Lessons from Caregiving, #14: Moments that Matter

(This post is part of a series. For previous posts in the series please see #1, #2., #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13)

I've always been a planner. As a strategic thinker, lists and structure come easily to me. I find it more stressful to be spontaneous, and within that, I have always worked best in blocks of time. So it's not surprising that God would take me through a season of learning how to be more flexible, more spontaneous, and most significantly, more in the moment. 

One of the lessons I'm learning is that while I can measure the tasks on my to-do list, I cannot measure the value of an interaction. The time spent patiently hanging out with Bob or taking my parents and him for a drive might result in 10 fewer things crossed off - but countless moments that matter. 

As I move from looking for good days to looking for good moments, I'm learning that I have to consistently be present in order to make every moment count. I have to focus not just on what has to be done, but on what he needs. It's a major change of perspective regarding time management. 

In the process I think I'm learning some of what Scripture means about the priority of love. I'm learning that when I live out 1 Corinthians 13 (which is possible only solely by the power of the Holy Spirit) I find living in the moment much easier. Each of these action verbs are in the present. I can't go back and be patient yesterday, and as much as I wish I could, I can't let today's kindness count for tomorrow.

This long Thanksgiving weekend, we've had some good moments. We've had plenty of hard ones too. I've had some joys, a few laughs, some fatigue - and I've shed some tears. All of these have been around moments that matter. I pray that in the process, I've loved well enough to give others some moments that matter, too.


1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

Lessons from Caregiving #13: Living Hope

(This post is part of a series. For previous posts in the series please see #1, #2., #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9,#10, #11, #12)

I saw them at the end of a blustery, cold, mid-November walk, with rain spitting into my face and the wind pushing me from behind. The evergreens just down the road, God's reminder even in the bleak mid-winter that life is just under the surface of all the gray and brown. It's easy to see why Christians embraced the Germanic tradition of decorating fir trees with lights, redeeming the meaning for the Christmas celebration. Evergreens are reminders of Hope.

In this caregiving season, I'm learning a lot about hope - what it is and what it isn't. Biblical hope isn't wishful thinking. It's not anticipating a specific outcome. Frankly, if that were the extent of it, I would have lost hope a long time ago. While I know and believe God can heal my husband at any moment, the progression of his disease despite our believing prayers leads me to conclude God has a different plan. My hope isn't tied to the reversal of dementia. Instead, Biblical hope is tied to a person - Jesus - and grounded in a historical fact - the Resurrection.

Biblical hope says that because He created the world perfect, all the results of the fall, including dementia, grieve Him like they grieve us. Biblical hope says that because He became human, He knows what it is like to grieve in these bodies that are limited by space and time. His grieving over Lazarus tells me that what we feel matters to Him, deeply. He doesn't minimize it, and neither should we. When people reach out to me in love and concern and practical help, I feel the hope that comes with the incarnation - a God who doesn't let me go through the valley alone.

Biblical hope also says that when He died and rose again, He proclaimed a profound truth: What we experience here is not all there is. After the tears, there was "Lazarus, come forth." And after the cross, there was an empty tomb. Jesus became Hope personified. He is my Living Hope.

I won't pretend that this is getting easier. It's not. In many ways it's getting ever so much harder. And yet, as I continue to learn about Hope, I learn that it is always living, or it doesn't exist.... that every day I am living hope out, living out the truth of the resurrection - even through my tears.

Living Hope by Phil WIckham 

How great the chasm that lay between us
How high the mountain I could not climb
In desperation, I turned to heaven
And spoke Your name into the night
Then through the darkness, Your loving-kindness
Tore through the shadows of my soul
The work is finished, the end is written
Jesus Christ, my living hope

Who could imagine so great a mercy?
What heart could fathom such boundless grace?
The God of ages stepped down from glory
To wear my sin and bear my shame
The cross has spoken, I am forgiven
The King of kings calls me His own
Beautiful Savior, I'm Yours forever
Jesus Christ, my living hope

Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There's salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope

Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There's salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope

Then came the morning that sealed the promise
Your buried body began to breathe
Out of the silence, the Roaring Lion
Declared the grave has no claim on me
Then came the morning that sealed the promise
Your buried body began to breathe
Out of the silence, the Roaring Lion
Declared the grave has no claim on me
Jesus, Yours is the victory, whoa!

Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There's salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope

Hallelujah, praise the One who set me free
Hallelujah, death has lost its grip on me
You have broken every chain
There's salvation in Your name
Jesus Christ, my living hope

Jesus Christ, my living hope
Oh God, You are my living hope

Lessons from Caregiving, #12: The Last Time

(This post is part of a series. For previous posts in the series please see #1, #2., #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10, #11)

The last time I tucked you in to bed,
You looked at me with trust and love.
Your eyes said what your words could not.

"Thank you."
"I love you."
"I miss you."

I hate this disease, this result of the Fall.
It steals so much, so quickly.
I never know when this will be the last time.

The last time you remember my name.
The last time you recognize me.
The last time I tuck you in.

I don't know how to live like this,
Constantly anticipating "the last time."
Always hoping for "one more time."

All I know to do is love you well
And treat you as if each time IS the last time.
To focus on and treasure every moment.

And then maybe when the last time comes, I will have no regrets.
No "I wish I hads". No struggling to remember -
Your voice, your smile, your touch.

And when the last time comes, I want to remember this truth:
Because of Jesus, there is never really a "last time".
For all our "last times" here are simply portals to the first time there.

So I will cry.
Then I will lift my head, and take my next breath
With Hope.