In this room, music plays through the speakers of my notebook computer. Across the medium-to-large, spacious room, an air conditioner runs, the fan blowing cool air toward the ceiling, with great effort taking the brutal edge off of unusually warm temperatures. A television in the corner broadcasts a static-y glow from a local station, the volume muted, more of a distraction than anything else.
A few rooms down the dimly lit nursing home corridor, you find my family. One room holds my wife, her sister, and my son. Next door you find my brother-in-law and his girlfriend, hoping for a few hours of rest, weary from not only a newborn daughter, but other things. Across the hall from all of these is my father-in-law; each of us holding vigil with my mother-in-law, by all indications in the final cruel hours of ALS, commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease.
Throughout the last 48 hours, which have shown marked improvement (if there can be such a characterization in this affliction), a true emotional slalom has been endured by the many family and friends called to the bedside to offer kindness, love, a tender farewell. No matter what your denomination, no matter your level of spiritual maturity, questions inevitably abound.
What’s going to happen next? Why her? Why now? Emotions are at a fever pitch: the highs are exuberant, the lows beyond description. With tears, with resignation mingled with the last vestiges of hope, all settle in, knowing not what tomorrow, or even the wee hours of the morning, will bring.
Last night, couches and chairs were converted into makeshift beds. The floor sufficed for a few, which under the best of circumstances would be nearly impossible to foster pleasant dreams. Still, the vigil continued. After the sun rose today, everyone went their separate ways, to return for another evening of watching, of waiting, of praying. More comfortable accommodations were arranged, greatly appreciated by the family. Still, sleep will be a rare commodity on this night.
Earlier in the week, I began an entry (in concept, at least), only to lay it aside to come to my mother-in-law’s bedside. Still, the original idea is apropos for this situation. At this point, I don’t know how long this entry will be, but I trust you will continue with me.
Although I am a relatively young pastor, the experience I’ve gained over the years is far from amateur. Being raised in the home of a minister, having played an active role in similar ‘passing’ situations for more than fifteen years, this scenario of illness, pain, grief and loss is nothing new. Having been at the bedside of dozens of home-goings, praying with and trying to comfort and encourage hundreds of loved ones, nothing prepares you for what you yourself will experience.
Certainly, there are areas that require a kind of ‘professional detachment,’ a way to step back and analyze the situation in comparison to previous experiences. In a way, it helps to have an idea of what’s going to happen, a loose sense of progression, if not timing. But, when it comes to giving consolation or advice, even to my own family, it comes down to something that, at the time, seems infuriating: just pray and wait.
All of us have gotten that nugget of wisdom from our pastor, our mature brother or sister in the faith, and if our personal struggle is severe enough, we’ve all thought, “What kind of advice is that? I’ve already been doing that. That’s no help.”
Still, those three words, pray and wait, sum up not only the right path to take, but also a practical application of what faith really is. We all know our timing is not God’s timing, that His will is impossible to fathom most times, that everything works for our good and His glory (even if we have no concept of how it is for our good), but even then we struggle. This is not necessarily a struggle with doubt or forsaking God, but sometimes we feel that we just need some answers. Seldom, though, do we find answers, and like a popular song says, “When answers aren’t enough, there is Jesus.”
Sometimes we must simply pray and wait; the prayer is that God’s will is done and that His grace will strengthen us as we endure what we must. The wait is also a prayer, but for patience to be still and know that the Lord is God. It’s the last part, the waiting, that causes so many problems, that inspires so much pain, and gives birth to so many unanswered questions. The answers may not even come in this life, but still we wait, confident that in God all things will ultimately work to our favor.
Reading from Doris Kearns Goodwin’s latest work on Abraham Lincoln, Team of Rivals, Goodwin relates a quote from Lincoln that actually illustrates this spiritual direction to pray and wait. Lincoln, referring to a different situation, said, “A man watches his pear-tree day after day, impatient for the ripening of the fruit. Let him attempt to force the process, and he may spoil both fruit and tree. But let him patiently wait, and the ripe pear at length falls into his lap!”
No matter what you’re going through, be it a personal struggle with a particular trial or temptation, a physical ailment, or the loss of someone dear, never forget that in the rush to find meaning and answers to questions that have no earthly explanation, it is easy to lose sight of the awesome power and grace of God, which often do not remove the burden, but which enable us to bear up beneath it. Faith is not always knowing that an explanation or answer will come, but that our trust resides in the One who ultimately does hold the answers (and those of us asking the questions) in the palm of His hand.
When the time is right, be it overnight or in days or weeks, God will bring to an end the long journey which my mother-in-law and family have traversed for so many painful months. Our faith remains firm, despite the many questions and immense pain we feel. Why? Because our faith is not based upon human strength or understanding, but is based upon a higher, holier purpose.
May God’s infinite grace and peace be abundantly poured over each raw and wounded heart, and through our struggles may God’s infinite compassion and mercy be shown to our world.
© 2006, Chris Keeton and Soulscape Press. All rights reserved. All material printed on this site is protected by the copyright law of the
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