Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Confounding Question

"How Are You?"

Three little words.
They confound me.

My mind races to grasp what to say. My Dad is dying. Right now he lays in bed, eyes sunken, half lidded and we think he's already seeing glimpses of heaven. His arms reach round like holding a beach ball, extending a hug to the unseen, maybe loved ones already on the other side.

"How Are You?"

Puzzled every time I'm asked. Three little words. I assume asked in reference to this life altering event, the dying of this integral man to my life. My mind filters through files and files of memories, moments and my face is frozen as my mind reaches to respond. I am lost how to respond.

"How Are You?"

And I am suspended in thought because I am well. The whole experience is beautiful. My own mind shocks at such a response. Loosing Dad is real. For days I've done mental cartwheels to understand how my response can be such. But what brings the tears? Why do I feel so overwhelmed that my chest is about to explode with it all?

"How Are You?"

I wrestle to put my finger on the factor, what is that one factor that does me in? What leaves me wracking with tears and gasping for breath?

And then I see it.
It's Crystal clear.
This God, this creator, He keeps showing up. In a million tiny ways He keeps showing up to care and provide. And not just for me but for my children, my brother, our neighbors and I watch as this God gently loves The Man, tenderly cradles my broken Mom and this kind of love, it does me in.

I am in the midst of loss and the creator of the whole world keeps stepping in and caring for all these little people experiencing this loss.
It is overwhelming.
It is beautiful.
It is breathtaking.

This God, who gave His Son so I can dwell with my Dad on the other side. This swells in my chest and creates sobbing, wrenching tears. How can a being love me so much? How can he give so much so I can have so much? He just never stops giving.

"How Are You?"

It's Ash Wednesday and the reality of mortality is nose to nose. So, I'm loading up my babies and we're heading to church to worship this amazing God. It's the least I can do as He carries me through this hard, hard life. I am honored to do it.

"How Are you?"

And now I ask my question of you. You see, I'll be there one day. I'll be reaching arms to hug Dad on the other side. I'll rejoice as I enter God's gates. I'll worship at God's feet holding tight to Dad's hand. Yes, that's going to happen one day.

Will you be there with me?

So, really, "How are you?"

Think on that question, the one that has confounded me for days, but first scroll to the bottom, pause the music then press play on the video and join me in processing the question:

Monday, February 20, 2012

Spilling


Dad is a silent.
Mom is sad.
Hospice is amazing.

People who follow Jesus, 
true disciples of Him, 
they make me cry, 
heal my heart, 
make me long to deeper know my God and His Son.

My breaths come sharp. 
Tears spill in odd places.
Children play and laugh and then hide in corners with silent tears streaming.
My even, steady Man has a fuzzy red that rims his deep, brown eyes.

I make meals to comfort souls.
I write words to capture the amazing beauty of this family, 
on this journey.
We celebrate an 8 year old birthday and play with the newest family member.

We have journeyed to a cemetery to make arrangements.
We drank coffee afterwards, 
so normal.
Normal will soon, forever change.
Soon my father will be past tense.

Oh, how I need the heavenly one to face the loss of the earthly one.

My God remains faithful.
His strong arm supports,
He is not shy to show His face.

My writing rhythm is shot. 
My words won't flow.
I'm focused on a family rhythm for now. 

Cancer altered the lens. 
Joy spills with the tears.
God is so good.



Friday, February 10, 2012

Impending Loss

Every thing makes me weepy. That's the nature of loss. You feel it. Impending loss is cruel. It lingers in the foreground and in our case there is no arrival date. For 3 years now we've carried the best guess of this or that doctor.

I rejoice that the first declarations of our impending loss were way off base. That doctor gave us weeks. God responded with years. Blessed years so The Boy got to know my Dad, his Papa, better. Time spent together sharing things Dad wanted us all to know. He has told me so many wonderful things, he has spoken those kind of words we think in quiet moments but the joy of living finds few windows to speak them.


I come from a messy family. We sin and we sin hard. We love and we love deep. These are drastic spikes on the emotional scale. Is it any wonder we all struggle a bit with depression. You won't find us coasting, we just don't coast. My Dad never coasted. I love the story of his pursuit of my Mom. It was all in, hard pursuit. He's told me many times how he loved her from minute one. He always told me he was a "one woman man" and he didn't want anyone but her. Their 39 years have been hard fought. My brother and I have had box seats. It was war. I never cheered for a war more than I have on the sidelines of that marriage. They did it. The battleground they gained paved a path for my own marriage.


When Daddy realized the nature of his cancer he went about telling us all what he wanted us to know. One day he sat me down to tell me the story of my birth. Now, I have heard the story of my near abortion. My mom has shared over and over again the divine intervention that occurred in an abortion clinic while lying on a sterile metal table. The voice that she heard, almost assuredly audible, telling her if she had this baby God would take care of her. It changed Mom's life forever and her faith, in that moment, gave me a chance at life. Yes, this story I had been told but I had never heard it from my Dad's point of view.
 
It was a bright sunny day and Dad still looked like himself. He had lost a lot of weight but he was his usual rugged handsome, wearing his favorite levis and standard harley shirt. He sported his signature mustache and on his neck a bandage covering where he had recently had a port inserted under his skin for upcoming treatments. He wanted to have a heart to heart talk. We were just facing the reality of cancer. I was full of hope yet the impending loss already dangled large in our future. The hope side of me longed to silence his words. They felt like goodbyes. He was insistent so I sat across from him on the couch to listen.

"Honey, I want to tell you about your birth. I have never told you my side and I want you to know."
I wish with all my heart I had gotten the video camera out. I regret I didn't put him on hold and do just that. He proceeded to again share his love for Mom. How it was the summer before her senior year of high school when she told him she was pregnant. He responded with great joy. He told me how excited it made him. He wanted to get married. She didn't think they could actually do this family thing. She was certain it was better to save a child from teenage parents.

 
He agreed to help her however she needed him. She made an appointment but he said it pained him greatly. He felt it was wrong and he didn't know where to go with it all. A new follower of Christ he decided to go on his knees. He shared the facts with his mother and she joined him in prayer. He told me he wanted me from day one and he prayed with all he had that God would work to save my life. He drove her to that clinic and he watched her walk down the corridor always petitioning God on my behalf.

"I prayed like I had never prayed before. I just knew if there was a way to change this outcome that God could do it. When your mother came out of the room and told me she wanted to marry me and have this baby I couldn't usher her fast enough out of that place. God answered my prayer."

Daddy went on to tell me things he had told me over and over in my lifetime. He loved me. He wanted me. He adored me. He treasured all our days together. My Daddy has been all a knight in shining armor should be. He fought for me, he protected me, he treasured me as a helper. I have spent 38 years toiling at all kinds of tasks joyfully at his side.


Now I will help him rest comfortable until God calls him home. I am so grateful for all his prayers that day to usher my life into this world. It's  just way too soon to be sitting at his side praying for him as we wait for the doors of eternity to open and usher him home.



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