Uncle Jimmy - thanks for the lives you touched

A few weeks ago, our family lost Jimmy, my mother's baby brother, to post-stroke complications.

His stroke happened a few years ago, and he's never been the same. His speech coherency would come and go. He'd get lost. For his own safety and health, he moved to a nursing home back in October. Several days later, a heart attack took him from us.

Family members gathered in Texas for his funeral services, and we all heard different stories about how he affected their families and lives.

That made me consider how he touched my own life. The photograph accompanying this entry was taken during a trip to the Korean Demilitarized Zone. Beyond the fence, where civilians are not allowed, is the Freedom Train railroad, providing transportation to and from the last South Korean stop. At this spot, visitors have placed notes and mementos, including the cross.

Without Uncle Jimmy, chances are I would never have been there.

Business took me to Seoul, where I did some journalism training for a large news organization. My background is newspaper work, which started in 1976 as a lowly darkroom technician. That interest was sparked when Uncle Jimmy gave my family some hand-me-down darkroom equipment and books. I was hooked on photography, which led me to that part-time job, which led later to full-time newspaper work, a move to reporting and editing, and finally to a position where I conduct training for professional journalists across the United States and beyond.

Funny how lives can be touched -- Uncle Jimmy helped me awaken an interest in journalism. Others continued that interest in countless ways. How many lives do we touch every day -- intentionally or unintentionally? My prayer is that the lives I touch professionally or personally benefit and reach out for other lives.

The cross in the above photograph seems strangely at home surrounded by razor wire. It reminds us of the suffering Christ endured for you. And it reminds me of Uncle Jimmy, too, with his suffering lifted and, thanks to his influence, the photo taken.

A beginning ...

This blog has come about after a long period of soul-searching – more that seven years. My own stroke came on May 8, 1998. A colleague and I, both newspaper reporters, were digging through documents in a semi-hostile government office in Arkansas. I suddenly lost the ability to speak and movement on the right side of my body. My right hand fell limp. I could not stand. A strange dazed feeling came over me.

That day, I nearly died. Thanks to my colleague, an ambulance came. Thanks to the ambulance crew, the hospital was ready. Thanks to the doctors and nurses, a drug called tissue plasminogen activator cleared the clot. Thanks to my wife, colleagues, fellow believers, and a speech therapist, I regained my ability to speak and, eventually, write.

And most importantly, thank God. He gave me all those people and the strength to get through some struggling recovery times. God returned my ability to speak and write. He returned my body to me. As this is being written, I ran five miles this morning, will run 10 miles this coming Saturday and am seriously considering a marathon next spring.

It’s been a long time since May 8, 1998. And please understand that this blog is not about my personal history or struggle. It is about faith. It’s about a very specific task of sharing experience and faith with stroke survivors and their families, to help them if possible.

How?

Honest answer: Uncertain. This is a start. Where this leads, at the moment, isn’t obvious. All I can say is that I’m led to do this.

Stroke survivors and families are invited to share comments or stories with me and, by extension, others.

Comments will be moderated, and all I ask is that you respect the purpose of this blog. It’s not about politics or general religion topics. It is about and for stroke victims and their loved ones, and the faith we can share.