"And even though...for now...she is locked in some sort of perpetual Saturday, not remembering it's Sunday...not remembering it's Easter...not remembering the power of the Resurrection...one day she will. His voice will remind her. His voice will call her name--Joyce--in a way that heals, resurrects, and restores her broken body and mind. And, when she hears Him, all the sorrow, hurt and hardness--which sometimes led her nearly to despair--will be burned away by the joyful brightness of His Love, His Light."
Oh, what a Savior!
=====
This morning, I cut my Sabbath "quiet time" short to make the 25-minute drive to Shannondale Nursing Home to get mom ready and take her to Easter service.
In words I wrote earlier that morning, I reminded myself that "a far-off battle" won by Jesus has made all the difference, even in a world that looks and feels like it is under the control of a foreign, oppressive power. And, on the drive to Shannondale, I had been singing an old Kimberly COG ensemble song loud and strong:
"Hear the bells ringing, they're singing that we can be born again.
Hear the bells ringing, they're singing Christ is risen from the dead...."
As I walked through Shannondale's front doors, I gave my best "Happy Easter" to everyone in the lobby, got on the elevator and hit the 5th floor button. But, that elevator stopped on almost every single floor and, when the doors opened, my view was one of sad faces, broken bodies, damaged minds.
By the time I arrived on 5th floor, my smile and song were gone and my heart was heavy. It no longer felt like Easter Sunday--and the power of the Resurrection seemed far away. The faces I saw and the heart inside me felt more like some sort of perpetual Saturday.
As I stepped off the elevator and saw mama's waiting face...dressed in a winter sweater...I pushed my sadness aside. After getting her wheelchair loaded and getting her buckled in, she and I headed for church. During the 20-minute drive, her frequent, repeated question began to grate: "Today's Saturday, right?"...to which I replied, "No, mom, today is Sunday...Easter Sunday...we're going to church."
When we got there...miracles of miracles, a handicapped parking space was open. Then, a kind usher found a pew where I could easily park mom's wheelchair next to me. Then, my two handsome sons actually found mom and me...and sat beside us.
My emotions are always a bit ragged on Easter...overflowing with gratitude for the cost of my salvation and for the promise of eternal life because of the Resurrection. And, I don't remember the last time I made it through a Sunday service without wishing I had more tissues.
But that Easter Sunday...became a powerful parable which took awhile to read. With my gifted, Jesus-loving husband in front of me playing in the orchestra; my beautiful, gifted, Jesus-loving sons on one side of me; and my beautiful, Jesus-loving, stroke-and-Alzheimer's-damaged mother on the other side...well...I was, quite simply, a puddle.
Then, as if God wasn't already speaking loudly enough, Pastor Avant began to talk about one of life's hardest "stones" to deal with--the "stone" of Alzheimer's. He read two incredibly beautiful letters--one from husband to wife...the other from wife to husband--who were locked in battle with this despicable disease. Then, my youngest son, who was sitting closest to me, reached over and patted my knee, and I lost it...dissolved into the kind of crying that's plain old ugly.
When the service ended, I recovered and wheeled mom out. My three beautiful, gifted, Jesus-loving guys and I took her to Cracker Barrel where she ate her favorites--beans and greens, okra and cole slaw. Then, I loaded her back in the van, and headed to the place that has come to represent all that is "fallen" to me--sickness, brokenness, loneliness, dementia, death.
On the way, she asked many times, "When am I going to see the boys?"...."When am I going home?"...."Today's Saturday, right?"....
And, at that point, it sure felt like Saturday...like that in-between time...when those first followers must have felt like the enemy had won...felt their hopes and dreams had been nailed to the same piece of ragged wood as their now-dead Rabbi.
But, as I drove, I remembered two of Pastor Avant's words after he read those sad, beautiful letters--"God remembers."
And, when my mama can't remember that it's Easter...when she can no longer remember the cross and the Resurrection... can no longer remember the words of the long-sung hymns... can no longer remember our names...her name...God remembers.
And even though...for now...she is locked in some sort of perpetual Saturday, not remembering it's Sunday...not remembering it's Easter...not remembering the power of the Resurrection...one day she will. His voice will remind her. His voice will call her name--Joyce--in a way that heals... resurrects... restores... her broken body and mind. And, when she hears Him, all the sorrow, hurt and hardness--which sometimes led her nearly to despair--will be burned away by the joyful brightness of His Love, His Light.
"Love never dies.
Inspired speech will be over some day;
praying in tongues will end;
understanding will reach its limit.
We know only a portion of the truth,
and what we say about God
is always incomplete.
is always incomplete.
But when the Complete arrives,
our incompletes will be canceled….
We don’t yet see things clearly.
We’re squinting in a fog,
peering through a mist.
peering through a mist.
But it won’t be long
before the weather clears
before the weather clears
and the sun shines bright!
We’ll see it all then,
see it all as clearly as God sees us,
knowing him just as he knows us!
But for right now, until that completeness,
we have three things to do
to lead us toward that consummation:
Trust steadily in God,
hope unswervingly,
love extravagantly.
And the best of the three is love."
(1 Corinthians 13:8-13 The Message)
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