So. It has been a long time.
I'm at my father's house in Chicago. My sister and I came out here the weekend before Thanksgiving to try and go through things in the house that were Mom's, seperating out things that should be kept in the family, things that she would've wanted to give to others, things for us, things to be kept, things to be given to Good Will, things to be thrown out.
We came knowing that it would be hard, or at least I did. I came thinking that it wouldbe hard. It has been, though not, perhaps, in the way that I would've expected. Shannon and mom were closer than mom and I were, and so she knows more about what "things", antiques, and "stuff" is in the house than I do. What are things from Grandparents, and great-grandpatents, and what were things that were just picked up on a "junking" spree with Carla. Shannon had already gone through most of Mom's clothes and most of her Bedroom things before I got here. I'm sure that was tough for her.
Honestly, though there are a few exceptions, the "things" in the house are just things, and they don't hold very much sentimental value for me. Like I said there are a few exceptions - paintings that she did or "things" that she really loved. Some of those things I recognize are things that should be kept, but that I couldn't imagine having "out" in my house as the sadness of their presence is almost tangible.
I came, really, looking for books in which she had written copius notes, and sunday school lessons she had written out long-hand (an old practice she got further and further away from I think). I wanted to get everything I could find that was a result of her pen, pencil, brush, pen, pastel, crayon, etc., on paper. I sortof understood why - it was personal - something SHE had written, something she had touched by way of her putting something she had thought or felt down on paper.
In going through filing cabinets, and stacks of paper (whatever was left after Carla had made an initial pass, throwing away what she felt were scraps and things of no value), I found all kinds of things I wasn't looking for, and a few things I was. And I came to a startling recognition.
As I was going through reams of stuff in the filing cabinets, I came across (Someone had set the package aside before I got here) a white envelope like those you would generally find pictures in, as they come from a developer/phonto-mat. I picked up the package, and pulled from it one of several pictures inside. I turned it over, and it was a black-and-white picture of mom. She was in a suit, not a suit I particularly remember, but in this picture - she was beautiful. She had a wonderful real smile, as if she had been in true laughter when they took the picture, and a sparkle in her eyes that she had when she smiled for true. Her hair was very pretty - simple, and the best hair-style I think she ever had (mom wasnever satisfied with any hair-style and was constantly a slave to the perverbial greener grass). The picture had been taken for work - it was a portrait, and so there weren't any gaudy or rediculous backdrops, and nothing else in the perifery to distract; it was just her. Mom struggled with her weight for as long as I can remember, but in this picture, she looked healthy, and happy, and she looked beautiful - and I was shocked when I saw it. It has been so long since I saw mom looking healthy, and happy, and full of energy, and vibrance, and so long since I had seen even a picture of her at "her-best" that I was shocked at how beutiful she was. The picture was taken while she was with IMC Global, and was not more than 12-years old.
In the moments I stood in relative shock looking at the picture, a storm of emotion swept through me. First I was shocked - that was clear and present, really throughout. But on the heals of shock - there were other things; some that make perfect sense, and some that do-not. I was proud of how pretty she looked. I was ashamed that I had forgotten, or not been aware of how pretty she was. I was sad ... so sad I thought that the weight in my heart might steal the light from the room. And a tumult of things roiling in the passing of a small fraction of a moment.
And then, I had a thought ... that was clear. Something that rose out of the storm, clear and crisp, and true, and terrible. "...surely, there can be nothing sadder than things left unsaid...". I was startled at the clarity of the thought, as a nanosecond before I had been thrashing about in an emotional confusion like having been tossed by a wave in the surf. Then this thought, like a clear beacon through the twisting clouds. As I looked at the picture, and as I dwelt on the thought - it became clearer still. I thought of all the things times I had seen her in the last years and not loved her enough. How many times I had heald close to the ways I surmised she was wrong, or weak, or unfair, or unwise, or any number of things that she "wasn't", such that I didn't welcome, or comfort, or soothe, or love in any obvious way. Its not that I didn't love her inside. I loved her very much in my heart, but the doing; it was raspy, and challenging, and shearing, and brusque, and harsh, and cold. And, now I am broken, and my heart is full, and tender, and the loving kindness that I should have been heaping upon this beautiful woman in this picture, is present and warm and alive; but she is not.
My mother died. The knowledge is there. The image of her breathing her last in this world is a picture that I don't think will ever wane in my mind, and yet I see this picture of her, and I can't believe it. There is all this love in my heart, all this warmth, and joy - the same joy I see sparkling in her eyes in this picure - but there is no-one there, and I realize the time I was given to share it is past, and it can't be recovered. But it's all there. All the love. Every memory of every wonderful thing she was, and everything I should have said, and everything I should have done, and every way that I should have tried to show her. Its all there, and it's too late. So where does it go? A breaking heart is no destination for a truth that has broken it. The truth, and the love that breaks the heart is palpable, I can feel it threatening to squeeze the heart from me even now. Where does it go? Does it hide in the smoke and dust of the battle between heartache and duty, to steal your strength when faced with a phontogragh, or a smell, or a melody? Does it act as a catalyst and make a heart hard and dark and sad and cold? Does it act like ash in a scorched and blackened landscape, adding to soil what it needs most?
My heart has known pain. Pain in a funhouse mirror where it seems a mere fraction of what it should have been, and some seeming so large from something so small that it would threaten to burst the heart that felt it. This pain is large, and made larger because there is nothing to be done with it. There is no heartfelt reconcilliation that can be made. No grand gesture aimed at ammends. There is no way, at least in specifics, to take "the lesson learned" and apply it to the future, as there will never be another Mother for me, and the things which seem minor variences and differences between relationships are as great cavernous chasms over which there is no path. Certainly there are lessons to be learned ... but what to do with what is in this heart now for no-other than the one who is no longer here?
I think that there is nothing sadder than love for one that is unrealized, unshared, unsaid, unshown. Like a loving mother who loses her child - a life-full of love that has no-where to go. Or love from a son for a mother - a life-time of love, a rushing tumult like that released from a dam, having no-where to go.
All this, in moments I spent looking at those eyes, that smile, that beautiful woman in the picture.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Here Am I Lord - Part 2.
The post below is the lyrics to the Hymn: "Here Am I Lord".
I love that Hymn. As much as I love the Hymn in its entirity, I love the Chorus.
Whome shall I send?
Here am I Lord. Is it I Lord? I will go, Lord, if you lead me.
"Here am I Lord"
First in the Bible by Abraham in Genesis. Then by Moses, at the bush. Then by Samuel, and Saul, and Isaiah, and fianlly by Ananias. In every case, God calls out to a person, and the person responds.
I think most people associate the song with Chapter 6 of Isaiah, and rightly so I think, as the rest of the song matches well what is communicated in that chapter of scrupture. But the words and usage, recognition and situation associated with the words "Here am I Lord" are more universal than application or reflection of any single scripture, or person, or account.
There is recognition in that "response". A recognition of who it is that is calling, and there is no doubt. The Lord calls.
There is desire. You can almost see it. A man, perched on the edge, leaning out, looking up, reaching ... It's the image of every believer, the image of their true selves, though many of us forget it.
And specifically in the case of Isaiah, the "Here am I Lord" is not a response to question, but instead to a need. Isaiah, sees the Father grieving, and there is a question, but it's not clear if it was asked of Isaiah, or God asking Himself as if speaking alowed. See the vision Isaiah recieves implies that it was God's intent that he hear the question, and thus implied that it is a question to which he needs consider. Given all that though, Isaiah responds, as if the Father did not bring Isaiah to exactly where he was witnessing the Father in the temple, "Here am I!". Then "Send me." You see Isaiah, wanting to do whatever, wherever, whenever - if it is the Father's will, and in His Will that a man should be an instrument of that Will, then Isaiah needed nothing else. If the Father had said, "...who's life will be taken...", I think Isaiah would hav responded the same way, "...Here I am...", "...take me..., if it is Thy will that it should be so...". I think that because at the believer's heart, the same desire is there for all. That, by my life or death, God's will and Glory above all. Love drives it. Love so great, and with no greater model than the Son that died to save us, that there is no greater desire than to to be called by the Father to whatever end. To go. To speak. To stand. To run. To die.
I am undone. I am unclean. I am imperfect. I am a sinner, and the holy, holy, holy Father sees my sinful heart. He saw Isaiah too, and still Isaiah became his instrument. So am I, though I know not to what end. I cut through the world around me, time and people and matter passing by with greater and greater urgency and I speak when I can, I love as I can, I stand where I can, and I run as I can, and I wait. I see the glory of the Lord all around me, in every drop of rain, and in every moment of warmth from the Sun, and in every breath of wind that blows past my face, and in my heart - the heart of who I am in Christ - I reach for the Father, and every beat of my heart echoes across the canyons of my life with, "...here am I, Lord...", "Is it I lord?", "...send me...".
Since the moment I woke from the sleep to which I was born, I have been asking, in my heart. "...is it I Lord...", "...is this work for me, Father?", "...I will go Lord, if you lead me...".
And so, Here I am. Still reaching. Still praying, in my heart, to be called. Still. Always.
I love that Hymn. As much as I love the Hymn in its entirity, I love the Chorus.
Whome shall I send?
Here am I Lord. Is it I Lord? I will go, Lord, if you lead me.
"Here am I Lord"
First in the Bible by Abraham in Genesis. Then by Moses, at the bush. Then by Samuel, and Saul, and Isaiah, and fianlly by Ananias. In every case, God calls out to a person, and the person responds.
I think most people associate the song with Chapter 6 of Isaiah, and rightly so I think, as the rest of the song matches well what is communicated in that chapter of scrupture. But the words and usage, recognition and situation associated with the words "Here am I Lord" are more universal than application or reflection of any single scripture, or person, or account.
There is recognition in that "response". A recognition of who it is that is calling, and there is no doubt. The Lord calls.
There is desire. You can almost see it. A man, perched on the edge, leaning out, looking up, reaching ... It's the image of every believer, the image of their true selves, though many of us forget it.
And specifically in the case of Isaiah, the "Here am I Lord" is not a response to question, but instead to a need. Isaiah, sees the Father grieving, and there is a question, but it's not clear if it was asked of Isaiah, or God asking Himself as if speaking alowed. See the vision Isaiah recieves implies that it was God's intent that he hear the question, and thus implied that it is a question to which he needs consider. Given all that though, Isaiah responds, as if the Father did not bring Isaiah to exactly where he was witnessing the Father in the temple, "Here am I!". Then "Send me." You see Isaiah, wanting to do whatever, wherever, whenever - if it is the Father's will, and in His Will that a man should be an instrument of that Will, then Isaiah needed nothing else. If the Father had said, "...who's life will be taken...", I think Isaiah would hav responded the same way, "...Here I am...", "...take me..., if it is Thy will that it should be so...". I think that because at the believer's heart, the same desire is there for all. That, by my life or death, God's will and Glory above all. Love drives it. Love so great, and with no greater model than the Son that died to save us, that there is no greater desire than to to be called by the Father to whatever end. To go. To speak. To stand. To run. To die.
I am undone. I am unclean. I am imperfect. I am a sinner, and the holy, holy, holy Father sees my sinful heart. He saw Isaiah too, and still Isaiah became his instrument. So am I, though I know not to what end. I cut through the world around me, time and people and matter passing by with greater and greater urgency and I speak when I can, I love as I can, I stand where I can, and I run as I can, and I wait. I see the glory of the Lord all around me, in every drop of rain, and in every moment of warmth from the Sun, and in every breath of wind that blows past my face, and in my heart - the heart of who I am in Christ - I reach for the Father, and every beat of my heart echoes across the canyons of my life with, "...here am I, Lord...", "Is it I lord?", "...send me...".
Since the moment I woke from the sleep to which I was born, I have been asking, in my heart. "...is it I Lord...", "...is this work for me, Father?", "...I will go Lord, if you lead me...".
And so, Here I am. Still reaching. Still praying, in my heart, to be called. Still. Always.
Here Am I Lord. Is It I Lord?
I, the Lord of sea and sky
I have heard my people cry
All who dwell in dark and sin
My hand will save:
I who made the stars and night
I will make the darkness bright
Who will bear my light to them?
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord
Is it I Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night
I will go Lord If you lead me
I will hold your people in my heart
I the Lord of snow and rain,
I have borne my people's pain,
I have wept for love of them,
They turn away...
I will break their hearts of stone
Fill their hearts with love alone
I will speak my word to them
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord
Is it I Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night
I will go Lord
If you lead me
I will hold your people in my heart
I, the Lord of wind and flame
I will tend the poor and lame
I will set a feast for them
My hand will save:
Finest bread I will provide
Till their hearts be satisfied
I will give my life to them
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord
Is it I Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night
I will go Lord If you lead me
I will hold your people in my heart
I have heard my people cry
All who dwell in dark and sin
My hand will save:
I who made the stars and night
I will make the darkness bright
Who will bear my light to them?
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord
Is it I Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night
I will go Lord If you lead me
I will hold your people in my heart
I the Lord of snow and rain,
I have borne my people's pain,
I have wept for love of them,
They turn away...
I will break their hearts of stone
Fill their hearts with love alone
I will speak my word to them
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord
Is it I Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night
I will go Lord
If you lead me
I will hold your people in my heart
I, the Lord of wind and flame
I will tend the poor and lame
I will set a feast for them
My hand will save:
Finest bread I will provide
Till their hearts be satisfied
I will give my life to them
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord
Is it I Lord?
I have heard you calling in the night
I will go Lord If you lead me
I will hold your people in my heart
Sunday, September 7, 2008
A Few Words About My Mother
Much of what I have read in the last days regarding Mom’s death has been by people who were touched by her efforts with the Chemical Safety Board, and who knew her passion for what she accomplished in her career. The outpouring there has been beautiful, and would have made her blush in pride I think.
But she was so much more than the person who was so passionate and engaged in standing for worker safety, and industrial compliance. She was a mother, and a friend, and a glowing grandmother, and a wife, and a sister, and a force that pulled people together in love wherever she went. It seemed that there was a significant gap in the remembrances, and though I am unequal to the task of filling the gap, I thought at least I would try to offer some perspective, about who mom was to me.
God gave mom the desire to make a difference in the world she lived and worked in. Mom put her whole self into everything she did, and was committed to being mentally and emotionally present wherever she was and in whatever role she found herself.
She was a great mother. When Shannon and I were growing up, she made sure that we did the things that kids want to do. She was a Girl Scout leader when Shannon was in scouts, and loved to plan and take the troop on trips. She would take the troop (and me when I was just a little terror) to do things all over the Copper Basin that introduced the kids to the history, and culture, and quality of the region (though she was a Yankee-transplant). She would come to my school and tell stories to my elementary school classes; Uncle Remus, Grandfather Tales, and Jack Tales. Stories that had their roots in the South, and Southeast. She would take Shannon and I to monthly events in Ducktown, , called “Circle L”, where people who had grown up in the area would tell short stories, and folktales set in and about the Copper Basin. When Shannon was in the youth group at church, Mom volunteered to teach the kids at Sunday school, but also to plan and takes trips with the youth (again, taking me as the younger irritating tagalong whenever she could). When Shannon’s senior Spanish class went to Europe, Mom volunteered to go with them as an adult leader. She played tag around the church-yard with me, and took me on long trips to a grocery store more than an hour away from home, just to have time alone with me.
While she was managing solid waste and waste treatment, learning and navigating the shoals of industrial practice in the early part of her career, she was engaged as a wife, and a mother, and a friend, community enthusiast, and Sunday School teacher. That’s just who she was. When she saw a need or an opportunity that she felt her kids should have, she found time to get involved personally to make certain that things were as good as they could be. We didn’t have it all, but we went, and did, and experienced, and laughed, and had lives which were fuller because she made it a priority to do what she could.
When the mine and the chemical plant in Copper Basin began to diminish, and a navigable future there began to look questionable, Mom found her 1st position with Champion International Paper in Connecticut. She moved there and we followed after. The needs of the family meant that she had to work more and travel more than she wanted, but she continued to be present in my life as she was able. She didn’t work to have more, but instead to see that the family had enough. She still taught Sunday School, and she loved being involved in the church. She came to Lacrosse games, and planned church picnics, and helped me type school papers at 2:00 in the morning. And, as much as anything else, even when she traveled, she would always take my call.
It wasn’t just my call though. My cousins, and Aunts and Uncles, and people who found their way into her path, and people she purposed to find … she invested in people; anyone that would allow her to do with or for them. She poured herself into people with her time, and her compassion, and her resources to give them opportunity, and joy, and perspective. And what’s really amazing, was that often the people she invested in, people to whom she gave freely of herself and her resources, took without thanks, and were capricious and apathetic about the heart-and-soul investment that mom had made in their lives, and even threw back at her, her care and love, time and wisdom, and hurt her to her core. Even those of us who should have been closest to her, and known better. Even me. And still she gave. She invested, and sought out people. That is a God-given strength, behind a God-given mission to have God-inspired compassion on a world that rebels against God. And she loved to do it.
Mom loved the Church. She was always reading. When it wasn’t reams of (to me anyway) mind-numbing briefs and regulations and so-forth for work, she was reading C.S. Lewis, Bonhoeffer, and William Barklay, John Calvin, Oswald Chambers, Martin Luther, Max Lucado, Phillip Yancey, and hosts of others (I think C.S. Lewis was her favorite, and she said that “The great Divorce” gave her a great deal of comfort). My mother ran the race. She may not have always chosen the correct path (if such a thing exists), and she wasn’t perfect, but her whole life she never stopped running the race she felt God had called her to run. She loved to learn, and as long as she was learning she was willing to teach others what she knew, and willing to talk to anyone about what she suspected. She taught with patience, and passion, and humility, and more important, she listened the same way. I never saw her teach a Sunday School class as an adult, and forever I will wish that I have been able to learn more from her about how to teach and interact with people so that they are engaged and involved and interested. She really had such a gift for that.
God’s hand on mom’s life was the thing that made her who she was. I think she would say that was true. She was God’s very special daughter. She was a heart full of hope and laughter and compassion and generosity for every story before her. She was the very heart and smile of every family holiday. She was a warm and steady light in the storm. She was a million wonderful thoughts stretching beyond the horizon, and with all that was wonderful about her and with all the ways that she touched the world and all the amazing things she accomplished – to me, she was my most loving mother.
Carolyn Merritt died August 29th, 2008 in St. Louis, Missouri. She was 61.
She was the wife of one man, and a mother to two, and a grandmother to two.
She was a sister to four.
She is survived by her father, her sisters and brother, her husband, children, and grandchildren.
She loved her life and lived to love. She touched the world. She finished the race.
I love you Mom
But she was so much more than the person who was so passionate and engaged in standing for worker safety, and industrial compliance. She was a mother, and a friend, and a glowing grandmother, and a wife, and a sister, and a force that pulled people together in love wherever she went. It seemed that there was a significant gap in the remembrances, and though I am unequal to the task of filling the gap, I thought at least I would try to offer some perspective, about who mom was to me.
God gave mom the desire to make a difference in the world she lived and worked in. Mom put her whole self into everything she did, and was committed to being mentally and emotionally present wherever she was and in whatever role she found herself.
She was a great mother. When Shannon and I were growing up, she made sure that we did the things that kids want to do. She was a Girl Scout leader when Shannon was in scouts, and loved to plan and take the troop on trips. She would take the troop (and me when I was just a little terror) to do things all over the Copper Basin that introduced the kids to the history, and culture, and quality of the region (though she was a Yankee-transplant). She would come to my school and tell stories to my elementary school classes; Uncle Remus, Grandfather Tales, and Jack Tales. Stories that had their roots in the South, and Southeast. She would take Shannon and I to monthly events in Ducktown, , called “Circle L”, where people who had grown up in the area would tell short stories, and folktales set in and about the Copper Basin. When Shannon was in the youth group at church, Mom volunteered to teach the kids at Sunday school, but also to plan and takes trips with the youth (again, taking me as the younger irritating tagalong whenever she could). When Shannon’s senior Spanish class went to Europe, Mom volunteered to go with them as an adult leader. She played tag around the church-yard with me, and took me on long trips to a grocery store more than an hour away from home, just to have time alone with me.While she was managing solid waste and waste treatment, learning and navigating the shoals of industrial practice in the early part of her career, she was engaged as a wife, and a mother, and a friend, community enthusiast, and Sunday School teacher. That’s just who she was. When she saw a need or an opportunity that she felt her kids should have, she found time to get involved personally to make certain that things were as good as they could be. We didn’t have it all, but we went, and did, and experienced, and laughed, and had lives which were fuller because she made it a priority to do what she could.
When the mine and the chemical plant in Copper Basin began to diminish, and a navigable future there began to look questionable, Mom found her 1st position with Champion International Paper in Connecticut. She moved there and we followed after. The needs of the family meant that she had to work more and travel more than she wanted, but she continued to be present in my life as she was able. She didn’t work to have more, but instead to see that the family had enough. She still taught Sunday School, and she loved being involved in the church. She came to Lacrosse games, and planned church picnics, and helped me type school papers at 2:00 in the morning. And, as much as anything else, even when she traveled, she would always take my call.
It wasn’t just my call though. My cousins, and Aunts and Uncles, and people who found their way into her path, and people she purposed to find … she invested in people; anyone that would allow her to do with or for them. She poured herself into people with her time, and her compassion, and her resources to give them opportunity, and joy, and perspective. And what’s really amazing, was that often the people she invested in, people to whom she gave freely of herself and her resources, took without thanks, and were capricious and apathetic about the heart-and-soul investment that mom had made in their lives, and even threw back at her, her care and love, time and wisdom, and hurt her to her core. Even those of us who should have been closest to her, and known better. Even me. And still she gave. She invested, and sought out people. That is a God-given strength, behind a God-given mission to have God-inspired compassion on a world that rebels against God. And she loved to do it.
Mom loved the Church. She was always reading. When it wasn’t reams of (to me anyway) mind-numbing briefs and regulations and so-forth for work, she was reading C.S. Lewis, Bonhoeffer, and William Barklay, John Calvin, Oswald Chambers, Martin Luther, Max Lucado, Phillip Yancey, and hosts of others (I think C.S. Lewis was her favorite, and she said that “The great Divorce” gave her a great deal of comfort). My mother ran the race. She may not have always chosen the correct path (if such a thing exists), and she wasn’t perfect, but her whole life she never stopped running the race she felt God had called her to run. She loved to learn, and as long as she was learning she was willing to teach others what she knew, and willing to talk to anyone about what she suspected. She taught with patience, and passion, and humility, and more important, she listened the same way. I never saw her teach a Sunday School class as an adult, and forever I will wish that I have been able to learn more from her about how to teach and interact with people so that they are engaged and involved and interested. She really had such a gift for that.God’s hand on mom’s life was the thing that made her who she was. I think she would say that was true. She was God’s very special daughter. She was a heart full of hope and laughter and compassion and generosity for every story before her. She was the very heart and smile of every family holiday. She was a warm and steady light in the storm. She was a million wonderful thoughts stretching beyond the horizon, and with all that was wonderful about her and with all the ways that she touched the world and all the amazing things she accomplished – to me, she was my most loving mother.
Carolyn Merritt died August 29th, 2008 in St. Louis, Missouri. She was 61.
She was the wife of one man, and a mother to two, and a grandmother to two.
She was a sister to four.
She is survived by her father, her sisters and brother, her husband, children, and grandchildren.
She loved her life and lived to love. She touched the world. She finished the race.
I love you Mom
Friday, August 29, 2008
With the Father
My mother died today. She died at 12:45.
We arrived about 9:15 in her room (Sha, Dad, GC, and I) and she seemed to be taking very deliberate, almost gasping breaths. Her eyes would open wide with each inhale, and her exhales were raspy as if she were puhing her air out through water or moisture at the back of her throat. As she was struggling to breath, there was a nurse there who had attended her many times through her hospitalizations, and who knew her, and who was trying to make her comfortable. She would not or could not respond to any of our voices.
We were all pretty upset by what we were seeing, an hearing with her struggle - which apparently had begun not long before our arrival. Her body was stuggling to move with every breath she could grasp, and her face looked as if every move was painful. Dr. Wabash had told us that as her body shut down, that kind of reflexive breathing was normal, wasn't painful, and was just a sign that her life was nearly spent. Just the same, it was very difficult to see, and we all requested that they try to make her more comfortable, and ease her pain, with some morphine - which they did.
After a while, she seemed to be more calm. Her breath continued to be somwhat labored, but she did not seem to be in pain. From the moment we got there, her eyes never really registerred that we were there, and she couldn't seem to speak any words. It seemed she was sleeping, but her eyes were open.
After we could recognize that she seemed more calm, we all sat near her, holding her hands, and talking with eachother about her. About the way that she seemed to reach peaople, and about the way that she had touched the people who worked with her at the Hospital. We each had moments holding her hands, holding her feet, hugging her and kissing her head. As time passed, her breathing gradually slowed.
Looking around the room, we each would have climbed into her bed could have managed it, just to be able to hold her - it was on all of our faces. The look of people who love a person ehnough to not be able to imagine life and living without them, and knowing at the same time that they are drifing away. My Dad sat by her side mostly, and Sha on the other. GC and I circulating , and taking moments we found to be able to hold her hand, and hug her.
In a moment that Dad got up to walk over on to the window, I sat next to Mom, and held her hand, and kissed her cheek. Her beaths were coming now with long gaps in betwean them. I looked her in the eye, and it seemed like she reisterred me. I looked into her eyes for a moment, tears in my own and tried to love a lifetime in that look. The corner of her mouth curled up either in a smile or at the very begining of a Weber-sad moment, and I said outloud that we all loved her. Looking at me, she breathed a quick weakend breath - and then she did not breath again.
I looked over at Dad, and rose out of the chair, so he could sit with her. He bent at the waist with his eyes on her hand, and wept aloud for a time. He leaned over her, with tears heavy in his eyes, and kissed her on her cheek many times. We each of us, took a moment to hold her, to kiss her cheek, and to love on her one moment more.
I think the last moment where Mom looked at me was one of two things. In her last moment, she either glipsed the open arms of Jesus, pulling her on or she looked at me as was sad to the point of tears (weber tears are those accomponied with something, that if not for a red face and tears, would look like a strained smile) for having not been able to be here for her family. She loved her family. Perhaps in that last moment she considered everything in my life, in our lives, that she wouldn't be able to celebrate with us, or mourn with us, or guide us through the best she knew how. Or, perhaps, she smiled, seeing God - and his comfort, and joy, and the celebration of the angesls and saints, at knowing that one who had finished the race, was coming home. Perhaps it was both, in the same moment.
Courage has many faces. But at the heart of many faces of courage, is facing pain. Knowing that your heart may be broken, knowing that pain will come, and stepping forward when all logic and reason would tell you step away. Knowing the pain is coming, knowing that it may be something that changes you forever and not knowing who you will be on the other side, and deciding to stand where you are - next to someone you love who is dying, and by those who stand near you, suffering in ways and dimentions maybe greater than your own, so that the one who is dying will know - if they can - that you are there, and they are not alone; and so that the others, who carry the weight of the remainder of their lives without the presence of the passing one they love, know they need not carry it alone.
It is not a celebrated courage. There are no monuments, like those that honor conquered geography, or tyranny, or opression, or violence, or obsticles, or so many other things that are recorded for the world to see. But there it is. I may have been able to see my way through to that before, but now I know it. I have seen it in my sister, and my Father, and in mom's best friend, and in me.
Thank you, to those of you pray, and have prayed for me and my family - in moments here and there, and in earnest with passion. Thank you.
Mom-
I love you. I cannot tell you here, or there, how I will miss you. In every happy moment I will think on you, and know that you are with the Father, and with all the saints which have gone before you, laughing, and chearing, and smiling with us, as if to warm further already lauphing hearts. In every moment of sadness, I will think back to the courage you showed me to mourn, to feel pain pass into and through me, to rest on the Rock, and to know that you cannot both live and run from the wind. I miss you every day. I will love you always. I will try to live in a way that makes God and you proud of me. I will try to love my wife in a way that will make you smile.
I love you so much.
We arrived about 9:15 in her room (Sha, Dad, GC, and I) and she seemed to be taking very deliberate, almost gasping breaths. Her eyes would open wide with each inhale, and her exhales were raspy as if she were puhing her air out through water or moisture at the back of her throat. As she was struggling to breath, there was a nurse there who had attended her many times through her hospitalizations, and who knew her, and who was trying to make her comfortable. She would not or could not respond to any of our voices.
We were all pretty upset by what we were seeing, an hearing with her struggle - which apparently had begun not long before our arrival. Her body was stuggling to move with every breath she could grasp, and her face looked as if every move was painful. Dr. Wabash had told us that as her body shut down, that kind of reflexive breathing was normal, wasn't painful, and was just a sign that her life was nearly spent. Just the same, it was very difficult to see, and we all requested that they try to make her more comfortable, and ease her pain, with some morphine - which they did.
After a while, she seemed to be more calm. Her breath continued to be somwhat labored, but she did not seem to be in pain. From the moment we got there, her eyes never really registerred that we were there, and she couldn't seem to speak any words. It seemed she was sleeping, but her eyes were open.
After we could recognize that she seemed more calm, we all sat near her, holding her hands, and talking with eachother about her. About the way that she seemed to reach peaople, and about the way that she had touched the people who worked with her at the Hospital. We each had moments holding her hands, holding her feet, hugging her and kissing her head. As time passed, her breathing gradually slowed.
Looking around the room, we each would have climbed into her bed could have managed it, just to be able to hold her - it was on all of our faces. The look of people who love a person ehnough to not be able to imagine life and living without them, and knowing at the same time that they are drifing away. My Dad sat by her side mostly, and Sha on the other. GC and I circulating , and taking moments we found to be able to hold her hand, and hug her.
In a moment that Dad got up to walk over on to the window, I sat next to Mom, and held her hand, and kissed her cheek. Her beaths were coming now with long gaps in betwean them. I looked her in the eye, and it seemed like she reisterred me. I looked into her eyes for a moment, tears in my own and tried to love a lifetime in that look. The corner of her mouth curled up either in a smile or at the very begining of a Weber-sad moment, and I said outloud that we all loved her. Looking at me, she breathed a quick weakend breath - and then she did not breath again.
I looked over at Dad, and rose out of the chair, so he could sit with her. He bent at the waist with his eyes on her hand, and wept aloud for a time. He leaned over her, with tears heavy in his eyes, and kissed her on her cheek many times. We each of us, took a moment to hold her, to kiss her cheek, and to love on her one moment more.
I think the last moment where Mom looked at me was one of two things. In her last moment, she either glipsed the open arms of Jesus, pulling her on or she looked at me as was sad to the point of tears (weber tears are those accomponied with something, that if not for a red face and tears, would look like a strained smile) for having not been able to be here for her family. She loved her family. Perhaps in that last moment she considered everything in my life, in our lives, that she wouldn't be able to celebrate with us, or mourn with us, or guide us through the best she knew how. Or, perhaps, she smiled, seeing God - and his comfort, and joy, and the celebration of the angesls and saints, at knowing that one who had finished the race, was coming home. Perhaps it was both, in the same moment.
Courage has many faces. But at the heart of many faces of courage, is facing pain. Knowing that your heart may be broken, knowing that pain will come, and stepping forward when all logic and reason would tell you step away. Knowing the pain is coming, knowing that it may be something that changes you forever and not knowing who you will be on the other side, and deciding to stand where you are - next to someone you love who is dying, and by those who stand near you, suffering in ways and dimentions maybe greater than your own, so that the one who is dying will know - if they can - that you are there, and they are not alone; and so that the others, who carry the weight of the remainder of their lives without the presence of the passing one they love, know they need not carry it alone.
It is not a celebrated courage. There are no monuments, like those that honor conquered geography, or tyranny, or opression, or violence, or obsticles, or so many other things that are recorded for the world to see. But there it is. I may have been able to see my way through to that before, but now I know it. I have seen it in my sister, and my Father, and in mom's best friend, and in me.
Thank you, to those of you pray, and have prayed for me and my family - in moments here and there, and in earnest with passion. Thank you.
Mom-
I love you. I cannot tell you here, or there, how I will miss you. In every happy moment I will think on you, and know that you are with the Father, and with all the saints which have gone before you, laughing, and chearing, and smiling with us, as if to warm further already lauphing hearts. In every moment of sadness, I will think back to the courage you showed me to mourn, to feel pain pass into and through me, to rest on the Rock, and to know that you cannot both live and run from the wind. I miss you every day. I will love you always. I will try to live in a way that makes God and you proud of me. I will try to love my wife in a way that will make you smile.
I love you so much.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Another Blow
Today I asked to have some time with Mom alone.
I was supposed to be a big day. We have been waiting all weekend to talk with a social workor that works at the Hospital. She was, according to the on-call social workor we spoke with on Saturday, supposed to have list of the options available to us for "long term" nursing care which were covered by Mom's insurance. We had been given a Hospice pamphlet by a rep on Friday, and a booklet of various homes, facilities, and care options. But because we were going to meet with a social worker with a narrowed-down list, I didn't look too closely at it (Dad looked at it and said that it was hard to make heads or tails from the "facilities" booklet). When we walked into the hospital we went into Mom's room to see if she was awake - but she wasn't awake, so we went looking for the floor social-worker. They paged the social worker when we asked, and we went to sit in the loby-like area near the elevators. As we were waiting I asked Dad to see the "facilites" booklet, and the Hospice pamphlet. I learned a few things about Hospice that I didn't know - that Hospice was a "final transition" organization, that mainly is in the business of making terminally ill patients who are in the final days as physically, emotionally, and spiritually comfortable as possible - and where pain, infection, etc. are concerned, they will manage discomfort and pain with medications they can use without saline IV's - but thats it. I guess I always thought Hospice was like a full-time nurse, present, to administer whatever treatment battery that was being used to battle whatever the illness is, as long as the patient wishes, to whatever end the doctors and patiens wish. But that is not the case. Hospice, though they are on-cal 24/7 will normally visit 3-4 times per week, and will clean-up the patient, and talk with her, and will comfort her, and bathe her, and do what they can to manage the patients pain - and do nothing to extend or shorten the patients life. This became clear to me a few moments before the social worker and Hospice Rep approached Dad and I, after responding to our page.
The convesation began with introductions, and Dad standing up next to tables and chairs.
I suggested that the conversation we needed to have was likely longer than what Dad's questions and the representatives needs to communicate with us could endure with us all standing, and that maybe we should all sit down. To which I was immediately met with "slap-you eye", and cuffed with something close on the order of "I want to stand so I can see her lips and understand her better - if that alright with you-". I stood up and walked around the corner - can't remember for what now - and when I came back the social worker and the Hospice rep were seated, and Dad was standing opposite them, looming. I seated myself next to them and listened. Eventually it became apparent that the Social workor did not have the information that we were told that she would, she did not know anything about Mom's specific insurance benefits, and that we had an understanding of Mom's medical needs in terms of an IV and nursing staff to administer her Chemo, etc, that seemed to come as surprise to them. Dad and I indicated (Dad had communicated to me what the last meeting with Mom, He, and Dr. Wabash had discussed) that she would need to be monitored regularly for blood chemistrly, that she would need electrolytes and other treatments she was currently recieving at the hospital to continue wherever she was finally moved. To which the Rep and the social worker responded with confusion.
The meeting ended with our telling them that we needed to talk with Mom's doctor, and that until we had a more solid understanding of Mom's nursing and care needs we really couldn't identify what facilites were appropriate. The social worker agreed that was a good idea. She gave us her card, and asked us to give her a call when we had a chance to get things figured out with Mom's doctor.
I asked Dad if I could stay with Mom for the rest of the afternoon - and he graciously let me have that alone time with her.
A few hours later, several nurses came in and were going to clean Mom up, and change her mattress, and do some other, necessary, and very compromising maintenance on her. I excused myself, and was on my way to the Lobby area when a very nice Doctor asked if she could chat with me.
She introduced herself to me, again (I had met her the a few days before, she recognized me) again, and indicated that she was in the last meeting Dr. Wabash had with Mom and Dad, when Mom's mental state was sure enough to make decisions. She indicated that the decision Dr. Wabash and she understood that Mom had come to, was that she was done with treatment and wanted to be as comfortable as possible until she passed. Wide eyed - I told her that Dad had indicated to me - and mom in the few moments of Lucid conversation we had on Friday - that her liver Chemo was still being administered in order to retard the loss of her mental acuity as much as possible. She said, that at the meeting, it was clear to both she and Dr Wabash, that mom wanted no further treatment of any kind. **I think the Hospice Rep and the Social Worker spoke with this doctor earlier, and that the questions we were asking about long term nursing care didn't match the terminus of treatment which was being respected. At any rate - she said that Mom's condition was worsening rapidlym that there had been no indication that the chemo treamants mom had ben recieving were affective at all on the cancer in her liver, that the Lactilose which was preserving some of her mental acuity before was no longer working like it should, that mom's weakness was progressing, and as of this morning they had discovered that Mom was in renal-failure. She said, that she suspected the direness of the situation had not gotten through to Dad for one reason or another, and that with the news that her kidneys were failing, that it seemed Mom would not last much longer, and that it would behoove her to get her wherever she wanted to be for her last days (Mom asked to be at Shannon's house near Shannon and the grandkids (Mom LOVES her grandkids - and forever one of the saddest things in my life will be that those kids won't know her, and that my kids - shoudld we ever be able to have any -won't ever laugh with her, or feel the warmth of a hug from their grandmother).
This was all very difficult to hear, and very much a shock. I thanked her for her courage to talk with me, and give me some very bad news in order to try to halt some very dangerous confusion. I gave her my cell number and asked her to call Dr. Wabash, to see if she could meet with Shannon, Dad, and me ASAP. I then walked back to the condo, called Shannon - leaving a message that she should call me back ASAP - and went into talk to Dad. Which I wish I could say went smoothly - but which, in fact, looked like Sherman's march to the sea when complete.
Last Friday I was sad that Mom was talking with us about her final days, which Shannon and I understood to be many weeks away. This weekend I was sad to watch Mom struggling in her own mind, and sad that our time seemed to be slipping away from us. Today I am sad that even those hopeful weeks seem have been snapped away, and it is days left , not to talk with our mother whom we love so dearly, but left to hold the hand of the woman whom we love so much while there is a little warmth left in them, and with almost no idea whether she even knows we are there.
I was with her for a few hours today. I prayed for her, and held her hand. I put chap stick on her lips, and gave her water. She opend her eyes wide in a rush, and tightened her grip on my hand in hers, and she said, "I love you Matthew". I told her that I knew she loved me, and I loved her too. By the time I finished those few words, her eyes were lost again, and I was as heartbroken as I have ever been in my life that that may be the last time I heard those words from her.
I was supposed to be a big day. We have been waiting all weekend to talk with a social workor that works at the Hospital. She was, according to the on-call social workor we spoke with on Saturday, supposed to have list of the options available to us for "long term" nursing care which were covered by Mom's insurance. We had been given a Hospice pamphlet by a rep on Friday, and a booklet of various homes, facilities, and care options. But because we were going to meet with a social worker with a narrowed-down list, I didn't look too closely at it (Dad looked at it and said that it was hard to make heads or tails from the "facilities" booklet). When we walked into the hospital we went into Mom's room to see if she was awake - but she wasn't awake, so we went looking for the floor social-worker. They paged the social worker when we asked, and we went to sit in the loby-like area near the elevators. As we were waiting I asked Dad to see the "facilites" booklet, and the Hospice pamphlet. I learned a few things about Hospice that I didn't know - that Hospice was a "final transition" organization, that mainly is in the business of making terminally ill patients who are in the final days as physically, emotionally, and spiritually comfortable as possible - and where pain, infection, etc. are concerned, they will manage discomfort and pain with medications they can use without saline IV's - but thats it. I guess I always thought Hospice was like a full-time nurse, present, to administer whatever treatment battery that was being used to battle whatever the illness is, as long as the patient wishes, to whatever end the doctors and patiens wish. But that is not the case. Hospice, though they are on-cal 24/7 will normally visit 3-4 times per week, and will clean-up the patient, and talk with her, and will comfort her, and bathe her, and do what they can to manage the patients pain - and do nothing to extend or shorten the patients life. This became clear to me a few moments before the social worker and Hospice Rep approached Dad and I, after responding to our page.
The convesation began with introductions, and Dad standing up next to tables and chairs.
I suggested that the conversation we needed to have was likely longer than what Dad's questions and the representatives needs to communicate with us could endure with us all standing, and that maybe we should all sit down. To which I was immediately met with "slap-you eye", and cuffed with something close on the order of "I want to stand so I can see her lips and understand her better - if that alright with you-". I stood up and walked around the corner - can't remember for what now - and when I came back the social worker and the Hospice rep were seated, and Dad was standing opposite them, looming. I seated myself next to them and listened. Eventually it became apparent that the Social workor did not have the information that we were told that she would, she did not know anything about Mom's specific insurance benefits, and that we had an understanding of Mom's medical needs in terms of an IV and nursing staff to administer her Chemo, etc, that seemed to come as surprise to them. Dad and I indicated (Dad had communicated to me what the last meeting with Mom, He, and Dr. Wabash had discussed) that she would need to be monitored regularly for blood chemistrly, that she would need electrolytes and other treatments she was currently recieving at the hospital to continue wherever she was finally moved. To which the Rep and the social worker responded with confusion.
The meeting ended with our telling them that we needed to talk with Mom's doctor, and that until we had a more solid understanding of Mom's nursing and care needs we really couldn't identify what facilites were appropriate. The social worker agreed that was a good idea. She gave us her card, and asked us to give her a call when we had a chance to get things figured out with Mom's doctor.
I asked Dad if I could stay with Mom for the rest of the afternoon - and he graciously let me have that alone time with her.
A few hours later, several nurses came in and were going to clean Mom up, and change her mattress, and do some other, necessary, and very compromising maintenance on her. I excused myself, and was on my way to the Lobby area when a very nice Doctor asked if she could chat with me.
She introduced herself to me, again (I had met her the a few days before, she recognized me) again, and indicated that she was in the last meeting Dr. Wabash had with Mom and Dad, when Mom's mental state was sure enough to make decisions. She indicated that the decision Dr. Wabash and she understood that Mom had come to, was that she was done with treatment and wanted to be as comfortable as possible until she passed. Wide eyed - I told her that Dad had indicated to me - and mom in the few moments of Lucid conversation we had on Friday - that her liver Chemo was still being administered in order to retard the loss of her mental acuity as much as possible. She said, that at the meeting, it was clear to both she and Dr Wabash, that mom wanted no further treatment of any kind. **I think the Hospice Rep and the Social Worker spoke with this doctor earlier, and that the questions we were asking about long term nursing care didn't match the terminus of treatment which was being respected. At any rate - she said that Mom's condition was worsening rapidlym that there had been no indication that the chemo treamants mom had ben recieving were affective at all on the cancer in her liver, that the Lactilose which was preserving some of her mental acuity before was no longer working like it should, that mom's weakness was progressing, and as of this morning they had discovered that Mom was in renal-failure. She said, that she suspected the direness of the situation had not gotten through to Dad for one reason or another, and that with the news that her kidneys were failing, that it seemed Mom would not last much longer, and that it would behoove her to get her wherever she wanted to be for her last days (Mom asked to be at Shannon's house near Shannon and the grandkids (Mom LOVES her grandkids - and forever one of the saddest things in my life will be that those kids won't know her, and that my kids - shoudld we ever be able to have any -won't ever laugh with her, or feel the warmth of a hug from their grandmother).
This was all very difficult to hear, and very much a shock. I thanked her for her courage to talk with me, and give me some very bad news in order to try to halt some very dangerous confusion. I gave her my cell number and asked her to call Dr. Wabash, to see if she could meet with Shannon, Dad, and me ASAP. I then walked back to the condo, called Shannon - leaving a message that she should call me back ASAP - and went into talk to Dad. Which I wish I could say went smoothly - but which, in fact, looked like Sherman's march to the sea when complete.
Last Friday I was sad that Mom was talking with us about her final days, which Shannon and I understood to be many weeks away. This weekend I was sad to watch Mom struggling in her own mind, and sad that our time seemed to be slipping away from us. Today I am sad that even those hopeful weeks seem have been snapped away, and it is days left , not to talk with our mother whom we love so dearly, but left to hold the hand of the woman whom we love so much while there is a little warmth left in them, and with almost no idea whether she even knows we are there.
I was with her for a few hours today. I prayed for her, and held her hand. I put chap stick on her lips, and gave her water. She opend her eyes wide in a rush, and tightened her grip on my hand in hers, and she said, "I love you Matthew". I told her that I knew she loved me, and I loved her too. By the time I finished those few words, her eyes were lost again, and I was as heartbroken as I have ever been in my life that that may be the last time I heard those words from her.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Last Days
I am in St. Louis. My father called me Thusday night to tell me that Mom's condition - actually her mental acuity, her tiredness, and her strength - had faded quickly, and that she had to be put in the hospital. He told me that he had spoken with her Doctor, and that the Doctor had told him, that the mental fragmentation, the weakness, her failing body might not improve, regardless of the treatment options, and that her condition coould decend further. He also told me that they had discovered a new tumor on her spine. The tumor was ina very difficult place to reach, was not there 2-weeks ago, and that he and mom had decided not to risk surgury to remove it, and decided that they would not actively seek to treat the tumor.
I was on a plane Friday morning.
Friday afternoon when Dad picked me up from the airport, he said that Mom was feeling much beeter, and that her mental acuity had improved after being admitted to the hospital.
When we got to the Hospital, she was alert but her mind was slow. She wasn't in pain.
Sha, my sister, was there, and we all talked about what the doctor thought was the situation, and what Mom wanted to do. The intent was to to find a nursing facility or find "home-care" for her, as her care took more than one person could provide, and my Dad could no longer keep up on his own.
2-weeks ago, when I was there visiting with my wife, Mom and I chit-chatted, and talked a little. She was feeling good then, sleeping alot, and was very hopeful that this was just a low-point in the treatment that would see her much better on the other side. We talked a little, mostly the length and subject of little exchanges that you have with people that you've known a long time, and the kind of conversation that doesn't amount to a lot, and carefuly avoids shoals of conversation where disagreements are likely. Snalltalk. "How is Honey?" (my wife). "Have you decorated anymore of your house?" "Hows Max?" (my dog). "How's work?". "How are Honey's parents?".
I was shocked when I saw her, because her skin was ashen, and her face gaunt and drawn and looked like it belonged to a much, much older person if not a different person all together. But when I first saw her, she was over at Sha's house and stood to welcome me, and hugged me, and early conversation revealed that she was tired, and ran out of energy quickly, but that conversations with her doctor had not lead her to believe anything but that this treatment had every chance of working, and that she expected to recover from her treatment.
I spent 3-full days there with she and Dad. I was not prepared for what I was witnessing. Mom spent all 3-days (other than the hour or so we spent at Sha's house with she, her husband D-, and their kids) on the couch at their apartment, and most of that couch-time sleeping. I could not resolve what I was seeing with what Mom and Dad had said to me with regard to Mom's health, and the prospect of her recovery - and unprepared as I was for what I was seeing ... I didn't know what to do, or what to say, or how to spend my time.
Now ... 2-weeks later, she cannot hold any kind of real conversation, and has only intermittant lucid moments, where you can be sure she understood you, or can communicate clearly even simple thoughts. Sha said that about a week-and-a-half ago, and she had a short conversation with her, and mom had been on the phone with someone throwing the book at them - so She thought Mom was maybe on the up-swing. Apparently after that day, she has been in the bed, with almost no appetite, no control over her body, and little in the way of mental faculty. Literally within 2-days she went from having a completely lucid an heated conversation with someone over the phone, to not being able to string 2 simple sentences together and keeping her mind focussed on even a simple question like whether she wanted another bite of pancake or not.
My father - in general - is almost not communicative about his heart or his feelings. He just doesn't or cant, or hasn't for so long, that he doesn't know how anymore. I don't really know why. He has much emotion - he's not a stone - he tends to get angry quickly, and voices frustration and irritation with real flair. He has depended on Mom for most of his adult life in one way or another, and in sometimes more fundimental ways than others as he himself has some not-insignificant health issues, but other than she, has generally depended only on himself. When he called me in Colorado Thursday night, he was crying. He said that he just couldn't keep up with the laundry, and the care, and the shopping, and her medication, and help her to the bed, and the bathroom ... he said he could almost do it, but he just couldn't keep up - and that he was having to admit her to the hospital. The woman that had kept up with him, and who he's been able to depend on for likely as much as he ever expected and more, couldn't do for herself - and he just couldn't do it on his own anymore ... and he was heartbroken. it wasn't anything to do with him, it was more than anyone could do on thier own - but with so much emotion, even clear logic takes a back-seat to pain, and he was hurting, and just felt like he failed mom.
Here, now, we all feel that way. Like we have all failed her somehow. Like we should have spent more time with this woman, that always made time for us. Like we should have done more, for the woman that was never contented with all that she had done for us. Like we should have, could have, might have...
I've written about the situation we are in now before, and all those supositions are true. My heart aches though. Tears fall, and threaten to choke the air from me. The pain scares words from my mouth, and the thought of living in a world without my mother, opens an empty hole in the darkness behind my eyes, and makes me afraid. Afraid of the loss of the linchpin, the family keystone - afraid of a world I have never really considered. There is still peace. I can see it from here ... and I know it is there. And when I need it most, I know that God will be there, and is there even now. But for now, I am afraid. I am sad. I hurt.
I was on a plane Friday morning.
Friday afternoon when Dad picked me up from the airport, he said that Mom was feeling much beeter, and that her mental acuity had improved after being admitted to the hospital.
When we got to the Hospital, she was alert but her mind was slow. She wasn't in pain.
Sha, my sister, was there, and we all talked about what the doctor thought was the situation, and what Mom wanted to do. The intent was to to find a nursing facility or find "home-care" for her, as her care took more than one person could provide, and my Dad could no longer keep up on his own.
2-weeks ago, when I was there visiting with my wife, Mom and I chit-chatted, and talked a little. She was feeling good then, sleeping alot, and was very hopeful that this was just a low-point in the treatment that would see her much better on the other side. We talked a little, mostly the length and subject of little exchanges that you have with people that you've known a long time, and the kind of conversation that doesn't amount to a lot, and carefuly avoids shoals of conversation where disagreements are likely. Snalltalk. "How is Honey?" (my wife). "Have you decorated anymore of your house?" "Hows Max?" (my dog). "How's work?". "How are Honey's parents?".
I was shocked when I saw her, because her skin was ashen, and her face gaunt and drawn and looked like it belonged to a much, much older person if not a different person all together. But when I first saw her, she was over at Sha's house and stood to welcome me, and hugged me, and early conversation revealed that she was tired, and ran out of energy quickly, but that conversations with her doctor had not lead her to believe anything but that this treatment had every chance of working, and that she expected to recover from her treatment.
I spent 3-full days there with she and Dad. I was not prepared for what I was witnessing. Mom spent all 3-days (other than the hour or so we spent at Sha's house with she, her husband D-, and their kids) on the couch at their apartment, and most of that couch-time sleeping. I could not resolve what I was seeing with what Mom and Dad had said to me with regard to Mom's health, and the prospect of her recovery - and unprepared as I was for what I was seeing ... I didn't know what to do, or what to say, or how to spend my time.
Now ... 2-weeks later, she cannot hold any kind of real conversation, and has only intermittant lucid moments, where you can be sure she understood you, or can communicate clearly even simple thoughts. Sha said that about a week-and-a-half ago, and she had a short conversation with her, and mom had been on the phone with someone throwing the book at them - so She thought Mom was maybe on the up-swing. Apparently after that day, she has been in the bed, with almost no appetite, no control over her body, and little in the way of mental faculty. Literally within 2-days she went from having a completely lucid an heated conversation with someone over the phone, to not being able to string 2 simple sentences together and keeping her mind focussed on even a simple question like whether she wanted another bite of pancake or not.
My father - in general - is almost not communicative about his heart or his feelings. He just doesn't or cant, or hasn't for so long, that he doesn't know how anymore. I don't really know why. He has much emotion - he's not a stone - he tends to get angry quickly, and voices frustration and irritation with real flair. He has depended on Mom for most of his adult life in one way or another, and in sometimes more fundimental ways than others as he himself has some not-insignificant health issues, but other than she, has generally depended only on himself. When he called me in Colorado Thursday night, he was crying. He said that he just couldn't keep up with the laundry, and the care, and the shopping, and her medication, and help her to the bed, and the bathroom ... he said he could almost do it, but he just couldn't keep up - and that he was having to admit her to the hospital. The woman that had kept up with him, and who he's been able to depend on for likely as much as he ever expected and more, couldn't do for herself - and he just couldn't do it on his own anymore ... and he was heartbroken. it wasn't anything to do with him, it was more than anyone could do on thier own - but with so much emotion, even clear logic takes a back-seat to pain, and he was hurting, and just felt like he failed mom.
Here, now, we all feel that way. Like we have all failed her somehow. Like we should have spent more time with this woman, that always made time for us. Like we should have done more, for the woman that was never contented with all that she had done for us. Like we should have, could have, might have...
I've written about the situation we are in now before, and all those supositions are true. My heart aches though. Tears fall, and threaten to choke the air from me. The pain scares words from my mouth, and the thought of living in a world without my mother, opens an empty hole in the darkness behind my eyes, and makes me afraid. Afraid of the loss of the linchpin, the family keystone - afraid of a world I have never really considered. There is still peace. I can see it from here ... and I know it is there. And when I need it most, I know that God will be there, and is there even now. But for now, I am afraid. I am sad. I hurt.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The Darkness Within
There is no sinner greater than I. I wonder often how a person with the thoughts in my mind, and the desires of my heart could be touched by God. How can everyone not see how black are the beats of my heart?
Its important to understand, here, that Sin, begins far before the act that makes Sin material. Becasue I have not amassed a long list of acts and crimes, doesn't mean that thoughts and desires which are far outside what God would ask and want for me, don't spin and wail and thunder through my mind like storm
Sin begins in a flawed and wicked heart - and I cannot imagine a heart more depraved than my own. The darkness in my heart, perceived darker still because of the touch of the Father.
Non-believers have not had the Spirit infused into their hearts, they have not had their eyes opened to their sin. They may be aware of it, but not like the eyes of a believer ... eyes that knew themselves as helpless, and poor, and without hope of their own, and eyes that witnessed the hand of the father reach into the grave in which they found themselves, and pull them out, and love them, and make them sons and daughters of the Alpha and Omega, and give them a sense of God - of the creator of all that is, that whispered energy and mass and all the universe into existence - deep within them, and in almost everything they see. For them, the vile thoughts and desires that rage within, are made blacker still next to the light in us where God tells us that we can prevail. Short of changing reality, I wouldn't exchange a true image of myself for blindness, but truth is a weighty and persistent beast.
What a two-sided, person I am. Torn and ripped by a heart that desires what I wish that God couldn't see, and in the same hour wants for nothing more than a life lived glorifying him who opened my eyes. It is war in me ... a war. I forget that it's there at times, but it is a war that never ceases. And the tool most often used to damage the heart-scape across which the darkness screams, is the whisper that it is beaten, that the light has won. The light will win, and the light gains always against what would attempt to drag me to places where defeat would color my life - but the war is never won for today. Today, the war rages.
I see today, so I struggle, and I win. When tomorrow is today, there will be a struggle, titanic and cosmic in scale and power, and so used to the struggle have I become that I don't notice until I find my heart filled with what God would cast out of me. Every day ... struggle. Every day ... Battle. So thankful, in this fallen existance, that war carries on.
Sometimes when I'm at church, not often but sometimes, when I am singing, and I hear the choir, and I hear the voices of those around me that I don't know, but lifted all the same to God ... I close my eyes, and I think of Heaven. I can almost feel the joy of lifting my heart in song, and joy, and worship of Him who saved me, covered in warm light and the song of the saints who have gone before, and an eternity of no more struggle. A thousand years of knowing my own heart, full of love, and compassion, and desire for nothing more than to sing with a perfected heart-voice to him whose ears are tuned to hear each and whose smile at the sound lends softly to a heart that is tuned to know the joy of that touch. A thousand years by ten thousand, by forever... Beginning the day my eyes close here, and open for the fist time, there ... with no struggle.
Lord, change my heart here, grant me the desire to see and serve the needs of those who need, and to have compassion for every person. Fill me with love Father, and give me the desire and strength to do what must be done, and the eyes to see those things which you set aside for me to do before the founding of the Earth. Let me see the world, and the people with whom I share this moment, as you see them Father. Please, Lord, don't forget your promise to your children, that you will not leave us as we are, but that your Spirit will make us ever more like the Son that died to bring us into you.
Its important to understand, here, that Sin, begins far before the act that makes Sin material. Becasue I have not amassed a long list of acts and crimes, doesn't mean that thoughts and desires which are far outside what God would ask and want for me, don't spin and wail and thunder through my mind like storm
Sin begins in a flawed and wicked heart - and I cannot imagine a heart more depraved than my own. The darkness in my heart, perceived darker still because of the touch of the Father.
Non-believers have not had the Spirit infused into their hearts, they have not had their eyes opened to their sin. They may be aware of it, but not like the eyes of a believer ... eyes that knew themselves as helpless, and poor, and without hope of their own, and eyes that witnessed the hand of the father reach into the grave in which they found themselves, and pull them out, and love them, and make them sons and daughters of the Alpha and Omega, and give them a sense of God - of the creator of all that is, that whispered energy and mass and all the universe into existence - deep within them, and in almost everything they see. For them, the vile thoughts and desires that rage within, are made blacker still next to the light in us where God tells us that we can prevail. Short of changing reality, I wouldn't exchange a true image of myself for blindness, but truth is a weighty and persistent beast.
What a two-sided, person I am. Torn and ripped by a heart that desires what I wish that God couldn't see, and in the same hour wants for nothing more than a life lived glorifying him who opened my eyes. It is war in me ... a war. I forget that it's there at times, but it is a war that never ceases. And the tool most often used to damage the heart-scape across which the darkness screams, is the whisper that it is beaten, that the light has won. The light will win, and the light gains always against what would attempt to drag me to places where defeat would color my life - but the war is never won for today. Today, the war rages.
I see today, so I struggle, and I win. When tomorrow is today, there will be a struggle, titanic and cosmic in scale and power, and so used to the struggle have I become that I don't notice until I find my heart filled with what God would cast out of me. Every day ... struggle. Every day ... Battle. So thankful, in this fallen existance, that war carries on.
Sometimes when I'm at church, not often but sometimes, when I am singing, and I hear the choir, and I hear the voices of those around me that I don't know, but lifted all the same to God ... I close my eyes, and I think of Heaven. I can almost feel the joy of lifting my heart in song, and joy, and worship of Him who saved me, covered in warm light and the song of the saints who have gone before, and an eternity of no more struggle. A thousand years of knowing my own heart, full of love, and compassion, and desire for nothing more than to sing with a perfected heart-voice to him whose ears are tuned to hear each and whose smile at the sound lends softly to a heart that is tuned to know the joy of that touch. A thousand years by ten thousand, by forever... Beginning the day my eyes close here, and open for the fist time, there ... with no struggle.
Lord, change my heart here, grant me the desire to see and serve the needs of those who need, and to have compassion for every person. Fill me with love Father, and give me the desire and strength to do what must be done, and the eyes to see those things which you set aside for me to do before the founding of the Earth. Let me see the world, and the people with whom I share this moment, as you see them Father. Please, Lord, don't forget your promise to your children, that you will not leave us as we are, but that your Spirit will make us ever more like the Son that died to bring us into you.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Running the Race
The more I think on it, the more persuaded I become that I am not running the race, or at the very least, not running it the way that God intended.I know that the goal, the end of the race, is Heaven. Even my understanding of heaven - as much as I can have an understanding based on the scriptures at any rate - is incomplete, but let us move past that particular ignorance, and accept that heaven (post terrestrial-breathing) is the goal. In that light, Heaven is guaranteed by God to all who it is His intention to save with a deposit of His own sprit - each Christian coming to their own knowledge of that guarantee through an illumination granted by the same Spirit that God invests in those He chooses. So heaven, for those who "believe", for those who are regenerate, changed, etc, is a guarantee - by no effort of their own, and per a selection criteria that will never make any sense to those who are chosen - purely at the will and pleasure of the God that chose them. I believe it ... lets move on.
So now that you're chosen... and you believe that you're chosen ... and one way or another you realize that have been granted a place, and a knowledge, an understanding of the workings and hierarchy of the universe (and that you are on the very bottom rung of it), and an eternity that you have no right to, do not deserve, and can never live up to. And, in all that knowledge - possibly accumulated over a long period of time, or possibly arrived upon in the same moment as the realization of your identity as "saved" - you find yourself with a desire to do – to do in thankfulness, to do good, in the name of the one who pulled your vision out of blackness; a blackness of which you were not even aware, and permeated every fiber of your being.
The doing part is where it gets complicated. You see, where those that follow God are concerned, there is not doing of a thing with the Blessing of God, that is not His will or intent for you to do. Example. David. David loved God, and God gave David tasks to do - specific tasks, like the battling and defeating of the tribes and peoples surrounding Jerusalem. David, in His fervor, and in his love, and gratitude for all the blessings that God had heaped into and on his life (I assume anyway), wanted to build a temple for God. In fact, God even bestowed the gathering of materials and some of the design for the temple onto David - and David wanted to build it. But God had plans that were other than David's desire. It wasn't that David's desire wasn't pure (at least its not explicitly indicated that David had other than pure God-honoring motives for his desire), and it wasn't that the building of the Temple wasn't in line with God's will ... BUT, God had other plans for His temple, and ultimately God told David why (at least a reason that David could understand/grasp, given David's history up to that point in his life - there may have been others that David would not have understood, and reasons that, to impart them to a human mind, might very well have turned his brain into tapioca).
Here's the thing. I know, and I believe that God has set aside good works for every believer to do. I beieve this because in the Bible,
Ephesians 2:10 "For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them " (ESV).
But you just don't go getting it in your mind, the day that you come to knowledge of your own salvation, that you are going to move to Iran, stand on a street corner, preach that Jesus is the Savior, and build a New Testement Temple that honors God in the midst of those who would kill you. Why not? Because it might not be God's plan for YOU that you build his temple. See, a fervor to live for God, or more explicitly - Die for God - doesn't mean that it is Gods will that you be martyred for God, irrespective of how much good such a fervent display of devotion to God might bring - in your own understanding. Because - and here is the real crux of the matter - your understanding (microscopic and irresistible as it may be) and vision of the world and what is best for it, and how to get to that "best" result is completely irrelevant in terms of God's will. Lots of examples of how people’s desire to orchestrate God's will for Him backfired in a major way, and ultimately grieves God, and in many cases the rest of the world for all time.
So there's all this work, and so few workers. There's all this harvest - and so few harvesters. There is this race.....
2 Timothy 4:7 "...I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."
1 Corinth 9:4 "...Do you not know that in a race all the runners compete, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. "
Hebrews 12:1 "...Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, ..."
I WANT to run the race ...
I WANT to work in the Fields of the Father ...
I WANT to be part of the Harvest - or to plant, or to water, or to prepare the soil ...
I WANT TO BE A GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT!
I always felt like it was the "burden" - the tasks set aside for us to do - that was the goal(s) for which we were racing. Almost without exception, it seemed to me that when the New Testament writers wrote on "running" or "finishing" the race, it seemed to me that were talking about discharging to the utmost, the charge of a ministry or service to God, through his people.So, with nothing more than a desire to serve, to obey, and be used, I have waited in the starting blocks (to continue with the running metaphor), for the gun to start me on a race (mission) that I can be certain serves God, and is not some veiled desire to serve myself, or my ego.
NOW - HOWEVER >>>>>>>>>
I think that my understanding isn't complete, or maybe completely off-base. I think that there is no goal ... in this life at all, to which the "race" analogy strictly applies. I think that the running, is the goal. To keep going, to keep striving. What is it to run? To know, commune, talk to, and be changed and descipled by God and his scriptures left for us that we might all know Him, and know Him in the same way. Running, is to pray for our own understanding, and for the lives and ministries of those we know, or His entire church. And toward those that don't know Him? To take every opportunity to tell those who are lost, those who are hurting - that there is peace, and understanding, and strength to be found in the veil. And to do so, without the need to have immediate harvest results. AND TO LOVE. To love above all else. To do those things that we can do everyday, without an end in mind or in sight, and those things which we cannot do any-day, unless we are firmly within the grip of Him who saved us; that we would not think the temples, and kingdom walls, and harvests, were brought about by our own doing.
Running ... Doing what it is that I can do to ensure that I never lose sight of the fact that I am but a tool in God's hand for His purpose, and no purposes are greater than others; there is only obedience. Moses obeyed God, as did Abraham, as did many between then and now ... many whose names are not remembered in any book or story, but are celebrated by the saints and the cloud of witnesses that have come before.Now the how.
How do I keep running - with passion, and love, and fervor, and humility? I suppose only through the grace of God and through supplication to Him that gives generously.
God-
Make a good runner. Make in me the servant heart that will please you. At the end, Lord, when this life is over ... my hearts desire, is to open my eyes under your loving face, and to hear you say, " ... you have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith ... well done, good and faithful servant...". I have no greater desire that to be found pleasing in your eyes, and that my life in obedience, would make your heart smile. Though I don't know how to do it Lord. Help me to be what would please you, and remember your promises to your people to not forsake them, regardless of their sin, and to complete the work you began in them; the work you began in me...
So now that you're chosen... and you believe that you're chosen ... and one way or another you realize that have been granted a place, and a knowledge, an understanding of the workings and hierarchy of the universe (and that you are on the very bottom rung of it), and an eternity that you have no right to, do not deserve, and can never live up to. And, in all that knowledge - possibly accumulated over a long period of time, or possibly arrived upon in the same moment as the realization of your identity as "saved" - you find yourself with a desire to do – to do in thankfulness, to do good, in the name of the one who pulled your vision out of blackness; a blackness of which you were not even aware, and permeated every fiber of your being.
The doing part is where it gets complicated. You see, where those that follow God are concerned, there is not doing of a thing with the Blessing of God, that is not His will or intent for you to do. Example. David. David loved God, and God gave David tasks to do - specific tasks, like the battling and defeating of the tribes and peoples surrounding Jerusalem. David, in His fervor, and in his love, and gratitude for all the blessings that God had heaped into and on his life (I assume anyway), wanted to build a temple for God. In fact, God even bestowed the gathering of materials and some of the design for the temple onto David - and David wanted to build it. But God had plans that were other than David's desire. It wasn't that David's desire wasn't pure (at least its not explicitly indicated that David had other than pure God-honoring motives for his desire), and it wasn't that the building of the Temple wasn't in line with God's will ... BUT, God had other plans for His temple, and ultimately God told David why (at least a reason that David could understand/grasp, given David's history up to that point in his life - there may have been others that David would not have understood, and reasons that, to impart them to a human mind, might very well have turned his brain into tapioca).
Here's the thing. I know, and I believe that God has set aside good works for every believer to do. I beieve this because in the Bible,
Ephesians 2:10 "For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them " (ESV).
But you just don't go getting it in your mind, the day that you come to knowledge of your own salvation, that you are going to move to Iran, stand on a street corner, preach that Jesus is the Savior, and build a New Testement Temple that honors God in the midst of those who would kill you. Why not? Because it might not be God's plan for YOU that you build his temple. See, a fervor to live for God, or more explicitly - Die for God - doesn't mean that it is Gods will that you be martyred for God, irrespective of how much good such a fervent display of devotion to God might bring - in your own understanding. Because - and here is the real crux of the matter - your understanding (microscopic and irresistible as it may be) and vision of the world and what is best for it, and how to get to that "best" result is completely irrelevant in terms of God's will. Lots of examples of how people’s desire to orchestrate God's will for Him backfired in a major way, and ultimately grieves God, and in many cases the rest of the world for all time.
So there's all this work, and so few workers. There's all this harvest - and so few harvesters. There is this race.....
2 Timothy 4:7 "...I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."
1 Corinth 9:4 "...Do you not know that in a race all the runners compete, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. "
Hebrews 12:1 "...Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, ..."
I WANT to run the race ...
I WANT to work in the Fields of the Father ...
I WANT to be part of the Harvest - or to plant, or to water, or to prepare the soil ...
I WANT TO BE A GOOD AND FAITHFUL SERVANT!
I always felt like it was the "burden" - the tasks set aside for us to do - that was the goal(s) for which we were racing. Almost without exception, it seemed to me that when the New Testament writers wrote on "running" or "finishing" the race, it seemed to me that were talking about discharging to the utmost, the charge of a ministry or service to God, through his people.So, with nothing more than a desire to serve, to obey, and be used, I have waited in the starting blocks (to continue with the running metaphor), for the gun to start me on a race (mission) that I can be certain serves God, and is not some veiled desire to serve myself, or my ego.
NOW - HOWEVER >>>>>>>>>
I think that my understanding isn't complete, or maybe completely off-base. I think that there is no goal ... in this life at all, to which the "race" analogy strictly applies. I think that the running, is the goal. To keep going, to keep striving. What is it to run? To know, commune, talk to, and be changed and descipled by God and his scriptures left for us that we might all know Him, and know Him in the same way. Running, is to pray for our own understanding, and for the lives and ministries of those we know, or His entire church. And toward those that don't know Him? To take every opportunity to tell those who are lost, those who are hurting - that there is peace, and understanding, and strength to be found in the veil. And to do so, without the need to have immediate harvest results. AND TO LOVE. To love above all else. To do those things that we can do everyday, without an end in mind or in sight, and those things which we cannot do any-day, unless we are firmly within the grip of Him who saved us; that we would not think the temples, and kingdom walls, and harvests, were brought about by our own doing.
Running ... Doing what it is that I can do to ensure that I never lose sight of the fact that I am but a tool in God's hand for His purpose, and no purposes are greater than others; there is only obedience. Moses obeyed God, as did Abraham, as did many between then and now ... many whose names are not remembered in any book or story, but are celebrated by the saints and the cloud of witnesses that have come before.Now the how.
How do I keep running - with passion, and love, and fervor, and humility? I suppose only through the grace of God and through supplication to Him that gives generously.
God-
Make a good runner. Make in me the servant heart that will please you. At the end, Lord, when this life is over ... my hearts desire, is to open my eyes under your loving face, and to hear you say, " ... you have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith ... well done, good and faithful servant...". I have no greater desire that to be found pleasing in your eyes, and that my life in obedience, would make your heart smile. Though I don't know how to do it Lord. Help me to be what would please you, and remember your promises to your people to not forsake them, regardless of their sin, and to complete the work you began in them; the work you began in me...
Thursday, June 5, 2008
My Mother Has Cancer
My mother has Cancer. Actually she's had cancer for many years. She has been very blessed however, and everytime a test shows she has developed cancer somewhere new, God has provided ... provided time. An she is still here ... being.
I remember the fist time her cancer heally hit me. I was out of college, and living in Austin, off east William Cannon. I don't remember the moment that someone told me, or the condtions surrounding when or where I was told. But I remember the prayer that God put in my heart.
I was pretty new to my faith, I say my faith because the faith I had at that time was real, and my own, and it hadn't been more than a few years since I could say that. It was an amazing time, when more than anything else, my entire focus and energy was centered on finding yet more and different ways to give to God what I could, to find ways of becoming more dependant on Him, and truly ... truly reveling, basking, in the Love that had reached into my life. The prayer that been the cry of my heart, the bellowing blasting softness that drove me to my knees, and then swept me to the horizon like a warm breeze coaxing the waves across the world ... the prayer that began my life was, "...Your will God, and all for you...". The first prayer wasn't even words ... and only later - in lookin back - could I say what it was thay my tears and my heart had suffered ... had uttered in sylables only God could hear. But that prayer, still in my heart, found words the afternoon I brought my heart for my mother to God.
I prayed, I wept, and I sang ... no lyrics, or bridges, and nothing that any ear would recognize, but a lament the likes to which my heart has not known since, and one born of images. Pictures. Pictures dancing on raging color across the backs of my eyes, moments of my mother laughing, of my mother wearing a Santa Hat, and making thanksgiving dinner, and chasing my child's feet in the front yard of the church, and holding me close when my child's world seemed to be falling down all around me ... and then ... images of what had not yet come ... weddings, and births, and Christmases and moments ... ... soft and warm candle-flames of laughter and joy, and love and a million other things that would make her smile, and make the world seem small. And with all the desire in my life, and all the future I had ever wished for myself, and all the strength I could muster, I begged that God would save her, that she would see those things in her life that brought color to her future ... and then I asked, inasmuch as I could ask for anything, that God's will would be done ... that if her life was required that God's will would find its way in the world ... that no-one would find bitterness in her death, but instead would be filled with longing for that thing which had been always at the fulcrum of her desire ... that whatever God's will was ... that He would find Glory.
Knowing I had no part in the founding or shaping of tomorrow ... I put her life ... and her death ... squarely in the hands of God. Those hands ... the only trustworthy things in all the world that I have ever known - and were, and are, and will be in life or death.
How I prayed. I don't know how long I knelt in my bedroom that afternoon, but when I rose, I knew that if it were within the realm of God's will that my mother's life could be spared, that it would be... and when it was God's time to bring her home to Him - that it too, would be so ... and she would be with Him, in His arms, in His eyes, and her life in all the Deapth, and Fullness of God would begin with the first sinnless blink ... on the other side of the veil.
I love my mother. She fights on, with hospitals, and treatments, and thankfulness for every moment in her own way.
My mother has Cancer. An God, has my mother.
I remember the fist time her cancer heally hit me. I was out of college, and living in Austin, off east William Cannon. I don't remember the moment that someone told me, or the condtions surrounding when or where I was told. But I remember the prayer that God put in my heart.
I was pretty new to my faith, I say my faith because the faith I had at that time was real, and my own, and it hadn't been more than a few years since I could say that. It was an amazing time, when more than anything else, my entire focus and energy was centered on finding yet more and different ways to give to God what I could, to find ways of becoming more dependant on Him, and truly ... truly reveling, basking, in the Love that had reached into my life. The prayer that been the cry of my heart, the bellowing blasting softness that drove me to my knees, and then swept me to the horizon like a warm breeze coaxing the waves across the world ... the prayer that began my life was, "...Your will God, and all for you...". The first prayer wasn't even words ... and only later - in lookin back - could I say what it was thay my tears and my heart had suffered ... had uttered in sylables only God could hear. But that prayer, still in my heart, found words the afternoon I brought my heart for my mother to God.
I prayed, I wept, and I sang ... no lyrics, or bridges, and nothing that any ear would recognize, but a lament the likes to which my heart has not known since, and one born of images. Pictures. Pictures dancing on raging color across the backs of my eyes, moments of my mother laughing, of my mother wearing a Santa Hat, and making thanksgiving dinner, and chasing my child's feet in the front yard of the church, and holding me close when my child's world seemed to be falling down all around me ... and then ... images of what had not yet come ... weddings, and births, and Christmases and moments ... ... soft and warm candle-flames of laughter and joy, and love and a million other things that would make her smile, and make the world seem small. And with all the desire in my life, and all the future I had ever wished for myself, and all the strength I could muster, I begged that God would save her, that she would see those things in her life that brought color to her future ... and then I asked, inasmuch as I could ask for anything, that God's will would be done ... that if her life was required that God's will would find its way in the world ... that no-one would find bitterness in her death, but instead would be filled with longing for that thing which had been always at the fulcrum of her desire ... that whatever God's will was ... that He would find Glory.
Knowing I had no part in the founding or shaping of tomorrow ... I put her life ... and her death ... squarely in the hands of God. Those hands ... the only trustworthy things in all the world that I have ever known - and were, and are, and will be in life or death.
How I prayed. I don't know how long I knelt in my bedroom that afternoon, but when I rose, I knew that if it were within the realm of God's will that my mother's life could be spared, that it would be... and when it was God's time to bring her home to Him - that it too, would be so ... and she would be with Him, in His arms, in His eyes, and her life in all the Deapth, and Fullness of God would begin with the first sinnless blink ... on the other side of the veil.
I love my mother. She fights on, with hospitals, and treatments, and thankfulness for every moment in her own way.
My mother has Cancer. An God, has my mother.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Out There...
Have you ever thought, "... I really wish there was some way to get my thoughts out there, to ... I don't know initiate dialogue with friends - or "people" - on topics that only occur to you in the quiet moments?
Well - I have. Lots. And I hope this effort will become one that really initiates the expression of the passion I feel on a regular basis, and allows those who care to keep up with me a way to share those passions.
Onward-
Well - I have. Lots. And I hope this effort will become one that really initiates the expression of the passion I feel on a regular basis, and allows those who care to keep up with me a way to share those passions.
Onward-
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