Calling Prayer Warriors!

I have to take a break from my series on discernment, because there’s just so much on my prayer list right now. I need to share it, and I need to ask for help in getting other prayer warriors engaged on a list that includes:

  • Las Vegas. I mean…wow. I was just stunned at the news this morning. And not two weeks ago I was there–and not only in Vegas, but driving right along the Strip between the site and Mandalay Bay, on our way to and from golf next door. I can’t bear to watch the videos anymore. It just needs to be lifted up and given to the One who can heal it all.
  • The Lisi family. They lost their 22-year-old son Stephen to a car accident about 8 days ago. Stephen was tired, driving late, and fell asleep at the wheel. He was an Eagle Scout in our troop, and David remembers him well from his time as a younger Scout. I cannot even begin to plumb the depths of what Steve and Monica are feeling as parents right now.
  • My mom. She continues to struggle with the effects of Parkinson’s Disease, which has her more shaky than usual lately, and not a little confused sometimes, too. Don’t tell mom, but her brother and her college roommates are making a trip to see her later this month…safe journeys to them and a warm reunion for all.
  • The women of E-182. This weekend my wife will be one of 30 pilgrims making a Walk to Emmaus and furthering her own walk with Christ. I just lift up the pilgrims and the 28 team members supporting them on their walk starting Thursday!
  • Frank. Frank is the brother-in-law of a brother in Christ, Gary, and Frank was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer…very aggressive, limited time left. By all accounts Frank has been a model of facing the end of life, but he still needs our prayers–as does the rest of his family.
  • Another Guy Named Frank. Actually, this Frank walked on Emmaus with me, and has learned of his own bout with cancer: prostate.
  • Elnora. She’s the mother of another Emmaus connection, Rich. She’s on her fourth (!) bout with cancer, and has decided this is enough, she’s refusing treatment. I can only imagine how that must feel to those who love her.
  • John. Another pancreatic cancer victim (seriously, quit it with the pancreatic cancer!), and the good friend of my “sister” Kate.
  • The family of Mickey, who died of cancer this weekend and who was loved by another brother in Christ.

I mean, the list seems to just keep on going! I am convinced I could spend all day in prayer for these and so many others. I just think they could use a little help, too. Won’t you join me?

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Sudden Hard Turns

She got the call today, one out of the gray,
And when the smoke cleared, it took her breath away.
She said she didn’t believe
It could happen to me.
I guess we’re all one phone call from our knees
We’re gonna get there soon.

–Mat Kearney, “Closer to Love”

I got the call myself this past Wednesday morning: my mom has been taken to hospital. I knew she hadn’t been feeling herself the day before, but I didn’t expect it was this bad. Kidney infection. I rushed over to the ER feeling anxious, more anxious than I had expected I would. She was asleep, and really groggy–not waking up. I was alarmed but the staff reassured me she was sleeping well, and needed rest more than anything.

Over the last few days we’ve learned that the infection had seeped into the bloodstream (boo) but was a bug that was very responsive to basic antibiotics (yay), so it should be on the easier side to treat. She’s still in hospital as I write on Sunday afternoon, four days later, and may or may not be released tomorrow.

But I’ve also come to appreciate how fragile my mom really is now, at 75 and after three decades with Parkinson’s Disease. Her mental acuity is duller, her speech is quieter, it’s harder for her to put into words what she’s thinking. There’s no way she could manage her own care now, and the move into a nursing home, which I’d kinda didn’t want to do last year, turns out to have been a good thing.

At present, the kidney function numbers and the blood test numbers are all moving in the right direction. This doesn’t appear to be more serious. But, of course, when it’s your mom, and it’s a hospital, you start to think about such things. Fortunately, I can say (at least today) that unlike my dad, there isn’t anything I haven’t said to her yet that I need to. And so in that regard, the idea of perhaps having to do this drill over something more serious someday doesn’t leave me with the feeling that I have unfinished business. Having the call come that my mom is in the hospital was a sudden hard turn that threw me on Wednesday. But it wasn’t as hard a turn as it could have been. For that I’m grateful.

Happy Mother’s Day?

My mother has had Parkinson’s Disease since she was 42. For the most part, the last three-plus decades were fairly benign to her, but this year finds her in a nursing home and wheelchair-bound. In photos from her high-school days in the late 1950s, she sits demurely, legs crossed at the ankles; today, that lifelong habit means she trips on trying to stand up, or walks unsteadily instead of with a firm base.

Each year for the past few, our Mother’s Day tradition has been to go out–I’ll take her clothes shopping for a new summer wardrobe, then we’ll get lunch or dinner out. And each year, it’s gotten progressively more challenging to accomplish: first adjusting to using the wheelchair, then, as her voice has gotten softer and her words less distinct, trying to listen for what she wants among the racks of clothes at Kohl’s.

This year’s wrinkle was that she hasn’t been as hungry, and so she didn’t want to get a meal after shopping. And while we never did anything extravagant–maybe just going to a diner, or out for a burger–it was still something I missed being able to do this year, and one more piece of evidence of how her long, slow fade continues.

Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely. (1 Corinthians 13:12)

With each passing year, my mother becomes more a reflection of her former self. It’s painful to her, and to me, to know she is fading. And yet I can take heart, that while outwardly she is wasting, one day, Jesus promises, he will make all things new, and all the brokenness will be stripped away, and she will be like that teenaged girl once again.

Until then, we wait, we help her in and out of the car, we struggle to maneuver, and while we are sad at what changes each Mother’s Day brings, we can at least take some joy in being able to share one more holiday with her.

The (Long! Slow!) Fade

Last time I alluded to some challenges I’m facing in my family. Over the last month to six weeks, my mother’s health has taken a turn. She’s only in her seventies, and has had Parkinson’s Disease for nearly half her life. For the most part it was a minor annoyance for most of that time, but about eight years ago it began to jump up and reduce her ability to care for herself. That led me to move her into an assisted living home about six years ago.

Lately, she’s been getting weaker, and falling more often, leading her assisted living home to be alarmed that she’s beginning to exceed their ability to care for her. So now I find myself in the situation of once again searching for a care facility for her. This at the same time that several other significant events are happening in other parts of the family and work, all clamoring for scarce time.

“For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength,” Paul wrote to the church at Philippi (4:13). There’s two ways to read that, depending which half of the verse you emphasize. First is the idea that I can do everything, as long as Christ is with me. There’s a lot of truth in that. And emphasis on the second half reminds me that it’s Christ who gives me strength. I can’t handle everything that Mom’s declining health, my job, my family are all throwing at me all at once. At least not alone. We hear often that “God won’t give you anything you can’t handle,” but that’s wrong. What Paul’s verse reminds us is that the truth instead is that God won’t give me anything I can’t handle with him through Christ. I have to surrender to Christ and God’s will in my life for me to be able to see something like this through.

I certainly pray that this latest twist in my mother’s health isn’t a harbinger of more to come, and that her descent into whatever it is that PD will have in store for her is a long, slow fade instead of a sudden decline like my dad’s. I also pray that Christ be with me throughout this ordeal. It’s a mad, mad, mad time to be me. At least I’ve learned the lesson that I don’t have to think it’s all on me: I have help beyond compare when I truly place myself in Christ’s hands.