Gone From My Sight

It's been nearly a month now...but that seems so hard to believe.  The following thoughts were pondered and roughly recorded as I rested in the room across the tiny hall from my Mom...

The winter snow falls softly but quickly outside the window.  Inside the quiet is almost suffocating, cut only by labored breathing and soft moans of pain.  Modern medicine has very little to offer in these last days...last hours...of a life ravaged by cancer.

As I sit here pondering what lies ahead and all that's transpired under this roof my eyes fill with tears.  
So much hurt.  
A soul can hardly imagine the desperate search for worth that follows a young life full of abuse and drunkenness, poverty and fear.   

And why continue to spread that hurt by building a wall around yourself too high for a little girl to climb?  

And so it goes, from one generation to the next, the sins of the father.

This is the second time I've stood in these rooms and watched and listened and even smelled the last signs of life.  They give you a book...signs of death at the end...the last months...the last weeks... the last days...the last hour...kind of a morbid countdown toward the inevitable end.  

The first time I did this dreary countdown, we learned about the cancer, after a week spent in the hospital Dad came home.  Home to die.  The signs from the death booklet moved quickly.  One week later he was gone from my sight.
  
I thought that week was the hardest week of my life.
  
I was wrong.

This time the battle has been going on for 2 1/2 years.  The pain, the suffering...the beginning of the end.  A very long beginning.  The blood, the tests, the surgery, the long recovery - never to be the same again.  Treatment, more cancer...more treatment...and more cancer...out of control.

Most of the signs in the book are physical and behavioral, measurable.  They are here now, even to the last page and I know it won't be long.  While she's resting in one of the few pain free hours she's had in a while, I ponder my thoughts.  I can't say feelings right now because I am numb.

This week I've literally watched the life blood flow from her shrunken body.  Red and harsh.  Stark against the white bed linens.  I pull the sheets and quilt over the red but the tell tale hose that carries it away snakes out from under the covers.  A hateful reminder of the internal damage done by this greedy, consuming killer.

I used to think that death was ugly.  Now I think that it can be but not always.  This death, approaching steadily, will be the answer to prayers...hers and mine...for peace, freedom from pain, escape from a body, once strong but now a weakened shell...a gateway to what lies ahead.  

She says she is ready to meet her maker...just waiting on His timing.  

Sleep...just for a moment...rest on the edge of consciousness...ready to take the few quick steps to her side if she needs me.  She sleeps too deeply, breathes too hard.  I step across the hall to check on her and squeeze her hand, this time there is no response.  I linger for a moment and then go for a drink of water.  Coming right back I know something is different as soon as I reach the top of the steps...the complete silence hits me hard.  My steps quicken but it feels like I'm walking through water.  When I step into her room, I know.  Her time has come.

She is gone from my sight.


Pondering My Meanderings... with much herbal love, Wanderer

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Sometimes, I just want to write...I need to write.  I'm not good with words out loud.  They choke in my throat and trip over my tongue.  My mind is thinking of the "right" way to say things but it usually doesn't come out that way.
So, I write...I can change it and tweak it until it says what I want it to say.  At least in my mind, I understand all the nuances that may be lost to those who read what I scribble.  It's the meandering.  The pondering too much.  Then, when I open my mouth, no matter how well I think I have prepared for this verbal thought, it stumbles out in a sentence that sounds like it just crawled out from a rocky cave.  Not well formed or eloquent...not even really me...just a crude fragment with a few hesitations and stutters.  At least that's how it sounds to me. The fear of making a mistake or sounding stupid manifests in what tumbles out.

Strife. Stress. Bickering and bitterness.  Things I usually try to avoid.  But other times, I meet them head on with a return fire that spews as much venom as the initial strike. Justification...that's what I'm saying...if you're going to stir it up, prepare to defend your stand because I'm gonna defend mine.  The walls of this fortress have been thickening over time and they've stood strong through a lot.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie. 

True enough if you've ever seen a loyal dog roused by what could be perceived as an attack on it's master.

But metaphorically, it's a warning to heed the frenzy of barking, maybe even growling, that comes with the bleary eyes, tail tucked or pointed straight, the hair on it's back rising in a vertical spine like a razor back hog. It reflects the stir of activity and angst that flows from the stirred ashes of a long dead fire to fan the flames of anger, bitterness and unforgiveness to life once more.  Not easy.  I try.  I try again.

Into the glow of plans for a new life and a new family come the dark clouds that rain on everyone's parade. As though the plans for a life together, at least started in a foreign land far away from family...new babies grown before we meet them, and the matriarchs on both sides of the family dealing with the ravages of time on their health and mind, weren't enough to cause me to reach for the light in order to hang onto hope.  This.

This ugly thing that I've kept from those who might be most hurt by it for 23 years.  I've protected and hidden the dark, horrid truth so the cycle could be broken.  But there are those who could not be protected...those whose existence has been shattered by the knowledge for over a decade.  They can't let it rest.  They have to share the miserable tale so that all may be hurt by it as they have...raw, dirty, hateful truth...but to share the pain seems to ease the burden.  Selfishness at it's best, this tale of yore.  Now into the light and glory this thing hangs on the air and draws strength from the doubt and fear and disgust of it's gloom.  It serves no purpose...it only shares the sadness like a blanket of smoke...and isn't that just what darkness wants?  To steal the light?  To hide bushels of glory behind this one huge cup of hurt?

Let it go.  I know that's the thing to do and I really thought that's what I was doing by keeping it from my most beloved ones...after all, it's not my sin...not my burden...but it's become a pain for all of us...from the dark deeds of a few, generations are affected...and the joy is stolen, at least for a time.

I have a hand to hold, a palm to nestle in, that others may not know...maybe they did know but they've forgotten in the shadows where the colors, like the joy, seem so much more dim.  My refuge and strength.  My Protector who tells me in Exodus 14:14 to be still and know that He will fight for me.  He's got my back.  Thank you.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie? ~ yes, let's.

 Pondering My Meanderings... with much herbal love, Wanderer

The View From Here and a Prayer

The view from here, my tiny little corner of a very small sphere, concerning things related to Christian outreach, especially foreign missions, is often clouded by the lack of information, misunderstandings, and fear.  In Mark 16:15-16, Jesus, talking to the disciples, said, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation. 16 Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned..." 

That's pretty clear.  It would seem that we are to go all over the world, to let others know the good news.  Now, I have to say that I haven't really had a heart for foreign missions, not because I don't think they are necessary or even that we shouldn't be involved in them, merely that, for one thing, the hurtle of missions is often monetary.  Often thousands of dollars are raised to send a missionary into a specific city or country, sometimes for a short period of 7-10 days of ministry.  Are souls reached?  Yes! Are lives changed?  Yes!  But how much good could those same dollars have been used for right here at home to reach an obviously lost and hurting society?  Couldn't the same principals used in cities or foreign countries be used to spread the gospel to our own streets?  Absolutely.

A few thoughts on why my personal heart doesn't necessarily lead toward foreign fields...

First, because I am a home body.  While I enjoy traveling, it's always good to get back home.  My roots are here.  The people I love are here and I crave the family circle.  But, God is my comfort.

Second, because there are Christians all over the globe at this point in history.  So to spend money to send and support a missionary or missionary family in a foreign land when someone there could evangelize seems to be money that could be spent on other ministry needs right here at home or at least in this country.  But God knows best and so He calls the right people for the job.

And third, many places that call out to missionaries are in societies that are not the same as ours...a bad thing?  No...some diversity is good.  But often that change in culture includes higher crime rates, frequent terrorist activity, prejudice toward religions other than their own, tumultuous dictatorships and/or extreme poverty which leads to crime for survival.  Can God cover His missionaries with protection?  Of course.  Does He always? Unfortunately, no.  But He knows the big plan and I don't.

And herein lies a big BUT..., for me.  The WHAT IF.....?,  the fear....I have a hard time with all the scenarios that appear in my mind.  And what it all boils down to is the fact that I struggle with my plan over His.  I want to keep my family together...and safe...I want to hold, care for and play with my grandbabies, to be a part of their life that is more than a picture or a cold, interactive "movie" that they can't hug or snuggle with...I want to help and continue being a mom to my kids that is a real, hands-on helpful part of their lives...I WANT these things!   Wow! That's a selfish statement.  But the reason is that I feel my life's mission has been to protect, disciple and raise godly children and break the mold out of the dysfunctional stuff that has been such a big deal for so long.

While I was growing up, my parents didn't get along more than about 20% of the time.  I think that's generous. Eventually my dad left us for a period of time during my early teen years and I'm not sure I was ever really able to forgive him for it.  My maternal grandfather had passed away long before I came along.  It's probably for the best since I've heard he was a mean, abusive drunk most of the time and my grandma, the sweetest woman I ever knew, died when I was ten.  At that point, I lost that entire side of my family with 18 aunts and uncles and tons of cousins...lost over a feud that goes on to this day...40+ years later. My paternal grandma died when I was 7, a grumpy woman who never really seemed to have much time for a timid little girl.  My grandpa, a big man who worked on and retired from the railroad, was a sweet old fellow who had a silly lopsided grin, loved to play his fiddle and sing at the same time, yet led a family who had nothing but contempt for my mother and her family.  Her bitterness and sense of ill treatment all her life filters into everything she has done for at least the past 50 years.

   

Growing up in the middle of all that, I repressed alot, tried to maintain the status quo and rise above the broken family toward what I hoped would be a better life.  Enter a husband with a little attitude...a manipulative, bitter  mom and what followed was 30 years of yet another separation that is still a battle daily.  I had to chose...husband or parents...and as I had taken a vow at my wedding, husband came first.  Which led to my children caught in the middle...a situation I had hoped to improve for them.  In order to keep them from being pulled apart, I stepped back and didn't see my folks for several years.    

After threats to take my kids away from me, even though the only situation I denied them was alone time, and various other arguments about unimportant things, the feeling that the other shoe could drop at any time was too much.  My weight had increased much too much, my confidence level was shot, and my protective mode was in full gear. Don't mess with me...my husband...or my kids.  I've made choices and sacrifices to protect them and give them a home that, while not perfect, was a far cry more stable than the ones either of us came from.

The protective mama bear syndrome. 

I guess I carry that over into their adult lives.  And I know deep inside that God knows better than me, and His will and timing are perfect.  Better than mine...and here's the BUT...I'm afraid to just say okay to what ever. I'm afraid to send my kids off to missions half way around the globe because "What if...?"  What if I never see them?  What if they are hurt or sick and I can't get to them?  Or what if they have children that never know me?  What if they are killed or kidnapped or raped?  I always wanted the support of a family, the peacefulness that others had in knowing that they were surrounded by people who wouldn't let anything happen to them if they could help it, much less hurt them or drive them away.  That protective bubble of love that was never compromised by anger and self righteousness.  And I want that for my kids, too...from me.  For me.  Just once.  I want to have that happy family circle for all of us.

So I'm asking...Please hear the desires of my heart and consider my plea.  I know they don't come as a surprise to an omnipotent, all knowing god like yourself.  Please allow us to have that happy bubble of family love and protection that will carry us through, welcome new members and build a community of caring and supporting that I've never known and can break this cycle of hate and hurt that has been the norm for far too long.  These blessings don't come from me, or anything I've done or deserve, they are only from You.  Ultimately, You are in control and you can give me all the peace I need just from Your glory and mercy.  Your presence...here, with me. 

I know and believe all these things.  But I'm asking in the name of Jesus...hear my prayer.  I can't find the words to express it because it's so much bigger than what I've written here, but You know me inside and out...You've seen my darkest secrets and my sweetest thoughts.  Help me to trust You with the blessings You've given me.  Because in the end that's what this is...an issue of trust.  We make decisions all the time to act on head knowledge from a right heart.  Help me have that heart and know Your peace.

Amen

Pondering My Meanderings...

with much herbal love,

Wanderer