Lessons from Caregiving, #19: Surrendering by Faith

(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, #14, #15, #16, #17, #18)

I suppose somewhere out there is a Christian for whom "I surrender all" is a statement of fact. For the rest of us, though, it's a prayer of faith. And I'm learning to be okay with that.

I used to think of "faith" as something we had to muster up and try hard not to let slip away. Phrases like "she never complains" or "all I ever hear from her is praise" reaffirmed this perception. When I entered this caregiving journey and began walking through ambiguous grief, I assumed that was my goal. 

Then, I met Job. 

Oh, I thought I knew him. I knew that he praised God when he lost all his children and possessions. I knew he had enviable patience. I knew he would trust God through his trial even if it meant death. I'd been there, read the book, got the T-shirt. 

But then I came across Job again, this time from the perspective of someone walking through my own wrecking season. I walked through my own season of words meant for the wind. I wasn't always positive and didn't just talk about Scripture. I still don't. 

I began to see in Job a John 6:68 type of faith - he didn't know what was happening, he didn't understand it all, but he had an unshakeable faith that there was nowhere else to turn. So he processed his pain, his anger, his resentment - every feeling imaginable - within the context of that relationship. His religious friends who lacked that relationship watched on in confusion, but Job held firm.

I admire those with constant, unassailable trust. But Job teaches me that I can struggle through suffering and end up in a place of deeper trust. That I can hold on to the basics of who God is, knowing my Redeemer lives, and still have doubts and wrestling matches with my Maker. 

There is a need for a witness of trust and hope, for posting Scripture and statements of faith. But I think there is also a need for the witness of holding on to Jesus when all you can see is darkness.There is a time for telling of lessons learned, and there is a time for processing lessons still in progress. 

I'm waiting for the day that I can truly say "I surrender all". Until then, I'll keep singing those words by faith, trusting that He is holding on to me.

Lessons from Caregiving, #18: God is my Caregiver

(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, #14, #15, #16, #17)

Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you. - 1 Peter 5:7

Caregiving is hard work. Maintaining the daily routine, addressing constant changes, sleepless nights, dealing with the emotions of ongoing ambiguous grief -- all of this can leave a caregiver wiped out or worse, burned out.

That's why I've been so blessed by a lesson God has been teaching me from 1 Peter 5:7. We often think of this in an emotional sense - God cares about me in the same way that I care about my neighbor's missing cat. But the meaning is so much stronger than emotion. The word means God "takes care of" us. God, quite literally, is my caregiver.

It's been hard to process what this means in practical terms. It certainly doesn't mean that I don't need anyone else, that "me and God" have this covered. It does mean that I can see the people He sends my way and His hands and feet to meet my needs - even needs I didn't realize I had, and so I am learning to accept whatever people offer as if God Himself were holding it out to me. He knows what I need.

It also means that I don't have to always have the "right" emotions. We all know someone who went through a trial and never spoke a complaining word or only shared uplifting, encouraging truth or never took a day off. We often lift up Job 1:20-22 as a model for dealing with a devastating circumstance. And it is true, we need to end up in a place of praise.

I'm not doubting the sincerity of these believers' walks with God. My walk, though, has often looked more like Job 19, crying out about the things that make no sense, telling God and others that I'm in a wrecking season. I've said plenty of things, to God and those close to me, that I am glad He knew were "words for the wind", as Job 6:26 says. Yet He has tenderly been my caregiver through all of this, helping me hold on to the most basic threads of my faith even when it didn't feel good. John 6:67-68 and Job 19:25-27 have been lifelines for me - and He has cared for me to keep me out of despair.

I also learn so much about God as my caregiver through watching my dear husband with me. His total trust, his looking to me for cues as to what to do next and confirmation that he is doing it right, his desire to be in my presence even when he doesn't understand what's going on around him - all this teaches me how God wants me to relate to Him in simple trust as my caregiver, casting my concerns on Him just like my husband leaves all the big (and most of the little) questions about life up to me.

As I was processing these lessons, I ran across a beautiful depiction of this principle from a caregiving hero of mine, Robertson McQuilkin. McQuilkin gave up his role as a college president to care for his wife with Alzheimer's disease. He has written beautifully about the lessons learned through this experience. Speaking of the liberation that comes with being "tied down" to caregiving, he writes these words:

As Alzheimer's slowly locked away one part of my Muriel, then another, every loss for her shut down a part of me....Even in this loss, however, I made a wonderful discovery. As Muriel became ever more dependent on me, our love seeped to deeper, unknown crevices of the heart....We found the chains of confining circumstance to be, not instruments of torture, but bonds to hold us closer. 

But there was even greater liberation. It has to do with God's love. No one ever needed me like Muriel, and no one ever responded to my efforts so totally as she. It's the nearest thing I've experienced on a human plane to what my relationship with God was designed to be: God's unfailing love poured out in constant care of helpless me. Surely He planned that relationship to draw from me the kind of love and gratitude Muriel had for her man. Her insatiable - even desperate - longing to be with me, her quiet confidence in my ability and desire to care for her, a mirror reflection of what my love for God should be.

- Robertson McQuilkin, A Promise Kept, p. 32-33, emphasis mine

And that is the beauty of God as caregiver: He is attracted to my weakness. He is attracted to your weakness. We don't have to be a caregiver to experience His caregiving. We just have to learn how to cast our cares on Him, and quit trying to be or do or feel what we "should." The more we realize our helplessness, the more we come to understand His love.