What's to Come

There she lay on the hospital bed, asleep, quiet, and might I add – beautiful. How can dying look so beautiful? It can. I assure you, it can.

Her death was not imminent, as in the near future, but it reminded me just how close it really is. She was having a very difficult day with a bladder infection and feeling very uncomfortable. And, yet seeing her lay there made us all realize – we’ll all be in that hospital room again, watching her lay on the bed, preparing for those final moments.

It’s odd to say that she looks more like my Mom when sleeping. I’m sure it’s hard for you to understand that, also. But, her eyes have not looked the same to me in a long time. And when I saw her laying there, eyes closed, resting – she looked just as if I walked into her bedroom years ago to wake her up to chat or play. She looked like all that I remember. Gorgeous. Dreaming. At rest. Healthy. Excited to see me.

What struck me even more was that she was resting. And, how I long for her to have eternal rest with our Lord. As much as I love seeing her, enjoy her presence, and don’t want to let her go, I long more for her restoration. Most of all, I long for His glory, and if that means more time for her here to accomplish His purposes, I readily agree and accept.

I came across a box of letters and photos the other night, and inside were three letters from my Mom. S walked in the room to find me in tears. I said, “I don’t even remember her anymore.” The letters were fragrant with her love, her fun spirit, her humor and sensitivity. And, they were lavished with her love and concern for me. How I miss that! How long it has been since I’ve sensed that or heard such things from her. And, yet I hear her in some things I say to my girl now. I’m reminded of her ways.

Alzheimer’s is so very long. It tarries. The clock ticks slowly. Come, Lord Jesus. And, remain our steadfast comfort till the end.

A Dream of Endurance

Early this morning, I had a dream that I was on a long and weary journey. I was greatly discouraged at just how difficult it had all become. I turned the bend, in great hope that the end would soon be in sight, but I saw the opposite. Before me was a great expanse of land: infinite miles; uncounted, unchartered, waiting for me. And my heart sank. I wanted to surrender and go no further. I was done. I had nothing left in me to endure.

I recall waking from the dream, knowing that the way out was actually sooner than I thought. There was some kind of pathway to an underground route taking me back home. But, there was no way of knowing that beforehand. The test of my faith was to endure no matter what I saw ahead.

I think it’s very easy for us to feel this way. Perhaps we’ve pre-scanned and labeled the trials we’d like to endure, and if things do not go according to plan, then our faith will not follow. We’ll abandon ship, or maybe instead sulk for the remainder of the journey.

As Psalm 73 and Romans 5 so clearly indicate, there is maturity gained through our trials. There is trust and encouragement and a depth that is fostered in the well of our hearts. James shares that we are to regard our trials with joy. We’re to look ahead at what may appear to be “bleak” and uncertain circumstances and say, “Thank you, God. Thank you. You know, you are in this, and I can trust you here.” How often do we experience the joy and peace in thanking Him for our trials? He has ordained them for us. He is so wise.

When we round that bend and see the infinite miles that may lie ahead, may we know that the end will result in praising God (1 Peter 1:6-7). And, He will see us through, often with great joy as we focus our eyes on Him.

Let us strive and long to be shaped in the image of Christ. He’s near and very, very good to us! And may we ENDURE.

“And let steadfastness have its full effect,
that you may be perfect and complete,
lacking in nothing.”
(James 1:4)

No Comparisons

My brother said to me the other day, “I never want to grow old. So many awful things can happen.” I’ve always been a proponent for aging. I’ve loved the idea of having my hair change from brown to grey, of growing in wisdom, and of having more years under my belt. Certainly, though, my brother does have a valid point.

It seemed that right before we moved, my hair started to turn. Consequently, I now see silvery streaks sprouting all over my head, as if I have sprinkled seeds in the morning and water them in the shower. I notice more of them each day. Some are quirky, too, like tiny, untamable lightning bolts. I say to S, “I’m not sure, hon. I might cave and color it!” He still encourages me to let it come and enjoy it. What a treasure he is! We’ll see what we both think in a few months. LOL.

I also learned another lesson about aging three weeks ago when I dislocated my back. I’ve never done this before, but I knew immediately that something was wrong, when intense pain struck my lower back, pushing me right down to the floor. I should have taken more time to rest, but I didn’t realize it wasn’t just a muscle issue—it was actually dislocated. It’s extremely humbling to realize how much physical pain can alter my perspective in almost every area.

I’m reminded how much joy I find in mobility. In walking down the stairs, picking up the jogging stroller, and placing my little tot inside. In spinning her round and round, lifting her when she gets frightened by loud noises in a store, making her fly like a busy, buzzy bee. As I left my class tonight, I walked to the car with a whimpering lip. I’d been holding my tears in way too long. I just needed to let it all out. I readily admit two things: I love routine and I love serving my family. I can’t help but cry that in S’s busiest season of work, he must overcompensate for me. I feel so helpless.

It’s as if I’m looking at the washing machine and vacuum as friends that I haven’t seen in a while. I know, this may sound so funny, but I find great joy in being useful, using my hands, and serving my family. I love our new apartment and love seeing it shine in every way. I’m sad that I am spending all my time on the couch. It’s very hard for me.

But, the hardest part, beyond the weight it places on S, is missing this element with my girl. I don’t want to be concerned about pulling my back out when I pick her up. I miss each second.

I remember our pastor sharing a few weeks ago that we should not compare our trials. So, I won’t go on to say how someone else has it worse or better than me. But, I can assure you, I am challenged all the more to trust His sovereignty, rather than just blame myself for trying to move a dresser and bed by myself. He is in control. He is about a good work. I’ve seen some of that already, in how He’s made me available to others, given me time to rest, read, learn, and reflect. I guess my issue is being patient and being ok with being limited. He’s still in control. He doesn’t really need me to accomplish it all. And, it’s ok if His to-do list is different from mine.

I want to learn what it means to be patient and enduring, because I know He impresses such things on my heart. His Word assures me so in places like Romans and James. And, I trust His hand, as much as sometimes I don’t prefer the situations. I’m challenged to rest, trust He’s in control, even of my family. It’s not all centered in what I can do. He is far greater than my ability to mop the floor or even than the joy of spinning my girl.

So, the greys, I’ll take them. The pain, I’ll open my hands and accept. Because I know it comes from Him. The patience and endurance leads me to the wisdom, to the crown of silver. And, as much as I think I’m close when I look in the mirror, I really do have a long way to go.

Those late night chats

When our friendship first began, long before I ever knew we’d one day marry each other, we loved to talk on the phone into the wee hours of the morning. There I sat in my parents’ dining room, in a cozy-orange chair, stretching the blue phone cord as far as it could reach, so I could be comfortable and talk longer. I didn’t care how late it got (although my dad did) or how tired I’d be the next day. It was one of my favorite things to do and still is.

There was always an incredible anticipation in my chatting with S. I looked forward to it and enjoyed every minute. We talked about everything and I was always challenged by what he had to say and contribute. And I loved the laughter we shared. No one had ever made me laugh so hard. It was an incredible friendship that I continue to enjoy the fruit of today.

This week we’ve had a few nights when we’ve just sat on the couch, talking, sharing, growing, and planning into those same wee morning hours. And, I’ve loved it. I love hearing his heart and mind speak, and I love how we speak truth to each other. I love sharing my heart and life with this wonderful husband of mine. Although we talk all the time, there is something about our late night chats that draw us closer and cause me to give thanks for the great hope and redemption He’s brought into our lives and marriage.

It’s amazing to look back at how much I loved him then, but how much more I love him now! How much deeper. Truer. No matter how tired I am, I will always stay up for him. I will talk until he thinks he’s ready for slumber. I can still listen to him as long as he needs, and respond as long as my mouth keeps speaking, even if my eyes are flickering.

It’s nice that I don’t have to stretch the phone cord any more or wish we could be right there next to each other. We are, each night, and I’m so very thankful.

“How foolish I am.
Why am I drawn to the flame
Which extinguishes?”
(Jack Pretusky)

Oh the poor fate of the moth, constantly drawn to that which dies. Just like us. We’re drawn, pulled, tempted by the very thing that kills us. Why such drive and enthusiasm to fly into the very flame of sin? Why such craft to hide in darkness, in lies, in condemnation and guilt when Jesus offers truth, light, and forgiveness, and freedom?

In chatting with a friend today, I was reminded of the sin that can keep us bound for potentially our entire lives on earth. That is, apart from the truth of the Gospel and of Christ. It is quite easy and perhaps even comfortable to find ourselves in a place where lying is easier than truth-telling, where rudeness is preferred over kindness, and where vengeance becomes ours instead of God’s. How He calls us to more than we take for ourselves, the moths that we are!

How grateful I am that He can take these hearts of stone and transform them into honest confession, truth-telling, resulting in grace, redemption, forgiveness, and forever being accepted because of Christ’s perfect life and sacrifice.

We have great hope and freedom. How foolish to be drawn the flame which extinguishes.

Forgotten

In recent days when people ask me about my Mom, I find myself looking all around the room, trying to think of something to say. I search and search but I often come up rather empty. What can you say about a person when they no longer speak to you? How can you eloquently describe a disease that is not always very eloquent to watch? I often comment on the things we do when visiting her, what A may have done, and simple facts of our visit, scooting right past the real issues of my heart.

It wasn’t until this past week in chatting with my sister that I realized why this occurs. It’s because I didn’t realize where we now are. We’re almost at the end. We’ve entered that final season when there are no more words, expressions, or conversation. It is all quiet.

I can remember when my Mom was first placed in full-time care. There was a woman in the final stages of ALZ who was always in a reclining wheel chair, expressionless, and spoon-fed. S and I would often look at her, finding it hard to imagine the day when my Mom would be that woman.

But I think she is that woman now, and I almost don’t know what to feel about it. It’s strange because so much grieving goes on in the early years that you are in many ways prepared for the later years. And yet I find myself feeling very hurt and lonely, quite saddened when we visit my Mom. And I now I know why. She does not remember me anymore. She does not know me. Sometimes she does not even look in my direction. And I love her. How does it feel to love and receive nothing in return, especially from one’s own mother? It’s heartbreaking to say the least.

It all makes me treasure those years I was at home to help care for her before marrying S. Those were precious times spent and I’m so thankful for them. I realize that it is not Mom’s choosing to forget me, but rather the disease that is slowly, yet quickly taking her memory away by force. She is left with very little in this regard, but I do trust her spirit is being replenished and continually fed by His Spirit.

One day it will all be restored. I hope to embrace her in heaven, again being known, even though all the tears will then be gone. It will be a joy to see her healed and restored.

My Little Martha

I had to get a filling re-filled this morning at the dentist. ICK. My head has hurt ever since. But, the dentist sure is a gem. He’s very sweet and I think he does a great job, despite the hole he left in our wallets.

I returned home to see my sweet little child run to the door, with her baby doll in one hand and the doll’s bottle in the other. It was obvious that she was very much occupied, yet she juggled her tasks to greet me with a big smile and much chatter. I was overjoyed. I almost forgot my head hurt.

Later in the day while packing boxes, A looked at me and said, “You are a busy, busy bee! You need Martha and Bobby!” We both laughed hysterically. For any of you who have read the book, We Help Mommy by Eloise Wilkin, you will recall the busy mother trying to accomplish all her tasks with her two little tots helping her each step of the way. A proved to be a little Martha to me today and took great joy in packing the boxes. Her specialty was reminding me when I needed “more tape” and making me chuckle the whole way through.

So we are almost all packed. We went to our new apartment last night and got so excited! A joined me in running around the bedrooms in circles and then finally collapsing on the floor in laughter.

We’re excited and so blessed to have a wonderful crew of friends to help us with the move! It helps share the weight and stirs up immense thankfulness to be part of a body of believers. Love each of you!