The Wobbly Bits of Humanity

March 28, 2011

Hans is upset. In response to someone's worry he held up a bony finger and with a raspy voice said, "Please don't worry. You can pray for me, but do not worry, for in six weeks I will be out of this chair." I am embarrassed and so are our visitors. What if he is right? Wouldn't I be ashamed. I don't know how to live in this dual reality of faith and materialism. Together we have seen bigger miracles than the healing of advanced cancer,  that is why he speaks so audaciously in the face of his deterioration.  Still, he has not been healed. My mind drifts toward Sarah and the promise of a child. Which is more difficult? To forgive sins or to tell this man to get up and walk? My mind is formed by the stories of faith in the Bible. The truth of His faithfulness is the reservoir of my strength. 

Explaining to them, he went on to say, that the cottage on 45 Half Moon was his place of recovery and that the chair he was sitting in was his "healing chair." And after he was healed did they want to buy it? Quieres comprarlo? He put them at ease with his late hour humor. I do not know. I do not live by principles alone, but by the word of the Lord. Yet the Lord has spoken to me some audacious words regarding his healing. I ponder them in my heart, like Mary. How can they come to pass? Is He just taking Hans for a late night swim in the murky waters of death? Hans has changed in the last three weeks. There is a profound gratefulness in his heart that shames me. He is grateful for the men who washed our car, thanking them for helping him in his hour of need. He is thankful for blankets and doctors and the internet. He is thankful for Benjamin's (grandson) hugs. He is grateful for hot tea and hand lotion.He is profoundly emotional—seeing things from a new perspective. He is thankful to God for all these seemingly mundane things, like his life. 

I think when you have been through the trauma of war, the occupation of an enemy power over your land, the bloated stomach of poverty, the third child in a big family, the ridicule of American kids to your wooden shoes, the agony of being an immigrant student in the rise of the Elvis Presley years, the turbulent times on the mission field, the tragic demise of a marriage, and the stressful years as a "faith missionary," its pretty hard to be grateful for your "life." But he doesn't remember any of those things now. They have faded into the past like an old stretch mark. They were indeed the ways in which God stretched him, transforming him. He says now, "I wouldn't change a thing." Gone is the stubborn Dutchman...replaced by the sweetest soul I have ever known. I hear Dr. Brown and him talking while she examines his swollen feet...his voice is soft and endearing. He allows her to see his feet and lift his pajamas. How humiliating, but he is grateful. He is developing bed sores and we had to address how to anoint them. Like a boy he bent over, grateful that his companion of years was attending to him. I remember my father's last days, when the nurses would move us out of his room, while they administered to him the magic potion. Surely it must have been magic since there was so much secrecy about the act. But I remember glancing away from his private parts lest I be guilty of the sin of Cain. But that's when I realized that those parts are holy and precious and not the sordid carnal expression of fallen man, but the sweet wobbly bits (dangly bits) of childhood, boyhood and then finally adult male to bring about the propagation of the human race and that they too will someday "retire" to the back pasture where they will be fed oats and honey until they die. 

I loved my dad so much, even though for many years he and I occupied the same emotional level of two ten year olds. My mom was a grown up but we fought like cats and dogs. But at the end of the day, that is not what you remember...as a Christian, you see a priceless human being, not for his intrinsic worth but because he was fearfully and wonderfully made by God. 

Perhaps I too am a bit unhinged with all this gratefulness going on. My heart is like a tres leches cake right now...all soft and doughy from the liquid drenching its integrity as a cake. Perhaps I too am changing.