Okay, let’s face it we are all flawed. In some way or the other - we have warts! I do find it amazing that we humans seem to think that our view is the “right” view and that everyone else is warped. Come on, you know that sometimes you think that way too.
Why is that I wonder? Now I know it’s probably not healthy to always be thinking that everyone else has it together, has it right, understands the world better, etc. than I do. But why do I (dare I say we?) so readily jump to the conclusion that we have it all together and that everyone else has it all wrong?
Have you ever known a person that when you first met them you thought of them one way, but once you’d taken the time to really get to know them, took the time to see beneath the surface, a completely different character was revealed than that first view? Their facade didn’t represent their core?
So let’s look at facades for a minute. Webster’s states: “a false, superficial, or artificial appearance or effect.” Now for some reason when I read this definition I think of bandaids. Now my grandkids, they love bandaids. The brighter, more colorful the happier they are. If allowed they’d plaster these band aids all over their bodies! And how about those broken arms and legs your friends had in grade school? How cool was it when you got to write something clever and sign your name on those casts? I think I’ve said it before, I wanted a cast in the hopes that people would want to sign it! When I look at it like that, it’s not the wounds, hurts and brokenness I see. I think for me, then and my grandchildren, now we are only seeing the “glamour” of it.
But there are other bandages, other facades. These are the bandaids that aren’t so brightly colored, the skin tone ones that are almost hidden once applied, bandages where the wound beneath seeps through and stains the surface, the cast so covered with signatures you can’t even see the plaster anymore, it just appears dirty to your sight. Facades that have developed one wound at a time, layering one on top of the other, until eventually all you see is shell, that crust that is so thick and so harsh that all that is left to view are the negative aspects of it.
What would happen if instead of seeing it as someone putting on a false front, a superficial layer or appearance, what if I stretch my view just a little and realize that many a facade (most?) are protective bandages, casts, protective barriers. While these facades do conceal let’s not forget what’s beneath the surface, the hurts, the brokenness and let’s not forget that facades like bandages/casts may be needed in order for those wounds to heal.
I think it’s important too to remember that sometimes the facade we see on the other person isn’t always their facade at all but a reflection of one of our own. Barriers we project out so that we are not stretched into taking a personal risk for a deeper understanding of the other individual. In other words, sometimes it our problem we are seeing.
I was told yesterday that at times I seem unapproachable and I know that - I see that about myself. It’s a facade that I’ve been working on removing for years and with God’s help I know one day will be totally gone. I am blessed to have people in my life that love me enough to share insights with me, about me, and I do take them to heart - think about them, dissect them even, and then do my best to make appropriate changes that present my heart. I also try to take it one step further and make myself realize that if it hurts me that people have a “perception” of me that doesn’t truly match my heart - how many people do I hurt by accepting my perception of them without taking the time, taking the risk to get to really know them.
So here it is. If you think of someone as unlikeable, why not spin that thought and actually choose to like them? If you see someone as unapproachable, why not try approaching them? To put it bluntly (and yes I’ve been told that at times I’m too blunt) I just do not believe that it is 100% my responsibility to change your perception of me. I believe that we all carry a responsibility to realize that first, second and maybe even third impressions, are not always correct. That we have a responsibility to own our perceptions as our own thoughts and not necessarily universal truths of another individual. We carry equal responsibility in approaching one other in love, and while we may not always agree eye to eye on everything, I believe we all hold the responsibility of not laying another layer of facade onto one that is already too heavy of a burden to carry.
My prayer today is that I be an agent of change and renewed perceptions! That God grant me the ability to see beyond myself and my perceptions to the view He has. That He give me the ability, for today, to stretch my heart deeper and wider, to be His hands and His feet. That today that may mean approaching the unapproachable, loving the unloveable, and really listening to those who normally I cannot or will not hear.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Childhood's Country Pathway
When I was a little girl my father’s mother owned two small houses that were nestled in the “crook” of two mountains in Eastern Kentucky. To get to her place, you either had to walk the path from the main road up the mountain, following the trickling brook that was her natural drive or catch a ride and get bounced around on the hard metal bench seat of her Jeep Willy (which was the only vehicle that could safely make that treacherous run).
So we'd arrive and Dad would park the car just off the main road, then we'd embark and travel the short distance to my other grandmother’s front porch whose house was situated at the foot of the mountain. Dad could only sit for a short while before he'd start to fidget and before you knew it (barely enough time to be polite most days) he’d be asking “Who’s walking up the creek with me?”
Now, I never volunteered to walk “up the creek” with Dad. There were two reasons for this, neither of which were that I didn’t like spending time with Dad. But Dad was always in a hurry to arrive at his Mom’s and if I was going to walk that path, I needed the time for the adventure that this path lent itself. And, if I couldn’t walk it alone I’d rather wait on the Jeep Willy and take the bumpy ride up the mountain! But, if I was really lucky I got to walk it alone or with my brothers and sister who always ran off ahead of me and left me alone to my imagination.
The path was marvelously secluded and within 30 yards from Grandma’s back door it took the slightest of turns and immediately her house and yard were effectively blocked from sight and I was transported to a far off uninhabited land. This land was filled with exotic animals, cool breezes and the choices of foods that you could pluck right off trees or from vines growing along the ground.
The first opportunity for adventure was what I lovingly called the “jungle.” Strange and mysterious, the jungle was just too my right as I made it past the first incline up the mountain. In reality this was a small grove of trees, maybe 20 or 30 in all, the largest with a trunk of about 4” in diameter with heights topping out at about 10 feet. These jungle trees were speckled with small hard red berry clusters that you could not eat - so I always thought of them as Snow White’s poisonous apples. I never knew where my imagination would take me or what I might encounter if I ventured into the jungle, but I did know that if anyone was with me they’d not share the interest I had in tarrying there for a spell.
Once I had spent the necessary time to slay a few dragons, or pet the few tame lions and tigers I’d find, it was time to continue on my way. Staying on the pathway, steadily climbing higher and higher, the next area I entered was an enchanted forest. The trees were larger here with limbs so long they drooped against the ground sweeping it clean as they swayed in the breeze. A canopy so thick above you that all you could get was the “impression” of sunlight as it peeked through the shadows and murkiness created by the heavy foliage. The ground carpeted in a thick lush sweet green moss which was the perfect place to lay down and rest for awhile or to remove my shoes and allow my toes to tickle in the smoothness of its mossy goodness.
From here I’d have to make a choice, to remain on the path or to jump into the stream, whose coolness beckoned to me. If I was feeling hungry or if I thought it was the right season for it, I’d stick to the path as I knew that just over the next little rise there was a tree that loved to tempt me by holding its treasure just beyond my normal reach. I’d take a deep breath and plunge forward running as fast as I could to give myself the needed lift to jump high enough so that hopefully I could harvest a few berries from this temptress. Huge dark purple berries simply dangling there giving me the motivation to “almost” fly and what a glorious victory when I was successful in grabbing a few of these, savoring each bite as they'd burst, hot and sweet on my tongue, creating a party in my mouth that is indescribable to this very day some five decades later.
Eventually if I hadn’t already done so, I’d take whatever shoes I was wearing off and splash into the stream. Wild mint grew abundantly along the little hump of ground that rose in the middle of the stream and as I waded I’d pluck a few leaves and munch on their goodness as though it was chewing gum. Within another 30 or 40 yards the tunnel of greenery would begin to open and I could see the stream getting smaller and smaller as I looked to the right and up the mountain with a dirt road immerging and taking a sharp turn to the left. Just where this dirt road and stream met a burst of sunlight could be seen making an assault on the water, cutting diamonds of light and tossing them up into the air in what seemed every direction.
When I was younger I’d stop just inside the umbrella of the trees, looking for crawdads or witch doctors, wishing I had a jar or box with me so that I could catch a few to keep like I did lightning bugs - always planning on bringing one with me the next time I came.
As I grew older and the fascination with crawdads and witch doctors began to fade, I’d stop at this exact spot, looking ahead to the small field that ran just to the left of the dirt road before it made its last assault upward to the house. There I’d imagine my young prince, setting proud on a beautiful horse, blond, blue eyed and waiting to effortlessly reach down and toss me up just behind him.... but we never got to ride off together as by this time, every time, there would be someone calling my name waking me from my adventures and I’d run up the last little hill to grandma’s stopping only long enough to pluck up a few wild strawberries along the path, totally forgetting about crawdads, witch doctors, and handsome princes in my quest to see the folks waiting for me just around the bend.
So we'd arrive and Dad would park the car just off the main road, then we'd embark and travel the short distance to my other grandmother’s front porch whose house was situated at the foot of the mountain. Dad could only sit for a short while before he'd start to fidget and before you knew it (barely enough time to be polite most days) he’d be asking “Who’s walking up the creek with me?”
Now, I never volunteered to walk “up the creek” with Dad. There were two reasons for this, neither of which were that I didn’t like spending time with Dad. But Dad was always in a hurry to arrive at his Mom’s and if I was going to walk that path, I needed the time for the adventure that this path lent itself. And, if I couldn’t walk it alone I’d rather wait on the Jeep Willy and take the bumpy ride up the mountain! But, if I was really lucky I got to walk it alone or with my brothers and sister who always ran off ahead of me and left me alone to my imagination.
The path was marvelously secluded and within 30 yards from Grandma’s back door it took the slightest of turns and immediately her house and yard were effectively blocked from sight and I was transported to a far off uninhabited land. This land was filled with exotic animals, cool breezes and the choices of foods that you could pluck right off trees or from vines growing along the ground.
The first opportunity for adventure was what I lovingly called the “jungle.” Strange and mysterious, the jungle was just too my right as I made it past the first incline up the mountain. In reality this was a small grove of trees, maybe 20 or 30 in all, the largest with a trunk of about 4” in diameter with heights topping out at about 10 feet. These jungle trees were speckled with small hard red berry clusters that you could not eat - so I always thought of them as Snow White’s poisonous apples. I never knew where my imagination would take me or what I might encounter if I ventured into the jungle, but I did know that if anyone was with me they’d not share the interest I had in tarrying there for a spell.
Once I had spent the necessary time to slay a few dragons, or pet the few tame lions and tigers I’d find, it was time to continue on my way. Staying on the pathway, steadily climbing higher and higher, the next area I entered was an enchanted forest. The trees were larger here with limbs so long they drooped against the ground sweeping it clean as they swayed in the breeze. A canopy so thick above you that all you could get was the “impression” of sunlight as it peeked through the shadows and murkiness created by the heavy foliage. The ground carpeted in a thick lush sweet green moss which was the perfect place to lay down and rest for awhile or to remove my shoes and allow my toes to tickle in the smoothness of its mossy goodness.
From here I’d have to make a choice, to remain on the path or to jump into the stream, whose coolness beckoned to me. If I was feeling hungry or if I thought it was the right season for it, I’d stick to the path as I knew that just over the next little rise there was a tree that loved to tempt me by holding its treasure just beyond my normal reach. I’d take a deep breath and plunge forward running as fast as I could to give myself the needed lift to jump high enough so that hopefully I could harvest a few berries from this temptress. Huge dark purple berries simply dangling there giving me the motivation to “almost” fly and what a glorious victory when I was successful in grabbing a few of these, savoring each bite as they'd burst, hot and sweet on my tongue, creating a party in my mouth that is indescribable to this very day some five decades later.
Eventually if I hadn’t already done so, I’d take whatever shoes I was wearing off and splash into the stream. Wild mint grew abundantly along the little hump of ground that rose in the middle of the stream and as I waded I’d pluck a few leaves and munch on their goodness as though it was chewing gum. Within another 30 or 40 yards the tunnel of greenery would begin to open and I could see the stream getting smaller and smaller as I looked to the right and up the mountain with a dirt road immerging and taking a sharp turn to the left. Just where this dirt road and stream met a burst of sunlight could be seen making an assault on the water, cutting diamonds of light and tossing them up into the air in what seemed every direction.
When I was younger I’d stop just inside the umbrella of the trees, looking for crawdads or witch doctors, wishing I had a jar or box with me so that I could catch a few to keep like I did lightning bugs - always planning on bringing one with me the next time I came.
As I grew older and the fascination with crawdads and witch doctors began to fade, I’d stop at this exact spot, looking ahead to the small field that ran just to the left of the dirt road before it made its last assault upward to the house. There I’d imagine my young prince, setting proud on a beautiful horse, blond, blue eyed and waiting to effortlessly reach down and toss me up just behind him.... but we never got to ride off together as by this time, every time, there would be someone calling my name waking me from my adventures and I’d run up the last little hill to grandma’s stopping only long enough to pluck up a few wild strawberries along the path, totally forgetting about crawdads, witch doctors, and handsome princes in my quest to see the folks waiting for me just around the bend.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Advocate Needed!
I was doing some reading the other day and came across a story that really caught my attention. It’s a story about a horrible turn of events in the life of a rancher. According to the story this guy was a successful man - in fact he was considered one of the wealthiest men in his area. The story actually listed some of the livestock that he owned 7000 sheep, 3000 ostriches, about a 1000 head of cattle and 500 or so chickens. He seemed to me to be a well diversified.
Now this man had a really large family, seven grown sons and three daughters. The sons, all married with families, lived right on the property and when they weren’t working the ranch together they were throwing parties; taking turns having their family members over and just spending time together. Now by this point I’m thinking this must be one extremely well adjusted family, made me stop and wonder if my family could be that close and still get along...
Another point in the story that really jumped out at me was how the author began the story by talking about what a good man this rancher was, living a life of integrity, always trying to do right and in spite of all his success he appeared to be a really good man. He had never been involved in any type of scandal, was honest and made it a practice to help his neighbors where ever or whenever he saw that there was a need.
Then one day while he and his wife were away, I don’t remember exactly why – maybe a vacation, a devastating tornado hit his ranch resulting in total destruction. He lost his home, he lost his family, he lost his wealth; you see all he had, all he owned was tied up into that ranch. When it was over he and his wife were left with only the land now swept bare by the storm, the only homes the graves of their entire family and ranch hands. Can you imagine, in one afternoon losing everything? Your children, your grand kids, friends, and people you loved and felt responsible to keep safe?
Even with all this destruction, and in the midst of his mourning this man somehow found it within his spirit to praise God to continue to give God the glory! It was amazing the faith he had.
Now you’d think that this man had suffered enough and I don’t know if he caught this disease or if it just happened because of the horrible stress that he’d been under but within what seems like days he broke out with a skin disease, a rash that covered every inch of his body. According to the story there wasn’t even one spot on him that wasn’t covered with the rash, it itched so much that when medicine couldn’t give him any relief he actually scraped the skin right off his body.
And still in the midst of this, he praised God. His wife couldn’t understand it! She even asked him, “Why are you still trying to maintain your integrity? Go ahead curse God so you can die!”
About this time three of his friends show up, now I don’t know why they weren’t there before when he had buried his family, but suddenly here they come to comfort and console him. You cannot imagine how shocked they were! When they saw him, he looked so bad that they didn’t know it was him, couldn’t recognize him. When they saw how he was suffering it was too great for words; so they just sat there beside him. For seven days and seven nights, they sat right next to him and didn’t say anything. For one entire week these men sat together and not a one of them uttered one word.
Just think about that, friends just setting with you, setting beside you, holding you up, just being there for you in your pain for an entire week and not saying one word. What do you think about that? It’s hard for me to even imagine.
After seven days of being held close, being consoled in silence, this rancher finally can speak, so still deep in his grief he begins expressing his hurt and frustration. While he still won’t curse God, he does curse the day he was born, curses the very night he was conceived and wishes that that night be blotted off the calendar - that that night be totally childless. Think about that, he is in so much pain that his cry is that no child would have been conceived on that night - but since that can’t happen his one wish is that he die; he is so deep in his despair that the only thing that he can think of to make the pain stop is that he dies. Mourning so deeply he cannot eat, groans are pouring out of his mouth like water, what he most dreaded all his life has come true, he has no peace, no quietness, all he has - all he can see is his troubles.
Then after being so supportive, after setting there for a week offering silent support his friends start speaking. The first friend quickly tells him that he needs to be patient and accept the punishment for whatever he has obviously done wrong, basically that he has brought these catastrophes onto himself because of his wrong doing. He even goes so far as to tell the rancher that God gave him a vision telling him that there is no way that the rancher is innocent, no way he can be pure and that he needs to take the punishment, listen to his (the friend’s, not God’s) counsel and apply it to himself.
In other words his friend is saying, I don’t care how good you looked you’ve had to have brought these things on yourself through some bad behavior. I always knew you were no better than me and now I can see you’ve must be worse! I’ve never had any of this happen. God is obviously with me. Now suck it up, stop complaining and take your punishment after all God is just and He wouldn’t have let this happen to you otherwise!
When this doesn’t really go over too well with the rancher, his second friend speaks and informs him that if it wasn’t you who did wrong, then obviously it had to be your children so their (the children’s) punishment was well deserved. They wouldn’t have been destroyed if they hadn’t been wicked.
At this point, I’m completely surprised that he hasn’t sent his friends packing. Maybe he would have if he’d had any strength left. I wonder how many times I’ve done what was right, shown the proper support and love to my friends to only wipe it out my opening my big mouth and making mean and hurtful statements disguised as truth.
Well as you can imagine the rancher has plenty to say, which leads his third friend to step into the conversation. I mean these three guys leave their homes, their jobs and their families and haven’t done anything for an entire week other than set with this rancher, which should have earned them the privilege to speak their minds, right? I mean after that, shouldn’t have the rancher been happy to hear their views on the matter? So by now these friends seem to be pretty ticked off too, so in anger the third friend now speaks up and basically blasts the rancher that anyone can say they’re done nothing wrong – that his words don’t prove him innocent! The destruction proves to the contrary, that someone either him or his children or both are to blame. This is all about karma, that rancher just couldn’t have been living the right kind life!
Well as expected the Rancher is done with talking with his friends. He is miserable and feels as though they’ve set him up – given him false hope that he could grieve, could speak his mind and be open and emotionally vulnerable with them. But their words have wiped out all the good they accomplished in those first seven days.
What do you think about this story so far? Have you ever heard it? Who do you think the rancher is?
Yes Job! I remember reading the book of Job and really being confused by it. I’ve got to tell you, for years I totally missed the seven days of silence and really sort of thought that the friends, while not wise in their timing and presentation were speaking some truths to Job. Now be honest, who is with me in that?
But what if this story really isn’t about earthly catastrophe at all? Or how our friends do or do not respond to us. What if it’s about something totally different?
Let’s look at just a few of the verses in the first portion of Job:
Job 1:5b
He would get up early in the morning and offer a burnt offering for each of them. For Job said to himself, “Perhaps my children have sinned and have cursed God in their hearts.”
Job 1:21 and I Tim 6:7
I came naked from my mother’s womb and I will be naked when I leave. The Lord gave me what I had and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord!
Job 4:9 and 2 Thes 2:8
A breath of God destroys them. They vanish in a blast of His anger.
Job 16: 7&8
Oh God, you have ground me down and devastated my family. As if to prove I have sinned, you’ve reduced me to skin and bones.
Are you maybe seeing a pattern? What are your thoughts on this? What I hear is the basic theme that they are overwhelmed with their fear of God.
Now the way I see it, it’s this fear of God that is the strongest motivator for both Job and his friends. Job has lived his life up to this point based on his fear of God and it’s one of the things that kept his friends trying to get him to reconcile that he is to blame, that he needed to stop complaining and just take his punishment. Just stop whining or God just might blast them all away with the breath of His anger!
But Job wants more, he wants to be able to speak with God – to cry his heart out to the God of universe both in pain and rejoicing and he wants to know that not only will God hear him, but that God will actually answer him – face to face! At this point he actually wants to take God to trial. He wants someone to be his mediator, his advocate.
Job 9:32 and Rom 9:20
God is not mortal like me, so I cannot argue with him or take him to trial.
Job 10:1, 2
I am disgusted with my life. Let me complain freely. My bitter soul must complain. I will say to God, “Don’t simply condemn me – tell me the charge you are bringing against me.
Job 16:19
Even now my witness is in heaven. My advocate is there on high.
Job 16:21
I need someone to mediate between God and me.
And finally God does speak, He answers Job. Actually does a pretty good job of putting Job in his place. When I read God’s response, I don’t know if it’s my personality coming through, but I hear some sarcasm.
But Job finally receives the true desire of his heart. It wasn’t that, Job wanted everything to be answered in his favor – he just wanted answers from God.
Here’s Job’s comment and oh, how I love this one!
Job 42:6
I had only heard about You before, now I have seen you with my own eyes!
Now, I have seen you with my own eyes! This really brings my heart joy. The way I understand this, once for Job, there was just the fear of God. He did what he did, out of fear – in the hopes of a good response. When he was grieving, Job looked for a friend to pour his heart out too, his wife wasn’t much help and his three friends while starting out well finished poorly and actually brought more hurt and pain to Job than he had already experienced. But Job wouldn’t stop. Even in his pain, with his laments, he still sought God. He asked for a mediator, a true friend, someone to stand between him and his fear of God.
For everything that the story of Job is and that the story of Job tells us, I am convinced that it is the very heart of all of our stories. The story of all mankind, how our wrongness, our sins separate us from God. How it is impossible for us to really comfort and console one another. How it is really impossible for us to bridge the gap from fear to friend. From trying to figure out the reasons bad things happen to being able to talk to God face to face about everything that happens.
Because you see when God answered Job, He answered that desire (filled the empty God hole) for all of us. All that we have to do is to seek it – even when or especially when we are in the very depths of our trouble.
2 Cor. 7:10
For the kind of sorrow God wants us to experience leads us away from sin and results in salvation. There’s no regret for that kind of sorrow. But worldly sorrow, which lacks repentance, results in spiritual death.
You see God gave us a mediator, a perfect mediator! A mediator that wants to come along side of us, to comfort and console us – a mediator that took our guilty verdict upon Himself so that the charges wouldn’t be placed on us. (I’m convinced the evidence has been wiped clean, washed away.) I am reminded of the woman caught in adultery that was brought before Jesus by the Pharisees. They wanted Jesus to condemn her and have her stoned to death because of her sins. After writing on the ground for while, he simply states, “Those without sin, throw the first stone.” Doesn’t take long for her accusers to scatter, then He looks right in her eyes and says, “Woman where are your accusers?” When she states they are gone, He says, “Neither do I accuse you, go and sin no more.” (John 8)
First Timothy 2:5 states:
For there is only one God and one Mediator who can reconcile God and humanity—the man Christ Jesus.
When we see Jesus, we see our Mediator, we’ve seen God with our own eyes!
Now this man had a really large family, seven grown sons and three daughters. The sons, all married with families, lived right on the property and when they weren’t working the ranch together they were throwing parties; taking turns having their family members over and just spending time together. Now by this point I’m thinking this must be one extremely well adjusted family, made me stop and wonder if my family could be that close and still get along...
Another point in the story that really jumped out at me was how the author began the story by talking about what a good man this rancher was, living a life of integrity, always trying to do right and in spite of all his success he appeared to be a really good man. He had never been involved in any type of scandal, was honest and made it a practice to help his neighbors where ever or whenever he saw that there was a need.
Then one day while he and his wife were away, I don’t remember exactly why – maybe a vacation, a devastating tornado hit his ranch resulting in total destruction. He lost his home, he lost his family, he lost his wealth; you see all he had, all he owned was tied up into that ranch. When it was over he and his wife were left with only the land now swept bare by the storm, the only homes the graves of their entire family and ranch hands. Can you imagine, in one afternoon losing everything? Your children, your grand kids, friends, and people you loved and felt responsible to keep safe?
Even with all this destruction, and in the midst of his mourning this man somehow found it within his spirit to praise God to continue to give God the glory! It was amazing the faith he had.
Now you’d think that this man had suffered enough and I don’t know if he caught this disease or if it just happened because of the horrible stress that he’d been under but within what seems like days he broke out with a skin disease, a rash that covered every inch of his body. According to the story there wasn’t even one spot on him that wasn’t covered with the rash, it itched so much that when medicine couldn’t give him any relief he actually scraped the skin right off his body.
And still in the midst of this, he praised God. His wife couldn’t understand it! She even asked him, “Why are you still trying to maintain your integrity? Go ahead curse God so you can die!”
About this time three of his friends show up, now I don’t know why they weren’t there before when he had buried his family, but suddenly here they come to comfort and console him. You cannot imagine how shocked they were! When they saw him, he looked so bad that they didn’t know it was him, couldn’t recognize him. When they saw how he was suffering it was too great for words; so they just sat there beside him. For seven days and seven nights, they sat right next to him and didn’t say anything. For one entire week these men sat together and not a one of them uttered one word.
Just think about that, friends just setting with you, setting beside you, holding you up, just being there for you in your pain for an entire week and not saying one word. What do you think about that? It’s hard for me to even imagine.
After seven days of being held close, being consoled in silence, this rancher finally can speak, so still deep in his grief he begins expressing his hurt and frustration. While he still won’t curse God, he does curse the day he was born, curses the very night he was conceived and wishes that that night be blotted off the calendar - that that night be totally childless. Think about that, he is in so much pain that his cry is that no child would have been conceived on that night - but since that can’t happen his one wish is that he die; he is so deep in his despair that the only thing that he can think of to make the pain stop is that he dies. Mourning so deeply he cannot eat, groans are pouring out of his mouth like water, what he most dreaded all his life has come true, he has no peace, no quietness, all he has - all he can see is his troubles.
Then after being so supportive, after setting there for a week offering silent support his friends start speaking. The first friend quickly tells him that he needs to be patient and accept the punishment for whatever he has obviously done wrong, basically that he has brought these catastrophes onto himself because of his wrong doing. He even goes so far as to tell the rancher that God gave him a vision telling him that there is no way that the rancher is innocent, no way he can be pure and that he needs to take the punishment, listen to his (the friend’s, not God’s) counsel and apply it to himself.
In other words his friend is saying, I don’t care how good you looked you’ve had to have brought these things on yourself through some bad behavior. I always knew you were no better than me and now I can see you’ve must be worse! I’ve never had any of this happen. God is obviously with me. Now suck it up, stop complaining and take your punishment after all God is just and He wouldn’t have let this happen to you otherwise!
When this doesn’t really go over too well with the rancher, his second friend speaks and informs him that if it wasn’t you who did wrong, then obviously it had to be your children so their (the children’s) punishment was well deserved. They wouldn’t have been destroyed if they hadn’t been wicked.
At this point, I’m completely surprised that he hasn’t sent his friends packing. Maybe he would have if he’d had any strength left. I wonder how many times I’ve done what was right, shown the proper support and love to my friends to only wipe it out my opening my big mouth and making mean and hurtful statements disguised as truth.
Well as you can imagine the rancher has plenty to say, which leads his third friend to step into the conversation. I mean these three guys leave their homes, their jobs and their families and haven’t done anything for an entire week other than set with this rancher, which should have earned them the privilege to speak their minds, right? I mean after that, shouldn’t have the rancher been happy to hear their views on the matter? So by now these friends seem to be pretty ticked off too, so in anger the third friend now speaks up and basically blasts the rancher that anyone can say they’re done nothing wrong – that his words don’t prove him innocent! The destruction proves to the contrary, that someone either him or his children or both are to blame. This is all about karma, that rancher just couldn’t have been living the right kind life!
Well as expected the Rancher is done with talking with his friends. He is miserable and feels as though they’ve set him up – given him false hope that he could grieve, could speak his mind and be open and emotionally vulnerable with them. But their words have wiped out all the good they accomplished in those first seven days.
What do you think about this story so far? Have you ever heard it? Who do you think the rancher is?
Yes Job! I remember reading the book of Job and really being confused by it. I’ve got to tell you, for years I totally missed the seven days of silence and really sort of thought that the friends, while not wise in their timing and presentation were speaking some truths to Job. Now be honest, who is with me in that?
But what if this story really isn’t about earthly catastrophe at all? Or how our friends do or do not respond to us. What if it’s about something totally different?
Let’s look at just a few of the verses in the first portion of Job:
Job 1:5b
He would get up early in the morning and offer a burnt offering for each of them. For Job said to himself, “Perhaps my children have sinned and have cursed God in their hearts.”
Job 1:21 and I Tim 6:7
I came naked from my mother’s womb and I will be naked when I leave. The Lord gave me what I had and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord!
Job 4:9 and 2 Thes 2:8
A breath of God destroys them. They vanish in a blast of His anger.
Job 16: 7&8
Oh God, you have ground me down and devastated my family. As if to prove I have sinned, you’ve reduced me to skin and bones.
Are you maybe seeing a pattern? What are your thoughts on this? What I hear is the basic theme that they are overwhelmed with their fear of God.
Now the way I see it, it’s this fear of God that is the strongest motivator for both Job and his friends. Job has lived his life up to this point based on his fear of God and it’s one of the things that kept his friends trying to get him to reconcile that he is to blame, that he needed to stop complaining and just take his punishment. Just stop whining or God just might blast them all away with the breath of His anger!
But Job wants more, he wants to be able to speak with God – to cry his heart out to the God of universe both in pain and rejoicing and he wants to know that not only will God hear him, but that God will actually answer him – face to face! At this point he actually wants to take God to trial. He wants someone to be his mediator, his advocate.
Job 9:32 and Rom 9:20
God is not mortal like me, so I cannot argue with him or take him to trial.
Job 10:1, 2
I am disgusted with my life. Let me complain freely. My bitter soul must complain. I will say to God, “Don’t simply condemn me – tell me the charge you are bringing against me.
Job 16:19
Even now my witness is in heaven. My advocate is there on high.
Job 16:21
I need someone to mediate between God and me.
And finally God does speak, He answers Job. Actually does a pretty good job of putting Job in his place. When I read God’s response, I don’t know if it’s my personality coming through, but I hear some sarcasm.
But Job finally receives the true desire of his heart. It wasn’t that, Job wanted everything to be answered in his favor – he just wanted answers from God.
Here’s Job’s comment and oh, how I love this one!
Job 42:6
I had only heard about You before, now I have seen you with my own eyes!
Now, I have seen you with my own eyes! This really brings my heart joy. The way I understand this, once for Job, there was just the fear of God. He did what he did, out of fear – in the hopes of a good response. When he was grieving, Job looked for a friend to pour his heart out too, his wife wasn’t much help and his three friends while starting out well finished poorly and actually brought more hurt and pain to Job than he had already experienced. But Job wouldn’t stop. Even in his pain, with his laments, he still sought God. He asked for a mediator, a true friend, someone to stand between him and his fear of God.
For everything that the story of Job is and that the story of Job tells us, I am convinced that it is the very heart of all of our stories. The story of all mankind, how our wrongness, our sins separate us from God. How it is impossible for us to really comfort and console one another. How it is really impossible for us to bridge the gap from fear to friend. From trying to figure out the reasons bad things happen to being able to talk to God face to face about everything that happens.
Because you see when God answered Job, He answered that desire (filled the empty God hole) for all of us. All that we have to do is to seek it – even when or especially when we are in the very depths of our trouble.
2 Cor. 7:10
For the kind of sorrow God wants us to experience leads us away from sin and results in salvation. There’s no regret for that kind of sorrow. But worldly sorrow, which lacks repentance, results in spiritual death.
You see God gave us a mediator, a perfect mediator! A mediator that wants to come along side of us, to comfort and console us – a mediator that took our guilty verdict upon Himself so that the charges wouldn’t be placed on us. (I’m convinced the evidence has been wiped clean, washed away.) I am reminded of the woman caught in adultery that was brought before Jesus by the Pharisees. They wanted Jesus to condemn her and have her stoned to death because of her sins. After writing on the ground for while, he simply states, “Those without sin, throw the first stone.” Doesn’t take long for her accusers to scatter, then He looks right in her eyes and says, “Woman where are your accusers?” When she states they are gone, He says, “Neither do I accuse you, go and sin no more.” (John 8)
First Timothy 2:5 states:
For there is only one God and one Mediator who can reconcile God and humanity—the man Christ Jesus.
When we see Jesus, we see our Mediator, we’ve seen God with our own eyes!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The Cost of Forgiveness
I make it a practice, every morning to read scripture. This is my personal time of study, prayer and devotions to God. And it never fails that regardless where I’m focusing my attention that God will bring something to the front of my mind that I’ve never really seen before. Any of your guys ever have that happen to you?
The other morning I was reading in the Old Testament studying that time after God had brought His people out of slavery in Egypt and under Joshua’s leadership was giving them the promised land, one battle at a time - this verse caught my eye:
Judges 1:6-7 (NASB)
But Adoni-bezek fled; and they pursued him and caught him and cut off his thumbs and big toes.
7Adoni-bezek said, "Seventy kings with their thumbs and their big toes cut off used to gather up scraps under my table; as I have done, so God has repaid me." So they brought him to Jerusalem and he died there.
WOW! Can you imagine – having both your thumbs and both your big toes cut off? I read that and stopped dead in my tracks, trying to think just what that would be like. How humiliating. Especially for a warrior – instead of a steady and purposeful walk, I’d always forever after be wobbly with unsure feet. And that’s not to mention never being able to handle a sword again which I think was the weapon of choice then. I mean, how’d I even hold a fork? You know a lot of scientists say that the biggest difference between humans and other mammals are our apposing thumbs…………. Needless to say I spent several days just pondering having my big toes and both my thumbs cut off.
I just kept going back time and time again to these two verses and I finally landed on that 2nd verse. King Adoni-bezek himself had done this very same thing to 70 kings who afterwards were reduced to gather the scraps from under his table as they were no longer able to provide for themselves……
When I was a little girl, I loved to hang out with the adults. Listen in on their conversations and maybe if I was lucky be the center of attention for a little while. I remember it feeling so good, and eventually I’d start acting out a little – something my Mother called being “brigaddy.” Any of you ever hear that word, brigaddy? Anyway I’d start showing off, and one of the adults (usually one of the Aunts) would look me straight in the eye and say, “Little girl you’d better watch yourself, cause you’re going to reap what you sow.” Might not always be those exact words, sometimes it was “Laugh now, cry later;” Or “won’t be near as much fun if your Daddy catches you acting like that!” Man did they know how to dampen a party and bring me down. Because regardless of their exact words, I got their meaning! I was acting badly and I was going to pay for that bad behavior! I was going to reap the consequences for my behavior.
The more I read the more it seemed to me that King Adoni-bezek must have grown up around some of my relatives because he certainly was “getting” that same concept. He himself said, “As I have done, so God has repaid me.”
Now while I believe that there are consequences for my behavior, it doesn’t always set well with me when I’m pondering God’s mercy and grace in the New Testament with His “an eye for eye and a tooth for a tooth” in the Old. Any of you ever think like that, or am I the only one?
I mean it sort of seems that God is pretty ticked off through a lot of the Old Testament. Just look how quickly the victory in chapter 1 of Judges turns to God’s anger in chapter 2. It seems almost instantly the Israelites have gone and done it again and it isn’t near as much fun when Daddy catches them acting badly again!
Judges 2:20-23 (NLT)
So the anger of the LORD burned against Israel, and He said, "Because this nation has transgressed My covenant which I commanded their fathers and has not listened to My voice,
21(I also will no longer drive out before them any of the nations which Joshua left when he died,
22in order to (test Israel by them, whether they will keep the way of the LORD to walk in it as their fathers did, or not."
23So the LORD allowed those nations to remain, not driving them out quickly; and He did not give them into the hand of Joshua.
So which is He? Is He the “Eye for an Eye,” God or the “Mercy and Grace,” Savior?
No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t come up with an answer that made sense to me, so I decided to just keep reading and trusting that God is love and love is all about mercy and love is all about grace and trusting is all about faith. Faith that even when I can’t understand and don’t have the capacity for it that God is always faithful and true and can be trusted. Then I came to the third chapter of Judges.
Judges 3:1-2 (NLT)
These are the nations that the Lord left in the land to test those Israelites who had not experienced the wars of Canaan. 2 He did this to teach warfare to generations of Israelites who had no experience in battle.
Wait a minute, maybe it’s not about punishment at all. Maybe it’s about discipline? One definition of discipline is; “Training expected to produce a specific character or pattern of behavior.”
God wasn’t just being mean, punishing the Israelites for bad behavior. He was disciplining them – teaching them to be warriors so they could defend themselves. He loved them so much that He wanted them prepared for life and even though it was in His power to do so, for some reason He just didn’t hand it over to them - they had to do some work for it. Really sounds like a parent doesn’t it. His heart was for His children’s good, so He allowed a situation, circumstance, through which they could learn a specific character or pattern of behavior – He had an outcome in mind other than retribution! He wanted them successfully involved in their outcomes!
So this thought begs the question, when was the last time you had your thumbs and big toes cut off? What was your situation? Did you, like King Adoni-bezek, believe or even say, “God has repaid me?” Or maybe you tried to figure out what you’d done that made God mad enough to bring the catastrophe, this situation I'm seeing as punishment?
But let’s take a closer look.
Judges 2:11-16
The Israelites did evil in the Lord’s sight and served the images of Baal. They abandoned the lord, the God of their ancestors, who had brought them out of Egypt. They went after other gods, worshiping the gods of the people around them. And they angered the Lord. They abandoned the Lord to serve Baal and the images of Ashtoreth. This made the Lord burn with anger against Israel, so He handed them over to their enemies all around, and they were no longer able to resist them, causing them to be defected as as He had warned. And the people were in great distress.
Let’s continue....
Judges 1:16 Then the Lord raised up judges to rescue the Israelites from their attackers.
Now, let that all sink in just for a minute. How many times have I always focused on the “punishment,” here and not really comprehended everything that is being communicated.
1) They had been warned, time and time again - instructed on how to behave. Were told that they behavior had consequences. They refused to listen, like many children, believing they knew what was best and that they didn’t have to follow God’s
(Daddy's) instructions.
2) When their behavior opened the door to catastrophe, like most children do - they cried out to their Daddy (God) to take over and save them and get them out of a horrible situation (one created by their behavior).
3)God’s love for His children is so strong that even though it happened time and time and He knew they’d behave badly again and again, He stepped in with a plan to save them. (Judges 1:16)
He forgave them, put a plan in place that would give them the tools to be successful and it didn’t cost them anything. All they had to do was receive it. Sounds pretty good doesn’t it? Sounds like mercy, grace and love to me. Sounds like I've been focusing on the wrong portion of the scriptures!
According to Timothy Keller’s book “Prodigal God;” “Mercy and forgiveness must be free and unmerited to the wrongdoer - if the wrongdoer has to do something to merit it, then it isn’t mercy.” But this doesn’t mean that forgiveness is free, “forgiveness always comes at a cost to the One granting the forgiveness.”
You see God not only stepped in with a plan to save the Israelites this time, but because He’s God, He knew that they’d need help time and time again. He knew that we’d never be able to manage it either on our own either. He knew that forgiveness would be costly, not to us - but to Him. As Keller writes, “Jesus was stripped naked of His robe and dignity so that we could be clothed with a dignity and standing we don’t deserve. On the cross Jesus was treated as an outcast so that we could be brought into God’s family freely by grace. There Jesus drank the cup of eternal justice so that we might have the cup of the Father’s joy. There was no other way for the heavenly Father to bring us in, except at the expense of our true elder brother.”
He loves me so much that He's willing to discipline me as any good parent does and He willing paid the costs involved in forgiveness. How awesome is that?
The other morning I was reading in the Old Testament studying that time after God had brought His people out of slavery in Egypt and under Joshua’s leadership was giving them the promised land, one battle at a time - this verse caught my eye:
Judges 1:6-7 (NASB)
But Adoni-bezek fled; and they pursued him and caught him and cut off his thumbs and big toes.
7Adoni-bezek said, "Seventy kings with their thumbs and their big toes cut off used to gather up scraps under my table; as I have done, so God has repaid me." So they brought him to Jerusalem and he died there.
WOW! Can you imagine – having both your thumbs and both your big toes cut off? I read that and stopped dead in my tracks, trying to think just what that would be like. How humiliating. Especially for a warrior – instead of a steady and purposeful walk, I’d always forever after be wobbly with unsure feet. And that’s not to mention never being able to handle a sword again which I think was the weapon of choice then. I mean, how’d I even hold a fork? You know a lot of scientists say that the biggest difference between humans and other mammals are our apposing thumbs…………. Needless to say I spent several days just pondering having my big toes and both my thumbs cut off.
I just kept going back time and time again to these two verses and I finally landed on that 2nd verse. King Adoni-bezek himself had done this very same thing to 70 kings who afterwards were reduced to gather the scraps from under his table as they were no longer able to provide for themselves……
When I was a little girl, I loved to hang out with the adults. Listen in on their conversations and maybe if I was lucky be the center of attention for a little while. I remember it feeling so good, and eventually I’d start acting out a little – something my Mother called being “brigaddy.” Any of you ever hear that word, brigaddy? Anyway I’d start showing off, and one of the adults (usually one of the Aunts) would look me straight in the eye and say, “Little girl you’d better watch yourself, cause you’re going to reap what you sow.” Might not always be those exact words, sometimes it was “Laugh now, cry later;” Or “won’t be near as much fun if your Daddy catches you acting like that!” Man did they know how to dampen a party and bring me down. Because regardless of their exact words, I got their meaning! I was acting badly and I was going to pay for that bad behavior! I was going to reap the consequences for my behavior.
The more I read the more it seemed to me that King Adoni-bezek must have grown up around some of my relatives because he certainly was “getting” that same concept. He himself said, “As I have done, so God has repaid me.”
Now while I believe that there are consequences for my behavior, it doesn’t always set well with me when I’m pondering God’s mercy and grace in the New Testament with His “an eye for eye and a tooth for a tooth” in the Old. Any of you ever think like that, or am I the only one?
I mean it sort of seems that God is pretty ticked off through a lot of the Old Testament. Just look how quickly the victory in chapter 1 of Judges turns to God’s anger in chapter 2. It seems almost instantly the Israelites have gone and done it again and it isn’t near as much fun when Daddy catches them acting badly again!
Judges 2:20-23 (NLT)
So the anger of the LORD burned against Israel, and He said, "Because this nation has transgressed My covenant which I commanded their fathers and has not listened to My voice,
21(I also will no longer drive out before them any of the nations which Joshua left when he died,
22in order to (test Israel by them, whether they will keep the way of the LORD to walk in it as their fathers did, or not."
23So the LORD allowed those nations to remain, not driving them out quickly; and He did not give them into the hand of Joshua.
So which is He? Is He the “Eye for an Eye,” God or the “Mercy and Grace,” Savior?
No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t come up with an answer that made sense to me, so I decided to just keep reading and trusting that God is love and love is all about mercy and love is all about grace and trusting is all about faith. Faith that even when I can’t understand and don’t have the capacity for it that God is always faithful and true and can be trusted. Then I came to the third chapter of Judges.
Judges 3:1-2 (NLT)
These are the nations that the Lord left in the land to test those Israelites who had not experienced the wars of Canaan. 2 He did this to teach warfare to generations of Israelites who had no experience in battle.
Wait a minute, maybe it’s not about punishment at all. Maybe it’s about discipline? One definition of discipline is; “Training expected to produce a specific character or pattern of behavior.”
God wasn’t just being mean, punishing the Israelites for bad behavior. He was disciplining them – teaching them to be warriors so they could defend themselves. He loved them so much that He wanted them prepared for life and even though it was in His power to do so, for some reason He just didn’t hand it over to them - they had to do some work for it. Really sounds like a parent doesn’t it. His heart was for His children’s good, so He allowed a situation, circumstance, through which they could learn a specific character or pattern of behavior – He had an outcome in mind other than retribution! He wanted them successfully involved in their outcomes!
So this thought begs the question, when was the last time you had your thumbs and big toes cut off? What was your situation? Did you, like King Adoni-bezek, believe or even say, “God has repaid me?” Or maybe you tried to figure out what you’d done that made God mad enough to bring the catastrophe, this situation I'm seeing as punishment?
But let’s take a closer look.
Judges 2:11-16
The Israelites did evil in the Lord’s sight and served the images of Baal. They abandoned the lord, the God of their ancestors, who had brought them out of Egypt. They went after other gods, worshiping the gods of the people around them. And they angered the Lord. They abandoned the Lord to serve Baal and the images of Ashtoreth. This made the Lord burn with anger against Israel, so He handed them over to their enemies all around, and they were no longer able to resist them, causing them to be defected as as He had warned. And the people were in great distress.
Let’s continue....
Judges 1:16 Then the Lord raised up judges to rescue the Israelites from their attackers.
Now, let that all sink in just for a minute. How many times have I always focused on the “punishment,” here and not really comprehended everything that is being communicated.
1) They had been warned, time and time again - instructed on how to behave. Were told that they behavior had consequences. They refused to listen, like many children, believing they knew what was best and that they didn’t have to follow God’s
(Daddy's) instructions.
2) When their behavior opened the door to catastrophe, like most children do - they cried out to their Daddy (God) to take over and save them and get them out of a horrible situation (one created by their behavior).
3)God’s love for His children is so strong that even though it happened time and time and He knew they’d behave badly again and again, He stepped in with a plan to save them. (Judges 1:16)
He forgave them, put a plan in place that would give them the tools to be successful and it didn’t cost them anything. All they had to do was receive it. Sounds pretty good doesn’t it? Sounds like mercy, grace and love to me. Sounds like I've been focusing on the wrong portion of the scriptures!
According to Timothy Keller’s book “Prodigal God;” “Mercy and forgiveness must be free and unmerited to the wrongdoer - if the wrongdoer has to do something to merit it, then it isn’t mercy.” But this doesn’t mean that forgiveness is free, “forgiveness always comes at a cost to the One granting the forgiveness.”
You see God not only stepped in with a plan to save the Israelites this time, but because He’s God, He knew that they’d need help time and time again. He knew that we’d never be able to manage it either on our own either. He knew that forgiveness would be costly, not to us - but to Him. As Keller writes, “Jesus was stripped naked of His robe and dignity so that we could be clothed with a dignity and standing we don’t deserve. On the cross Jesus was treated as an outcast so that we could be brought into God’s family freely by grace. There Jesus drank the cup of eternal justice so that we might have the cup of the Father’s joy. There was no other way for the heavenly Father to bring us in, except at the expense of our true elder brother.”
He loves me so much that He's willing to discipline me as any good parent does and He willing paid the costs involved in forgiveness. How awesome is that?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
We Forgot Music
We gathered at the church with our immediate family and two best friends, so the church was mostly empty. The preacher performing the ceremony was from my parent’s church, he stood with a solemn expression just in front of the altar. No one thought to lower the lights and I was blinded by their glare as I sat three pews back beside my Mom.
Someone finally took charge, I don’t remember who, and I was directed to the front. My dress, pink over pink, was short - striking just above my knee. His suit brown, perhaps the first one his parent’s had ever gotten for him, and a green shirt. I was shocked by that green shirt, it just didn’t seem appropriate for the occasion.
My best friend stood beside me as my maid of honor. We arranged for his little sister to be flower girl but hadn’t bothered with actually bringing any petals for her to drop. Our wedding rings, plan gold bands to precious for us to trust to my nephew to carry as ring barer. His father’s words still ringing in my ears of our irresponsible in spending money on such nonsense as those rings.
As I stood just in front of the preacher waiting for the service to begin, my mind traveled back over the past two months. His mom’s anger and never ending lament of “How could you do this to me?” His father grim statement, “Well son you’re stuck with her now;” speaking as though I was invisible and not standing there right beside his son as he spoke.
I couldn’t figure out why my parents allowed his father, after long fervent insisting, to take me on that mad trip to Paris, Va (without them) thinking we could “secretly” get married there even though only 17. Or his bringing us into his kitchen and chastising us (me) for telling someone that I was pregnant as though anyone with any awareness couldn’t easily see that I was only gaining weight around my waist. Besides it wasn’t like it was going to be going away.
The Ceremony finally began and was over very quickly. The only sound I remember, the clicking of my knees as I tried to stand still and pay attention to what the preacher was saying.
I signed the marriage license then as he signed his name, I stood just behind him twisting the wedding band round and round on my finger wondering if I just say it right now and take the ring off before we walk out of the church that this craziness would end and we’d not be married. I could just go back to being a senior in high school.
But I didn’t say a word - just stood there in total silence and to this day the one memory that over shadows all others is the deafening silence. The wedding, with no joy, no congratulations, and absolutely no music.
Someone finally took charge, I don’t remember who, and I was directed to the front. My dress, pink over pink, was short - striking just above my knee. His suit brown, perhaps the first one his parent’s had ever gotten for him, and a green shirt. I was shocked by that green shirt, it just didn’t seem appropriate for the occasion.
My best friend stood beside me as my maid of honor. We arranged for his little sister to be flower girl but hadn’t bothered with actually bringing any petals for her to drop. Our wedding rings, plan gold bands to precious for us to trust to my nephew to carry as ring barer. His father’s words still ringing in my ears of our irresponsible in spending money on such nonsense as those rings.
As I stood just in front of the preacher waiting for the service to begin, my mind traveled back over the past two months. His mom’s anger and never ending lament of “How could you do this to me?” His father grim statement, “Well son you’re stuck with her now;” speaking as though I was invisible and not standing there right beside his son as he spoke.
I couldn’t figure out why my parents allowed his father, after long fervent insisting, to take me on that mad trip to Paris, Va (without them) thinking we could “secretly” get married there even though only 17. Or his bringing us into his kitchen and chastising us (me) for telling someone that I was pregnant as though anyone with any awareness couldn’t easily see that I was only gaining weight around my waist. Besides it wasn’t like it was going to be going away.
The Ceremony finally began and was over very quickly. The only sound I remember, the clicking of my knees as I tried to stand still and pay attention to what the preacher was saying.
I signed the marriage license then as he signed his name, I stood just behind him twisting the wedding band round and round on my finger wondering if I just say it right now and take the ring off before we walk out of the church that this craziness would end and we’d not be married. I could just go back to being a senior in high school.
But I didn’t say a word - just stood there in total silence and to this day the one memory that over shadows all others is the deafening silence. The wedding, with no joy, no congratulations, and absolutely no music.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
I Too Have a Dream
My entire life I’ve really struggled with understanding racial prejudice. How is it that the pigmentation in our skins – a detail created by less than a 2% difference in our DNA – can create a situation or mind set that allows a person to think less of a group of people and more of themselves?
In the mid-fifties while I was a little girl, my family moved from the hills of Eastern Kentucky to Huntington, WV. Our house was located directly across the street from a good sized hospital where many of the employees were people of color. This was the first time in my life that I can remember ever seeing anyone who really didn’t look like me and I was totally fascinated. I would set on the front porch with my mother and watch the people as they came and went from work; talking with each other, joking, laughing - with skin that looked to me like chocolate silk. I wanted to get closer, to be able to touch that skin and look directly into their eyes, maybe even talk with them some, but my mother’s answer to that request was, “stop staring Peggy, it’s not polite.”
Before I was in grade school we moved across the Ohio River to Chesapeake, Ohio, which for all intents and purposes was a totally white community. So, the only time I’d see anyone of color would either be on television (usually the news), or on our twice monthly public transportation rides (we rode the City Bus) to town to pay bills and to do a little shopping. As we journeyed, the bus stopped frequently allowing people on and off and it was a mix, a casserole, of skin colors and nationalities. Once again I was totally fascinated. I wanted to get closer – to touch and see. But my Mother’s voice was still loud and clear; “Peggy, stop staring it’s not polite!”
I remember watching Martin Luther King on the news in 1963 as he gave his address “I’ve Got a Dream!” I can still feel the chills and the emotion it brought to me even at the tender age of eight. His words motivated me and I wanted to go and be an active part of the solution instead of part of the problem. It was around this time that I discovered books, so a whole world opened up to me and I remember reading the library out on every book that covered the topic of the Underground Railroad - I identified which of the houses just to the east of us were a part of that road to freedom so many years ago and my active imagination would run through different scenarios of those journeys, the hardship, the hiding in the dark, the perils to both the runaway and those assisting them.
It’s not that I wasn’t aware of prejudice, even though I lived in an entire “white” community and thus didn’t see it in action - I did hear the talk. I heard the conversations that the adults thought were going over my head as I sat on the floor playing jacks. And, I remember all too well the times that I was urged to be quiet when I so desperately wanted to question what I heard, being told that I was just too young to understand… Well I didn’t understand then and I don’t understand now.
I’m not saying that I can understand any person’s or ethic group’s personal struggle, just as they cannot totally and completely understand mine. I’m just trying to figure out why we have to approach our differences in this manner.
Maybe it has more to do with an individual that I recently had to let go from work. You see I supervised her and her supervisor during her short tenure and while it wouldn’t be appropriate to go into the reasons for the dismissal, it never entered my mind to let her go for any reason other than her individual conduct and performance. Yet, now she is saying is was because she is a person of color. She appears to be on a massive campaign (not her first during her employ with us) trying to involve the media and trying to discredit not only me, but my company as well. Never touching on the personal responsibility that is hers based on her actions that has nothing to do with race.
My usual response is to stay quiet, not speak out, not question; because as my Mother used to admonish me, it’s just not polite. But is that the correct response? Is it okay to lay blame where it doesn’t belong, to create reasons that don’t exist just because there is always someone who is going to be willing to listen and believe? I know that the answer to that question is it is going to occur that way because we live in a fallen world after all. But God is in charge and all things work to the good of those who love Him and are called to His purpose. So my prayer today is that God rains multiple blessings on this woman. Blessings of provision and blessings of peace – that He place people in her life that will help her along her walk and that He draw her closer to Him with each and every breath she takes. I ask this for myself as well and that He completely blankets us both in His truth.
In the mid-fifties while I was a little girl, my family moved from the hills of Eastern Kentucky to Huntington, WV. Our house was located directly across the street from a good sized hospital where many of the employees were people of color. This was the first time in my life that I can remember ever seeing anyone who really didn’t look like me and I was totally fascinated. I would set on the front porch with my mother and watch the people as they came and went from work; talking with each other, joking, laughing - with skin that looked to me like chocolate silk. I wanted to get closer, to be able to touch that skin and look directly into their eyes, maybe even talk with them some, but my mother’s answer to that request was, “stop staring Peggy, it’s not polite.”
Before I was in grade school we moved across the Ohio River to Chesapeake, Ohio, which for all intents and purposes was a totally white community. So, the only time I’d see anyone of color would either be on television (usually the news), or on our twice monthly public transportation rides (we rode the City Bus) to town to pay bills and to do a little shopping. As we journeyed, the bus stopped frequently allowing people on and off and it was a mix, a casserole, of skin colors and nationalities. Once again I was totally fascinated. I wanted to get closer – to touch and see. But my Mother’s voice was still loud and clear; “Peggy, stop staring it’s not polite!”
I remember watching Martin Luther King on the news in 1963 as he gave his address “I’ve Got a Dream!” I can still feel the chills and the emotion it brought to me even at the tender age of eight. His words motivated me and I wanted to go and be an active part of the solution instead of part of the problem. It was around this time that I discovered books, so a whole world opened up to me and I remember reading the library out on every book that covered the topic of the Underground Railroad - I identified which of the houses just to the east of us were a part of that road to freedom so many years ago and my active imagination would run through different scenarios of those journeys, the hardship, the hiding in the dark, the perils to both the runaway and those assisting them.
It’s not that I wasn’t aware of prejudice, even though I lived in an entire “white” community and thus didn’t see it in action - I did hear the talk. I heard the conversations that the adults thought were going over my head as I sat on the floor playing jacks. And, I remember all too well the times that I was urged to be quiet when I so desperately wanted to question what I heard, being told that I was just too young to understand… Well I didn’t understand then and I don’t understand now.
I’m not saying that I can understand any person’s or ethic group’s personal struggle, just as they cannot totally and completely understand mine. I’m just trying to figure out why we have to approach our differences in this manner.
Maybe it has more to do with an individual that I recently had to let go from work. You see I supervised her and her supervisor during her short tenure and while it wouldn’t be appropriate to go into the reasons for the dismissal, it never entered my mind to let her go for any reason other than her individual conduct and performance. Yet, now she is saying is was because she is a person of color. She appears to be on a massive campaign (not her first during her employ with us) trying to involve the media and trying to discredit not only me, but my company as well. Never touching on the personal responsibility that is hers based on her actions that has nothing to do with race.
My usual response is to stay quiet, not speak out, not question; because as my Mother used to admonish me, it’s just not polite. But is that the correct response? Is it okay to lay blame where it doesn’t belong, to create reasons that don’t exist just because there is always someone who is going to be willing to listen and believe? I know that the answer to that question is it is going to occur that way because we live in a fallen world after all. But God is in charge and all things work to the good of those who love Him and are called to His purpose. So my prayer today is that God rains multiple blessings on this woman. Blessings of provision and blessings of peace – that He place people in her life that will help her along her walk and that He draw her closer to Him with each and every breath she takes. I ask this for myself as well and that He completely blankets us both in His truth.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Mom
Perhaps the best place to start is at the beginning of the end. That day wasn’t much different than many of the others that I had had to face with my Dad. Began with a phone call, “Peg, this is Dad. Your Mother has fallen and I can’t manage to get her up by myself.” “Have you called an ambulance?” “Should I? I called just before I called you.” “Is she conscience?” “Yes.” “What happened?” “She was on her way to the bedroom, with her walker, she stopped at the doorway – there just over the floor furnace grate. I asked her what was wrong, and she said her legs were going to give way. I tried to catch her, but before I could get there she was on her knees, holding herself up with just her arms. I was trying to get onto floor with her, but there wasn’t much room to maneuver, she said that perhaps she could push herself with my help through the door and over to her bed, and we could get her up from there. I moved the walker to give this a try. We hadn’t really started when she said she thought her arms were going to give way too, her arms began that uncontrollable tremble, before I could react her arms gave out and she fell hard to the floor. Hit her head.” “Dad, you’re taking her straight to the Emergency Room?” “Yes.” “I’ll meet you there.”
I was at work, in the warehouse when the phone call came and while not that different from the dozens of other phone calls I had received from Dad over the past two years since Mom’s stoke, this call took my breath. I felt like I had jumped into a pool filled with ice water, and even though it was an unseasonably warm evening in October I broke out in goose bumps and a cold sweat.
I ran down the rickety steps to the ground floor. Calmly stated, “Got to go, Mom’s fallen and I need to meet Dad at the hospital.” Concern from those present, “Is she okay?” “No, I don’t think so.” Their questions came heavy and slow as though being filtered through thick syrup, my statements and responses coming from somewhere outside of myself. Silently screaming at myself, “Hurry, Hurry! How can you be so calm!”
The drive in many ways seemed longer than normal, yet because of my fears and what I thought I would have to face it ended to quickly. “Please let her be alive, please let her be alive, Lord if she has to go tonight, please let it be after I get there, please God, please God,” I pleaded over and over again. That drive is magnified in my mind’s eye. The night sky clear and dark with a golden tint coming from where the sun had just fallen beneath the horizon. The lights from the Ashland building on the hill over the 6th Street exit sparkle as I pass. How can it be so beautiful? How can anything bad happen on a night such as this one? “Please let her be alive, please let her be alive, Lord if she must go tonight, please let me there before she leaves. God, please. God, please.”
I was so sure of this day’s outcome that I called my boss while in route. “Mom’s fallen, I’m going to meet her and Dad at the Emergency Room.” “Is she okay? she asked.” “No, I don’t think so. You’ll need to call Roger and make sure the warehouse is covered, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t think that I will be available.” “Call me when you know something,” concern in her voice. “I’ll do my best.”
I try calling my sister, no answer at either her Charleston or Charlotte numbers. I leave messages at both. “Sharon, this is Peggy. I’m on the way to meet Dad at the Emergency Room. Mom fell in the hallway, on top of the furnace grate.” I call my older brother, and though nearly paralyzed with fear, I assure him that everything is okay (Oh God, please let it be so) and that I’ll call from the hospital. He is to call our other brother, Tom. After I hang up I wonder why I said that? Do I really believe that everything is going to be okay? I’m afraid that I’m so selfish that the reason is that I want her last living moment to be with me, only me. No, that’s not it – she is going to be alright, she will be going home. I’m not ready to be without my Mother.
Mom reached the hospital in her ambulance at almost the same time that my Dad and I arrive in our cars. I’m directed back to a small room, where my mother is lying on a hospital gurney much to small for her girth, already in a hospital gown her body is doing it’s best to bust out of. She has managed to keep her pants on though and appears more comfortable for that fact. Her nose is scraped and there’s a small red bump coming up just to the side of her forehead.
I lean over and stroke her face and hair with both my hands. She looks into my eyes and smiles. States in no uncertain terms, “I need to pee now!” Before I can get the nurses to get me a bedpan it’s too late, Mom soils her pants. No problem, easy clean up. “I love you Mama,” I say over and over again. I feel foolish, so sure this was the end. Yes she’s bruised, but in fine spirits. Talkative as usual, a magpie.
Hospital personnel arrive and whisk her away for a CAT scan. Dad and I wait in her small room. He repeats the events of the day. Mom got up with a headache, maybe he should have taken more notice. She has chronic headaches, how was he to know that this one might be different. How will he get her home, they will have to keep her until she can walk. If she can’t walk how will he take care of her. The thoughts swirling around and around in his head are coming in a steady stream out his mouth. I try to calm him the best I can, feeling such relief that my mother appears not to be at death’s door that I find a spot on the floor and finally allow my body to just give way onto it. The multitude of problems that are facing Dad too insignificant in comparison with my thoughts up to this point.
Mother’s return to her room in the same high spirits. Restarts the conversation as though she hasn’t been gone for the better part of an hour. Her conversation is music, never ending soothing music. “Peggy, I dreamed of Dale today.”
Dale is my aunt, not by blood but by decision. She is the daughter of my grandmother’s (my father’s mother) second husband. Dale lived most of my life on and off with us as I was growing up, like a sister to my Mother and a surrogate mother to me. She died on December 3, 1992.
“What was your dream? I ask Mom.” “I dreamed I was somewhere with Dale, but I don’t know exactly where, it’s wasn’t familiar. We were taking care of a baby. That baby was the prettiest little thing, had blond hair. Oh, Peggy we were having the best time! I really hated to wake up.”
“Peg, I got to go again.” “No problem, I’ll go get the nurses.” Again, too late.
For the next several hours Mom needed to go like clockwork every 15 minutes. “What did you drink today?” “Nothing different. Oh, there I go again. No warning that time.” The nurses finally wise up and put in a catheter.
The doctor comes in, stays two minutes and leaves. The physician’s assistant comes in and says that the CAT scan is really unremarkable. Shows us what “might” be a shadow, or it could be where she moved during the procedure. If it’s a shadow, it’s probably where her brain is bruised from the fall. They’ll let us know more later.
I still think that we will be taking Mom home that night, Dad doesn’t think so. If she can’t walk how will he get home much less take care of her. We’ll cross that bridge when it comes is all I can think.
More tests and more waiting. Mom magically scoots to the foot of the mini-bed and is unable to get herself rearranged. The nurses are called again and get her back in position. The PA returns stating they will be keeping Mom over night for observation.
Mom hates being in the hospital. All her life it’s been one thing or the other, mostly asthma and she dreads every moment given over to a stay. She doesn’t like to stay alone. I’m torn, because I know this. I also know that I will need to go to work tomorrow and that I will be dead tired after sleeping in a chair by her bedside. “Mom, would you like for me to stay with you.” “Peggy I hate for you to have to do that, with your bad back and all.” “I don’t mind, I love being with you. I will need to run to the house though, bring the dog in the house and get some clothes for work tomorrow. Dad can you get back by say 7:30 or 8:00am?” Dad smiles, “earlier if you want.” “No, 8:00am will be fine.” “Dad, you won’t go before I get back will you?” “No, as a matter of fact she’ll probably still be here – you know how slow this place is to do anything.”
I kiss my Mother, telling her I’ll be back as soon as possible. My Mother’s last words to me are, “I really hate for you to do this, are you sure you don’t mind?”
I arrive home, still relieved and begin to prepare for the next day. It’s after midnight and my poor dog has been chained up outside since 7:00am! She is wired and needing to play. After I pack I set down to play with the dog and work off some of her energy before I put her in her crate. The phone rings.
“Peggy, you better get back fast.” My fathers words over the line. “Why? What’s happened.” Not long after you left Mom wanted to set up on the side of the bed so I helped her up. She started picking at the bottoms of my shirt, trying to rip them off. Then she started trying to get up off the bed. I said, “Inas, what are you doing? You know you can’t get up, and you’re going to rip my shirt.” She told me plan as day, “Yes I can. I’m going to walk over there and set in that chair for a while.” Well, I talked her out of that then she began trying to rip the buttons off my shirt again. I knew something wasn’t right so I got the nurses. They have your Mom back doing another CAT scan.
I’m on my way.
I don’t remember one moment of this second trip to the hospital. It is as though I was home and then suddenly I was back at the hospital.
Mother is in a different room, larger so that more hospital personnel can get in and care for her. The PA meets me at the door. “The CAT scan shows a large accident. She’s bleeding into her brain. The speech area of her brain is gone, she won’t be able to speak to you and I think most of her memory will be going soon as well.” Blunt and to the point, but she did keep her hand on my shoulder through the entire conversation. She walked me over to show me proof on the CAT scan film. There was a dark ball taking up about a quarter of Mom’s brain.
I run to Mom’s room. The nurses carefully explain that Mother can’t speak to me, but can hear everything. That it would be good for me to talk with her, reassure her, tell her goodbye.
I walk up the bed. Larger this time, cradling her girth. I lean over the bed and stroke her face and hair with both my hands, “Mom, I love you. Have they explained to you what’s happened?” She looks up at me, a very direct look, unreadable. Fear isn’t mirrored there, only longing. I’m struck with just how beautiful my Mother really is. Her eyes are simply fantastic.
I see peace there, in my Mother’s eyes. And something else – perhaps longing. Dad returns. Confused and in denial. Tells me that another doctor was there earlier wanting to make some decisions, but he told him to come back after I got there.
The Doctor arrives and wants to talk about our options. Dad wants to leave Mom’s room, the doctor states even though she can’t speak she can hear us perfectly well, that any conversation we have regarding her is her right to hear.
He breaks horrible news. There is a massive bleed and there won’t, no can’t, be full recovery. He tells us that if she lives, and it will be a miracle if that happens even with dynamic effort, she probably won’t remember any of us and she’ll definitely never be able to speak again.
By this time Mom has slipped away, still alive but unconscious and who knows if she can hear us or not.
The doctor’s news is grim and Dad is barely in control. I ask the doctor, if we go for dynamic measures what does that involve. He describes surgery, busting into Mom’s brain by removing a portion of her skull - massive long procedure that can only be done after they get her blood thickened (she has been on blood thinner for years). He explains that the very act of taking her off the blood thinners may create a clot that either migrates to the lungs or the brain which in itself may end up killing her. I look the doctor dead in the eyes and ask him point blank - is your mother still alive. He answers yes. If it were your mother, right here, right now and you were making the decision for her - what would you decision be? He doesn’t hesitate, tells me that he’d take her off of all live support and medications, thus creating a situation where she would simply fade away from us.
Dad and I discuss the options and decide to go with the doctors recommendations. Just after the decision is made, my brothers arrive and everything has to be retold and the decisions made again. I’m beyond exhausted and feel as though if they don’t stop talking that my head is going to explode. Finally, they wheel Mom to her room and I set up to spend the night.
That night turned into six nights. People came and people went, I flew my kids in from across the country (my son from California and my daughter from Texas) so that they could say goodbye to a warm body. I went for 72 hours before my body forced sleep on me - so afraid that she’d pass without me aware. You see I had to be there, it was so important to me to be there when her spirit left her body. I don’t know why - it just was all I could think of. Either that she’d open her eyes and all would be well or her spirit would slip away and for either I had to be there.
The six days and nights that Mom lingered we clung together as a family. Cousins, aunts, nieces, nephews, sons and daughters, grandchildren, we came together as though it was a reunion. We loved each other and we were horrible to one another. I think back on that week and wonder how any of us survived the tension and stress of waiting for Mom to die.
One of my last memories is standing by the bed, stroking Mom’s hair, willing her to open her eyes and be okay. A longing came over me so strong that I still wonder why I didn’t act on it. To just crawl into the bed with her and hug her tight. You see when I was a little girl, I loved finding Mom alone in her and Dad’s bed and crawling under the covers with her. I loved her scent and the warmth of her skin as well as the sound of her deep and steady breathing. I was so over whelmed with that old longing, to crawl in that bed with Mom just as I did when I was a little, that to this day I don’t know how I managed not to follow my heart. But I didn’t do it, I stood there and pushed that longing aside and to this day oh how I wish I had followed my heart.
Six days after she fell, around 11:00am on a dark and rainy day Mom quietly slipped away. The six days that she lingered were the most emotionally wrenching and stressful time of my life. Images forever burned on my brain. Yet I cannot remember the exact day in October or the exact year of her death and I always wonder why that is.
I was at work, in the warehouse when the phone call came and while not that different from the dozens of other phone calls I had received from Dad over the past two years since Mom’s stoke, this call took my breath. I felt like I had jumped into a pool filled with ice water, and even though it was an unseasonably warm evening in October I broke out in goose bumps and a cold sweat.
I ran down the rickety steps to the ground floor. Calmly stated, “Got to go, Mom’s fallen and I need to meet Dad at the hospital.” Concern from those present, “Is she okay?” “No, I don’t think so.” Their questions came heavy and slow as though being filtered through thick syrup, my statements and responses coming from somewhere outside of myself. Silently screaming at myself, “Hurry, Hurry! How can you be so calm!”
The drive in many ways seemed longer than normal, yet because of my fears and what I thought I would have to face it ended to quickly. “Please let her be alive, please let her be alive, Lord if she has to go tonight, please let it be after I get there, please God, please God,” I pleaded over and over again. That drive is magnified in my mind’s eye. The night sky clear and dark with a golden tint coming from where the sun had just fallen beneath the horizon. The lights from the Ashland building on the hill over the 6th Street exit sparkle as I pass. How can it be so beautiful? How can anything bad happen on a night such as this one? “Please let her be alive, please let her be alive, Lord if she must go tonight, please let me there before she leaves. God, please. God, please.”
I was so sure of this day’s outcome that I called my boss while in route. “Mom’s fallen, I’m going to meet her and Dad at the Emergency Room.” “Is she okay? she asked.” “No, I don’t think so. You’ll need to call Roger and make sure the warehouse is covered, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t think that I will be available.” “Call me when you know something,” concern in her voice. “I’ll do my best.”
I try calling my sister, no answer at either her Charleston or Charlotte numbers. I leave messages at both. “Sharon, this is Peggy. I’m on the way to meet Dad at the Emergency Room. Mom fell in the hallway, on top of the furnace grate.” I call my older brother, and though nearly paralyzed with fear, I assure him that everything is okay (Oh God, please let it be so) and that I’ll call from the hospital. He is to call our other brother, Tom. After I hang up I wonder why I said that? Do I really believe that everything is going to be okay? I’m afraid that I’m so selfish that the reason is that I want her last living moment to be with me, only me. No, that’s not it – she is going to be alright, she will be going home. I’m not ready to be without my Mother.
Mom reached the hospital in her ambulance at almost the same time that my Dad and I arrive in our cars. I’m directed back to a small room, where my mother is lying on a hospital gurney much to small for her girth, already in a hospital gown her body is doing it’s best to bust out of. She has managed to keep her pants on though and appears more comfortable for that fact. Her nose is scraped and there’s a small red bump coming up just to the side of her forehead.
I lean over and stroke her face and hair with both my hands. She looks into my eyes and smiles. States in no uncertain terms, “I need to pee now!” Before I can get the nurses to get me a bedpan it’s too late, Mom soils her pants. No problem, easy clean up. “I love you Mama,” I say over and over again. I feel foolish, so sure this was the end. Yes she’s bruised, but in fine spirits. Talkative as usual, a magpie.
Hospital personnel arrive and whisk her away for a CAT scan. Dad and I wait in her small room. He repeats the events of the day. Mom got up with a headache, maybe he should have taken more notice. She has chronic headaches, how was he to know that this one might be different. How will he get her home, they will have to keep her until she can walk. If she can’t walk how will he take care of her. The thoughts swirling around and around in his head are coming in a steady stream out his mouth. I try to calm him the best I can, feeling such relief that my mother appears not to be at death’s door that I find a spot on the floor and finally allow my body to just give way onto it. The multitude of problems that are facing Dad too insignificant in comparison with my thoughts up to this point.
Mother’s return to her room in the same high spirits. Restarts the conversation as though she hasn’t been gone for the better part of an hour. Her conversation is music, never ending soothing music. “Peggy, I dreamed of Dale today.”
Dale is my aunt, not by blood but by decision. She is the daughter of my grandmother’s (my father’s mother) second husband. Dale lived most of my life on and off with us as I was growing up, like a sister to my Mother and a surrogate mother to me. She died on December 3, 1992.
“What was your dream? I ask Mom.” “I dreamed I was somewhere with Dale, but I don’t know exactly where, it’s wasn’t familiar. We were taking care of a baby. That baby was the prettiest little thing, had blond hair. Oh, Peggy we were having the best time! I really hated to wake up.”
“Peg, I got to go again.” “No problem, I’ll go get the nurses.” Again, too late.
For the next several hours Mom needed to go like clockwork every 15 minutes. “What did you drink today?” “Nothing different. Oh, there I go again. No warning that time.” The nurses finally wise up and put in a catheter.
The doctor comes in, stays two minutes and leaves. The physician’s assistant comes in and says that the CAT scan is really unremarkable. Shows us what “might” be a shadow, or it could be where she moved during the procedure. If it’s a shadow, it’s probably where her brain is bruised from the fall. They’ll let us know more later.
I still think that we will be taking Mom home that night, Dad doesn’t think so. If she can’t walk how will he get home much less take care of her. We’ll cross that bridge when it comes is all I can think.
More tests and more waiting. Mom magically scoots to the foot of the mini-bed and is unable to get herself rearranged. The nurses are called again and get her back in position. The PA returns stating they will be keeping Mom over night for observation.
Mom hates being in the hospital. All her life it’s been one thing or the other, mostly asthma and she dreads every moment given over to a stay. She doesn’t like to stay alone. I’m torn, because I know this. I also know that I will need to go to work tomorrow and that I will be dead tired after sleeping in a chair by her bedside. “Mom, would you like for me to stay with you.” “Peggy I hate for you to have to do that, with your bad back and all.” “I don’t mind, I love being with you. I will need to run to the house though, bring the dog in the house and get some clothes for work tomorrow. Dad can you get back by say 7:30 or 8:00am?” Dad smiles, “earlier if you want.” “No, 8:00am will be fine.” “Dad, you won’t go before I get back will you?” “No, as a matter of fact she’ll probably still be here – you know how slow this place is to do anything.”
I kiss my Mother, telling her I’ll be back as soon as possible. My Mother’s last words to me are, “I really hate for you to do this, are you sure you don’t mind?”
I arrive home, still relieved and begin to prepare for the next day. It’s after midnight and my poor dog has been chained up outside since 7:00am! She is wired and needing to play. After I pack I set down to play with the dog and work off some of her energy before I put her in her crate. The phone rings.
“Peggy, you better get back fast.” My fathers words over the line. “Why? What’s happened.” Not long after you left Mom wanted to set up on the side of the bed so I helped her up. She started picking at the bottoms of my shirt, trying to rip them off. Then she started trying to get up off the bed. I said, “Inas, what are you doing? You know you can’t get up, and you’re going to rip my shirt.” She told me plan as day, “Yes I can. I’m going to walk over there and set in that chair for a while.” Well, I talked her out of that then she began trying to rip the buttons off my shirt again. I knew something wasn’t right so I got the nurses. They have your Mom back doing another CAT scan.
I’m on my way.
I don’t remember one moment of this second trip to the hospital. It is as though I was home and then suddenly I was back at the hospital.
Mother is in a different room, larger so that more hospital personnel can get in and care for her. The PA meets me at the door. “The CAT scan shows a large accident. She’s bleeding into her brain. The speech area of her brain is gone, she won’t be able to speak to you and I think most of her memory will be going soon as well.” Blunt and to the point, but she did keep her hand on my shoulder through the entire conversation. She walked me over to show me proof on the CAT scan film. There was a dark ball taking up about a quarter of Mom’s brain.
I run to Mom’s room. The nurses carefully explain that Mother can’t speak to me, but can hear everything. That it would be good for me to talk with her, reassure her, tell her goodbye.
I walk up the bed. Larger this time, cradling her girth. I lean over the bed and stroke her face and hair with both my hands, “Mom, I love you. Have they explained to you what’s happened?” She looks up at me, a very direct look, unreadable. Fear isn’t mirrored there, only longing. I’m struck with just how beautiful my Mother really is. Her eyes are simply fantastic.
I see peace there, in my Mother’s eyes. And something else – perhaps longing. Dad returns. Confused and in denial. Tells me that another doctor was there earlier wanting to make some decisions, but he told him to come back after I got there.
The Doctor arrives and wants to talk about our options. Dad wants to leave Mom’s room, the doctor states even though she can’t speak she can hear us perfectly well, that any conversation we have regarding her is her right to hear.
He breaks horrible news. There is a massive bleed and there won’t, no can’t, be full recovery. He tells us that if she lives, and it will be a miracle if that happens even with dynamic effort, she probably won’t remember any of us and she’ll definitely never be able to speak again.
By this time Mom has slipped away, still alive but unconscious and who knows if she can hear us or not.
The doctor’s news is grim and Dad is barely in control. I ask the doctor, if we go for dynamic measures what does that involve. He describes surgery, busting into Mom’s brain by removing a portion of her skull - massive long procedure that can only be done after they get her blood thickened (she has been on blood thinner for years). He explains that the very act of taking her off the blood thinners may create a clot that either migrates to the lungs or the brain which in itself may end up killing her. I look the doctor dead in the eyes and ask him point blank - is your mother still alive. He answers yes. If it were your mother, right here, right now and you were making the decision for her - what would you decision be? He doesn’t hesitate, tells me that he’d take her off of all live support and medications, thus creating a situation where she would simply fade away from us.
Dad and I discuss the options and decide to go with the doctors recommendations. Just after the decision is made, my brothers arrive and everything has to be retold and the decisions made again. I’m beyond exhausted and feel as though if they don’t stop talking that my head is going to explode. Finally, they wheel Mom to her room and I set up to spend the night.
That night turned into six nights. People came and people went, I flew my kids in from across the country (my son from California and my daughter from Texas) so that they could say goodbye to a warm body. I went for 72 hours before my body forced sleep on me - so afraid that she’d pass without me aware. You see I had to be there, it was so important to me to be there when her spirit left her body. I don’t know why - it just was all I could think of. Either that she’d open her eyes and all would be well or her spirit would slip away and for either I had to be there.
The six days and nights that Mom lingered we clung together as a family. Cousins, aunts, nieces, nephews, sons and daughters, grandchildren, we came together as though it was a reunion. We loved each other and we were horrible to one another. I think back on that week and wonder how any of us survived the tension and stress of waiting for Mom to die.
One of my last memories is standing by the bed, stroking Mom’s hair, willing her to open her eyes and be okay. A longing came over me so strong that I still wonder why I didn’t act on it. To just crawl into the bed with her and hug her tight. You see when I was a little girl, I loved finding Mom alone in her and Dad’s bed and crawling under the covers with her. I loved her scent and the warmth of her skin as well as the sound of her deep and steady breathing. I was so over whelmed with that old longing, to crawl in that bed with Mom just as I did when I was a little, that to this day I don’t know how I managed not to follow my heart. But I didn’t do it, I stood there and pushed that longing aside and to this day oh how I wish I had followed my heart.
Six days after she fell, around 11:00am on a dark and rainy day Mom quietly slipped away. The six days that she lingered were the most emotionally wrenching and stressful time of my life. Images forever burned on my brain. Yet I cannot remember the exact day in October or the exact year of her death and I always wonder why that is.
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