I hear a distant wail in the background, no it is a call. Then dawn arises in my consciousness and it is morning again. I return from a very deep sleep to my world, I am replenished and no longer exhausted. His mercies are new every morning! Hans is calling from his room. It is morning for him too. We both made it through the night.
The morning ritual was harder than most, having made some unwise moves. Everything has to be calculated for the least possible movement. I realized the hard way that movement is actually a stress on the heart. It is his heart rate which must return to normal between moves—pumping the needed blood to the extremities has become hard work. Movement to and from the chair or "going to the bathroom" is a complete body movement. My own heart is so soft and unfit that I am worn out easily as well. I have no excuse except laziness (ahh..sinful nature).
After we move around the room, a change of briefs, and a resettling in his chair, I see he is laying down in a completely distorted manner. He cannot be comfortable I think. So off come the covers and once again I move him. But in the midst of these exercises, I see four green lights blinking. These are the internet connections that show they are all working and that we are online. I am calmed by these lights, they are a sign to me from the Lord, of all people, that I am connected and that life is normal, I am on a new normal. Do not be afraid, He says.
Certainly this is a new normal for Hans. Everything for him is different. I tried to keep the same schedule and life as we had before the diagnosis, ministry excepted, so that everyone would feel normal. I think grace is given to maintain normalcy in our lives. We are fragile creatures, not unlike the scaredy cats that live in the streets and are totally unapproachable. We have been domesticated and now we are dependent upon God for a stable environment. To some degree I think God allows earthquakes, floods and other natural disasters to shake up our "normals" so that we will think about the mysteries of life and those will lead us to ponder eternal things.
The most fragile of our organs is the mind. Our minds distinguish us from the ordinary creatures that God has made. We have the power of self reflection and evaluation, or perception. I think animals live in a direct experience of reality, we live it through a perceptual grid that transforms life into a play or a drama filled with meaning and nuance. What does this mean? It means that we are always asking. What does this mean? See what I mean? We have the powers of evaluation. Is it this or that? And so our life on Half Moon is subjected to these kinds of evaluations as well.
What does it mean that Hans hasn't been healed? What does it mean that I am alone with a big house to run? etcera, etcera. What does it mean when a man that is 53 years old loses his life partner to cancer? How will the will of God be played out in his life? You know we think these things. At least I do, because I am not a hippie anymore. I am a responsible adult mature human being now. And that means that I respond to life. I am not just a "feeler" or a spot on the highway. I am alive and I interact with my environment and the needs of the world.
So these are exciting times. And particularly exciting if you have been taught by Hans and have received from him the mantle of truth bearer—being the good reformer that he is and always has been. Constantly he is reforming the church to the Imagio Dei. It is the job of the Holy Spirit who is jealous for the glory of the Son—that we be transformed and be about His works towards those for whom He died. Hans said, consistent with his personal long standing beliefs, "All the world belongs to Him, all flesh has been rescued at the Cross, don't let the Devil keep them, they are stolen goods. They rightfully belong to the King. People are just blinded by the god of this world and he has been cast down. All authority has been given to King Jesus." If there is a legacy handed down to us from Hans, it would have to be the one handed down to him, from the Great Missionary and Apostle, Jesus. "Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation."
Yesterday the chaplain from hospice came and prayed for Hans. The chaplain is from Panama. After a very wonderful prayer, Hans asked him in a very raspy voice, Is there work to do in Panama, brother?" "Oh yes, said the chaplain, "Much work to do there. We still need missionaries." "Oh," said Hans, "Perhaps you and I should go there." In other words, "Let's go and see."
Meanwhile, I look out the window and see a grassy yard that is overgrown. It is part of the myriad things that Hans used to do for us. I have inherited the job but not the muscles. His muscles have wasted away. It's the new normalcy for me. There is much spiritual work to do as well, and I don't have the muscles for that either. I fear they have also wasted away.
My patient has replaced the cowbell with a wailing song. It's weird but I like it. I can see the seafaring dutch calling out to one another on the high seas. Perhaps it is really a "whaling" song. I'm learning what nurses have learned long ago—not to respond to every call. There is a truce which must be settled between every nurse and her patient otherwise the caretaker dies too. I have often wondered why nurses seem so matter-of-fact, and not very mercy oriented...or at least not a sickly mercy. But now I know, it is a battle scar badge they have earned, the right to discern which call is critical and which is not. And the nurses have earned the right to tell the difference.
My patient is telling me that he wants his clip board and some tea and some more warmth in the room, and I close the door on him and say, "sleep a little more and we'll see." He never writes on his clip board, doesn't drink his tea and the room is as hot as a sauna. But he is comforted that soon he will have more of what makes him feel safe.
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