You’re never too old

Wait, what? How old am I??? 

Seventy. That’s right. Seventy years on this beautiful planet God created for us to enjoy.  Seventy years of laughter and tears. Seventy years. Let me say that again. Seventy years. It blows my mind! I don’t feel 70, although I have no idea how 70 should feel. I don’t think I look like I’m 70. My hair isn’t grey yet—the bonus of being a blond. Sure I wear progressive bifocals and hearing aids, I get a new age spot every other week (usually on my face), my feet, hips and butt have spread, and Newton’s Law is proving itself on a lot of other body parts. But to have the privilege to wake up every morning for the past 70 years is amazing. 

God continues to surprise me with his goodness and challenge me with his will for my life. Here I am, 70, and he still has plans for me! How amazing is our God that he trusts his work to an old woman! 

When Helping Hurts

A few years ago I heard about a book titled the same as this blog post, and I remember thinking, "what a stupid title for a book!" I mean, how does helping hurt? Who does it hurt? Who is being helped? Who is helping? Well, turns out the authors wrote about how to help  alleviate poverty without hurting the poor, all from a Christian perspective. Never read it myself--I am not in missions or dedicated to alleviating poverty, so it never appealed to me. However, when I sat down tonight to blog more about the situation in which I am embroiled right now the words "when helping hurts" seem to be the perfect intro.

Everyone needs help, whether they want to admit it, ask for it, accept it, or not. When I was growing up the radio was filled with songs about it: Simon and Garfunkel built a Bridge over Troubled Water, the Beatles could always Get by with a Little Help from their friends, Bill Withers told us to Lean on Me , Louis Armstrong croaked about What a Wonderful World we live in, and Carole King assured us You've Got a Friend.  (Yes, I am dating myself with those references, and I am sure there are more current ones...but I am comfy with the oldies but goodies.) 

Not only will everyone need help with something or someone at some time, but most of us in the human race want to help, especially those we love, the less fortunate, victims of disasters. Most of the time we offer our help sparingly, rationing out whatever resources (time, advice, money, energy, shelter, physical needs, etc.) we can give without hurting ourselves, and then go back to living our lives. 

But what about when someone needs more help than that? More than the clothes I outgrew, extra canned goods from the pantry, a couple hours a week, or a few dollars I would have spent on some silly Amazon purchase? What if someone needs all of me? What if I have to completely shift my focus, redefine what is important to my life, rethink my goals, and retool the vision of my foreseeable future? What then? How do I put the brakes on my life, my wants, my vision, and my (yes) selfish, comfortable habits and reroute my life without resentment, grief, anger or pain? And, more importantly, how am I going to hide all those feelings from the person(s) I am helping? 

When helping hurts. 

Lamenting and grieving...both are intertwined with any changes we make, buit especially with sacrificing oneself for another. To not recognize how essential and natural grief is would be pointless, creating resentment or providing ineffective, inadequate help. Helping by sacrificing ourselves, our wants, our needs, our dreams, does hurt, and to deny it is just plain stupid and hurtful to ourselves; it would be like telling people at a funeral to not cry, or to dismiss the sadness a friend feels when he does not get the job he wanted. So I count my blessings, yes, but I also count my griefs, my losses, my sadness, and ask God to help me give them to Him to relieve--because God knows. We have no farther to look than the cross, the place on Golgotha where God sacrificed His only Son to help us to realize how much that helping hurt God, Jesus, and those around him that day.

Not only does helping hurt the helper. Helping often hurts the person being helped: guilt, shame, embarassment, depression, a sense of failure, anger...all of these emotions bubble up to the surface, ready to erupt at the slightest hint of an offer of unsolicited help, even help that is desperately needed and sincerely wanted. If you have ever been the recipient of a truly heartfelt, selfless act or gift, you know what I mean. We want the help, we know we need that help, we appreciate the help, but damnit we would much rather be the master of our own ship, and do everything ourselves with no help unless we ask for it, and then only from those who have no problems themselves (ha!). It boils down to pride. Simple human pride and our obsession with wanting to be in control. Accepting help takes away the control, bruises our pride. 

When helping hurts. 

What am I learning through this season? That sacrifice is hard, helping unconditionally ain't easy, and I am not as magnanimously unselfish as I would like to think I am. Change is hard, I am stubborn, and I still have a few idols in my life. When someone I love hurts, helping her hurts us both. We both need help from above to resolve it by giving it to Him.  That is the hard part...giving up the grief, the hurt, and the loss. Humbling--the more I grow, the more I realize how prideful I can be, and how often I try to tell God how this "helping thing" should look.  

Just celebrated my 70th birthday, too...you'd think I would know better by now. 

"And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it." (Luke 9:23-24)

Dealing with the unexpected

Life. It throws all kinds of things at us--good, bad, horrible, wonderful. Does not matter who you are, where you live, your age or your income, life will sneak up on you and take your breath away. At times you may be amazed and excited and can barely speak because of the blessings. But other times, you get dealt such a horrible blow, it knocks the breath right out of you like a punch in the gut, or like an elephant sitting on your chest. Everything seems okay, something happens and you think you are handling it, that it will all come together, when BAM! Life turns completely upside down, your world is on the brink of collapse, and you have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Your situation is hopeless, you are lost, there is nothing you can do. Even Christians with strong faith get sucked into the pit of despair. 

The past 18 months have been a test of our mettle, stretching our faith to its absolute limit. And right now, I am having trouble holding on. And lost as to what to do, how to help, unable to wrap my head around this. This new family crisis threatens to crush all of us.

Our son-in-law, husband of our daughter, father of little Sophie, is in the Navy. He has been stationed out west on an unaccompanied tour for nearly two years while his family is in Mississippi. Last year he thumbed his nose at some Navy regulations, covered it up, and when he was discovered, tried to delay the inevitable punishment by committing a crime. A crime of which he thought he could manage the consequences, but it got worse. He got caught, and has been on administrative hold for nine months and faced a court-martial this week. We could not do anthying to fix it, to mitigate it, other than be with him this past weekend, testify on his behalf, and then wait for the outcome. 

That outcome came this evening. His sentence: 12 months confinement, reduction in grade (rank) from E-7 to E-4, and a fine of over $30,000. Although we were prepared for it, and though we knew it could have been worse, that news has knocked the breath out of us, especially his wife. The financial burden is cataclysmic, let alone the shame, embarrassment, and anger over his actions and its consequences. The impact on their marriage, their relationship will be huge, and can only be healed with time and lots of talking. And prayer. 

We knew 9 months ago this day was coming, and struggled with the decision of how to help, how to be there for our daughter who now had to get a job, find healthcare and benefits for her and her daughter, and rethink her entire life. We thought about the issues she would face, and face alone. We knew what we had to do; we simply did not want to do it. Not now. Not in retirement. 

Then we remembered we are only here for the blink of an eye, a moment in time; we are here to help others, especially those whom God has given us to love and raise. So we are buying a house in Mississippi, four minutes from our daughter, so we can go back and forth and help wherever we can--childcare, daily chores, home maintenance, finances, and most of all, to be the light to lead her out of the darkness of this horrible situation.  

"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth give way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling." (Psalm 46:1-3 ESV)

Mother’s Day revisited

Today is Mother’s Day. At least for another 118 minutes here on the West Coast. I’m spending Mother’s Day this year in Bremerton, Washington, with my husband and son-in-law. We had coffee at a nice little cafe, then lunch at an Indian restaurant. When I couldn’t get a contact lens out of my eye I asked them to drop me off at an urgent care (where I was able to remove it), then took a short nap while the guys explored the area. Later I enjoyed a margarita and queso dip with chips while the boys ate good Mexican food in downtown Bremerton. Good margarita too. 

But I’m not here to eat food or sightsee. Not here to shoot the shit about life in the military. My son in law, the husband of my youngest daughter and father to Sophie, faces the fight of his life in two days. Alex and I are here to support him, to go through this with him, to love him and let him know we are here for him. 

Mother’s Day. In Britain it’s called Mothering Sunday. And mothering is a bigger calling than nurturing our own children. It’s about recognizing those who need nurturing and support. Filling in for mothers who cannot be there even though every fiber of their beings ache to be. I’m here for Ben’s mom today. Because she cannot be. 

Drowning in my tears

• Tears of regret for things I should have done but did not do, for things I did but should not have done, for things I did but could have done better
• Tears of sadness for the state of the world, for the hate and dehumanization I see every day on social media, for lost and damaged friendships, for friends and family who do not love Jesus
• Tears of frustration for my inability to calm myself and my lack of faith when things fall apart
• Tears of resentment towards my sisters who have hurt me and betrayed me,  shunned me, and have no responsibility or even desire to help us, and towards my brother for needing me to help him
• Tears of confusion with today's convoluted bureaucracies in education, health, and social services when those things should be simplified to allow equal access to all
• Tears of anger towards believers who spew hate at those who are different, especially nonbelievers clinging to sin, when instead believers should be loving them instead of pushing them away
• Tears of shame for my actions and words and thoughts that are anything but Christ-like
• Tears of hopelessness when I continue to hit wall after wall 
• Tears of anxiety when faced with more than three things to do a day
• Tears of grief over the loss of our parents, and the loss of my family

But then...

• Tears of thankfulness to my husband for his support and love even through hard times
• Tears of joy when I think of my beautiful daughters and the wonderful women they have become
• Tears of happiness every time one of my granddaughters calls me and wants to talk to me
• Tears of amazement over God's faithfulness in answering my prayers
• Tears of love for my husband as I lay in his arms every night
• Tears of pride for the children I tutor, children who work so hard to overcome their challenges
• Tears of wonder for the beauty and majesty surrounding me 
• Tears of joy for my salvation and assured place with God for eternity

 

 

 

Peace when under fire

Peace--vertical and horizontal. So often I have thought of peace as merely peace within myself, peace with myself, peace in me. While that peace is important and essential to being open to God's grace, it is a very narrow view of the peace God can and will give us. Peace vertically--being at peace with what God does and does not do in my life, peace with His plan for my life. Peace with God. Peace in my heart, peace that assures me He is in control, that He has me in His hand and his plan is perfect.

Horizontal peace, peace with others, with our situation, with the world, can only emanate frm my heart if I am at peace with my God; if I do not trust Him to provide and lead me and clear any obstacles, I will not have peace with the world around me. If I am worried and anxious about anything in my life, I must surrender to the peace I have with my creator to experience "peace that surpasses all understanding," a peace that calms my soul and tells me God has a plan. Now does that mean I never worry? That I never get upset? Heck no! I am human, I have doubts, I foolishly think I can control my life better than the One who gave me life.  I go to His word and rely on the promises in the Bible. Many who profess to be Christians do not yet possess that peace--they continue to depend on the world for solutions.

Election results, inflation, sickness, war, natural disasters, marital strife. I see it on the news, on social media, and in person every single day. One friend is terrified of what the current administration will mean for the safety of her childen's futures. Another friend is frantic about what the immigration crisis and newly formed policies mean for her family in Houston. Still others post memes celebrating their apparent victory in the past election, lauding the newly elected president as the solution to all the country's problems, while the opposite predicts all is lost and claims half the country are evil. Friends in India have familty members in northern India affected by ethnic wars and poverty. The ongoing strife in Gaza and Israel, the war in Ukraine, human trafficking in Asia and the US, genocide in Africa, childhood cancer, global unrest, starvation--the list is endless. All of these are evidence of a broken world, a fallen human race that rejected God in the garden, and nothing will fix it until Christ returns as He promised.

Yes, I too am affected by the brokenness of our world, by unfairness and strife and sickenss. I grieve the loss of my parents, the estrangement of my siblings and stepdaughter, the mental and physical burden of caring for my brother and the apparent lack of resources. But I continue to return to that peace, that wonderful peace that washes my worries away. I am sad for those friends of mine who do not possess this precious peace becaue they choose to reject God; they worry and fret and are frightened and angry at the things in the world, and they are incredulous at my lack of concern. I pray constantly for them to receive and accept Jesus and to receive the wonderful FREE gift (I know, that is redundant...a gift is free by definiton) of God's grace.  

Peace. Breathe. Peace. Rest. Peace. Trust. 

“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” (Psalm 46:10 ESV)

IDD and caregivers

While the majority of FaceBook posts lately seem to focus on political rants and memes and a general sense of "that's not fair", let me just take a little time to talk about what over one million households in the US deal with every single day, 24 hours a day. That is the number of households with an adult with IDD, and caregivers are normally aging parents or siblings.

(Quick definition: IDD stands for Intellectual and Developmental Disability; an intellectual disability is when limitations in mental abilities affect intelligence, learning and everyday life skills. The effects of this can vary widely. Some people may experience minor effects but still live independent lives. Others may have severe effects and need lifelong assistance and support.)

Our house is one of the households--when our parents died in 2018/2019, I became my IDD brother's guardian. Since January 2018, I have banged my head against a wall (several walls actually) trying to get support, help, assistance, respite, education...you name it. And despite all the pretty websites, links, brochures, and the multitude of agencies funded and commmissioned to do just that, I am, more often than not, on my own. There is no one-stop shop, no single point of contact, no real expert in obtaining even the simplest of services for my brother. Something as seemingly simple and basic as Depends required a multitude of forms, assessments, and phone calls for weeks--I gave up and just get them from Amazon's Subscribe and Save. The really important needs like housing, healthcare, respite for exhausted caregivers are so hard to obtain and have so many roadblocks that most of us just give up and lean on other equally overburdened caregivers.

The lives of me, my husband, and my brother were turned upside down and inside out seven years ago. At the age of 66, my brother had to leave everything familiar and move in with us. Suddenly we had to rearrange our schedules to ensure someone is with him all the time. We managed (barely) until COVID shut everything down and made everyone withdraw into their own little cocoons. It became too much for us, and with nowhere else to turn we tried assisted living facilities; I won't even tell you what a nightmare that was. By divine providence we were pointed towards a wonderful program in Henderson County and blessed with a family who took David in as part of theirs in 2021 for nearly four years.

But like everyone else, my brother got older, and with age came the familiar age-related issues: UTIs; skin tears; nutritional challenges; poor vision, hearing, balance, and flexibility; weakened immune system; and cognitive decline, and we knew it was time to move him back in with us, albeit temporarily. Two months ago I began (again) the search for options for my brother to have the quality of life he deserves, and for us to be able to have our own life and fulfill our God-designed purposes. Those same brick walls and seas of red tape are still there, but I will not give up, no matter how hopeless it may seem. I cry, I scream, and I stay awake most nights, praying for a solution, and the wisdom and discernment to see and implement it. Maybe that will happen soon. Perhaps it won't.

No I am not complaining or whining--I am raising my voice to advocate for families caring for IDD adults everywhere. We are fortunate. David is highly functional. He is verbal (sometimes too much so). He can dress himself (sort of), take care of his hygiene (to a point), and feed himself (even if he is messy). He is grumpy and funny and irritating and lovable. And most importantly, he is a child of God, fearfiully and wonderfully made. He deserves more. And I aim to get it for him.

Please, if you know a family struggling with caring for an IDD adult (even if it looks like they are not struggling, they are), gift them with 30 minutes or an hour of respite. Send them some Bojangles chicken for dinner. Pray for them. Listen to them talk about their day. Hug them. Fold their laundry. Anything that shows you care.

Here is a photo of David and me in Middletown, Ohio, in 1956/7.

When there is nowhere else to turn...

When you've called everyone you know, and there's nothing else you can do, when you've exhuasted all your resources, and you feel completely defeated and lost, where in the world can you go? Who can you turn to when the world is so dark and no one has any answers or even seems to care? When your house has been destroyed, when your child has cancer, when the bills outpace your ability to pay, when your loved one is in jail, when your church disappoints you, when your grown child no longer wants you in her life, when your family betrays you, when your health gives out, when you are in a hopelessly impossible situation with no way out...WHERE DO YOU GO? WHO DO YOU CALL? 

(and no, the answer is not Ghostbusters.) 

The answer is JESUS, friends. It is, was and always will be Jesus Christ, son of the living God.  He is the light of the world, the way, the truth, the Redeemer, our friend, our Savior, who will never leave nor forsake us. 

Yeah, you knew I was gonna say that, right? And we Christians are always so happy and carefree because we always, ALWAYS give our worries and our cares and our problems to Jesus. We never try to handle those seemingly impossible problems, or climb huge mountains without our Guide, and we never EVER think we are hopelessly stuck with nowhere else to go.  

Right. If you believe that, I'll give you a great deal on some farmland in Antartica.

I know my past sins are wiped clean by the death and resurrection of Jesus. 

I know my future lies in heaven. 

The problem? Like many (most?) believers, I trust my past and my future to Jesus Christ, but I often neglect to trust Him with my present in both good times and hard times. When life is good, when things are going smoothly like butter on a hot skillet, I forget who created me and everything around me. I chalk up my successes to my intelligence, my experiences, and oh yeah, to my wonderful walk with God, wonderful because of all the things I do--going to church, reading my Bible, writing in my journal. Oh yeah, I have the inside track on getting God to help me with my trials and tribulations. And when things are tough, when my life is falling apart, do I turn to God first? No. Again, because I am so intelligent, so creative, and such a real problem solver, I can figure it out myself. Until I can't. Then I turn to Him, ashamed, embarrassed to tell Him I failed, that I need His help. I picture God looking at me, shaking His head, sighing a big sigh, and saying, "C'mon, child, give me your hand, and all your problems and your joys, and I will carry them for you, and I won't ever scold you."  (yes, my paraphrase of Matthew 11:28-29). 

The past 15 months have tried my heart, brought me to the breaking point. Last October, my stepdaughter and her kids told me (while I was in the hospital) they wanted nothing to do with us anymore--I was suddenly the evil stepmom. Three months later, back in the hospital for routine surgery, I nearly died from "surgical complications" and ended up with chest tubes, a lengthy hospital stay, and months of recovery. My oldest daughter and her family are experiencing employment issues overseas, and my youngest daughter is facing a trial of monstrous proportions.  Sure there were happy times intermingled in there...beautiful daughters and granddaughters, taking one of them to fulfill her dream at Universal Studio's worlds of Harry Potter, visiting my oldest and her beauties in Malaysia, and being married to the best husband I could ask for. And just when I thought life couldn't hand me any more challenges, my mentally challenged 73-year old brother had to move back in with us--worsening cognitive decline. And although I have prayed and and prayed and was confident in my faith,  trusting God to help me figure this one out, I hit yet another brick wall of bureacratic red tape. Medicaid. Medicare. RHA. Vaya Health. NCDHHS. DSS. All dead ends. Today I went out to my car in the school parking lot and cried until there were no more tears. And I gave it all back to God...again, for the umpteenth time. 

He is always there, and although He would love to have us turn to Him first, He will always be there, when there is nowhere else to turn. 

Wrinkles

One of my favorite grandchild memories is when then 3-year old Isabella retrieved her play iron and put it on my face, announcing, "Nana, I'm going to iron out all your wrinkles!" Oh how I laughed (and secretly wished it were true.) But, the reality is that wrinkles are proof we've lived and felt and somehow survived the trials life has thrown at us. 

But what about the wrinkles we encounter in our daily lives? Those unexpected curve balls seemingly coming out of nowhere, zooming dangeroulsy close to us, threatening to knock us on our butt (and sometimes succeeding). Recently I asked for prayers to help me manage a new wrinkle in my life, one not totally unexpected, but a wrinkle nonetheless in my otherwise smooth, orderly life (go ahead an laugh). My brother, age 73 and completely dependent on others for everything, moved back into our home. I was certain I could handle it all, that I could smooth that wrinkle out in no time flat (pun intended). After two days I knew what a bunch of hogwash that was.

Despite my countless professions of faith in Christ, despite my identity as a daughter of God, redeemed by the One who took my sins and struggles on His shoulders, despite me KNOWING I do not control anything--in less that 12 hours I forgot who I am and who I am not. I cried, I shouted, I despaired, and foolishly I convinced myself I could handle it all. So I picked up my giant iron of pride and attacked that wrinkle with all my might, pushing, pressing, forcing it into submission, determined to make it smooth and perfect. When it wouldn't budge, I tried even harder, but like those stubborn clothes you iron only to have more wrinkles pop up somewhere else, or worse yet, creasing the wrinkle permanently, it was no use. So I gave up. It was hopeless. I was neither willing nor able to figure out how to manage what a week prior I was confident I could.  

Until I stopped pushing back, stopped trying to control the situation, stopped feeling guilty for being inadequate, and stopped beating myself up for not having perfect endurance. You see, like many Christians (probably all of us), I have a "large hole in the center of my Gospel," as Paul David Tripp wrote. We understand we received forgiveness (past), and are sure of our salvation (future), but we forget Jesus is in the here and now...in us...in the present.

Life is full of wrinkles, folks. Some can be smoothed out, but most of them are creased firmly into our history, proof of having lived; looking back, that wrinkled tapestry, though not perfectly smooth, is beautiful in its own way. And if I could impose on the reader to allow me one more reference to my "ironing" metaphor, that wrinkled, torn, frayed tapestry will be exchanged for new and perfect robes when we join God in heaven. So don't try to endure or control what life throws at you. Rest. Allow the perfect God to walk with us through this imperfect yet perfectly planned life.

Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me free. (Psalm 118:5)

Have I ever told you...

...how much I love you? How beautiful you have made my life since the day you were born? Your first cry, oh how wonderful that sound was. Those eyes, those gorgeous brown eyes. The way those eyes would look at me with such trust and unconditional love and wonder. And I would look into those eyes in the middle of the night while I nursed you and your tiny hands would wrap around one finger, and I stared in disbelief at the miracle that only hours before was inside of me. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, and other days, like a dream, a dream I remember every single agonizingly beautiful moment. And every day since that day I hold onto those memories because you changed me, you helped me find the place inside me that I needed to be, the person I was meant to become. Every moment before that single, precious moment was as nothing. All my mistakes, successes, and failures. Things I once thought important. Hurts and struggles I had faced. Previous goals and dreams and desires seemed foolish and childish. All of it faded into nothingness overcome by the beauty of you. With each passing day I loved you more, marveling at the miracle of you in my life. Every day I thought you could never be smarter, funnier, prettier, cuter than you were at that moment, but the next day came and I was wrong. Oh those magical early years, so perfect. I reveled in the blessings of being your mom, and the sorrows of my past seemed to melt away. Being in the miiltary and being a mother fulfilled me in ways I will never understand. 

Then reality sank in. Funny how the past has a way of catching up with me, how decisions made in haste come back to prick at my conscience. I had married on a whim, looking for someone who needed me, who would fill an aching hole in my heart. He did not and could not. After a year we both knew our marriage was a sham. We used each other and hurt each other and eventually I realized I had to get out and take you with me. So much damage done. I won’t try to make you understand why your dad and I divorced or why we married in the first place. It was not my fault nor was it his. We were friends who grew apart. Became bitter. Resentful. Hurting each other. And I left because I knew he never would. You deserved to be in an atmosphere of love and respect. I owed you that much; you and your sister were the best part of us. I pray you can forgive me for inflicting the hurt of divorce on you. I know you felt angry, sad, confused. No marriage is perfect because the people in it are imperfect. So many things I cannot tell you or explain to you because, well, it would not be right to visit that on you. 

Right before your dad left, I deployed to Alaska so your dad could have alone time with you before he moved back to Cincinnati. Funny how God works. Meeting Alex on that deployment was so unplanned, so serendipitous, and so petrifying. We have had turbulent years , for sure. Life in our house was unpredictable, a. roller coaster of ups and downs. We have been through a lot, all of us. Through it all God has changed me and made me face a lot of things, things I never wanted to think about, some things I did not want to let go of. And now, 35 years after that fateful decision, I can honestly say I am healed—scars, yes, some still very tender to the touch. And there are times I lay too much on you, share too much about my hurts and healing, and cry tears in front of you, tears better shed alone. I forget sometimes you are my child, my daughter, and a mom yourself. I have burdened you with my hurts, my fears, my mistakes, looking for some absolution or validation. For that I ask your forgiveness. And to not judge me for my inadequacies. It has taken me a lifetime to learn how to be a good mother; I had no one to show me how.  Which makes me marvel even more how you are so much more of a mom than I ever was or could ever be. I thank God for you every minute of every day.  And every time I look into your eyes, those eyes I first looked into while you lay in my arms, my heart sings a song of thanks to God for letting me be your mother.