Monday, October 27, 2014

Healing Balm

I have suffered an attack of hip bursitis, which, as a helpful internet source tells me, occurs mostly in  middle-aged and elderly women. 

Sigh.

Bursitis often erupts following unaccustomed physical exercise. I had begun a brisk walking program, and in a burst of overconfidence chose to do my middle-aged/elderly version of a jog up and down a small hill adjacent to our house.

My right hip now hurts, especially at night. I am biding my time and praying to avoid things like doctor visits and cortisone shots, and if you would pray this with me I would be very grateful.

This morning I made my awkward, grumbling way out of bed and staggered over to the mirror that hangs above the old oak dresser. I'd not slept much, and though I ought to have reached for my Bible, had spent fruitless time worrying about my Alzheimer's mom and the future instead.  I leaned toward the mirror and examined the circles beneath my eyes in close detail, which did not improve my mood. Quoting Gideon, I addressed my reflection:  "If the Lord is with us, why has all this happened to us?" (Judges 6:13).

I now feel silly and melodramatic as I confess how upset I felt over an aching back and my healthy, albeit dementia-impacted, 90-year-old mom.  But there it is; this morning I placed my relatively minor trials on a par with being under siege by Midianites, and I felt I understood Gideon's plaintive question. Why, Lord?  If You are with us why do these things happen?

I wept a little (self-pity, no doubt) and then reached for a tin of Cloverine salve and applied the comforting stuff to my reddened nose. My poor nose is often irritated this time of year with seasonal allergies, and I'm always a little surprised at how much discomfort a stinging, chapped nose can cause. But when I carry my trusty container of Cloverine with me and reapply often, I have no discomfort at all.

At this I felt the little heart nudge that tells me the Lord would like to make a point, although I admit I was a bit hesitant to accept an analogy between the healing balm of Gilead and my humble pot of Cloverine. But the connection is obvious, even to a middle-aged (or elderly) woman who has a hitch in her get along and an Alzheimer's mom: I can receive healing and strength if I will liberally partake of Scripture and reapply as needed.

Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.  
--1 Peter 5:7



Monday, October 20, 2014

Respite

When I did an internet search for the word "respite," here is what I found:

res·pite
ˈrespət,rēˈspīt/
noun
noun: respite
1.
a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant
synonyms:rest, break, breathing space, interval, intermission, interlude, recess, lull, pause, time out

Every caregiver needs respite. I remember reading that Susanna Wesley would throw her apron over her face and at this sign, her 19 children knew she was not to be bothered because she was praying.  That was Susanna's respite, and bless her heart, the Lord did help her as evidenced by by the Godly children she raised (her boys John and Charles began the Methodist church, among other accomplishments).  

I find respite in prayer too, but unlike Susanna, I'm able to be outside quite often. This suits me, because nothing refreshes my spirit more than finding God in nature. I return from my daily walks a calmer, kinder caregiver. 

If you are on the front lines of caregiving, find your respite first in the Lord, and then look for that much needed oasis of rest (break, breathing space, time-out). God can strengthen us to bear burdens we never thought we'd be able to carry, but regular times of rest are a part of any strengthening program.

My respite comes in spending time on the farm with my husband, daily walks, and taking photos that attempt to capture the beauty in nature that I so love.  If you'd like to see the photos from tonight's appropriately spooky-for-the-season walk, visit the post at my farm blog entitled October Sunset. 



Monday, October 13, 2014

Good Times

Many caregivers find themselves members of the sandwich generation, caught between the needs of aging parents and growing children.  Because my mom's Alzheimer's has spanned ten years of time, I've experienced many sandwich-type moments, such as the day I found myself bathing my slippery and unhappy toddler grandson in the morning and my slippery and unhappy Alzheimer's mom that same night.

This time of life offers many moments of joy along with some times of frustration and exhaustion.  It is mostly good, and the sad or bad times cause me to cry out to the Lord, and that's good too. 

Today I've written a little treatise on the sadness and joy of being parents of adult children.  If you would enjoy reading about the yummy fall menu we served for a family dinner this weekend and how our momentary pang of sorrow turned to peace when our children pulled out of the driveway for their respective homes, hop on over to "Good Times Then and Now."


Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Struggle and Scripture

I'm struggling.  Especially in the mornings I feel so sad. As Mom's symptoms increase, I grapple with fear of how her Alzheimer journey might end.

For so many years I felt strong empathy for Mom, and I still am able to express love and minister to her as I've always done. But the other day she choked on a piece of food and I remained completely calm.  I assessed whether she needed the Heimlich, and saw that she did not (she was able to gasp for air and talk). I stood by, offered tissues, prayed, and considered whether I needed to call 911; although she could breathe, it was a violent and long lasting episode. In the middle of it Mom became angry that I wasn't "doing something" and between coughing fits she yelled at me for not being more concerned. That's when I knew she was all right.

She was mad at me the rest of the day, and I guess I can understand. Had it been one of my grandchildren I would have exhibited a much higher degree of anxiety. But because it was my 90 year old mother who has had Alzheimer's for ten years, and because I feel a daily dread of how her life might end and have steeled myself by envisioning various scenarios, I essentially detached emotionally once I'd ascertained I'd done everything I could do to help her.  She wanted me to act more upset, and clearly did not believe me when I patted her knee and said, "I'm sorry, you just have to cough it out."

"Easy for you to say," she said.

But it isn't easy. I don't like being so close to the Valley of the Shadow with my mother. Death is ugly, and while watching a loved one succumb so slowly to death by Alzheimer's is frightening, even more appalling is to be confronted by the possibility of an imminent and struggle-filled passage from life to death. In darker moments, I feel close to terror. It may sound wrong to say what is true; it is the discomfort of this situation that I hate.  I am uncomfortable with grief and fear, and although I've suppressed it, I do suffer a terrible empathy for my mother because she has lost touch with reality.  This is hard, and I don't like things to be hard.

If you read my posts often you will know this one is uncharacteristically dark. You will also know  that although I'm sad, I'm not in despair, and even when I'm afraid, I'm not without hope.  I felt led to share with you as honestly as I could how I've been struggling, but I'll close with the reasons I have courage for the path ahead:  


We are pressed on every side by troubles, but not crushed and broken. We are perplexed because we don’t know why things happen as they do, but we don’t give up and quit. We are hunted down, but God never abandons us. We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going. These bodies of ours are constantly facing death just as Jesus did; so it is clear to all that it is only the living Christ within who keeps us safe.
--2 Corinthians 4:8-10 TLB

So do not fear, for I am with you;
    do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
    I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

--Isaiah 41:10 NIV

The Lord is my light and my salvation—
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—
    of whom shall I be afraid?...
For in the day of trouble
    he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent
    and set me high upon a rock...
Though my father and mother forsake me,
    the Lord will receive me...
I remain confident of this:
    I will see the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord;
    be strong and take heart
    and wait for the Lord.
--Psalm 27:1,5,10,13-14 NIV

But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

--Psalm 13:5-6 NIV

Blessed be His Holy Name! 

Monday, September 22, 2014

Even to Your Old Age

My mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in April of 2004 and is ninety years old.  Sometimes she behaves badly, and I've conditioned myself to attribute behaviors that would once have been categorized as sinful as now being just symptoms of her disease. That perspective is mostly accurate. Brain damage, confusion, physical discomfort, and frustration can cause temper outbursts and angry responses that do need to be accepted as disease symptoms.

However, I have to be careful not to interact with my mother only as a patient. She is still in possession of a living faith in God. She is still a human being, and thus is capable of sinful behaviors. And, as the following account reveals, she is still capable of conviction by the Holy Spirit that results in repentance. 

Mom had tried to reach me on her chair-side phone, and although I was just in the next room, I was on another call. So, my phone service sent her to my voice mail. Oh how I try to keep mom from ever getting that voice mail message, because it makes her angry every time.  I've re-recorded the message numerous times so that the current version features a placating, almost pleading tone of voice that assures callers I'll be back to them just as soon as I possibly can, but to no avail. Receiving a recorded message when she had hoped, as she always says, for a "live human voice" triggers vindictive anger in my mother, and in certain moods she will try to get even with me for the vexation this causes.  It took me a few minutes to finish with the other call, and in the interim Mom wrote in her journal, "I'm trying to think of something that will really upset Linda."  Her solution was to scream and pour her diet coke out onto the floor, and when I ran into the room she cut loose with a tirade of vindictive words. She said that for the rest of her life she would do everything she could to torture me and make me miserable.

She was trying to hurt my heart and although I remained calm and did not show it outwardly, she accomplished her goal. I went out of the room and prayed. I called two friends and asked them to pray for Mom. I then sat in a chair just outside her doorway and prayed some more. When I heard her crying I entered the room.

She was repeating, "Lord forgive me, Lord forgive me!" When she saw me she said, "I've always had this problem with pride and I am asking God's forgiveness, do you think it is too late?"

I assured her it was not. We prayed together. My heart felt the solace of Mom's sincere regret; although she had forgotten she had lashed out at me, she was remorseful because the Holy Spirit had convicted her of sin.  I assured her that the Lord had forgiven her, and in my heart I forgave her as well.

The best preparation anyone can make for the possibility of an Alzheimer diagnosis in the future is to nurture a relationship with the Lord in the present. It is incredible to me how the Lord continues to speak to my mother even in these difficult final years of her journey through Alzheimer's; Mom's faith is alive and well even though her thinking ability has been profoundly compromised.  God does not ever leave us or abandon us. We can trust Him to work in our minds and hearts until the day He releases us from these broken bodies and brings us home. 

"Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you" -- Isaiah 46:4

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

How to Grieve Like a Christian

There are some griefs so overwhelming and all-encompassing that we are stunned by loss. During those times the Lord sustains us; when we are blind and deaf from pain, He holds on. I don't think this post addresses grief of that caliber.

However, when land that had been in our family for 150 years sold recently, I grieved as though I was a child who had lost her home. As I sought the Lord regarding the soul-wrenching depth of this sorrow, the following guidance emerged: 

Remember that although you are cemented to a specific point in time, God is above time and space.  He is sovereign over your past, present, and future, and nothing is beyond His reach: "He is before all things, and in him all things hold together" (Colossians 1:17). 

Love does not die. A person, beloved place, or precious pet may no longer be with you, but to replace the reality of love with a shrine to grief is to replace what is real and will last forever  (love) with something that is transient (grief of loss).  "Love never ends" (1 Corinthians 13:8 ESV). "Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away" (Isaiah 51:11). 

If loss of something of this Earth causes you to feel as though your moorings have been cut, use this opportunity to attach yourself more deeply to the Lord, because He will not abandon you. "God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you'" (Hebrews 13:5).  "I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you" (John 14:18). 

Abstain from the forms of pain relief utilized by those who don't know the Lord. Discipline of the flesh allows the mind understanding of what the heart already knows: all is well. "Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit" (Galatians 5:25).  

Don't substitute another person or place for heart needs that can only be filled by a relationship with God.  "All my fresh springs shall be in Thee"  (Psalm 87:7 P.B.V.)

Refuse to exchange the reality of past blessing for the grief of the present moment. Grief is a temporary passage, not a permanent condition. "...do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope" (1 Thessalonians 4:13).

Make your heart's home in Christ, and through Him participate in the reality that encompasses all time and eternity. Past, present, and future, you are safe in Him.  “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty” --Revelation 1:8

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Precious Memories Are Present Reality in the Lord

My mother's parents owned a farm in the Ozark hills of Missouri. Mom grew up there, in a little house that began as a one room log cabin when her grandparents homesteaded the place in the mid 1800's. My grandma always said her little house "grew like Topsy" over the years, with rooms added as the family increased in number. Grandpa added a porch and enclosed it, then built a second story, a kitchen, a bedroom, a utility room, and finally in the late 1950's the crowning glory: a fully plumbed bathroom.

When Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer at age 90, Grandma could no longer take care of him, and it was time for them to move to town. Grandpa lived only a few months after that move, and my mother signed over her share of the farm to my uncle, since he had agreed to bear the burden of caregiving for Grandma.  This followed a family tradition; a generation earlier my grandparents had inherited the farm in exchange for providing care for my great grandmother.

The little house that "grew like Topsy." The green portion on the left in this photo was a originally a separate "granny house," the precursor of what we now would call "a mother-in-law" addition. The room that connects it to the main house was added later, after my great grandmother passed away. She was bedridden for three years and my grandparents provided 100% of her care with no respite caregivers or social services to ease the burden.
The little house sat on a hill surrounded by lush pastures and tree-covered bluffs that offered a thrilling, 360 degree panorama of soul-nurturing beauty. My cousins and I grew up picking plums and apples from Grandma's trees and exploring the secrets of Grandpa's shop where a forge and anvil bore testament to his years as a blacksmith before he became a mechanic who worked on Model T engines. Our parents called this farm "down home," and it remained my heart home even when my grandparents were gone. My uncle and aunt razed the old house and built their new home on the site, and although I didn't visit often, I had the security of knowing that the property was still in the family. I could still go "down home" if I chose.
Tree-covered bluff and pond to the east of the house.
Pasture southwest of the house site.

My uncle was diagnosed with Alzheimer's last year, and a few days ago the sale of this property that had been in our family for 150 years was finalized.  This past Saturday I made one last journey "down home."

I was surprised at the intensity of my grief.  I felt embarrassed by my sorrow, as though it was somehow inappropriate. I knew that I should not grieve in the same way as those who have no hope in Christ (1 Thesalonians 4:13), but that Scripture passage refers to the loss of loved ones, not of a place.  How could an earthly location hold so much of my heart?  How could I, thirty years after any right of heredity had been signed away and over twenty years removed from the time Grandma's house was torn down, still manage to think of this earthly location as home, or believe it somehow provided me security? But I wept like a child over the final, irrevocable loss of this childhood place of happy safety, and a nightmarish sense of loss and homesickness settled over me.

In prayer, these thoughts came:

God is Spirit, and all times are "now" to Him. What was once real is still real in Him; all times belong to the Lord. I must not make an idol of this grief, take ownership of it, or label it as my own. To do so is to replace the reality of what exists in the past and replace it with a stone marked “my grief,” like Indiana Jones attempting to replace treasure with a worthless sack of equal weight.  His attempt did not work and neither would mine!  I can keep the precious memories--they are legitimately mine--but I can be rid of the grief.  My instinct is to hold onto the grief because it is in my present, and my access to the Missouri farm is in the past, out of my reach, but such an exchange replaces reality with sorrow.  Here is reality: I had grandparents who loved and provided for me, and I had beauty of the Missouri hills as my own. They will always belong to me because they once belonged to me.  No one can take them from me because there is no future or past in God; all is now! This goes beyond the platitude to "be comforted by your memories." It is more accurate to say, "Be comforted by your reality!" When I abide in the Lord, the glorious "now" of what was and is and is to be is mine.  All reality is "now" in Him. 

When we make our heart's home in Christ, we participate in the reality that encompasses all time and eternity. He keeps us grounded in Himself and does not allow us to find safe harbor elsewhere.  In God we are safe, and in Him all that was still is, and all that is will always be.   

“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty” --Revelation 1:8