Bringing Mr. PNU home was a leap of faith. I can see that now, a year later. My bishop advised me against it. My husband's physical therapists at the nursing home advised against it. I think my mother-in-law was certain I was getting myself in too deep. And those were just the people willing to share their feelings openly with me.
I can't say there were other naysayers, but we definitely had what seemed like the eyes of the world on us back then. That voyeur phenomenon after a crisis; I'll never get over it. I think the people who check in with us now were the people who've cared most all along. Most of the vain onlookers disappeared between three to six months after the stroke. Gradually at first, and then I got tired enough of feeling like entertainment that I stopped reporting every little triumph or setback. It seemed pointless if the people following us on social media had no time for concern beyond a "like" and a prayer.
That's another thing I've come to realize—so many people want credit for praying and for the perceived outcome of those prayers. As if without theirs, God wouldn't have given the help rendered to some person in need. Like we couldn't possible get where we are without those prayers. If ever you needed a definition for "vain repetition" look to those things you pray for and then offer nothing else.