Desperate to see Jesus

Now in her 10^th week of hospice care, Susan’s trend continues with noticeable decline over the weeks yet little change from day to day. She usually manages to have one daily meal while we do our best to keep her hydrated. Her verbal interactions are small and infrequent. She still smiles easily when she’s awake and lucid; but sadly, those days are fewer. She’s been less responsive since the weekend.

We recently received an amazing gift. Our friend Joyce Wybenga delivered a DVD from a church service around 2002 when Susan shared her experience from Joyce’s Companions group that focused on listening to God. It’s amazing on several levels.

The video recalls a time of young kids, busy schedules and certainly no inkling of Susan’s brain tumor. It’s deeply moving to see and hear her again in the prime of life. She appears animated in a way otherwise entrusted to memory and displays the energy, humor and emotion that are so familiar to knowing her. It’s a precious gift and a great comfort to see that Susan again.

But what she says is more remarkable. Susan relates an instance with the story of Zacchaeus, who wanted to see Jesus but could not because of the crowd. She shares how meditating on the Word in Luke 19 ushered in a new experience with God for her. She confesses that she either had been too distracted by the crowd in her life to see Jesus or too reliant on her own efforts, but that she yielded to God that night in Companions. She shares how it changed her.

I remember that event and the season which followed, and how God took hold of Susan’s heart and secured it in his own. It was a time when she moved from a position of striving to one of receiving. She caught God’s love for her in a series of powerful, cleansing experiences, like waves washing over her. As she yielded to him, she let go of stuff inside and received healing. No longer content with doing, she found fulfillment in being with God and surrendering to his will, which transformed her. Susan saw God and his love for her in a new and truer way, which changed how she saw herself.

I remember how it changed her worship. I’d see her in church next to the kids from my perch with the worship team, her arms splayed out like if they could go further, they would. Sometimes I wouldn’t see her at all because she’d be on her knees. I loved seeing her surrender in worship and how it inspired me.

I remember times past when I’d be serving in music ministry or church leadership and growing spiritually, maybe more or differently than Susan was at the time. She’d feel left out and a bit frustrated. During this season though, she was growing, almost slingshotting forward. It was exciting for both of us.

For a long time, Susan had wanted to see Jesus just like Zacchaeus, but couldn’t because of the crowd. God used that passage to call her out, to lead her away from the crowd so he could speak tenderly to her and bless her. That’s what she shares in the video, so we see a transformed woman speak with eloquence and emotion about how God’s love changed her and how she surrenders to him every day.

I’d have been happy for five minutes of Susan reading a grocery list on video in 2002, so this is an over-the-top gift. It’s her, complete and fulfilled, sharing from her heart about real and meaningful truths in her life. I wasn’t able to produce a clip of it for this post, but you get the idea. Sometime later I hope you can see the visual evidence of someone completely captivated by God’s love.

It may seem awkward if not impossible to connect that vibrant Susan to the one in her hospice bed. I know I can’t neatly tie a cause and effect together here or explain God’s purposes in it. Neither can you. We can explain the person and ways of the King of Heaven to a point; but beyond that point, we can’t. God is so much mystery, and that’s good. Perhaps we’re learning to live with it and simply to trust that the One who loves us so well will work it all out.

Hospice, week 8

Today begins Susan’s eighth week at home on hospice care. On days when she’s more awake and alert, I get the feeling she’ll be with us indefinitely. On days when she mostly sleeps and doesn’t eat, drink or respond much, it seems she has less time, days maybe. It’s hard to know because we can’t. We’re left to trust the Lord with life and death just as much as we did when Susan’s brain tumor journey started six years ago.

These days there are usually about 2 hours in 24 for us to interact. She’s most lovely at first when she fully awakes, with her eyes clear, bright, and blue. Her warm smile beautifully frames her thinning face. She responds to my jokes with a knowing look and a brief giggle. We still connect. In those moments I move in with affirming words, food, water, and meds. I ply all of her daily meds on her at once since a second opening is so elusive.

I enjoy praying with her before her meal. We thank God for the gift of life, for his love and faithfulness, for his peace, joy, healing and strength; for our kids. We declare our trust in him and our thanks for holding our lives in his hands. When we finish praying, Susan usually sighs and looks me in the eyes instead of saying “amen.” Sometimes she says simply, “yes.” It’s all amen anyway. Yes, God, you are good. Yes, we trust you. Yes, we thank you.

It’s amazing how God’s Word becomes so consistently relevant through the filter of each day’s circumstances. This week I saw Psalm 65 like never before. David says:

“Praise awaits you, our God, in Zion; to you our vows will be fulfilled. You who answer prayer, to you all people will come. When we were overwhelmed by sins, you forgave our transgressions. Blessed are those you choose and bring near to live in your courts! We are filled with the good things of your house, of your holy temple.”

Eventually, all people will come to God. Susan will come in her time with his Son’s credentials. Her praise waits for that moment when she comes to him, when her vows are fulfilled – like her vow to trust him for salvation. She’ll praise him in person for the day he relieved her of her sins and forgave her transgressions. She’ll praise him for so much more; her praise will go on and on. She’ll join those he chose to bring near and live in his courts. She’ll be filled with the good things of his house.

“You answer us with awesome and righteous deeds, God our Savior, the hope of all the ends of the earth and of the farthest seas, who formed the mountains by your power, having armed yourself with strength, who stilled the roaring of the seas, the roaring of their waves, and the turmoil of the nations. The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.”

Meanwhile, here on earth where morning dawns and evening fades, the One who answers prayer responds with awesome and righteous deeds. We know the effect of his creative deeds that brought our world into being. We’re among those across the globe who witness his dominion and care over us.

“You care for the land and water it; you enrich it abundantly. The streams of God are filled with water to provide the people with grain, for so you have ordained it. You drench its furrows and level its ridges; you soften it with showers and bless its crops. You crown the year with your bounty, and your carts overflow with abundance. The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness. The meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing.”

During our years on the earth, we all enjoy the abundance of the world God made and sustains for us. For a time we have the opportunity to praise him for his goodness that covers the earth. And if we choose, we can lay claim to the greater glory that is the heavenly Zion. If we choose, we can praise him now, in our plenty or our wanting. But we look forward to the greater praise that rightly waits for him when we enter his house at last.

Hospice, week 7

Susan’s progression of more sleeping and less waking continues since last week. The past few days she’s had fewer meals, either from sleeping through mealtimes or losing interest in the meal she’s having. Her hospice nurse encouraged me not to worry, that she really doesn’t need more than one meal a day. It’s hard to know how much time she has at this point; but I know one can linger only so long without food and even less without water. I know that as Susan’s journey takes her toward Heaven, food and water will become less important to her.

That said, today she had several awake periods and ate three meals. She had a good day. She smiles easily when she wakes up and still never complains. Our messing around is muted; but she still giggles when I tease her. That’s because when we mess around, we don’t mess around.

I asked Susan the other day if she’s ready to go to Heaven. She said “yes.” Curious, I asked if she thinks she’ll go to Heaven soon. Just like you and me, she couldn’t answer. I asked if she’s scared. She said “no.” I love her courage and trust in God.

I’ve been praying Psalm 63 for Susan this week. David wrote these words in the Desert of Judah:

¹ O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water.

Susan’s soul thirsts for God and her body longs for relief in a weary land, our restless world.

² I have seen you in the sanctuary and beheld your power and your glory. ³ Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you. ⁴ I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. ⁵ I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.

She knows the God she worships. She knows his goodness. His love is her greatest treasure, and is one of the spiritual possessions she will take with her from this earth. The lesser things will stay here; but she’ll bring her great treasures back to the Lord with thanksgiving so they can celebrate together.

⁶ On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night. ⁷ Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. ⁸ My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.

Susan’s journey is so much more private now. Sometimes I find her awake at night, lying there quietly. She has thoughts that only the Lord knows. God truly is our help; we have no other. He gives us great peace, so much that we praise him under his unseen protection.

⁹ Those who want to kill me will be destroyed; they will go down to the depths of the earth. ¹⁰ They will be given over to the sword and become food for jackals. ¹¹ But the king will rejoice in God; all who swear by God will glory in him, while the mouths of liars will be silenced.

Cancer is a great disabler that is itself disabled. The lie of cancer is that it will consume you; but now I realize how limited it is. It cannot touch your soul. It cannot snuff your spirit. Cancer may so disease a person’s body that it cannot go on living – but cancer dies when the body does. Cancer loses. When Susan goes to heaven, she will glory in the Lord, forever.

Sometimes not here

The noticeable change for Susan over the past week is a slight decline to the point that she’s sometimes not here. She sleeps most of the time, often deeply, and is often weakly alert when she’s awake. When she is alert just after waking up, she doesn't have a lot of stamina. She's otherwise comfortable and sweet-spirited. Word-finding is really hard, so she doesn't talk much. I noticed the word “paraplegic” in her nurse’s notes, so I guess that’s true since she hasn’t walked in about three months. Medical terms can be jarring in their accuracy.

It’s weird that she’s sometimes not here. She slept through me repositioning her in bed recently. She slept during Adam’s birthday party with 15 guests. On Sunday, after sleeping all night, she slept through late morning. She slept through much of yesterday’s bed-bath with her nurse’s assistant.

Going on hospice is acknowledges that if someone’s about to commence the process of dying, you’re going to support it and not interfere. That’s a hard decision to make. That process on hospice means you’re sometimes not here; then I suppose it means you’re sometimes here but mostly not, and then finally you’re not here at all. I've noticed that Susan’s journey is becoming more private, something she has to do alone. That’s hard too, even though there's no other way. Gradually or all at once, being separated from someone you love is just really hard.

The Fairfield Four sing, “You got to walk that lonesome valley, you got to go by yourself… ain’t nobody else gonna go there for you.” That’s another jarring truth even without the medical terms

The other day I thanked the Lord for being my shepherd, so there’s nothing I will want. I thanked him for making me lie down in green pastures, because I needed that rest. I thanked him for leading me beside quiet waters and enjoyed the sounds I heard. He refreshes my soul. I thanked him for guiding me down the right path for my good and his glory.

I thanked him again that his presence, his perfect love, casts out all fear from the valley of the shadow of death. I thanked him that while it’s a lonesome valley, he’s there with his strong hand to lift and guide and comfort. I thanked him again that the reason it’s the valley of the shadow of death and not the valley of utter darkness is his light. His light gives vision and means the gloom is only temporary. 

"Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” Psalm 63:7-8