still moving
Sometimes my life feels like a series of chapters in a book. Naturally, there’s a first chapter and a (TBD) last, with many chapters flowing in between; some quite long, others just a page or two. There are tragedies and triumphs, villains, heroes, and heroines. If I’m lucky, I’ll learn something from the author, be reminded of what she’s overcome, or read something she’s written that stays with me forever.
Recently, two chapters have been added to my book.
The first, written over the last three years, is filled with uncertainty, overcoming, resignation, answered prayers, depression, grace, discovery, staggering news, tears, heartbreak, and unspeakable beauty. It’s also filled - though I didn’t know it when the chapter began - with many lasts: last holidays, last celebrations, last picture, last date, last kiss, last conversation, last touch, last goodbye, last breath.
I wrote the final paragraph of this chapter today, standing in our apartment - its rooms as empty as the day we moved in - when I handed our landlord two sets of keys: mine and Michael’s. And even though he hadn't lived there since July 2nd, it was still ours; the last home we shared together.
Within the pages of the second chapter, still in the process of being written, is where I now find myself. A few posts back, I mentioned that my mother has been struggling with Alzheimer’s. As her only child, I have become her primary caregiver, and over the last six months, when it became clear that I wouldn’t be able to remain in the place where we’d been living, the most logical step was for Daniel and me to move into her home.
I want to tell you that this was an easy decision and that I was happy to step in and give her the help she needs, but that would be an outright lie. I’ve struggled deeply with taking this on. I’ve had two complete, ugly cry breakdowns before the Lord, asking Him, “Why? Why now? I’m not ready. I don’t want to do this. It’s only been six months. Why are You taking me out of that frying pan only to throw me into another fire?”
It’s been exhausting; losing Michael, moving, figuring out finances, taking my mom to appointments, answering her same questions over and over and over again, rearranging schedules, waking in the night because she gets up, cooking, cleaning, caring for four cats (hers and ours), living out of one room while Daniel’s and my spaces are prepared, painting, rearranging… so much! And this chapter is only a few paragraphs in.
And even though God hasn’t answered all the questions I asked Him, He’s been with me in them. He’s with me in the excitement that lights up my mom’s eyes when she hears (for the 10th time from us, but what feels like the 1st time for her) that Daniel and I are moving in. He’s with me in the generosity of our church family: eight people who gave up an afternoon to help us move, and others who repaired our floors. He’s with me when my sons come to church with me (and soon, my mom will too). He’s with me in friends who’ve paid bills, given gas money, or prayed for me. He’s with me when He blesses my mom through me, because He loves her just as much as He loves me.
He’s with me even when I don’t understand His ways. I only know that they’re always good, even when they’re hard.
Many years ago, when I was married to my first husband, Jeff, the four of us - Jeff, his sister, her friend, and me - went on a hike in the Santa Monica hills. I’ve never been much of a hiker, and Jeff, whose idea it was, hadn’t given much thought to the path we would take. He was an adventurer, prone to wandering, and wander we did.
Several hours in, I was exhausted, cranky, hungry, and desperate to go home, but we still had a ways to go before we would be finished. As we climbed an incline, all I could do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other, silently counting, “1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2,” while breathing slowly, in through my nose, out through my mouth.
Most days now, that’s still all I can do.
The same focused steps.
The same measured breathing.
Not looking left or right, or too far ahead.
I keep moving until I make it back to my car, back to my door, into a hot shower, into my bed - my heart set on the One whose Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. (Psalm 119:105)
“But now, this is what the Lord says - He who created you, Jacob, He who formed you, Israel: ‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.’” ~ Isaiah 43:1–2
