It Could Be Worse ...

Treasured friend,

We've had some week in our neck of the woods. Tornadoes. Downed trees and live power lines on the ground. Power outages -- ours lasted 65 hours; a few others in our neighbhorhood went even longer than that. And more storms are on the way today.

I sprained my wrist from pulling the starter on our portable generator (which eventually did generate enough power to keep Dad's meds cool in the fridge and the basement dry). Dad fell and is now limping after missing the bottom stair in the dark (while I was out on the patio trying to start said generator). We moped in darkness for three days and three nights--running short on patience, and shorter on the necessities of life. And we found ourselves wondering how Abe Lincoln studied by candlelight to become a lawyer, and how Noah's wife and daughters-in-law survived cooped up in that dark ark for 40 days and 40 nights.

We decided that none of us would make good (or happy) campers at this stage of our lives. (Come to think of it, when we did camp in our earlier lives, we weren't very happy campers then, either!)

Then we went to church yesterday to find that a dear friend and fellow caregiver suffered a tree through the roof in our same storm--and our predicament didn't seem so bad. Everyone, it seemed, had an equally challenging story to share.

Now that the power is back on, I finally got to scrolling through the endless emails (do you know how many can accumulate in 65 hours??) in my box. Among them I found an ad for this book that apparently is on Oprah's book club list for the summer: Someday This Will Be Funny.

Now, I haven't read the book (probably won't, actually), but the title gave me pause.

What a great way to look at the crises of a week like this one ... someday we'll laugh about this, or at least we won't be crying/fretting/stressing about it anymore. Someday so many of the things I consider major deals today will fade into oblivion and may even be a source of a chuckle or a to-the-bottom-of-the-toes laugh.

I don't see it yet, of course, but I can look in faith to that one day. After all, as the opening line of Hebrews 11 reminds us, "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" (v. 1; ESV). I have faith that even this series of setbacks--and the many others of a more serious nature that we've experienced in the last year--don't come as a surprise to our loving Father. We can have faith that in all this He is at work. We can have absolute assurance that one day we will sit beside Him, review it all, and see how He worked in it to accomplish the best. We can also have the assurance that from that vantage point in eternity we'll admit (even if grudgingly) that some of it was actually a little funny.

I pray a hearty laugh for you today, no matter what else happens. Please pray the same for me.

Blessings and prayers,

Julie

© 2011, Julie-Allyson Ieron. All rights reserved. For reprint permission, email: orders@joymediaservices.com

For the grandparents among you ...

My friend Lydia E. Harris has created a lovely Bible study/devotional book titled Preparing My Heart for Grandparenting. It's published by AMG, and would make a great resource for you or the grandparent you love. It's filled with Scripture, practical suggestions, even activities you can do together. Topics include prayer, being a role model, investing in their lives, listening to joys and tears, making an eternal impact. Lydia tells a wonderful story--as you may know from her other books. If you're a grandparent, or are looking for a gift for a new grandparent, check this book out.

Blessings and prayers, Julie

Job Description: In-home Caregiver

Treasured friend,

As I’ve been playing the role for a while, I decided a job description for an adult-child caregiver of aging parents could be useful. What I came up with is a list of qualifications that pretty much transfers to any in-home, 24-7-365 caregiving job. It started as I was trying to figure out why I’ve been feeling more overwhelmed than usual—and to bolster myself because I’d been feeling less-than-productive in many areas of my professional life.

See if you have what it takes—or if you recognize your job in this list.

NASCAR driver—must be able to beat all other drivers in the hospital parking garage to the last handicapped parking spot. Why doesn’t a hospital, by definition, create more handicapped spots? I mean really!

Personal chef—microwaving leftover skills a must; defrosting skills helpful—especially understanding the use of the microwave’s defrost function and being able to operate it without assistance.

Patient companion—willingness to sit in an easy chair and watch reruns of Dean Martin Celebrity Roasts without getting frustrated over your own laundry piling up.

Ambassador/diplomat—talent to reestablish emotional calm when service providers try to force the issue of paperless billing, auto-deposit, and online bill-pay.

Psychologist—the ability to guess at what’s behind a loved-one’s question without using Freud’s theories to dig deep and place the blame squarely on one’s parents (counterproductive when dealing with one’s parents).

Translator—ability to take gleaned understanding at the meaning behind the response and explain it to other loved ones, service providers, and medical team.

Legal advisor—uncanny capacity to comprehend legal and medical mumbo-jumbo and translate it into legitimate English—this is a must. Also, a practiced hand at witnessing and signing legal and medical forms.

Banker—aptitude to understand and explain the latest round of hieroglyphics generated by the mega-bank’s computer system; willingness to do same every single time a new report comes in snail mail.

Electronics technician—must possess the skill for resetting all digital clocks on radios, appliances, and the VCR whenever the power blips; also must know everything about computers and satellite TV boxes—and be able to extrapolate exactly how the loved one got to this particular locked-up screen—again!

Medic—must be ready to kiss boo-boos and make them better. Boo-boos include insect bites, stubbed toes, mystery bruises, and test-prick wounds.

Nurse’s aide—required to produce or generate test-prick wounds; must be practiced and convincing at the mantra, “This won’t hurt at all.”

Excel spreadsheet guru—must possess the capacity to rig up makeshift fax system, log (and type accurately) test-prick results, and transmit generated spreadsheet via fax to medical team weekly.

Patient advocate—has the talents of understanding the emotionally charged reactions to diagnoses and reminding the medical team that patient is a person, not a series of test results.

Make-it-all-better specialist—a calming, soothing, understanding, listening attitude is essential!

This is only slightly exaggerated from the tasks we’ve been called on to perform this week. Maybe that overwhelmed feeling isn’t quite so groundless as I’d thought when I woke up this morning.

As I searched The Word for a bit of comfort or assurance, I found this little statement that I’ve glibly quoted in the past. It took on new meaning today—and sounded less flip as it rolled off my fingertips onto the screen: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13; NKJV).

May your list of job qualifications, like mine, always fall into that “all things” category, through Christ our loving, patient, and eminently qualified Lord.

Blessings and prayers,
Julie

© 2011, Julie-Allyson Ieron. All rights reserved. For reprint permission, email: orders@joymediaservices.com

Reminded of the Word of Truth

Treasured friend,

This evening I was rereading my April entry – and feeling sheepish as I read. I’ve begun dozens of messages to you, but haven’t gotten far before I was interrupted, needed elsewhere, or otherwise distracted. So, my treasured friend, I offer you my sincere apology.

By way of explanation—but by no means excuse—since I’ve last written to you, our family has sat by several sets of friends, fellow caregivers who have been through the ultimate challenge: watching loved ones decline, then enter the care of hospice, all the while knowing where the path is leading … that the journey of their beloved charges would carry them into eternity with their Lord.

We’ve seen faithful saints who’ve lived a lifetime in God’s service finish the course well—and collect their prize of eternal life. We’ve listened to words of comfort from preachers in services of tearful celebrations, and we’ve come to realize anew the fact that words, even beautiful words out of the Psalms or out of Paul’s writings to the early church, simply can’t express the range of emotions in these most poignant of all human moments.

And yet words are what we have to offer—as we come up against this frustrating reminder of the limitations of our humanity. Words, gentle hugs, tearful eyes, the squeeze of a hand. We’re here. We care. We’re praying. We won’t forget to hold you up in the days ahead.

That’s what we have in our comfort arsenals. That, and the truth of the Word made flesh, Who made His dwelling place among us—Who lived to demonstrate the Creator’s understanding of our pain at the curse of death—and who died to make a way for us to live. The paradox of faith in Christ. It takes dying to live.

When our hearts are torn by death’s separation—His presence seems just a little closer, a little more tangible. And we become a lot more desperate to feel it for ourselves. In those moments we long to be reminded of His promises, the words from His very own mouth—spoken to prepare His loved ones’ hearts for the painful separation from Him that they were about to experience. They then, like we now, didn’t understand what was about to take place, couldn’t see the bigger picture, could only be gripped by panicked and fearful emotions at the prospect of their Lord going to a place they couldn’t immediately follow. And yet, He offered these beautiful words …  

“Your heart must not be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if not, I would have told you. I am going away to prepare a place for you. If I go away and prepare a place for you, I will come back and receive you to Myself, so that where I am you may be also. You know the way ⌊to⌋ where I am going.” “Lord,” Thomas said, “we don’t know where You’re going. How can we know the way?” Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me” (John 14:1-6, HCSB).

Over the weekend, I had the privilege of using these words, and others spoken by Christ and expounded on by Paul, to reassure an old friend’s troubled questions about eternity (raised in her heart by the misguided and ill-spoken words of a charlatan Armageddon predictor).

Here is what I told her (and I'm telling you) that I know to be true—because Christ said so--check out His Word for yourself to see whether what I'm telling you is true. Here, then, is what I know: We know the way—the only way—to the place where we will be with Christ … and with our loved ones who have died in Him. The way is so simple that so many of us complicate things, so that others (surely not we ourselves) miss it. The way is clear and direct because Christ made it so.

He faced the recesses of hell Himself. That day on Calvary’s cross He entered death’s domain, He tied up the guardians of hell, and He conquered them once and for all—for every one of us who dares to believe—to ask Him to buy us back from slavery to sin—to apply His life-blood to our sin accounts. This is what He asks us to believe and receive—“If you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. … For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Romans 10:9, 13; HCSB).

Perhaps words are enough to offer after all. Words from the mouth of our Lord, offering comfort and a compassionate challenge—your heart must not be troubled. … I will receive you to Myself. And the words of our own mouths: Lord Jesus, I choose to believe You and receive the free gift of salvation that You paid for on my behalf--with Your blood.

With those words, eternal companionship with our loving Lord opens up for each of us. So that at death's moment, we'll be more alive in Him than we ever were on this earth.That’s what happened to our friends this week. And when it’s our time—well, I can’t speak for you, but as for me, that’s the promise that will carry me through the end of this life and into the promised joys of eternity with Christ. That’s what I’m living for … and what I’ve staked it all to believe.

I pray you have this same assurance in your own heart—for your eternity, and for the eternity of the one you care for today.

Blessings and prayers,

Julie

© 2011, Julie-Allyson Ieron. All rights reserved. For reprint permission, email: orders@joymediaservices.com