Longtime friends of ours, Barb and Tim are living with the realities of Tim's struggle with ALS. She is a great writer and this recent blog of hers caught my eye because it captures the heart that all of us ought to have in caring for those with disabilities. It is a heart of love and thanks in the midst of tough realities.
Dear Dad~
I miss you so much just now. It's been more than 10 years since
you've gone to see Jesus. I certainly do wish there were times when I
could still talk to you. Especially now.
When you were here on earth with me, we never took the time to
talk about your handicap. You never told me what it was like to go through
having a major stroke. You never told me what it was like when all of a sudden
half of your body refused to work anymore. You never told me what it was like
to try parenting your kids after such a tragic event. I am finding myself in a
place where I sure could use your advice on those things!
For all these years, I've always thought God put me in my place
in our family for a couple different reasons. First, I thought I was there to
be your incentive to get better. After all, I was only two years old when
you suffered your stroke. You had to get better in order to take care of
me and to play with me, your baby girl. (A little self-centered purpose, I
suppose.)
I have also come to think of my place in our family as God's
protection of sorts. Knowing how much everyone else in the family kind of fell
apart after your stroke, I have, again selfishly, thought God placed me so
late after Kris so that I would be spared that pain. I was so much younger that
I wasn't even aware really of what was happening in our family. I was not
pulled into the whirlwind of chaos that they were sucked into.
So as I grew up, everything after your stroke was normal to me.
To all my sisters and brothers, everything had dramatically changed. There was
a "before" and an "after". But not for me. It was normal to
see you limp as you walked. It was normal that your left arm was always in a
sling. It was normal to watch Mom comb your hair and clip your
fingernails. It was normal to have someone cut your meat for you. I never
thought twice about any of those things.
But, Dad, I have realized that though my first thoughts are
still correct, I must now add another reason for my place in our family. God
put me in our family, growing up with handicap as normal so that now I am just
reverting back to my "normal" to comb Tim's hair, to clip his nails,
to feed him his lunch, to help him dress and undress. It was God's way of
preparing me for what's happening right now.
And I also need to add to the long list of things you taught me:
You taught me how to help people in a way that is compassionate and preserves
their dignity. It really is no big deal for me to help Tim on a daily basis -
and it is thanks to you for that. Growing up around a handicap that seemed
normal was one of your biggest gifts to me. Thanks for not talking about it.
That kept it just a normal part of my daily life.
And can you thank our Father in heaven for me too? Not only did
he place me in our family to help you recover from your stroke and to protect
me from the aftermath of that stroke, I have just realized that he placed me in
our family to prepare me for the journey I am walking right now. It's truly
amazing how something so tragic so long ago can be used in such a powerful way
almost 40 years later! He really is an amazing God that way.
I am envious that Tim will join you so much sooner than I will.
Be sure to show him the best fishing spots you've found so far. It wouldn't
surprise me if you have already met Tim's grandpa and you're planning your
first fishing trip together for when he joins you! I miss you so much, but am
happy that you are hanging with Jesus!
Love you,
Your little girl
If you would like to follow this couples journey, you may do so at Life Stitches. I honor those like Barb and Tim who walk the path of suffering with dignity and faith.
No comments:
Post a Comment