The peonies are especially beautiful this year.
It seems fitting, given that they are my dad’s favorite flower. He’s been through so much these last several months.
Today is my mom’s birthday. Had she not died on Good Friday, she would have been 87.
It’s interesting, how losing a loved one makes you more aware of death in the news. Peter Mayhew, the actor best known for portraying Chewbacca in the Star Wars film series, passed away April 30. Warren Wiersbe, described by Christianity Today as “preachers’ favorite Bible Commentator,” died two days later.
I was walking into Aldi the Thursday before Good Friday when a car entered the parking lot and paused next to me.
The driver—whom I immediately recognized as my mom’s long-time friend Barbara—rolled down her window and called out, “Lois, how are your parents?”
I grimaced.
Just the day before, I had signed hospice paperwork for my mom. Her health had declined steeply during the last several weeks, to the point where she was no longer able to swallow. I had taken her to see the birds in the nursing-home aviary on Tuesday, but she had since become unresponsive.
Needless to say, I had no idea how to answer Barbara’s question.
She quickly read my reaction. “Wait for me inside,” she said and drove off to park.
I got my cart, pushed it into the store and stopped a few feet from the door. This wasn’t the first time I had run into Barbara at Aldi, but it had been a while. She didn’t know that my dad had joined my mom in long-term care several months ago, or about the roller-coaster ride that his health had been since then.
When she got into the store, we stood there by the goldfish crackers and talked for 15 or 20 minutes. I caught her up on what had been going on with both of my parents, and she poured love and wisdom into this hurting daughter as only a woman who has trusted God through her own great loss can do.
She spoke of her cherished friendship with my mom, and of what she learned after her husband died unexpectedly when they were in Hawaii celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. She talked about feeling guilty because he died while they were snorkeling—an activity she enjoyed but he did not—and how her understanding of God’s sovereignty helped her during that dark season.
She quoted a verse I have long held dear, reminding me of the comforting truth that “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16)
Her words ministered peace to my sad and confused heart. I thought of them—and her—often in the days ahead.
Looking back, it was no coincidence I ran into her that day. It was a gift of grace from a loving heavenly Father.
Later that afternoon, the hospice nurse called to update me on my mom’s condition. She might have until Easter, maybe longer, the nurse told me.
The next morning, another nurse called to tell me my mom was in “the active stages of dying,” a process that could take up to eight days. At 8:25 that same night, my mom took her final breath.
Two of my sisters and my dad were with her when she entered eternity. Randy and I had attended a Good Friday service at a nearby church that evening. We had planned to stop by to see them afterwards. If she had hung on for five more minutes, we would have been there too.
My mom was strong, a survivor. After the accident in 2017 that resulted in her moving to long-term care, and following the stroke she suffered on New Year’s Day 2018, medical professionals used words like “miraculous” and “really remarkable healing” when they spoke about her recoveries.
She was a testament to God’s healing power, for sure.
She seemed healthy and robust last December, even as my dad had begun struggling through one health crisis after another. We all fully expected her to outlive him, by many years even.
But God’s timeline for her life didn’t match ours.
In the end, she was like a runner nobody even knew was in the race—much less considered a contender—who snuck past all the frontrunners and made it into heaven first. It makes me smile when I think of it now—she finished well, way ahead of our schedule but right on time for her.
Later that night, after Randy had gone home to tell our girls and the hospice workers had prayed with us and told us what would happen next, I went to my mom’s bedside and touched her briefly on the shoulder.
At the time, I couldn’t comprehend what the next few weeks would be like—how intense my exhaustion would be, how beautiful the funeral would be, how difficult it would be to see my dad struggling, how hard it would be to identify and articulate what I was feeling.
All I knew was one thing, which I told her right before I left the room that night.
“I’ll see you later, Mom.”
♥ Lois
We all expected my mom to outlive my dad. But God’s timeline for her life didn’t match ours. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, Let’s Have Coffee, Faith on Fire, Faith ‘n Friends and Grace & Truth.
A couple of months ago, I was scheduled to go to the neurologist with my dad.
To say I was dreading the appointment would be an understatement. The last time I had gone with my parents to see this doctor, I learned that my mom had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s dementia. The office was in a different location now, but I still had no desire to go back there.
Late last November, I was talking to a friend after church. We were near the end of a sermon series about the Lord’s Prayer, and that day, the pastor had talked about what it means to pray, “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.”
I don’t really remember the sermon, but I do remember what I told my friend when I brought her up to date on my dad’s growing health problems.
“I’m not questioning God’s presence or role,” I said. “I just don’t know what to do.”
It was such a helpless feeling. My dad’s condition had gotten progressively worse throughout the fall, but he had yet to receive a diagnosis that would provide a way forward. He had agreed to see a new doctor, but he was still living alone and trying to care for himself.
All I could do was pray for direction.
The next day, my dad called me because he didn’t have the strength to go to a therapy appointment. “I just want someone to check me into a hospital and find out what’s wrong with me,” he said.
It wasn’t the answer I was expecting, but it was an answer. None of us could have predicted the sad decline that would happen in the coming weeks, but the fact remains—in that specific hour of need, God showed me what I needed to do.
I’m grateful for those occasions when a long-awaited answer finally appears in bold, black letters. But more often than not—especially lately—I find myself picking my way through ongoing problems one detail at a time.
When situations get particularly frustrating or confusing, I desperately wish God’s words to the nation of Israel in Isaiah 30:18 would come true in my life: “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’ ”
That’s what I want, more than anything. But what I get—most of the time, anyway—is more of my own nagging questions. How is this going to work out? How am I going to accomplish that? Who’s going to help me?
I want to figure it out faster, to make things happen in ways that are easier and more comfortable for me. I especially want to know how the story is going to end, and when.
Instead, I’m left with the growing realization that events will most likely unfold in ways that I can’t even imagine right now. Reality might be better, worse or just different. That’s how life works.
I know I’m not the only one facing uncertainty, hard questions and tough circumstances that have no obvious solutions. You’ve probably been there. Maybe you’re there right now.
If I’ve learned anything from the last several months, it’s this: I don’t make the plans, and the outcome isn’t up to me.
But we still have to act, right? We still have people counting on us to make decisions, to solve problems, to pay the bills and juggle all the balls.
So what do we do when we don’t know what to do? Though I don’t have a definitive answer, these steps are helping me right now.
• Wait. Don’t plow ahead just to have something to do or because you’re not comfortable with ambiguity. Listen. Ask questions. Share your concerns. But be patient.
• Pray for specific needs, and ask others to join you. Don’t carry your burdens alone. One or two friends who will intercede for you at a moment’s notice can make all the difference in the world.
• Pray for God’s will to be done, not yours. Time and time again, I’ve found no better way to release my agenda than this.
• Seek input from wise people who once were where you are now. Ask questions like, “What did this look like for you?” “What should I focus on in this situation?” and “What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
• Do “the next right thing.” This phrase is the title of a new book by Emily Freeman, and it’s also great advice. You may not know the next 37 steps, or even the next two. There’s probably something you can do, though—a single task you can accomplish or an immediate step you need to take.
• Trust God, not Google. The answers will come, even if they’re not the answers you want. God’s timing and methods are often incomprehensible, but—in keeping with His character—they are perfect. Somehow, in the midst of the uncertainty, we’ve got to find a way to rest in that truth.
♥ Lois
Trust God, not Google. The answers will come, even if they’re not the answers you want. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, Let’s Have Coffee, Faith on Fire, Faith ‘n Friends and Grace & Truth.
Quite a few bloggers that I follow do this thing called “Five-Minute Friday.” According the online host of this activity, FFM is a weekly writing link-up in which bloggers “free write for five minutes flat” on a single word prompt.
I’ve never blogged in response to a prompt before, nor have I EVER written anything in just five minutes. The idea has always intrigued me, though.