Susan and I are each taking care of an elderly parent, so we are often challenged to do the right thing. The right thing is more often not black and white and changes from day to day. I realize that we have entered into a new and unfamiliar world, a world many of you know all too well and are living in now or have been there in the past. Well, we are in the middle of it right now, trying to balance being care givers while continuing to work in our respective professions. I consider myself fairly competent in making decisions. I make difficult decisions every day as a vocational rehabilitation counselor for veterans with disabilities. So, I am not unfamiliar with going through decision-making processes that affect people’s lives and futures. But making decisions for one’s own mother, who has lost the ability to understand and decide for herself in many instances, is quite intimidating.
My mother Agi has always been ultra independent, so I had never before needed to take control of her affairs. As one might expect with this responsibility comes a strong sense of urgency along with a fear of failure. Just 3 short months ago my mother was living independently with minimal assistance, fully involved in her life and surroundings. Mom had always been active and relational. She hardly stayed in her apartment. One could always find her sitting in a group of residents at Heritage Woods, enjoying the outside grounds or painting a picture. Everything changed in such a short time.
We serve a God who provides for us abundantly. God calls us not to worry about our future but to put our trust in him. God tells us that he loves and cares for us even more than the lilies in the field or the ravens. We are far more valuable to him than any birds in the air! I confess that all too often I don’t live as if God considers me valuable. Sometimes I find it easier to do things on my own, especially when things seem hopeless.
One of my favorite stories in the Bible is in the OT. A familiar story. God provided manna for his people who were lost and hungry in the wilderness. This manna appeared on the ground each morning, but it all spoiled by that afternoon. They could not store it up or devise schemes to survive on their own and feed themselves. They had to rely on God each day to provide for them anew.
So, it is with us. We are invited to expect God’s provision every day, and to trust that this gift is sufficient. We have thousands of stories of God’s grace and provision, his love and his abundance in times of need. I would like to share one such story of what I have learned of God’s ridiculous love for me and my family.
About a month ago Mom called me on my cell phone at work. She was lost and said she did not have any place to live. Earlier I had realized that she was getting more confused, but I figured that getting her back on her medication would fix things. That next Saturday I received several calls from the independent living facility that Mom was wondering around lost. She was trying to get into people’s cars to get a ride somewhere. I needed to come there right away. I realized that things had drastically changed and that I would need to prepare myself for uncharted experiences. Instead of running over there I decided to first gather myself for a few moments. So, I went outside to pick cherries from my tree and to pray. The cherries were just about gone for the season, but on this particular day every cherry was perfectly ripe and ready to fall into my hand. In every direction there were ripe cherries hanging in bunches of 5 or 8. I was amazed by how many and how easy they were for the picking. Of course, as I picked and prayed, God had a powerful message for me. “Where did these cherries come from?” God asked. “Do you really think you had much to do with them?” “Well God, you know, uh, (clearing my throat), I kinda planted the tree here many years ago, and I’ve been watering it….” “My son, I’m the one who has made these cherries grow, and I have given them to you. You didn’t even ask for them. Remember how many times I have provided for you in everything. I know you don’t have the answers to what’s ahead, but trust that I will provide for you again in this situation. Just reach out your hand, and I will fill it up.”
The next day I again listened to a phone message from my mom. She begged me to come find her. She was again lost and didn’t know where she lived. “Please help me”, she pleaded. “I don’t know what to do.” That was a hard message to hear. I called the Senior Services Day Center to talk with them about whether the activities and supervision there would be right for her. I knew she needed some structure, and I needed advice. Was mom ready for such a place? I decided to go see the center myself, so I left work early and made a visit. Jean Small, the Director, met me at the door.
She said, “Yes, I know your mother. I tried to get her to come here to teach a class on painting a few years ago. We think a lot of her. Come, let me show you something.” We weaved our way through the rooms cluttered with the day’s activities and people waiting for their rides home. All the way in the back we entered the administrative office suite and around the lobby where there hung on the wall a wonderful painting that my mother painted. I’m usually not so enamored by many of her paintings, but this one was indeed special. There in the foreground stood a park bench with four old people sitting and staring out into space or looking down. They were dressed in tattered clothes, but they appeared to be content sitting there together. Behind them was an amusement park with many colors, sounds, a Farris Wheel and rides. The four were near to the park but not really participants, as they were facing away from the fairground no longer a part of this life.
I was blown away that my mother already had a place here, that the staff already loved her. Jean took me into her office. As she talked about the future and the nature of Alzheimer’s, I got a big dose of reality. I had a strong sense that I was in the right place. I was a little overwhelmed and apologized to Jean for shedding tears. They were tears of grief for the past, present and future for my mother, and they were tears of joy that God had already told me this would happen. I don’t have to love where we are, but I will praise God for his grace and thank him for his abundance.
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