Columns

I gave up with a sigh. Yet again, I’d spent over half an hour lying in bed, hoping to beckon Hypnos, the Greek god of sleep. His absence was exasperating. Once again, I started my get-to-sleep method. I can’t completely blame my insomnia spells on cold agglutinin disease (CAD).

“Are you OK?” The young woman’s anxious query affirmed to me that I was’t imagining things. I’d just stood up from the wheelchair and entered the women’s bathroom at the airport. “Yes, I’m fine.” “I was concerned. Your attendant wasn’t …” She paused as she searched for a good description.

Mile after weary mile, the oxen plodded ever westward. “When would we get to the end?” I wondered. My husband and I had started our journey several weeks earlier. At least I was riding on the wagon. Many in the wagon train were walking. I couldn’t do that. These were my…

The all-too-familiar tickle in the back of my throat warned me: I was getting a cold. I would rather have malaria than a cold. I hate everything about it, from the achy, run-down feeling, to the stuffy, I-can’t-breathe clogged nose. But the constant sting in the back of my throat…

Boom! Splash! The night sky exploded with a blossom of color showering down overhead. I am remembering a past fireworks display. Talking ceased as we all gazed upward. Then, almost in unison, the crowd said, “Ah!” followed by, “Oh,” as the next explosion shimmered downward. For the next 20 minutes,…

I slumped into the wheelchair waiting for me outside the airplane door. It had been a long 36-hour trip. I was able to catnap in my economy seats, but my exhausted body was looking forward to getting home and becoming fully horizontal. Then my phone buzzed. The notice said my…

It was the best of flights, it was the worst of flights. Anytime a person flies around the world, their body is challenged. It was true 30 years ago when I first traveled to Papua, Indonesia, where I now live. It proved to be especially true on my most recent…

“Mom! Can I ride your motorcycle around the backyard?” The backyard was fenced. That was important, as there was a steep drop-off to the valley below just beyond. There were few obstacles, so she could mostly go straight but would also be able to practice turning and navigating difficult terrain.

I tasted the blood from my lip before I realized I had bitten through my skin. I forced the ends of my lips upward and mentally prayed for patience and grace. Taking a deep breath, I explained — yet again — why I travel all the way to the U.S.

“Only a boy named David, only a little sling,/ … And the giant came tumbling down.” My kids sang that song, written by Arthur Arnott, during their early years. For many of us, the story of David fighting Goliath served as our first introduction to the slingshot. It’s…