Lost and Found

Yesterday one of my dogs ran off after a rabbit or a deer, and presumably became lost. I was distraught, and right away ran the checklist for a lost pet--posted on the local Lost Pet Facebook page, contacted the county animal shelters, made flyers, called the vet, my friends, and, yes, I prayed. It was getting dark when she ran off,  so I could not traipse through the woods looking for her. I had trouble sleeping.  I left the porch lights on all night in case she came back.I opened the door and hollered her name every 30 minutes. The next morning, I got the call from the animal shelter--they had my Macy. She was found. I was ecstatic, overjoyed, and I updated her status on Facebook and via phone calls and text messages. I celebrated her safe return by buying her a double cheeseburger.  

Through it all, I was receiving FaceBook notifications and messages and texts (and still am!) at an astounding rate. People I had never met were sharing my "lost dog" post, reacting with sad faces on my page and on the official lost pet page. Now, less than 24 hours after my initial request for help, there have been over 175 reactions or comments on my posts. And, even more astounding, over 90 people shared my post on their pages. And that is not counting my own personal FaceBook page reactions--nearly 50 so far.  All for my little lost dog. And I could not help but marvel at the outpouring of emotion and empathy over my loss, and later, her safe return.  

Yep, here is where I extrapolate this experience to the spiritual. In the gospel of Luke, chapter 15, Jesus tells the Pharisees three parables of the lost and found:  the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the prodigal son. I have heard these parables a thousand times, and used them in Sunday school classes I taught. I grasped what Jesus was trying to get across to his audience, and therefore, to all of us:  that God rejoices in even one lost sinner being found, one soul coming to Him. But I never REALLY got it. Or grasped the enormity of it all, until today.  

The question that keeps running through my mind, the burden that is heavy on my heart, is this:  

How many likes/comments/shares would I get on FaceBook to a post about me being lost, and now found? Would my friends and family and neighbors, let alone total strangers, mourn and worry and jump into action to help someone who was spiritually lost? Would they rejoice and annotate their comments with happy, celebratory emojis when that same person was found, and thereby saved? If I wrote a post about being lost, a sinner, condemned to eternal death, scared and wandering in the dark, cold rain, would anyone pray with me? Would they repost my frantic cry for help nearly 100 times and send me consolatory messages and texts?  What about when I followed the "checklist" and was no longer lost, but found, safe in the arms of Jesus, assured of eternal life? Would FaceBook celebrate with me? And even more importantly, would my experience urge others to take precautions, to follow the prescriptive checklist, to assure they and their loved ones would not be forever lost?

I am not bemoaning the outpouring of support and empathy and feeling over the past 24 hours. Nor do I begrudge anyone who celebrates the return of a lost pet, or trivialize the pain someone feels when they lose something they love. I am not judging anyone, or saying "the whole world is lost." I am not demonizing technology, or FaceBook, or the internet. No, this is MY lesson. I am wincing at the importance I placed on the loss of my dog, the happiness I felt when she was found, the way I so quickly became completely and utterly engrossed in one goal--find my dog. My conscience was already pricking me with how I often opened my FaceBook before I opened my Bible in the morning. How being "connected" to the world is part of my normal day, but I have to sometimes consciously set aside time for God. Then this.  

I was lost. Now I am found. Like the sheep. Like the coin. Like the prodigal son.  Like Macy.

I need to celebrate that publicly more often.  

So he told them this parable:  "What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it?  And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing.  And when he comes home, he calls together  his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.'  Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance."  Luke 15:3-7

A day of rest (?)

Thought I'd sleep in a bit Sunday, so I woke up at 8 and hit the snooze a couple of times.  Shouldn't have done that.  Went to take the dogs outside and found one of them couldn't wait.  Cleaned up a lot of dog poop.  A lot.   Let them out. Fed them. Had a cup of coffee.  Let them back outside.  Went to church.  Went to see mom to go out to lunch but she was just waking up.  Left to pick up her dog.  Back to the Oaks.  Lunch by myself, then shopping for granddaughters' dresses.  Back to the Oaks to get the dog.  Returned him to his new home.  Choir practice at 4:30. To the Oaks again, this time for dinner.  Waited 45 minutes while mom watched the Masters and chatted with everyone in the building.  Out to eat.  Tried to pretend I didn't hear her loudly comment on some gay patrons and how fat the server was.  Back to the Oaks for the fifth time today.  Then, finally, home by 9 pm.  Did two loads of laundry.  Took a bath.  Went to bed.  

I miss my Sunday naps

Good thing I find rest in God...

keeping in touch

I'm pretty sure Alex and I haven't been in the same area code for more than 20 days this year--since December 10, 2015 actually. What with three parents being critically ill, we have been stretched pretty thin. Good thing we have 30 plus years of dual military careers as experience. All those deployments and 18 hour days and conferences and training courses--who knew they'd prepare us for retirement? Heck I was getting tired of him being home all the time anyway. Ha ha. Not.  

We spend much of our time trying to get a hold of each other, and oftentimes we call at an inopportune time, and get the 21st century version of a busy signal--a text back saying "sorry I can't talk right now."    Or we call each other when the other is sleepy, or in traffic, or just too damn worn out to talk.

I scanned my text messages over the past 7 days and they are pitiful, but they speak volumes about our current situation.  We try to talk on the phone twice a day, but it's a crapshoot.  

...
How's mom?
...
ICU but she's feeling fine. She had a pretty big blood clot. She said her blood pressure dropped like it did at Boston Market a week or so ago.
...
Tires scheduled for Thursday
...
Thanks honey.  Good morning
...
Good morning honey, honey.
...
Moms hemoglobin?
...
Still waiting
...
Hello?????
...
Call me.
...
Dad fell again hit his head again and is headed to the hospital.

How's daddy?
...
Dad has some bleeding on the brain. They are keeping him for observation they can tell me a little, but since Dave is listed as POA I can't make any decisions regarding his treatment. Because of his condition (disoriented) they will not take his word that I can be involved in his treatment. I'll call arbor terrace and have them send a copy of dad's living will.
...
Sorry, I'm busy. Call back later.
...
Love you
...
Did you spend $122.50 at skate land ?
...
Yes, took out cash.
...
Ok thanks.
...
Guess who's on the floor again?
...
Ummmm.   Daddy?
...
Correct, well Monty tell the lady what lovely prizes we have for her.
...
Got a Verizon message on our data plan. I thought we had a 1 GB plan, the message says 500MB.
...
Yeah.  I'll up it again. It's fine
...
What's my prize?
...
Well, well, well let's see. Maybe another trip through two different malfunction junctions like I-4 and I-75 then I-4 and I-275.
...
Uh no thanks. I'll take door #2
...
Oh no you've been Zonked. Looks like another round trip ticket to Polk City Fl. With cows in the pasture and all you can eat catfish at the wonderful local restaurant Angels.  Waww waw waw.
...
Ugh
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Dad's headed back to the hospital. He's having sink able episodes (sinkable?). I guess means slipping in and out of awareness.
...
Ok.  Praying honey.
...
Love the lawyer.  We are doing a trust.  No more wills. She does it all.  Everything.  Costs money but it's 1/3 the cost of probate
...
Sorry, I can't talk right now.
...

As you can see, these are not exactly "solve world hunger" conversations, or in-depth discussions, and while I would love to say our phone calls are more in-depth and personal, in reality, we don't have the time or the energy to have long, meaningful phone conversations.  So the texts actually are how we keep in touch and up-to-date on the goings on in our lives.  Our seemingly separate lives.  

Choosing to Love

Love...so much has been written about that little word, and there are as many definitions of love as there are people in this world.  But while Webster defines love as "a feeling of intense affection for another person," the Bible shows us true Christian love "can only spring from a motivation which takes into account the love of God in Christ." (John Piper, Desiring God).   

I recently participated in a Bible study with women in our community and my church, focusing on Tim Keller's study of 1 John.  Out of eight weeks and hours of study and discussion, one verse sticks out:  "Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God." 1John 4:7.  Our discussion of this verse centered on a believer's love being the love of the will, not of emotion, friendship, or physical love; a love that CHOOSES to love.  Not because the person we love is virtuous, or attractive, or lovable, or even nice.  But because God loves us, and we are now in God, we are motivated to love others.  

This small excerpt of an eight-week study hit me like a ton of bricks.   Immediately I knew God was speaking to me about my mom.  See, my mom is not lovable, virtuous, Christian, or even nice.  I am not even sure she is sane.  She has never been nice, and as far as I know, she is totally incapable of loving anyone or anything.  And despite everything I have suffered and endured because of her, I realized I do love my mom.  I choose to love her.  It is an act of will.  I want what is best for her, for her to be safe, and taken care of.  Regardless of how she acts or reacts, I still love her.  I visit her, despite rebuffs and curses.  I take care of her affairs, despite the ridicule and shunning from my sisters.  

And it astounds and amazes me.  This love that I have for this bitter, crazy old woman, who'd just as soon spit at me as hug me.  How is this possible?  Only through Christ.  

I do not deserve this, this ability to love as Christ loves us.  But I believe it, I feel it, and I see it impacting my life and the lives of those around me.  Only by God's grace am I able to love the difficult people in my life--and my mom ain't nothing if she ain't difficult!  The easy thing to do (the selfish thing) would be to cut difficult people out of my life--I have tried to cut her out of my life for over 45 years, but God keeps throwing her into my path.  And who am I to argue with the Almighty God?  

"And this commandment we have from him:  

whoever loves God must also love his brother."

  1 John 4:21

Crazy is as crazy does

Up until this point, the majority of the staff have been telling me repeatedly how much they LOVE my mom, that she is wonderful and sweet and they really enjoy talking with her.  Even the ones she maligns within their earshot.   I just nod and smile and keep my fingers crossed.  And wait for the other shoe to fall. 

That shoe fell when the inevitable happened--Mom got a roommate. Up until now, she has been living it up in her own room (with two beds), on the short-term rehab wing, waiting for a bed to become available in the long term care wing.  It seems surgeons have been busy this week, so room assignments had to be massaged to accommodate more patients.  Some poor unsuspecting woman who just had major knee surgery won the dubious lottery of becoming Mom's first roommate. The facility social worker called me, as did the floor RN, and asked me to come to the Oaks as soon as I could.  I felt as if I was being called to see the principal about an recalcitrant child. Apparently, Mom was acting as if she owned the place, slamming doors, cussing out housekeeping, and vehemently (and loudly) announcing she was NOT letting anyone in HER room. She was being verbally abusive, making racist remarks about her new roommate's children, and cursing and hollering.

When I arrived, I stopped in to see the social worker, got the lowdown, and girded my loins to enter the lion's den.  Mom was in typical crazy mode--lying partly on the bed, with her legs hanging off the bed, eyes sunken in, skin clammy and hot, looking like someone possessed (highly possible, by the way).  I sat down, told her she had to stop, that if she did not act like a normal human being they would move her elsewhere. She was confused and agitated, not making any sense.  She demanded a private room (that she can never afford), announced she is going home (she cannot), told  the staff I said she can come home (uh, nope), and kept trying to hit me.  

The circus was in town!  She marched her walker over my toes to the nurses' station, hollering all the way.  Staff, patients, and visitors were ducking in and out of the rooms.   Her unlucky new roommate was sobbing uncontrollably. For her health and well-being, they moved her into a different room--she certainly wasn't going to convalesce properly with Mom as her roommate.  And while that granted Mom the smug satisfaction of an apparent victory, it is short-lived.

For they have ordered a psych consult for Monday, and further disruptions will result in her being moved to a psychiatric hospital.  Which is where she has needed to be for the past 70 years.  Lord give me strength.