard to watch as the years wore on. 

Chairs were strategically placed every ten to twelve feet. The first one just inside the front door, with others next to the elevator, inside the elevator, outside the elevator,  down the hall, and finally at her desk. She would walk in the front door and sit down. Then get up, walk to the elevator and sit while she waited for it. Once on the second floor, chairs dotted the hallway.  When she needed to rest...a chair was waiting. The routine was repeated at the end of the day.  She was tired then and her strength was fading. So the trip down the hallway took a lot longer.  And every chair was needed.

Strength, resolve, grit, determination…whatever you want to call it…she had it all and then some.  No complaining….no whining…no pity…no excuses. Five days a week, twice a day for years. And even on her last day – though she never made her commute - her clothes were laid out on the bed, ready to dress for work. None of us knew she was taking her last breath. She quickly and quietly left this world.  

No more chairs.

She’d never imagine her chairs would leave such an impression…not only for what they did for her…but for what they’re still teaching me. When things get to be too much, sit down. Catch your breath. Doesn’t matter how many times.  

As the years go by and I mature, I realize the wisdom, strength, and faith she lived every day.  Maybe we don’t realize it at the time for a reason. Maybe we’re just not ready. What I do know is that her legacy is rich…yet as simple as a trail of chairs.

Walk as far as you can…take a break…keep going.