Present Again

On Day 28 of The Story ADay Challenge, a friend and fellow author, Leslie Stack, offered the prompt: “Loretta’s face was hidden by the wide-brimmed hat boldly covered in ribbons and one rose. Rising slowly from the fourth pew, she raised her chin towards the minister and declared, 'I object.'” This is my attempt at doing it justice.

Present Again

"What's to be done with her?" Edmond queried.

"'What's to be done with her?'" Eliza parroted. "She's not a potato peel, Edmond! She's our aunt. We have to care for her."

"Care for her?! Don't you know Uncle Pete did everything for her? And I do mean everything. He kept the house and made her meals and dressed her and bathed her and-- Why, the only thing the woman does is eat and--"

"Edmond!" Eliza stopped him.

"Sleep," he finished, "I was going to say 'sleep.' We can't care for her like that. I have a job. You have your family and your school. You can't study for a degree, keep your home, and care for Aunt Loretta. She doesn't even speak, for Heaven's sake. She barely feeds herself. How are you going to do that?!"

"With your help, Brother Dear," Eliza snarked. "Now, come on. We've got to get going, the funeral home is here."

Edmond and Eliza loaded their aunt into the car. She was in her eighties now, but her body was as healthy as they get. Her mind, however, was a bit fragile. She had been the two's favorite aunt. Loretta and Pete never had any children of their own, so they had doted on Edmond and Eliza as if they were. Pete taught Edmond how to do woodworking, and care for the lawn, and hide in the game room from the women during family celebrations. Edmond had fond memories of their uncle's game room. Cedar paneling, a card table for Thursday's "friendly" poker night, an overstuffed chair in which Pete worked crossword puzzles for hours, and a second table on which there was always a jigsaw puzzle or paint-by-number in the works. The smell of cedar and pipe tobacco mingled in one unforgettable bouquet. It was the original "man cave." 

As they rode to the church, Eliza thought about the memorable days she'd spent with her aunt and uncle before adulthood crept its way into her life. They were precious times of unconditional love received in the most basic of ways: crusts cut from peanut butter sandwiches, long bedtime stories, cooking lessons that always concluded with extra chocolate intentionally left on spatulas, and ice-cold pink lemonade on the porch. Pete taught Eliza she was his special princess and Loretta taught Eliza to sew. No other little girl was ever loved so much, no other young woman was granted such privilege and pride. Her high school graduation, her wedding, her aunt and uncle were not simply attendees, but radiant stars of a much larger panorama. They glowed with pride and showered her with their approval. Her parents raised her well, but her aunt and uncle loved her well. And when her parents passed, Pete and Loretta became "home."

As their limousine pulled up beside the church, people had already begun to gather. Loretta's eyes widened with wonder and she began to hum and whistle more loudly. To her brain, those sounds were words and she used them just as fluently. Eliza softly patted her aunt's arm and led her from the car. In the church, Eliza on one side and Edmond on the other escorted Loretta to the front pew. Just as Eliza wondered if this was going to be too much for her dear aunt, Loretta spied her beloved at rest in his best suit in front of her. Her gait quickened and she practically dragged Edmond and Eliza to the casket. Her voice was loud and afflicted, and she began to sob, her embellished, flopping hat giving her the privacy that she would have once insisted upon. She was receiving the news of her darling groom's death all over again. 

Eliza looked nervously toward Edmond. He jerked his head toward the pews and he tugged gently at his aunt's arm, turning her back to the front of the church. Eliza, following her brother's lead, gave Loretta a nudge in the direction they sought. 

The pastor approached. "Good morning, Edmond, Eliza. Would you mind getting your aunt into the front pew just over here? We're preparing to start."

Edmond spoke up. "Pastor Tom, if you don't mind, we'd like to sit a bit further back. I know it's unconventional, but my aunt is having a particularly difficult time of all this. With her issues and all..." his voice trailed off.

"No, no need to apologize," said the pastor. "That will be fine." Turning to Loretta, the pastor smiled and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you, Dear?"

Through what was left of her tears, Loretta lifted her face, smiled politely, and cooed. Despite whatever cognitive issues she had, her sense of propriety remained in some form, and the memory of what she had seen moments ago had begun to dissipate already. Pastor Tom returned the smile, nodded to Edmond and Eliza, and turned to take his place by the casket. The niece and nephew led their aunt to a pew a little further away.

When the service began, the minister talked of Pete's "friendly gatherings," refraining from actually calling them poker nights, but admitting to his own attendance from time to time. He spoke of dinners hosted by a "quite talented" cook and spending time with her gregarious husband while he did the dishes for his wife, allowing her to relax a bit after "such a sumptuous feast." 

Edmond and Eliza caught one another searching their aunt's face for some sort of perception. There was none. They exchanged melancholic smiles and faced front again.

The minister spoke also of a wedding that had taken place some forty-six years before, a "union of two wonderful people who loved and served each other well." He said he'd never seen two people more suited for one another, and he said he'd never seen a bride blush so pink and a groom look so proud. "But now," he continued, "we must come together to say 'goodbye' to such a dear friend, uncle, and husband."

Once again, Edmond and Eliza glanced toward their aunt. Loretta was now beginning to doze, her head slowly dropping toward her chest.

Pastor Tom began to speak of the difficulty of saying "goodbye," of how we plan for our futures and hold hopes and dreams within our hearts, only to have them altered by the life we are trying to live. He acknowledged the pain and anguish but recognized the necessity to work through those feelings and see what can be gained from our tribulations. Pastor Tom gently talked of seasons and the passage of time which ages us and brings us closer to the end, but at the same time allows us to heal. The minister attempted to raise the mourners' thoughts to the future and the task of moving on without those we have loved. And he concluded in prayer.

"And with that," said the old minister, "please join us at the cemetery to say our final 'goodbyes' to Pete and commit his body to the earth."

At that moment, Edmond and Eliza who had been enrapt with the message being delivered sensed a stirring in the pew between them. Aunt Loretta, her face still hidden by her wide-brimmed hat, which was boldly covered in ribbons and a single rose, was suddenly jarred awake. Rising slowly from the fourth pew, she raised her chin toward the minister and declared, "I object!" She was once again the regal bride, standing in the place where she and her groom had been forever promised, though now she was defending their life and railing against the death that overtaken half of their bond. Her words had found their mark, her body and her brain were once again working as one. Her beloved was gone and her rage was greater than the disease that had taken her faculties. Loretta was present again.

She dropped back into the pew and sighed.

Photo by Mark Sutherland

Truth May Not Always Be Easy

I'm currently using an app to get myself back in shape. It's got these adorable little animations and brilliant colors. There are simple graphs to tell me if I am reaching my targets. The app counts my steps and has additional suggestions for burning calories or getting better sleep. It is the cutest, most engaging way anyone has ever told me I am sixteen pounds overweight and I eat way too much sodium. But, I think there's a problem with my app. My app makes no allowances for days when I feel like staying in my PJs and wasting copious amounts of time with iced coffee and Instagram. Isn't that just part of being human? And, how am I not getting credit for the calories I burn rocking out to Crowder as I drive to the grocery store? That has got to be at least, like fifteen hundred calories I'm burning there! Nope, cute friendly app says "two." How is a banana walnut muffin three hundred-seventy calories?! It's fruit and nuts, practically health food! Well, I can say whatever I like, the app is right. 

Let's face it, the truth can be hard to hear sometimes, no matter how colorfully it's delivered. Who wants to hear they don't meet the standard? Who, in a country that prides itself on choices, wants to hear there is only one way? And who wants to hear they can't earn it? I'm not sure why anyone would want to work harder than they have to, but we Americans love to try to earn things we can't earn. It gives us the illusion of control, I suppose; something to brag on. But, the truth of the gospel can be difficult to swallow. If you don't believe me, check out some of the sermons delivered in The Book of Acts. There were no punches pulled there. People were called out as the murderers they were. God's own people were called stiff-necked and uncircumcised. And people came to Christ by the thousands upon hearing the truth!

The truth that God gave His own Son, knowing many because of their refusal to believe, would not be rescued by it, can be a hard truth to accept. I've heard people say that any God who would kill His own Son is not worthy of worship. These people also believe women should be free to choose to kill their unborn babies, but I won't go any further on that one. It's not my intent to make this truth more palatable but, not only was this the Father's plan, but the Son submitted to the Father's will and acted in concert with Him. The Son was by no means an unwilling party. And the truth that only those chosen by God, His elect, will ever know the freedom of salvation and the reward of an eternity with Him, is rarely taught without someone having a problem with it. "Why doesn't God just save everybody?" No, the question is, "Why does God save anybody?"

Hard truth. Hard because we have such a hard time seeing ourselves for who we are. Hard because when we hear that kind of truth, it requires difficult actions: surrendering to the God of the Universe, leaving behind the life we used to live and some of the people in it, disciplining ourselves the way an athlete conditions himself for competition, and dying to ourselves daily. Believing hard truth requires us to think and act in a way firmly rooted in what was done for us in the past, mindful of what has been given us to steward in the present, and looking forward to what we are called to do and to inherit in the future. The embracing of hard truths can be hard work. Just like any lifestyle change.

"What comes easy won't last.

What lasts won't come easy."

The Presence of God

My husband is my best (on earth) friend. I love him, and I've not doubted that for a second since our first date. But, like any couple, we drive one another crazy on occasion. So, when he said he was taking a road trip, I was excited. Excited for him. Excited for me. Here is what I thought would happen: 

Scott would take a little road trip. He would have four glorious days of male bonding and I would have four glorious days of peace and quiet. I would eat popcorn for dinner and sit on the deck for days. I would write and clean and turn the music up. I would go to bed when I want, or not at all. And I would, for four glorious days, be free from, "Yo, Babe, can ya do me a favor?"

Here is what really happened:

Scott took a little road trip. Lots of male bonding for him not a whole lot of peace and quiet for me. It was cold and rainy. So, no deck, not for me, not for Mom. Just fourteen hours each day of Mom staring at me whistling -- not a tune, just whistling. All my expectations, out the window. And I really, really, really missed my husband. His chair was empty. There was no smell of coffee in the morning. His truck sat unmoved in the yard. And, despite Mom's perpetual cacophony of noises, the absence of his voice filled the house with silence. It dawned on me that first evening, I missed his presence. His presence has become one with my presence over the years; my presence feels awkward and incomplete without his. His presence, no matter where he is in our home, is what makes it home to me. 

Genesis 3, is the account of Adam and Eve's sin and the ensuing consequences: a curse upon all of humanity and banishment from the Garden. The Garden, a place where everything was as God intended before He spoke it into existence. A place where peace and perfection were more than something to aspire to. A place where God came to His people in the cool of the day, where they enjoyed His presence. Once they chose sin over their relationship with God, they were outside His presence. They could no longer remain in their perfect home where God would come to talk with them; sin stood between them and the God who loved them. The gift of God's tender presence was no longer a given for all of eternity; death was the consequence of sin, death apart from the blessedness of the presence of God. If on that first night without my husband's presence, knowing he would return very soon, I could feel so incomplete and so alone, how did Adam and Eve feel as the sun began to set on that terrible day?

Everyone has sinned. Our sin deserves death. God sent Jesus to be our substitute. If we trust this is true and confess Jesus as Lord, we are saved from the death we deserve and will instead live our lives in the presence of God for all eternity. And that's an incredible gift. If I'm being perfectly honest, the eternity thing is great, but I'm human. Ten years from now can be a difficult concept, much less eternity. But to be in the presence of God today, tomorrow, in the dead of night, when the storms of life are raging around me, when I have really messed up and I am yearning to talk about it, when I can't find my keys, when I can't decide the best road to take -- whenever, forever? That is something! And it's available to all who would seek the Lord, from the God who never leaves His people.

Love Him Enough, Always

How much do you love the Lord? Do you love Him enough to go to church every week? Do you love Him enough to tell others about Him? Do you love Him enough to talk to Him daily? Do you love Him enough to thank Him when you're sick? or when you lose your job? or when your wife leaves you? or when your child dies? What do you think about people that do?

In all honesty, I used to think that people who could pray for murderers or give God praise after they'd lost a loved one were a special kind of twisted. I used to think they were waaaay over the line. I didn't know what the Bible taught about it and, frankly, I didn't care. So, what does the Bible teach?

Well, first of all, God is good. Some people say that, and some people actually believe it. It is important to believe it. When the storms of life come and the trouble leaves you in the darkest place you've ever been, chances are your emotions will lie to you. Your focus will turn inward. You will feel you're not going to make it. You will doubt if God cares, or if He's listening, or if He is even still there. You may be sure He is not good. Your brain needs to remember that He is good. Your brain will tell your heart the truth because your brain remembers all the times God was there for you. Your brain will remember other dark days, your brain will remember the doubts you had then, and your brain will remember you were wrong. Your brain will tell your heart to be patient, to just wait and see what God is going to do. Because He is good.

Secondly, God is sovereign. He is God, there is nothing that happens that escapes His knowledge or authority. Alone, this might cause you to blame God and become angry with Him for what has happened, but coupled with the truth that He is good, knowing He is sovereign reassures you there's something better coming. He is doing things you cannot see and maybe cannot understand, but you know He is good and you know He is still on His throne. Have you ever seen those magnified photos of things like a bug's eye or the rind of an orange? Up close you cannot tell what they are; you can't see the big picture. Life is like that -- painful times especially. We see our situation, up close, personal, and little else beyond that. God never loses His perspective. He is on high and transcends our timetable because He is sovereign.

Lastly, God loves you. This is the motivation. This is why He does what He does and allows what He allows and, once again, by itself, may not bring a whole lot of comfort if we're in a dark place. "This is Your idea of love?" I may have said that once or twice back in the day. But God is good. He cannot be anything but good; it would violate His nature. And God is sovereign. He has the power and the authority to do good by whatever means necessary. And He loves you. Therefore you can be assured whatever is going on, He is allowing it for a reason-- a good reason and His love is at the very center of it. "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28)

So, praise Him in the storm? Go ahead. Be grateful when terrible things befall you? You certainly can. Ask Him to help you love Him enough, 'cause He sure loves you.

Not Alone

 what IF i told you I was doing 

this to prove a                             POINT?

This is how life feels with Mom some days. No structure. No rhythm. No explanation.

We brought Mom to live with us for her safety. We brought Mom to live with us because I wanted her to thrive. But this is a journey in which success cannot be measured. It's two steps forward and eight steps back. Is she thriving? Who knows. This, this thing, whatever it is that is eating away at her brain day after day is nothing like caring for someone recovering from surgery. It's nothing like caring for someone whose time is predictably short. This thing is a devil. This thing gives her something one minute and takes it away the next. This thing takes a break from time to time and is relentless for days on end. And though I talk about my feelings or my struggles, this is not about me. This is not for pity or for encouragement so much as it is to encourage. I began this blog with the intent to be honest about the things going on in my life, to lift others up through sharing difficulties and victories. That is what I aim to do, because when it comes to doing difficult things, caring for a loved one -- particularly a loved one with cognitive issues -- ranks right up there with herding cats. It's not at all easy and most days it doesn't make sense. It's hard and I want you to know that. If you are a caregiver reading this, please know you are not alone. If you are reading and you know one of these caregivers, please pass this on that they might know they are not alone. 

People ask sometimes, "Can she ___?" And there is rarely a "yes" or "no." Everything is subject to change. Can she walk? Yes, although some days she is much less steady on her feet and I have to watch her constantly. Can she talk? Well, that depends on your definition of talking. As I am writing this, she is talking, pretty well, in fact. And she's pointing and wanting to know what things are. So I'm jumping up after about every fifth word I type to determine the item she is pointing to and explain it to her. By the time I reach the end of the paragraph, she could fall silent or she could burst into tears. Most days she whistles, trills, hums, or even, spits all day long. She reads. Sometimes. And by "reads," I mean she sounds out words or identifies letters. Some days she asks if I'd like help with something; by the time I set her up with stirring or folding something, the clarity is gone and she dissolves into frustrated tears. Sometimes she fights with me about washing her hands or going into another room. I let her. As a matter of fact, I think sometimes I antagonize her just to hear her talk (When she's angry she talks best.) and just to see some fire in her eyes. She doesn't know my name most of the time; every once in a while, she tries to figure it out. Two weeks ago, she was asking for her car everyday. She hasn't had that in almost ten years, but I was impressed she remembered. By dinnertime that same day, I found her sitting fully clothed on the closed toilet in the dark bathroom. We call her Helen most days. She has forgotten she was "Nana," the grandmother, or "Mom," the mother, but Helen is a name she has known all her life and she still responds to it.

I can't begin to imagine what any of this feels like for her. Sounds she can't explain, smells she doesn't recognize, faces she has to learn over and over again, and tasks we take for granted which she simply cannot do. The staccato of uncertainty drowns out reason and remembrance in such a ruthless and unpredictable manner. She is sometimes here, and I think those moments must be the worst for her: knowing she is someone, but not knowing who that someone is. She has forgotten most of her history; some days I'm not certain she wakes up knowing this is where she is supposed to be and we are not strangers. It is sad, and I'm not sure how to say I'm trusting God on this one without sounding trite; but when it comes to empathizing with Mom, I am. Trying to imagine what she's experiencing is important, it helps me to properly care for her; but, spending a whole mess of time there can be as overwhelming and frightening as it is for her. That's not going to do either of us a bit of good.

And as for what I'm going through or as to how erratic and fragmented this season of life can be, I am not alone. And neither are you.