Quarantine with Peace

I have to admit I had a little panic attack the other day when I heard we have to self-quarantine until April 30th now. I can't do that, I thought. I won't do it. But I will.

By no means am I taking this lightly. It is sad seeing the case numbers and the lives lost. It is equally sad seeing people being laid off or losing their jobs entirely. I am fortunate to be able to go into work one or two days a week (alone) at my dental office to call patients and open the mail, etc.

What's bothering me so much though is all the negativity. News, social media, friends, and armchair quarterbacks alike. I think we all need, more than ever, healthy does of what's good, positive, and uplifting.

Mr. Rogers had once said, "Look for the helpers, when things are scary." (Not in those exact words.) I find that if we do LOOK, they are all around. I see people stepping up for good in so many communities. Though they are practicing social distancing, they are thinking of creative ways to show how much they care, or offer hope, a daily scripture, or a smile. Isn't that the best way to get through a crisis?

At the time of my life that was the most difficult and saddest, my mother's dementia and subsequent loss of my father and then mother nine months later, I found a lot of good all around me. There were the helpers at that time: friends who brought food, stayed by my side, ran errands, wrote messages of cheer, or called to see what they could do.

There were moments of laughter between my brother and I. It became a time to remember some of the crazy antics our parents had done through the years. Mom always said to remember her and laugh. I never thought it could be possible, but it was.

When I was younger, I used to think that the death of my parents would push me over the brink of sanity. And though it was horrible to go through, there was peace that filled my heart. It filled it so much that it overflowed to others. I remember at the funeral home, as people approached me, I sensed a holy presence (the Spirit) all around me. I was able to talk with others and give them the comfort they sought so hard to give to me. I lived and breathed that peace.

Is it possible to keep peace around us like a shield when all of this is going on in the world? The answer is yes. Sure we can find pockets of peace in the day, when the sun is shining on our face, birds are singing sweetly, we are lost in a great book, or doing something we truly enjoy. But that real inner peace is something else entirely.

I remember where I was when complete brokenness enveloped me in its gloomy embrace. I sat in the window well of Heritage Valley Hospital. The doctors and nurses weren't holding out much hope any longer for Dad. My brother and I used to will him to live with everything inside us. I used to think if I could keep breathing for him, he will keep breathing for us. As I watched my father on life support, however, I realized those precious breaths were for naught this time.

In that window of the hospital, I broke and said, "God, your will be done." The words were said with meaning and the knowledge that I'd just let my father go. However I was letting him go completely into God's care and loving arms right then. With my heart breaking, I was able to find courage and peace to say goodbye to my father. It was that courage and peace that stayed with me through his death, funeral, caring for Mom, and her death. It may have wavered a bit, but never left my side.

May you find that true inner peace and the courageous warrior you can be as we go through this pandemic together. Ask for it. God will answer.

Quiet Time, Reflection

While visiting my father in the critical care unit of the hospital recently,  I stood by his side when the doctor said the words that every family fears: We are unsure of the outcome if you decide to have surgery. But if you don't, it could prove devastating also.

My dad reached for my hand and held it, carefully digesting the doctor's diagnosis. When she left the room he said, "I don't even feel sick." That's been my father. A man who had a heart attack and didn't even know it. A man who claimed that he never felt much pain. A man who would put others needs before his own, and not really let you know what was going on behind those amazing green eyes.

I excused myself for a few moments, and quietly fell to pieces in a restroom down the hallway. Then I gathered my courage, called my brother, and kept a stiff upper lip while I spent the rest of the day with Dad. A little later I left the room again, headed for the small hospital chapel. A room to reflect in. A room for prayer and God's presence.

Two candles were lit on a small altar. A huge, old Bible sat opened. Several rows of wooden pews stood closely together and the lights were low. The smell of candle wax permeated the air; a kind-of nostalgic, comforting scent, bringing me back to the many Sunday's I attended church with my father.

I closed my eyes and spoke quietly in my heart to my Heavenly Father. I don't know if the words made sense, but the Holy Spirit knew. For a calm descended over me, and loving arms wrapped about me. Though I had thought I couldn't go on earlier that day, I stood and walked from the room to face whatever outcome my father's surgery would bring that evening.

******

A women's care facility. Cold and sterile. An oversized, cotton dressing gown that hung on my frame making me and the other ladies who were waiting for results of their own tests look like clones of one another. My name is called. The tickle of fear in my belly deepens. After all, I've been called back for more tests on a mammogram. I entered the room feeling more like a computer generated number than a human at this point. And nobody smiles here. I make a mental note that in the future I will find a better facility. I miss the girls I had known back home, hating that insurance companies force you to find places that accept your carrier.

I am called in for a sonogram next. By this time I want to scream. I want to run far away. Don't they know my father is in critical care in another town? Don't they know he still has a ventilator in and we are hoping, praying for good results? Can't they at least look at me and tell me that everything will be alright, or even if not, can they give me a ray of hope?

I lay back upon the table in the low-lit room. I close my eyes and my breathing slows. Once again, I'm drawn into the presence of the Almighty. I don't need to be in a chapel or church. For He is with me wherever I go, and I feel Him now. 

Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

The words are a promise and a truth. Whether the outcome of my tests or my father's surgery this past week had been good or bad, I knew God was real. He is a miracle worker and He adores us. Had we lost Dad, I knew where he was headed. And I had a true peace with that knowledge.

My tests turned out negative, though I had a small cyst. I am to have more frequent mammograms now. And my father: well, he made it through touchy surgery against all odds. At eighty-five years of age and being a heart patient, a quadruple bypass and defibrillator and pacemaker patient, this brave man chose the road of recovery. He didn't throw in the towel or give up. 

I think back to those quiet moments this week. The times I closed my eyes and called upon the peace that passes understanding. The lonely moments where all I had was my God and that was enough.

Yes, my friends, He is more than enough. Let His peace rule in your hearts. Give yourself quiet time and moments of reflection in the midst of your own uphill battles.

Peace above all else

A woman walks through her door and sighs. She smiles, a tired, careworn look upon her face. Her work day was eight hours long, but felt much longer. For the burdens she shoulders add to the moments, almost like lead weights. She is the caregiver. The wife, and mother. She is the daughter of parents now old, and she has become the parent. When her mother asks a childlike question and she's taken the time to give her kindest answer, in that moment, she knows the roles have reversed.

She holds memories in her heart. Some moments of laughter from a close family, holiday memories, times that were lighter and carefree. She remembers that she, too, was once a little girl, the whole world before her, innocent and unknowing.

Past mistakes tickle at the corners of her mind, but she pushes them away. For they do no good at this moment. They only remind her what was, and torture her with what should have been. She's learned much from them though, and vows never to repeat them.

She thinks about him. Their marriage built on rocky ground, yet the solid moments they share. He's not perfect, she thinks, but then again, neither am I. But can she truly change? If she stood up for what she believes, if she voices her true opinion, if she stops pretending. . . Perhaps then, she will have peace, for that is what she longs for at this time in her life.

She is a praying woman. She's fallen asleep at night, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Are her children safe? Will her parents live to see another holiday? Is there enough money to pay the bills? Am I losing myself? God, I trust in you. I need to sleep tonight. Take these cares from me. Hold your precious little girl in your arms, please.

In the quiet of her soul she gives herself completely. For God has carried her through before. Whether the future holds change, uncertainty, loss or gain, she has known true, complete trust. And when she awakes the next morning to the challenges of a new day, hand in hand with the knowledge of her Father's unfailing love, she rises to the tasks before her, and vows with all that is within her that it will be a day of true peace.