I love the illustrations that my Pastor used Sunday morning in the Worship Service. God’s Message had my name written across it in crimson. Brother Leland firmly gripped one fist inside the other and reminded us that as Children of God, there is absolutely nothing that can pull us from God’s grip. He went on to say that we are held there and protected so well, that nothing can come to us unless God first gives His permission. “We are runners in this race we call life. God has assigned each one of us a lane in which to run. We cannot run in someone else’s lane; and no one else can run in our lane.”
I have been pondering that Message as it relates to the monsoon season I’m experiencing in my “lane” at the moment. The definition of monsoon is: “a season of very heavy rainfall.” I find that challenges are raining down like ping pong balls in a Captain Kangaroo episode.
On November 24th, we learned that my Uncle Doc had passed away. What a shock that was. We had been expecting “The Call” about Aunt Juanita whom I wrote about in a previous post, but we thought Uncle Doc was recuperating well from the broken hip. He was 91 years old and until this past summer was still mowing his own grass and driving his car around the Metroplex. His mind remained sharp and he cared for his wife as her mind slowly slipped into the past. At times, she thought he was her “roommate” or “that man who lives here”, and she even thought he was her “Daddy.” It wasn’t supposed to be Uncle Doc who died first, but God had a different Plan. When Aunt Juanita learned of his death, she at first thought her Daddy had died. But God granted her a moment of clarity so that she understood her precious husband had gone ahead to get the home at their new heavenly address ready for her arrival.
On November 28th, I received a phone call from my Dad around 1:30 in the morning. Mom was “very dizzy” and he needed me to come check on her and help figure out what we needed to do. I tried contacting her primary care physician’s on-call Nurse Practitioner twice over the next 3 hours, but was unsuccessful. I realized that Mom needed attention sooner than Monday when the clinic would re-open and I knew I’d never be able to get her to my car, much less drive her to the hospital. It was time for a 911 call. While others were preparing for a morning of Worship, we were at the hospital waiting on test results. As they were leaving Sunday School and moving to the Worship Center, I was driving Mom home. The diagnosis was Vertigo and UTI. No matter how slowly I drove or how easily I took the turns, Mom was nauseated. How thankful we were that there was a plastic trash bag in the floorboard!
It was clear that Mom wasn’t going to be driving Dad to dialysis that week, so my nephew and I figured out a schedule between us that would meet Dad’s needs and allow us to both continue working. His wife helped me provide meals for the week and I ran errands and did the shopping. Busy week at work and at home!
On December 1st, I learned that Mandy, my Prodigal Daughter, had begun the transfer process from a parish maximum security facility to the federal prison where she will spend the rest of her sentence. We knew we wouldn’t hear from her until she arrived at her destination. On December 5th, my husband and I took one last trip to the parish facility to pick up her personal property. Every visit there had been emotionally draining for us, and this was no exception. Hal and I realized we would no longer have weekly visits with her and that it would be some months before we will be able to travel out-of-state to visit her. There was something unsettling in holding the garbage bag in which her belongings had been placed. The bag wasn't labeled and it took the guards some time to find her things. It was if her life was so worthless, no one could be bothered to give her another thought.
At eight PM on December 8th, I had just returned from Keyboard practice in preparation for an upcoming Instrumental Concert. Hal followed me into the bedroom and said, “You need to call your father.” When I asked if something was wrong, he only repeated, “You need to call your father.” I looked into his eyes, saw the sadness and concern there and said, “It’s about Aunt Juanita, isn’t it.” He nodded. A phone call to Dad confirmed that his sister slipped into a coma and that her passing was peaceful. He reminded me that she died 2 weeks to the day after Uncle Doc. My Dad and Hal were so concerned about how I would receive the news that they purposely delayed telling me until after rehearsal. Truthfully, her death didn't sting as much as Uncle Doc's had. She hadn't recognized me in over a year and sometimes she didn't recognize Daddy even when he said, "I'm your baby brother." She wouldn't have wanted to linger on machines and she knew Uncle Doc was waiting for her along with her parents, a sister and two brothers. I could rejoice that her memory and health were now restored.
After our conversation ended, I began the task of contacting cousins to let them know about her death and the funeral arrangements. That's always an emotional task - retelling the events, hearing the sighs and tears on the other end, and reminiscing together. As I was talking to one cousin, I heard the familiar “boodle-doop” ring tone which meant a text message had arrived. My daughter-in-law, Jenny, texted to say that she had taken my son, Chris, to the ER and that the doctor thought his symptoms were consistent with MS. I knew that he had been having odd sensations of numbness in his hands and feet – and that he had been working with his doctor to figure out why that was happening. But that problem was slight and intermittent so tests hadn’t been able to pinpoint anything. Jenny said that Chris had been experiencing "bad headaches" all week - much worse than a tension or sinus headache - and that while he was at work that afternoon, he suddenly lost sight in his left eye. A CT Scan came back clear which meant that there was no mass or bleeding in his brain. But appointments were set up for him to see two specialists the following day. Sleep eluded me that night so I prayed as I tossed and turned.
Over the 9 days since Mandy left the parish facility, Hal and I had been tracking her progress across the United States to her new “home-away-from-home” much like everyone else has been tracking Christmas packages they’ve sent via USPS, UPS, or FedEx during this holiday season. A few clicks on the computer would bring us to a website which told the name of the facility where she was currently being held. We knew she had been held for about a week in Oklahoma City, OK but had yet to reach her designated prison. Finally on the morning of December 10th, the website indicated Mandy had indeed completed the journey.
That same day, Chris’ neurologist said that he didn’t believe the problem was MS. He feels there are 2 unrelated issues: migraine headaches which caused the temporary loss of vision and something else causing the numbness. While we all expected the doctor to perform an MRI that day, he told them that he wanted Chris to have an MRA instead. I had never heard about that medical term before. From what Jenny said, it must have something to do with scanning the arterial system. There is also some concern that Chris could have a condition which can cause stroke or aneurysm. But the MRA couldn’t be scheduled until December 23rd – so we float. . .
Later that evening we received a call from Mandy. It was a blessing to hear her voice yet startling to hear about the long journey through several states before she arrived in a state adjacent to ours. But that is a Song for another day.
December 11th dawned and we had our final Keyboard Rehearsal for the Christmas Concert. I felt extremely uncertain as I tried to keep up with the others. Ever since the rehearsals began in November for this year’s concert, I have felt overwhelmed and there were several times when I almost backed out of playing with the group. I hadn’t been able to practice at home like I should have to prepare. But, I couldn’t just quit – too many others were counting on me to do my part. With ten keyboardists playing, there is some doubling of piano parts; but when one person is missing the balance is thrown off.
Another ongoing challenge I’ve been experiencing for a while now is that hearing any type of Christian music causes me to weep uncontrollably. I don’t break out into wracking sobs, but I cannot stop the stream of tears from flowing down my face. I’m not really sure what causes me to weep and it is frustrating. I love to sing and I deeply enjoy singing in the choir, yet I have been unable to sing – partly due to upper respiratory health issues and partly from this weeping. It happens in rehearsal, during the church service, driving down the road and at other random times throughout the day. Sometimes I wake up at night to find that my face is wet with tears.
On December 12th as we ran through the music before the service, I was fine. Our keyboardists played with the orchestra on the Christmas Carols and Songs of Praise. We listened or sang along as the orchestra and ensemble went over the special music to be presented that day. No tears or fears for me then. But when the service began, so did my tears. As my fingers struggled to play, tears streamed down my face and fell onto my blouse. At times, I could not see my sheet music for the tears welling up and spilling from my eyes. I would alternately lift one hand from the piano to wipe my face on one side and then repeat the process on the other side. Through the hymns, through the praises and Christmas Carols I continued to weep. I felt as if everyone in the congregation was distracted from Worship by my embarassing tears. I wanted to escape but I couldn’t jump up and run off the stage – I’d have had to vault over the grand piano or the entire orchestra to reach the choir door. Or, I’d have had to jump over a sea of poinsettias to the floor below. So I sat and I wept until the music portion of the service ended and I could go sit with Hal in the pew. No one said a word about my tears, but a precious Sister in the row behind reached up to pat my shoulder in a silent signal that she was lifting me in prayer.
Many loving friends have said that they see me as having "great strength" because of the way they see me face these challenges. I don’t feel strong, and they must not notice my tears or they would see how weak I am. One co-worker said, “The devil must be so scared of you!” I don’t feel very scary either; in fact, at times I feel afraid. I feel weak, weary and emotionally drained in this monsoon season. It’s difficult to stay afloat in this turbulent ocean.
Have you ever wondered why God told Noah, “Build a boat; I need you to float!” Noah had never seen rain, much less flood waters. He couldn’t fathom the flood that God described would come in the future. The architectural plan alone must have sounded crazy to Noah, much less the directive to gather 2 of every type of creature on the earth, (or 7 pairs of certain ones.) His sons had to think he was a bit odd for spending 120 years to build a gigantic ocean-going vessel - the likes of which no one had ever seen - on dry land and so far from any known body of water large enough to float such a vessel. The people thought he was absolutely insane – until the flood came.
God didn’t need Noah to float for just the 40 days of torrential world-wide rain – he had to keep on floating for months and months after the rain stopped. For approximately 370 days they floated in the shelter of that ark. The ark had no provision for steering – it simply floated where the waters took it. There was no provision for navigation either – Noah didn’t know where they were going or even in which direction they were heading. Noah trusted God to know where He was taking them and when they would arrive. His instructions were to float, but I don’t imagine his days were idle. There were many mouths to feed and care for. There was life to live in those long months.
My cousin, Becca, and her husband, Kent, were Missionaries in Africa until their oldest daughter entered college. I remember Becca telling of one flight across the ocean when the girls were small. One of the youngest kept looking out the window with a puzzled expression. Finally she asked her Mama, “Why aren’t we moving?” I think Noah must have peeked out the hatch in the top of the ark day after day at the endless expanse of water and wondered if there would ever be dry land again.
Why did God tell Noah to float? Well, God didn’t create us with the ability to swim in turbulent waters. He reserved that ability for the fish of the sea. The more we struggle to stay afloat in the gigantic waves, the weaker we become. We can’t touch land with our feet, we can’t see the nearest shore and the waves toss us about. We panic, we despair – and we drown. God wants us to learn to Trust Him in all things.
We don’t learn how to do that unless we’re given an opportunity to put our Trust or Faith into action. My struggle is not with Faith. My faith is Rock Solid. God has proven to me over and over and over again that I can Trust Him to lift me out of the stormy sea and to set me on solid ground once more. I think about God’s promise of the Rainbow and I am comforted. Yes, that first Rainbow was a Promise that God would never again flood the entire world. But, I believe it was also a Promise to us today that no matter what storm, flood, fire or famine that He gives permission to come to us, He will carry us safely through.
My struggle is with my human heart. I hurt when my children are frightened or in pain. I hurt when family members experience illness or loss. I hurt when Brothers and Sisters in the Faith struggle. I cannot stop the flood of emotions, but I can float. When I was a teenager, a swim instructor had us jump into the deep end of the pool fully clothed and tread water for 30 minutes. We were allowed to briefly roll onto our backs and float, but then we had to continue treading water. The weight of the clothing combined with the exertion of trying to keep our heads above water was exhausting. God doesn’t want us to tread water; He knows we couldn't survive that way. Floating is a deliberate choice to obey. I can’t look at the entire struggle and worry about how long it will last or what other challenges will fall. What I can do for this moment in time is to trust that God’s strength will sustain me and continue to do so in the next moment and beyond.
I am floating through this stormy sea, but I am not without purpose. My Anchor is set deep within the Solid Rock. My instructions are to care for others who are running in lanes to my left and right. I am to pray for others and to encourage them when their struggle is difficult and their strength begins to falter. I cannot cross into their lane to run their race, I can only be part of their Support Team. I have two precious Sisters who are running extremely difficult races, ones I fear would destroy me were they in my path. One lost her youngest child to suicide just over a year ago. She is struggling with that anniversary and Christian music hurts her too. She said she had tried to explain how the music made her feel, but no one understood until I told her I feel that way too. The other one has a child with Cystic Fibrosis who had a double lung transplant on November 21-22. I have prayed for him since he was a very tiny, sick baby and through these 22 years. I prayed with her through the long surgery and continue to pray for his recovery. As much as I love these women, and as much as my heart bleeds over their struggles, I cannot run their race - and truth be told, I wouldn't want to exchange lanes with them.
I am beginning to see rainbows ahead. Some are just barely visible and others are only faint glimmers in the distance. But God is Faithful and I know those rainbows will soon be radient - in His time.
“The anchor holds though the ship is battered. The anchor holds though the sails are torn. I have fallen on my knees as I face the raging seas. The anchor holds in spite of the storm. The Anchor holds!” Ray Boltz http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWXngxNJY-k
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