He could have said . . .

It was a shame he couldn’t have just said “Okay. I will.”

I remember the first time my mother introduced me to her friend.  It was fairly easy to detect the presence of dementia.  But she smiled and greeted us in a classic well trained way.  It was obvious that she immediately forgot the names she was supplied and even the relationship we had to someone she knew.  But oh, she knew my mother.  Mother was familiar and held a spot in her affections.  My mom patiently repeated who we were and what our names were and where we lived.  The other lady at the table was less patient with it all.  When the friend again lost track of who we were, she raised her voice and supplied the information somewhat gruffly.  And yet, there seemed to be an understanding between the three.  Her gruff reply was passed off with just a look of condescendence, a look from the other lady that said “Excuse my friend.  She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s got a good heart.”

My mom has introduced us to her friend every time we’ve visited her.  We live several hours away and don’t get to visit that often, but when we do we try to break the visit up so that my mother will enjoy it more and we can get a bit more time in before she’s tired and dismisses us.  My mother is 98 years old and lives in a very nice nursing home in another state.  Usually we’ll get there before lunch and visit until she goes to eat.  She likes the routine of eating with her friends and so, we walk her to the dining room, meet her friends, and then go eat lunch somewhere before we return for another short visit that generally ends in her going to her small space for a nap at which time we start the long trip back home.  The visit is worth the travel; she’s my mom.  We just don’t get to make the trip that often.

The recent years have not been kind to my mother.  She has lived a very long and, until the last few years, very active life.  Even in the nursing home she has crocheted throws, worked puzzles and delivered the mail to the patients’ rooms.  But the years are being less kind as they go.  The pain of deterioration and the meds that help control it take their toll.  Her eyes are beginning to deteriorate.  Her hearing is fading quickly.  She tenaciously grasps life and activity and yet becomes frustrated with puzzle solving.  She knows she should remember other people, but dimly recalls them until you put them into a familiar story and then she lights up with memories that connect the dots for a short time.  My mother has always been a fun, social type person and the shrinking of her world is not only discouraging, but frightening to her.  What will come next?

Her friend has Alzheimer’s.  Her son is the person who runs the nursing home, elder care unit my mom lives in.  He has been able to keep his mom there- safe, cared for, even preferred -until recently.  The disease has progressed beyond the facility he runs and so she had to be moved to a facility that focuses solely on the end stages of Alzheimer’s.  It’s a decision that I’m sure he put off as long as possible and hates day by day.

Yet for my mother, there in her shrinking world, it is one more reminder of her own shrinking, deteriorating existence and it is a horrible loss of friendship, even if it was a flawed friendship.   And so her plea –not just a request- that he tell his mom she misses her and she still cares about her and prays for her.

When my sister first told me the story, I was incensed, outraged, as she was.  The man had replied “She won’t remember who you are.  She doesn’t even know who I am.  She won’t know or care if you miss her or pray for her.”

My first thought and what came from my mouth was “He could have just said ‘Okay.  I’ll tell her.’ ”  What an unprofessional reply to a hurting patron in her late 90s!

But then that other voice inside me kicked in.  “But he’s speaking from his own pain and discouragement.  That’s his mother.  We have to have grace for that.”  My sister quietly agreed. 

I am reminded that the afflictions of this world are but a moment in light of eternity, but in light of our temporary lives, they seem eternal.  It is sobering.  It is hope deferred that makes the heart grow faint.  And yet, where there is grace, there is hope.

Work it out!

Ephesians 2:8-10 For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.  For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

I memorized the verse as a child, though I must say I didn’t have any understanding of it for years.  But the night God called me to salvation it came to life.  God instructed me in a study of grace by faith in the days following my personal commitment to Christ and it has been my mantra through all the craziness of my life, through all the personal struggles with legalism and doctrine, through all the trial and error –lots of error- of growing and walking in this new kingdom. 

I believe lots of things but the Bible is the crucible of my thought.  I believe it to be the word of God to man.  While I believe that God does speak to us in many ways, I also believe that those other ways will not violate his written word.  If it is truly God speaking, it will harmonize and synchronize with the Bible.  Though language is limited by mankind, the ideas and instruction are flawless.  The Holy Spirit will lead us into truth where language may fail.

As an example of what I am saying, I was talking to a friend and colleague once while composing a letter to the parents of my students in a different language.  She laughed at me, explained what I had really said in their language and then said “We would never say that anyway.  It’s not how we think.”  Then she proceeded to help me revise the letter so the parents of my students would understand what I needed to say.

Another issue is that language is constantly evolving.  God does not.  His meaning is the same, though our understanding is sometimes hampered by the passage of time and evolution of our language.  The King James Version, from which I memorized as a child has many passages that were viable when the translation was made, but can be difficult in today’s language.  Yet I believe God protects His word across the barriers of language.

Because I believe in harmony of Scripture and in One Spirit that breathed into the mind of each writer the truth that they set forth in their vernacular, when I run into seeming conflicts in scripture or Christian thought, I take them to my Father and ask for clarity.  I am human. I miss stuff often.  I’m still growing at my ripe age and I love it when God puts reason together for me in answer to my questions.

And so, enter Philippians 2:12 “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling!”  I’ve asked.  I’ve surmised and asked again over the decades of debate and conflicting opinions.  And yesterday morning, God gave me an answer while I struggled with pinning and sanding in the constructing of a project promised some time ago.

My grandfather on my dad’s side was a woodwright and smithy.  He had an awesome tiny woodworking shop behind their meticulous little house in Denver and I would wander in often as a small child.  It was fascinating to me.  Through out my adult life, I have toyed with building things but when I became serious about woodworking a few years ago, I studied the old ways.

My grandmother wanted a nice little desk, often called a secretary, for bill paying, letter writing and such.  They lived sufficiently, but were not extravagant people and he wanted it to be quality wood and workmanship.  The investment of that kind of wood was not in the budget, but he was given a pool table and from that beautiful walnut piece, he made many things including a desk for my grandmother.  It is solid and lovely still, sitting beneath the window in my study.  I’ve always been intrigued by the story but without much understanding.

I promised a fireplace mantel and surround to my daughter last winter.  There was an understanding of sorts that it would be completed before this year’s fire season.  I priced it out in a good quality oak.  Wow! Yeah.  I priced it out in a lesser wood though I have to say I was very disappointed in the trade off.  Summer being what it is in my world, the project was put on the back burner.  A while ago, my husband was given a load of lumber and such from a church that was doing major renovations.  As he unloaded some very large solid oak pieces my mind got busy.  Last weekend, I bought a drill press and then this week I invested in a drill press shelf and fence.  I began the project. 

I am totally excited about what is happening with this beautiful wood.  When it is complete, no one will recall its former shape or purpose at all.  I have struggled to make a cut at times, knowing I only have so much to work with.  I have struggled with removing all traces of contractors glue and the old finish.  I have problem solved and reworked and that will undoubtedly continue until the installation.  My hands hurt; my back hurts; my eyes hurt; my head is stuffed up.  It has been an awesome process so far and I’m not half way finished yet.  At times, my pain is only eclipsed by my excitement at seeing it come together.

During the process, God gave me understanding.  The wood was a free gift.  It was mine to work with via my husband’s gift.  The wood had potential, but was not useful as it was.  Through inspiration and imagination it is becoming something that will adorn and serve.  It’s not easy.  The process makes me weak and tires me.  Since we have not gotten the workshop built, my studio serves for many task, but must be cleaned constantly and adjusted to make the rest of my life doable while the piece develops.  It’s an exhausting, scary, difficult process that involves everything I have to give.  But I’m working it out.  The reward is in the finish.

God gives the free gift of grace through faith to create in us a new life, a new purpose, a new chance.  With his inspiration and strength I am becoming a new creature.  Old things have passed away; everything is being made new. It’s scary sometimes: there are too many ‘what ifs?’.  Sometimes I hurt; sometimes I’m amazed.  I get shaky; I make mistakes.  But God is always there to answer and inspire, to strengthen and apply more grace.  He cleans me up so that I can continue.  Though I need Him in every moment, every endeavor, he has given me tools, knowledge and materials and he is creating a new me through my actions and learning day by day.  I am working out “My salvation with fear and trembling” not on my own, not in human terms but by grace through faith I am becoming.  By grace, because God is my source.  Through faith, because I can only see one step at a time and God has promised he will never abandon me regardless of how I feel or what I see.  He destined me to be like his son Jesus.  It will take every energy and every day of my life.  It’s not an easy process, but worth it totally.