Where do I find hope in today's blog? I don't know anymore. But I do know that hope is a gift of salvation and it will come to me as I write, bear with me.
Last week, Emmie had to entertain herself when hospice came with social workers, chaplains, nurses, delivery guys, plus meals being delivered, and friends and family visitors. She asked her Aunt Jennifer to remove this huge carpet in her mother's room because she wanted to play gymnastics. Her Aunt Jennifer complied and the rugs went into the garage topsy turvy. Walking by the garage I saw this enormous mess and completely lost it. Yelling at daughter and mom I said, "I need this like a hole in the head...my house is literally falling apart and you are not making things any better. Please put all the rugs back!!! " There was silence in the air and a few open mouths.
I walked away pondering my own words for the truth of it. My house was falling apart. That was the bite. The "house" is our lives, the thing we silently work so hard at maintaining, fighting against chaos (both emotionally as well as physically) as well as resisting the evil one. It is a life long battle for me. I keep short records, good retrieval systems, laundry done, dishes done, beds made, t-shirts folded, hair and makeup done, appointments met, promises kept, ministry balanced, checkbook balanced, the government happy, and the obligatory call to parents done, in order to keep my house in order. My house is the mental construct I call my life, my mind, the place where I "live" psychologically, the wellspring of all good things. It is the core of my being which is generally in a state of equilibrium and in Christ has been converted into the "sea of tranquility." This is where I have lived for over 30 years—floating in this deep place of bliss with the Master's presence. Have things been easy? By no means, you know the troubles we've seen! Blended families, different generations, cultural chasms between us, financial woes, displacement in ministry, wandering like Abraham in the desert wilderness, but the sea of tranquility always existed internally. Today it is not calm. There are tsunami's on the rise, whirlpools that threaten this calm.
The truth is : My house is falling apart. I am in a state of destabilization. I recognize the symptoms from my own professional training in understanding cultures. Humans like cultures can spin like a top (equilibrium) or start toppling to and fro and then out of control (disequilibrium). Death is the ultimate state of destabilization—the opposite of peace,where everything is broken and everything is missing. It is like life with an alcoholic or a bi-polar parent, or a financially irresponsible spouse where there is no safety and no end to the trauma.
It brings out devastating feelings in me of powerlessness and despair. It points to a time when I must have lived in a state of perpetual anxiety. And being too young or malformed to "do" anything about it I must have made some kind of inner vow to never "live like that." For me the ultimate horror is to be a refugee, where nothing is settled or fixed. Nothing is secure. I silently shudder when I hear the rumblings in Ruanda, Pakistan or any other place in the world where thousands of people are displaced. I can only imagine the psychological horrors they are enduring.
Even this morning, after a rough night I put Hans in his chair and made the bed, fluffed the pillows, made coffee, got the laptop and started working. All was beautiful once again. Nothing was missing and nothing was broken, and I was okay in my childish little world.
The loss of my husband does all this in me. He has been the bedrock in our lives. Not many have husbands and fathers who are like that. We were blessed but now our rock wavers. We are incredulous. Seeing perhaps for the first time that our strong man is but a man and not a god.(small g)
Sitting next to me in his chair sits my husband. It is 6:45 AM and he is sleeping in the chair but breathing labored and groaning from time to time. His tongue is swollen from thirst and yeast infections which we cannot seem to control. His body is restless and even though they describe it to you in their booklet, it is impossible to reckon with its reality. His skin was clammy, wet and moist—the sign of impending death. During the night someone slept in his room at all times. Every hour we would sprinkle his tongue with water. There were the changing of the diapers and the rubbing of his head. It's killing us.
Jume called it "his agony" like the agony of Christ..."for you have not yet suffered to the shedding of blood." This is a hard teaching, Master, what does it mean? It is also the agony of the Mary's who surrounded Jesus in the aftermath of His passion. There is something about the nature of passing at home, which brings us into a closer contact with the reality of life. And you see how life ends. It is a battle. It is a victory. The body is not discarded easily or superficially.The battle is a declaration that the body is a priceless unspeakable gift from the Divine One, who shared in all our sorrows. Han's legs are thin and bony now, his backside small and folded inward. But soon he will be beautiful again, and fully filled out with life and wonder. Jesus has made the way..and like childbirth...we pant until that day is here.
Love you guys.
No comments:
Post a Comment