Strange joy

We enjoyed a nice Mother’s Day yesterday that started with breakfast in bed for Susan. Okay, so she has every meal in bed. Work with me here. She chose the bacon and cheese omelet over the oatmeal and relished a second course of vanilla frozen yogurt topped with fresh raspberries and blueberries, drizzled with boysenberry syrup. Later, instead of our traditional lunch at Randy & Dorothy’s, everyone came over for mid-afternoon dessert so Susan would be included. It was good family time.

I recall Mother’s Days past, when the kids and I would work furiously and secretly in the kitchen to prepare a partially elegant meal while Mom got ready for church. If there were fresh berries and something sprinkled with powdered sugar, it was partially elegant. We’d try to catch her after her hair was done but before she got fully dressed so we could coax her back to bed for the surprise delivery. I remember the kids gushing with excitement for the special presentation of breakfast and cards and flowers, and how their anticipation met with delight that she was enjoying what we’d prepared.

This year was different, like so many things for our family. Susan remains stable, neither improving nor declining. She knocked back a urinary tract infection this week with antibiotics and knocked back several more severe headaches with morphine. Like always, she’s in good spirits and is generally most alert just after waking from restful sleep.

Now in week 5 under hospice care, things have progressed differently than I thought when I didn’t know what to expect. I guess I still don’t know what to expect; but we’ve all gotten used to Susan’s bed in the den and the quiet routine of attending to her. Life on hospice in week 5 is strangely normal, strangely joyful, and strangely open-ended.

“Strange joy” borrows a title from Bob Bennett’s latest album, Joy Deep as Sorrow, a recording I recommend highly. The song speaks of peace in the middle of trial and “strange joy, barely understood, that from the night of trouble dawns the day of good.” We’re in the firm center of that mystery, with Susan not really dying but not really living and with us not really grieving but not really celebrating. We’re waiting for weighty things to transpire that are orchestrated by loving and unseen hands according to a divine timetable, while God’s people attend to us in prayer and with acts of kindness. We’re waiting.

But the joy is real and the peace is real. They mock our circumstances, a situation that should bring sorrow and chaos. This strange joy from God makes it possible for us to be okay, really. It’s nothing new for him to dispense – we’re just among the latest of countless people who have latched on to the power and mystery of the Cross. He supplies our purpose for living, comfort when dying, and resurrection hope beyond the grave. I love Jesus’ words, some of his last, in John 14:19: “Because I live, you also will live.” The gospel is so simple. Today we’re okay, really. In faith, tomorrow we will be too.

Resting

Susan is resting. She woke up early, feeling well, had breakfast and got a clean gown and sheets. She asked for her glasses using words she couldn’t come up with two weeks ago. Now she’s resting. Yesterday she had a severe headache, took some pain meds and then rested. She rests a lot.

I’ve camped on Psalm 62 this week, which begins, “My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.”

I love that Susan has found her soul’s rest in the Lord. I believe it’s the singular reason she’s prevailed in peace and strength for nearly six years under the decay of brain cancer. It’s why the ICU nurse asked her if she ever complains. She just doesn’t. She voices pain when she hurts too much; but her resting soul prevents her from raging or railing against it. There’s a difference.

Our souls long for rest. We spend our lives trying to find it. As Americans, we’re particularly good at the pursuit and are invited to partake from the nearest TV, computer, billboard or radio: nicer clothes, sleeker cars, fuller lashes, harder-hitting entertainment, smoother beer and better investments. We buy it up because we can’t get no satisfaction. Really, we’re desperate for rest.

Susan’s pursuit for satisfaction disappeared overnight nearly six years ago. While fighting for her life, having a new summer purse no longer mattered. Neither did a new hairstyle, nor the HDTV. You may not have said we were overly materialistic; but it seems many of the things we valued proved unreliable for life’s foundation. Quickly failing when tested, our false supports gave way to our true foundation in God.

There’s a reason David says, “He alone is my rock and my salvation.” Rock is massive and immovable. It lasts, especially when compared to things of earth that come and go, things that rot or break, things we think are important. God is our mighty rock.

Salvation is the ultimate. What, or who, can save us? Who besides the Lord? Who else said he made us? Who else said he can save us? Who else has made good on every promise in spite of our attempts to explain him away? Who else, brokenhearted about our rebellion from him, offers us salvation and not annihilation? Who else offers provision and purpose on earth in exchange for our devotion – and the hope of heaven besides?

In light of all else that claims to offer what our souls need, God is a worthy refuge. “He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.” He’s where Susan found her soul’s rest a long time ago. Heaven, whenever she goes there, will be just another form of it.

Hospice, week 3

We’re thankful Susan continues to hold fast in her third week on hospice care. She’s taking plenty of liquids and food and has none of the hazards that often come when bedridden for weeks, like skin breakdown or breathing trouble. She’s been a bit congested at times, but has responded well to her breathing treatments. She still has periods of severe headache and takes morphine only when she can’t stand it.

Her cognitive status remains mostly unchanged also; verbally responsive but not talkative and sleeping a lot of the time. She doesn’t complain, but remains sweet and pleasant. I haven’t observed any seizure activity or progressive decline one might associate with tumor growth.

In spite of her diminished state, Susan is much like she has been since her brain cancer diagnosis: here, at peace, and trusting in the Lord for his will and his timing. It’s such a strange existence for all of us, but one that’s become familiar, even normal. Our sons play Xbox games while Mom lies in bed a few feet away.

We know little else except that God loves us and has us in his hands, and that friends stand with us in love, prayer, and beautiful expressions of support. My constant prayer is, “Lord, have mercy on us.”

Mostly stable

In her second week at home under hospice care, Susan is mostly stable. Depending on when you might visit, you may come away impressed that either she’s doing well or doing poorly. She’s not well oriented to time or place and still has lots of trouble finding words, but she continues to display remarkable grace and strength. Her hospice nurse, after noting her increased weakness since last week, commented how well she’s coping.

A few days ago, I asked her if she thinks she’s getting weaker or stronger. She said, “stronger.” If nothing else, her strength of will to overcome is phenomenal. This morning I asked her if she has peace (yes), if she’s happy (yes), if she has joy (yes), and if she’s worried (no). Since then, she’s slept most of the day after the return of severe headache and having pain meds. So it goes.

I arranged to return to the office three days a week and to work remotely from home the other two, though I’m clearing the way to take leave as needed. It’s been hard to balance work and home life such as it is; but I’m working it out.

We continue to be greatly encouraged and loved by our family and friends. People express their care in so many meaningful ways, with delicious meals, heartfelt cards, lovely flowers, and warm visits. I know so much of our peace comes from so many prayers. I find the Lord to be a particularly worthy refuge, as he has assured us he’ll be. All of God’s promises that he’s with us, that he saves and heals us, that he protects us; that  our lives are wrapped up in his have taken on new significance now. Our journey has been really hard and recently became harder; but we thank God for bearing us through it.