The Purpose that Prevails

The great ponderings of life: Why are we here? Why am I here? How do I live out my calling? Am I moving in the right direction?  I’m sure that it takes great wisdom and deliberate searching.

So, it’s my most frequent prayer; that God would give me the discernment and courage needed to live out His plan for my life.

On one particular night I’d prayed this in a different way. Out of frustration and grief over how quickly time slips away, I prayed: “God, just show me my purpose already!”  I drifted off quickly that night. Within a few minutes, I had one of those bizarre half-dreams. If you didn’t already know (I didn’t), the proper term for this is hypnagogia. It’s when you’re in between sleep and consciousness. Anyway, it was a short one. I dreamt that I received a text that read WAIT! No known sender, just the word wait; in all caps, followed by an exclamation point. Now, I’m careful not to assign supernatural weight to explainable things. It was just a dream, nothing more. Still, I remember finding humor in it and thinking; okay God, I’ll wait.

I drifted off once more and this time my eyes didn’t open until 6am. I awoke to my mother calling out to my dad. I’d spent the night at my parents’ house. My mother’s back had been hurting so I was there helping out a bit. That morning the pain had become so unbearable that we took her to the emergency room.  We quickly learned that this was more than ordinary back pain. As she laid in the hospital bed, body shaking and skin turning to a pale green; the doctor examined her with a look of great concern. She recommended a few tests and gave her something for the pain. The next couple of hours were quiet and tense. My dad and I would occasionally have whisper conversations as she slept. She would slip in and out of sleep, at times talking in her sleep in Spanish. That was the first day of six weeks spent in and out of the hospital.

The doctor recommended emergency surgery because of a raging infection and a blockage in her kidney. We got the lecture that her stubbornness, her refusal to get to a doctor sooner; could’ve killed her. I’m not exaggerating when I say that. The doctor made sure that we grasped the seriousness of the situation. In a flurry we were given options, instructions, and a slew of papers to sign.  And then the waiting…

It pained me to see my Dad so scared. I was confident that she would recover from surgery but it was difficult to wrap our heads around what was happening.  We paced by the window, looked up at the TV, stared at the patterns on the waiting room chairs, and thumbed through magazines. I stopped to contemplate an ad in Woman’s Day. It was a picture of a couple and their young daughter, walking hand-in-hand in a park. It was a picture of how I wanted my life to be. For one reason or another, that’s not how it is. But if it was, would I be able to be here now? I think I’m supposed to be here now.

The surgeon came out to give us the good news that surgery had gone well. Our spirits were lifted by the feeling of relief. By then it was evening and for the rest of the day, she mostly slept. She had no idea of what happened. We had no idea of what laid ahead of us.

The next morning, Labor Day, was a day off of work and I was looking forward to spending time with her at the hospital; still feeling the lightness of relief. The anesthesia was wearing off and she was becoming more alert, but something still wasn’t quite right. She was confused and acting bizarre and hostile. Her eyes looked black; so dark that you couldn’t distinguish between the pupils and irises. There was a darkness inside her. It only got worse over the next few days.

We repeatedly explained why she was there, but she couldn’t retain anything to memory for more than a few minutes. So she was just frustrated and angry. Angry with the doctors, nurses, me, and most of all, my dad. We didn’t know why. I just knew this was not my mother. For those few days I thought my mom was gone.

Before this, she’d been having some minor memory issues and we weren’t quite sure if it was just old age or something more. We were working on finding out. Now we had our answer. But it was like she progressed from the beginning stage to a very progressed stage in a matter of 24 hours. We weren’t prepared for the shock. I wasn’t prepared for the pain of losing my mother as I had always known her. I wish I could say that I was a rock for my dad. I was not.

God bless my friends who answered their phones when I called, only to hear my sobbing on the other end. I had never felt closer to my friends and at the same time felt incredibly isolated. Everyone else lives too far away. It was just me and my dad to navigate this strange territory. It was strange territory and this stranger who vacillated between not wanting us around and weeping if we left her alone for more than 25 minutes.

So we didn’t leave her. One of us was always there, especially my dad; a saint of a man who slept every night at the hospital to be by her side. The physical issues didn’t make matters easier, but they were of little concern to me. It was this confusion and delirium that had me terrified. How long could she live in that state? How were we going to care for her? My dad is 85 and I could never let him be her primary caretaker. But it was difficult to think through these practical problems when my heart was in such a wounded state.

Life is heartbreakingly fragile, we’re all aware of this. But it can be utterly soul crushing to see this fragility embodied in someone you love; someone who is so much a part of your identity. Their brain is deteriorating and you’d do anything to stop it. There’s nothing you can do but show them pictures, and tell them stories to help spark their memory. You patiently answer the same questions 14,15,16 times in a row.

“I have a son too, right?”

“That’s right mom, Jason.”

“He lives in Florida?”

“No, Texas.”

“Oh okay. You still doing good in school?”

“I’m all done with school, mom.”

“Oh that’s nice! You like your job?”

Sometimes these question present themselves as knife twists in your heart. Other times, they’re just words and you answer like you’re a computer; like Alexa giving the temperature for the day. Then there are the moments of complete clarity. We’d enjoy reminiscing about a vacation or laugh at a cute video of my niece and nephew. I learned to savor these moments. They felt like the flickering flames of a little tea light. They were comforting but wouldn’t last long. I held them gingerly in my palms to keep them from blowing out too soon.

Some days she was wonderfully placid as she would work on her adult coloring book. Once, I sat on the hospital bed next to her, examining the top of her head. I was staring as if I could somehow peer into her brain and better comprehend what was happening. Her hair was still mostly black with a few wisps of white like the cream swirls in an Oreo cake. Her once-thick hair had been a source of pride and so it brought her great sadness when it began thinning. In the same way, she was fiercely proud of her high intellect. Now her mind was slipping away too. I guess I did understand what was happening; just not why. It seemed too cruel for a soul to bear. I sure didn’t understand how a woman could live for 80 years and never learn the dangers and sin of such pride. Could it even be possible that I know better than her when it comes to these things?

But that’s how life works; time takes things from you. It takes these parts of your life and places them in your past. Just as our parents often start out as central in our lives but eventually become part of our pasts. They leave us with lessons and influences that serve us well when we learn from them.

It’s easier to think these things through when I run. For a few of those really tough days, running was such a great escape for me. Some days when it was hot and arduous, my body just felt exhausted but my mind knew I was capable of going further. Other days when neither mind nor body cooperated, I asked for strength of spirit. Weeks earlier I had written that difficult times are often meant to be character building. But I underestimated how difficult a test could be and I overestimated how well I’d be able to handle it. Nearing the end of a run I thought: if this is how I’m supposed to gain character, I don’t want it. God, if this is my path I just don’t want it…

I decided on one more lap… but.. I’ll take it. If this is what you have for me, I’ll take it.

Shortly after that thought, I noticed a set of footprints ahead of me. Although, muddy footprints on a track don’t evoke the glamour of “Footprints in the Sand”; there they were to remind me that I wasn’t going through anything that thousands of others haven’t before. And I will never go through any trial that can compare to the suffering of Jesus. I can, however, learn from these experiences and leave footprints of my own. More importantly, I can walk along side others when they go through their difficult seasons. That’s enough to drive me forward.

After my mom left the hospital, she slowly began to get better. Her mood and memory aren’t 100%, but there’s been a big improvement. As the doctor said, her time in the hospital was a preview of things to come. So, for the next few months or maybe even a few years, the situation will be more manageable. I don’t know why we were afforded the blessing of a glimpse into the future, but I am so grateful.

Often, we want all the answers to those great questions of life.  We want confirmation that we’re on the right path. The best we can do is ask for patience and be wary of pride. Most times, we can only let life experiences reveal the answers to us.  Time takes things away, but it also brings us things that we can’t plan for. More joy, more pain, more than we can imagine. In the meantime, God equips us with the wisdom and strength that we can’t muster up on our own.