There is a hospital bed….IN MY HOUSE. This is real.
Like the baldness made us realize the effects chemo was having
throughout Tim’s body even on the non-hospital weeks. This bed slaps me in the face with the rapidly
approaching end-of- life reality. It was no fun in the hospital; it is less fun in my home.
 |
| Cannot think of a better use for the quilt my mom made me last Christmas out of Tim's shirts! |
“Awkward” and “out of place” don’t even sum up the
appearance of this contraption in my bedroom.
Tim wasn’t even able to gain consciousness as the bed was being
constructed a mere 3 feet from him. I
stood there watching, with my dad by my side (as he has been throughout this
entire journey). I may have had a minor
emotional moment as the bed was being assembled. I may have let a tear slip down my cheek and
may have had to bite my lip and take a deep breath to stave off the ugly cry, all while internally begging
God to calm me so I could maintain composure.
He did, because He is good like that...and He LOVES me.
I know I have said it before, but this hospice stage is
difficult. We have spent nearly two
years fighting hard every single day to not end up right where we are at. And it stinks. And it is weird to be expected to suddenly
change brain gears into one where we aren’t fighting to survive anymore. Our minds know that there is nothing more to
be done, but our hearts still hold out hope that someone will step in with a
solution.
Somehow, seeing this hospital
bed within the sacred space of our master bedroom feels like another failure…another
inability to conquer…another realm of giving up.
It hurts.
It hurts in a way that takes my breath away and pierces my heart. It hurts in a way that courses hot tears down
my face in the privacy of my home office while my children play upstairs. Silent sobs rack my body.
I tell God that I want to yell “It’s not fair! Take someone else. Take someone who isn’t good. Take someone who doesn’t love his family so
well; someone whose presence won’t be missed every second of every day in a
crushing way. Don’t take this man! Don’t rip apart THIS family. We work so well together. We have such joy. We truly cherish each other’s company. We aren’t perfect, but we were doing life
well, serving You. Please, don’t take
him! Take someone who has lived their
life, not this 45 year old man who has made plans with me to travel in
retirement and spoil our grandbabies together and host big holidays.” And then after I blow my nose for what feels
like the thousandth time, and I dry my eyes and sit in the stillness of my Lord’s
presence,
He reminds me.
This earth is not our home.
This life is not what we were created for. He is here.
He is Immanuel, “God with us”. He
will never leave us. He is faithful and
He is true. He is big enough for me to
lean into; He is strong enough and patient enough to listen to my rants and to
calm my aching heart. God loves me with
a love the depths of which I cannot understand.
It is unconditional, it is un-overwhelmable, it is non-fluctuating, and
it is indispensable.
His love for me….
is patient
and kind.
does not
envy, nor does it boast.
is not
prideful, it does not dishonor others, is not self-seeking.
is not
easily angered and keeps no record of wrongs.
God’s perfect love for me…
does not delight in evil but
rejoices with truth.
always protects, always trusts,
always hopes, always perseveres.
never fails.
So, in this moment, on this eve of Christmas Eve, and yes,
even with this hospital bed in my home…I choose to remember that I AM
LOVED. I am loved by a God who is
Himself Love. I am loved by the Great I
Am.
And that is enough.
HE is enough!
