Quiet lessons of care-giving

Because she loved anything pink, we planted a pink dogwood
in the yard of my mother-in-law's home. Every spring,
when it blooms, it brings sweet memories of her.

I stood in the store’s cosmetics aisle with my 85-year-old mother-in-law, calling out the color names of lipsticks with a loud voice because of her hearing loss.When she finally chose one, she seemed shocked by price. Dementia had locked her memory of prices to those of decades earlier. At the cash register I paid from her coin purse because counting money confused her. Then I offered my arm for support as we walked to my parked car.
That shopping trip was typical of my day as caregiver for a family member, a role shared by an estimated three to five million American women.

For two decades, I helped her through hip replacement surgery, widowhood, stomach cancer, a heart attack, and the slow decline of Alzheimer’s disease. Eventually she needed total care. When I hurt myself lifting her, the family reluctantly placed her in a care home. She died eleven months later at 89. Sometimes I wondered why God put me in this role for so long. Now I see several lessons He needed to teach me.

1. Slow down. I like a brisk half-hour walk for personal fitness. Her walks, painfully slow, meant she hung on me or a walker, winded after a few steps. Respecting her pace and her many stops to look at flowers renewed my awe of God as Creator. He’s even called the father of the dew (Job 38:28).
2. Find what you’ve lost. Often I hunted through drawers, coat pockets, and paper piles to find a lost hearing aid, bill, or specially-purchased birthday card. When her forgetfulness irritated me, I realized I had lost my joy. Instead of seeking it in circumstances, I needed to simply rejoice in God always (Philippians 4:4).
3. Remember what’s important. Her dementia meant bright memories of the distant past, but a foggy mind about the day’s events, so we wrote daily reminders on an erasable message board. I realized I was prone to “memory loss” of God’s benefits in my life (Psalm 103:2) unless I wrote these down in a notebook or the margins of my Bible.
4. Hear what’s vital. When she cocked her head and looked confused, I’d check if she was wearing her hearing aid. My own spiritual hearing was impaired when responsibilities meant rushing through my days instead of taking little breaks to heed the quiet warning of Psalm 46:10: “Be still, and know that I am God.”
5. Pare down. Her Depression-era childhood impressed on her to “save,” meaning I had to toss stained clothes, spoiled food, and empty margarine tubs. But the cleanout made me think of my own stash of “things.” Was I wisely using what God gave me? Was I hoarding something that someone else could use? None of it will make the final move to heaven.
6. Accept help. Every Saturday morning while still in her own home, I washed and set her hair and give her a manicure. “What would I do without you?” she would say, fanning out fingers knobbed by arthritis. I thought of God’s spiritual beauty program for me, targeting an at-times unkempt heart and ragged personality. What would I do without pastors, Bible study leaders, and writers of books that lead me closer to Christ?
7. Look past pain to results. Her face itched almost unbearably after a doctor removed some skin cancer. “Let’s focus on how great you’ll look after the stitches come out,” I said to encourage her. God also asked me to trust His plan in the spirit-surgery of care-giving’s demands. James 1:2-4 assured me that persevering through its trials would led to a mature faith.
8. Seek the good in negatives. One day she mourned how she couldn’t drive or take care of a pet any more. Though tempted to dismiss her comment with a shallow “You’re doing just fine,” I reminded her of the need to pray for her descendants, whose photos filled her walls. “One more thing,” I added, “you still have a really sweet spirit.”  She glowed and reached for a hug. Our interaction prompted me to review how often I encourage rather than discourage others.
9. Keep your eyes on the skies. Long after her husband’s death, she prominently displayed his photo and wore her wedding ring. Often she talked of seeing him again. As we rushed her to the hospital with a heart attack at 84, she kept saying, “If this is the time, I’m ready for Heaven.”  I wonder if I will live as long. When a drinking driver nearly ended my life at age 50, I realized that I didn’t want to die yet, even though I’ve trusted in Christ as Savior and have His promise of eternal life. Though my mother-in-law’s dying, I affirmed that life is brief, but God is eternal.
10. Place God in charge. God knew exactly what He was doing as He led me through this season of care-giving. When I felt overwhelmed, I remembered the promise in Isaiah 43:2, that God would be with me when (not “if”) I passed through the waters of difficulties. “When” meant His strength at just the right time.

Some lessons are best learned in shut-away places. Each morning as I came in her home to help bathe and dress her, then fix her breakfast, I was doing it for Christ. In the hidden, mundane, and sometimes frustrating tasks of care-giving someone He loved and valued, God was shaping me for His glory.

 

Putting on a happy face

Some sunny creations (nicknamed “monkey-faces” for their black markings) guard the way to my front porch. The other day while watering my radiant-faced pansies, I was reminded of a favorite verse from Psalm 34: “Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame” (v. 5, NIV). The word “radiant” (“lightened” in the Bible’s 1611 translation) holds the key here. It comes from the Hebrew  nahar, whose root means “to sparkle” or “be cheerful.” It conveys the idea of the sheen of a running stream. I have a few sunny “nahar” friends, and I thank the Lord for them. They lift me up and remind me to do a “face check” myself. Sunny-faced people have welcoming countenances. They exude friendliness and joy.

It’s interesting that the context of this verse was anything but a joyful time in King David’s life.  The introduction clues us to events told in 1 Samuel 21. Fleeing for his life from mad King Saul, David dropped into an enemy city, Gath, thinking Saul certainly wouldn’t follow him there.  However, David had a “history” with this enemy, in that he’d once killed their hero giant, Goliath. Realizing Gath was unsafe for him, too, David pretended to be a mad man, slobbering on the city gates. The Gathites ran him out of town. With the campfires of Gath behind him, he realized that God had spared him from a very troublesome situation. His life was still in jeopardy, but he found reason to “extol the Lord at all times” (v. 1).

This passage reminded me of Jerry Bridges’ discussion of “joy” in his book, The Practice of Godliness. Published thirty years ago by NavPress, it’s one of those books I re-read from time to time for its challenges to my own spiritual journey. Bridges said we’re not to sit around waiting for our circumstances to make us joyful. Instead, scripture reminds us to be joyful always (1 Thessalonians 5:16, Philippians 4:4).

Bridges adds (p. 135): “Just being joyful is not enough, however; we should continually be growing in joy.  It is a contradiction for a Christian who professes to be a child of the one and only God—who created the universe and who governs it for his glory and the good of his people—to wear a gloomy countenance. As John W. Sanderson [author of The Fruit of the Spirit] says, ‘It is practical atheism, for it ignores God and his attributes.’”

Got the “glums”?  Need some encouragement to put on happy face?  Read through Psalm 34. Mark the passages that encourage or challenge you. If you could see my Bible, you’d see lots of verses highlighted. One especially marked is verse 3: “Glorify the Lord with me; let us exalt his name together.” My husband and I chose that as our wedding verse.

Rocking with Daddy

“Think of crawling up in God’s lap,” I wrote my friend, who was going through a difficult time in her life. “Just lean in on Him, like you’re secure in a daddy’s love.” In suggesting that word picture, I was thinking of my own dad and special memories of his favorite red tapestry rocker.

Though the memories are fuzzy, like the yellowed photo I have of him in that rocker, I still remember climbing into his lap for story time. I’d gaze at the book pictures as his voice rumbled the text and his foot tapped a steady rock. Before long, I’d fall asleep to the rocker’s comforting swing.

After I grew up and got my first job, I furnished a cheap apartment with a lumpy twin bed, a dining set mended with duct tape, and a sofa that had popped a spring. Because of warm memories of my dad’s rocker, I knew one more thing would make it “home”: a rocking chair.

On one weekend visit home, Dad took me to a local unfinished furniture store. An already-varnished floor sample rocker beckoned. I leaned into its high back and tapped a rock. I wanted it, but hesitated. I was already paying off a car. Reluctantly, I left it at the store.

Three days later, I called Dad. “If it’s still there,” I said, “please get it. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.” The next night he phoned. “The rocker’s gone,” he said. “Oh,” I groaned. “It’s sitting in our living room,” he teased.

That rocker would follow me to three states over the next decade as I worked and attended college. Dad was always a phone call away for car advice, wisdom for troublesome roommates, and support of my career goals. I know he and my mother prayed for me.

I was 31 and still single when he died of a heart attack, six months after Mom’s death of cancer. As I cleaned out their home, I reluctantly sold his worn-out rocker. After all, I had now my own rocker. And in those dark months of grieving, I’d often go there to read my Bible and pray….and rock. At such times, I almost felt like God was holding me.

Three years after my parents’ deaths, I married. Within a few years, I became a mother and used that rocker to cuddle and comfort my babies. Eventually I sold it to make room for a mauve velour rocker, soft and big enough for two small children to snuggle on an adult’s lap.

On nights when my husband gathered our children in the upholstered rocker for bedtime reading, I’d watch and remember my childhood. I will never forget Dad’s welcoming, secure lap as we sat together in his favorite rocker. In that simple act of earthly parenting, he modeled the amazing father-love of God.

I am saddened when I hear of people who do not have loving earthly fathers. Yet that is God’s plan—that fathers deeply care for their children. In Psalm 103:13, David wrote that an earthly father’s compassion for his own children should be as God’s compassion on His spiritual children (“them that fear him”).

Even as an adult, I still need my spiritual Daddy. When my world becomes frightening or confusing, I know He’s just waiting for me to come to Him. And often, it’s in my current blue rocker, imagining the comfort of His loving arms as I read my Bible and pray, that I experience His peace.

To bee, or not to bee

See the bee? It's on the right edge of the pink bloom.

My computer faces a window where, in spring, I’m exceedingly blessed by the sight of rhododendron blooms. Recently, I’ve noticed bumblebees working over the blossoms, truly “busy as a bee” as they feed on nectar and gather pollen for their young. I thought about Jesus’ parable in Luke 19 of servants entrusted with ten minas to invest while the master was away.

“Occupy till I come,” the master ordered them (Luke 19:13 KJV). In other words, be busy workers, making good investments. That parable ends with two good workers showing a return on his money, and one sullen worker admitting he did nothing.

The similar parable of the talents (Matthew 25) tells of workers entrusted with various amounts, according to their abilities. Two doubled their master’s money, but one just hid his in a hole. The master was thrilled with the diligence of the first two workers.  But the third, who did nothing, earned only his master’s scorn and banishment to a terrible place. Bible teachers say that we’re that third servant when we fail to honor our heavenly Master with diligence and service with the resources granted us. As 1 Cor. 4:2 adds, “Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.”

I think about that as I go about my “computer” work. I’m grateful for this electronic marvel, which helps me write, bank, locate addresses, and keep in touch with hurting people. I’m amazed at how people around the world connect with this blog, which often relies on information ferreted out of Bible study web sites. But I’m very aware of a computer’s potential for addictive behavior. It easily serves up an artificial world that feeds base desires (as in pornography) or lures people into frittering away God’s precious gift of time.

I don’t want to be the sorry servant who did nothing with the master’s resources. When I stand before God after I die, I want Him to look over my life (including my computer time) and say, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matt. 25:21, 23). And for now, I’ll thank Him for sending a little busy, buzzing bee to remind me “to occupy” until He comes.  

Burned up!

It’s gone—all gone. Just ashes and charred ruins are left of a family home just a few blocks away. It burst into flames one night while the family was away. By the time neighbors woke and discovered the burning house, it was too late to save. A couple, two small children, and a brother were suddenly homeless.

Seeing the blackened shell a few days after the fire, I had two thoughts. One was, “How utterly sad.” Buying that home had probably stretched this young couple to their financial limits. In the newspaper article telling of their loss, the wife said they were grateful they still had one another. But the children were already missing their baby blankets.

 My other thought was of the “fire” that will test everything I’ve done in life. The apostle Paul wrote of how Christians build on the foundation of faith in Christ. They can build with gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw--referring to choices that involve our work, relationships and service. In the end, when believers face God, “it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man’s work” (1 Corinthians 3:13).

If we believe in Christ, and are counting on His atoning work on the cross for our salvation, we won’t lose that.  But if our lives were filled with selfish or frivolous pursuits, they’ll flame up like dry straw. On the other hand, if our love for Christ has led us into spiritually fruitful lives, there will be heavenly rewards (v. 14).

The Bible says the “fires” of suffering we experience on earth have a purpose in shaping us for eternity. “These have come,” Peter wrote, “so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed” (1 Peter 1:6-7). Suffering can either make us bitter, or better-equipped for God’s purposes.

I’m sorry for the young couple who lost so much of their worldly possessions. It’s on my walking route, so I will see it often. For now, it’s a sobering reminder to consider what building materials I am laying on the foundation of faith in Christ. Excessive pleasure? Personal indulgence? Isolation from the world’s needs? Or service to my needy world grounded in love for Christ? To borrow that oft-quoted poem by missionary C.T. Studd:  “Only one life, ‘twill soon be past; only what’s done for Christ will last.”

Lasting last words

My husband’s relatives are buried in a little country cemetery in the heart of orchard hills. For years on Memorial Day weekend, they have traditionally tended the graves and left flowers. As we did that this year, I wandered the little cemetery to read some of the older inscriptions that included epitaphs. I thought of my own someday, should my “time” come before the Lord’s return.

I liked this one: “Gone Home.” Another commended a mother and wife: “She gave so much and asked for so little.”  Sisters share one stone, one already gone.  I heard she suffered from severe diabetes. Under her name: “Determined in His love.” Then there’s a stone for a remarkable, godly couple.  In life they suffered with a degenerating  heart and quadriplegia from an auto accident. Finally, both died of cancer. But as I read their inscription, ”See you in Paradise,” I recalled how they embraced life with a joyful faith that focused on others, not themselves. One woman’s stone included a freestyle verse about her hard work and love: "Always there/Always with a wink and a smile/Always tireless dedication/Always with her love/All ways perfect-ly Susie."

 In reading these, I thought of a cemetery in Bridgeport, Conn., where an impressive, tall stone marks the remains of P.T. Barnum of circus fame.  In the same cemetery is a simple stone that says, “Aunt Fanny. She hath done what she could.”  It’s the burial spot for Fanny Crosby, the blind hymn writer who composed lyrics to more than 8,000 hymns, including “To God Be the Glory.”  The simplicity of her body’s resting place matched her desire that attention for what she did in life go to the Lord.

 As I walked among the stones, Psalm 15’s description of a righteous person came to mind: “Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary? Who may live on your holy hill?  He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous” (vv.1-2).

My parents wanted total cremation, with money saved in funeral costs given to missions. Their ashes had no resting place, so there is no cemetery I can visit to remember them. But when I tag along to this little country cemetery with the family I gained through marriage, I appreciate this custom of visiting...and recalling. Every day I live, how I live is part of my legacy.  It may not get chiseled into a memorial stone, but it will be reviewed at the throne of God.To borrow a line from the stone of that self-sacrificing mom, it’s His Son who truly gave so much—His life on a cross—so that I might have the hope of life beyond the grave.

Schlepping along

My tasks that day included weeding—something I really didn’t want to do. So I put on my don’t-be-seen-in-public “work duds” and began my close encounters with a long, fence-line flower bed. Soon, my bucket was brimming with weeds, so I pushed my tired body off the ground, and schlepped my way to the garbage bin. That’s your word for the day: schlep.  It’s from a Yiddish word meaning “to drag,” and in English it’s come to mean “to move slowly, with difficulty or unwillingly.”

For several hours I scooted alongside this notoriously weedy fence line to dig and pull invaders.  It doesn’t help that an empty, weedy lot is on the other side of the fence. By the time I’d dumped the last bucketful in the garbage, I collapsed in a heap by the couch (I was too filthy to sit on it) and downed a glass of water. 

I thought of other times I’d schlepped through life’s exhausting “stuff.” Facing homelessness and joblessness (and God’s amazing, just-in-time provision). The huge task of emptying homes of parents after their deaths. Seeking harmony in difficult relationships. Being a victim of injustice. Fulfilling a commitment beyond what I perceived as my limitations. Did I mention letting God do some “weeding” of bad stuff in my heart?

At such times I experienced the hope of “enabling grace.”

Like Paul described: “God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work” (2 Cor. 9:8). I tend to read that, “so that most of the time you’ll survive.”  But no—that stout word “all” reminds me God’s work is done in His strength.

Paul learned that principle in a wretched classroom, a filthy First Century prison. Yet even from its dirt, debris and discouragement, he proclaimed, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13). Instead of giving up, he gave it to Jesus.

Okay, I admit it.  When doing mindless tasks like weeding, I do a lot of thinking. As I seek to uproot (or at least slow down) the encroachment of various weeds whose names I don’t even know, I think of how God looks at this sin-choked world.

How grateful I am that He gives us this hope:  this isn’t how it will always be. Someday He will return and end all that is wicked and fallen, making it new again. As Isaiah saw it: “Instead of the thorn bush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow.  This will be for the Lord’s renown, for an everlasting sign, which will not be destroyed” (Isaiah 55:13).

No more schlepping, either!

P.S. Warm and grateful greetings to readers around the world. The program that operates this blog tells me the countries (but not the individual addresses) that are accessing my blog. Most of you live in the U.S. but others (in order of frequency this past month) visited from Germany, Russia, United Kingdom, Brazil, Belarus, France, South Korea, Malaysia, Poland and Portugal. Knowing your diverse backgrounds (including those who might know some Yiddish, as per today's post!) reminds me that our Lord's messages are for all cultures. I am thankful when you share these blog posts with others, for my motivation is to honor Jesus and help us all in our journeys of faith.