Tag Archives: legacy

In Memory

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Dedicated in memory of Charles Rubright, a brilliant, studious, and compassionate doctor, as well as a man I was proud to call a friend, knowing no stranger, nor meeting an individual he didn’t help in some way.

To find a doctor of any sort who listens, studies, and comprehends your situation is a rare find, a treasure. A doctor who knows your case and can read you like a book when you walk into the office doesn’t seem to exist anymore. When I first began my health journey, I pictured specialists from all over, pouring over books with blood-shot eyes into the late hours of the night, determined to be the one to discover this mysterious illness wreaking havoc on my body and mind. After years of travelling on this trip I never planned or expected, I realized there was no such group. There weren’t any specialists with the one and only answer, the golden ticket, or the “missing piece of this puzzle.” Many days, it was because of practitioners like Charles Rubright, a local chiropractor and friend, that I was able to push on to find the answers on my own. It was because of his assistance and knowledgeable feedback that led me to find a practitioner who correctly diagnosed me with an autoimmune disease called Hashimoto’s thyroiditis. He always expected to be able to help, listened, and treated according to what he’d heard from me, the at-times *somewhat-discouraged patient. (*Ok, I think there were a couple times I cried in that office.) He never treated me like “just a patient” and I always expected to wait past my appointment time because he never rushed anyone or any treatment. Charles never gave the impression that he was on a deadline or something else was more important than who he was with at that moment. What a rarity! To talk with him, the battle he faced was already won. He stood in faith that he would overcome. And I believe he did in a way that we may not understand on this side of heaven. The world is a bleaker place because he’s no longer in it, but he fought the good fight, shining light into places that darkness threatened to take over. His resilience, endurance, and legacy live on. Rest in beautiful peace, dear friend, the pain of the fight is over and you are victorious.

Eternity Echo

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As I sit surrounded by my Grandma’s stuff I realize that we get to choose what kind of legacy we leave behind. I am so thankful that my Grandma was a praying woman who knew God better than she knew herself. She said “I fail my Lord daily” but I sure didn’t see it. She prayed, read her Bible, treated everyone with the utmost respect, wouldn’t miss church for any reason, and helped every individual she met, whether it was a homeless man, friend, family, or the new resident at the nursing home she visited.

I remember a time as a teenager I was having some issues and she simply sat on the steps of my aunt’s porch listening. Just listening. No one does that when you’re a teenager. Everyone knows better and wants to let you know how much they know. I don’t really remember her saying anything except we would pray about it. Well, if only it were THAT simple Grandma, I thought. I thought she didn’t understand. Now that I’m not a teenager anymore, I understand a little more. Some days I think a lot more, but inevitably something happens to remind me that God’s the only One Who knows it all.

I am so honored to have her kitchen towels (you know the ones that have lasted for 3/4 of a century and will probably be passed down to my children?) and her loaf pans that she gave countless loaves of bread to anyone and everyone that might be suffering from a “zucchini bread-deficiency” in their diet. I now have her apron, whose strings were probably tugged on by my father’s chubby hands. Her legacy and memories are spring eternal and lovely throughout my home, especially my favorite room of the house, my kitchen.

We get to choose the thoughts and the memories we leave in others’ minds when we’re gone. As any embroidered pillow (I have one of those too) or stepping stone in the cemetery will tell you, “Loved ones live in memory even when they’re gone.” Our lives echo throughout eternity and to the ears of the ones who still have a journey left.