The thankful leper

This past Sunday I traveled, with my father, to a church in rural Nebraska where Dad preached on the appointed Gospel reading.  The topic was the story of the 10 lepers and the sermon was a carefully revised and updated version of one of his father’s sermons.  It was a joy to sit in the front pew and learn from God as he worked through my father and grandfather, a beautiful message and a touching legacy.

I was reminded of one of my favorite teaching stories.  I had a mother of one of my first graders call me to relate that her son was convinced that I, and nine of my friends, had been healed of leprosy and that I was the only one who thanked Jesus.  I’d like to think I would remember to thank Jesus, but I know myself better than that.  However, I did adjust my Bible story telling procedures for that school year.

After I dropped my father off at his home, for a well-deserved nap, I continued home from Seward.  My thoughts drifted to a book about leprosy that I read many years ago.  It was co-written by Dr. Paul Brand and Philip Yancey and is called Pain: The Gift Nobody Wants.   It has since been re-released as The Gift of Pain.

I remember pouring over this book, ruminating on it, and finding it changing my outlook on life and my reaction to the events of my life.  Dr. Brand spent a lifetime working with people with leprosy.  While his life story is very interesting, what stunned me was the basic premise of the book: without pain, we lose everything.

When Dr. Brand began his work with Lepers, the medical community assumed that wounds that did not heal and subsequent loss of digits and limbs was a symptom of the disease.  What Dr. Brand’s work was able to show was that these occurrences, so prevalent in leprosy patients, were caused, not by the disease, but by the lack of pain.  People who do not feel pain in their feet take every step the same way which causes wounds that do not heal because the compromised areas are not favored or protected.  Eventually a Leper will destroy a foot, by continuing to walk on a wound.  This happens, not because the flesh is bad, but because there is no pain to give warning.   The lack of pain can cause the blessing of being able to walk to be destroyed. 

   

Pain is good for us.  Pain is partly responsible for the blessings we have in our life, not only for our appreciation of those blessings, but also for our being able to keep and enjoy them.

Recalling this book made me take a new look at the story of the 10 Lepers.  When they discovered they were healed, their hearts would have been filled with indescribable joy.  They would no longer be unclean, no longer exiled, no longer a danger to their loved ones.  I am sure their heads were as full as their hearts. 

But, we must remember that the miracle that restored their skin and their health would have also restored their sense of pain.  They would have felt every stone as they walked to the temple, felt the sun’s heat on their heads and necks.  They would have felt the pain of walking on blisters. Only one Leper returned to offer thanks.   Perhaps he was the only one able to say thank you for pain. 

Pain is  a part of our earthly life.  We sin, we cause pain, we experience pain. That pain brings us to God, just as our sin brings us to repentance.  If we pray for no pain, just as if we prayed for no guilt, the formula would no longer work. There was no need for pain in a perfect, sinless world, but our current world not only causes it, it requires it for survival.

I am a  wimp about any kind of pain – physical, emotional, or spiritual.  I want an easy carefree life.  Pain mucks things up and ruins the perfect picture.  Pain is a hindrance, a distraction, an annoyance, a grievance.  But, pain is a blessing.  It makes us stop what we are doing and listen.  Pain makes us act. It makes us move. It protects our hands, our feet, our eyes, and our faith. 

Pain in our feet makes us adjust our step, ever so slightly. Pain in our hands warns us of the danger of what we are touching. Pain in our eyes causes us to blink and tear up.  Pain in our soul shows our repentant heart that we need the One who offers forgiveness; that we need the One who offers peace. 

Today I stood with friends in pain, excruciating pain caused by loss, by anger, by grief, by their love for each other.  I wished with a fervent heart that I could take away the pain, or that God would. 

Instead, I held them up to our Father, in prayer, and I cried with them.  Instead, God reminded them that they are His.

If we have pain, we are alive. If we have pain, we are hearing from our bodies, our hearts and our faith.

If we have pain, we are reminded that we are precious children of a God who loves us and cares for us, even as He forgives us.

For I am ready to fall, and my pain is ever before me. 

 I confess my iniquity; I am sorry for my sin. 

Psalm 38: 17-18

But I am afflicted and in pain; let your salvation, 

O God, set me on high! I will praise the name of God with a song;

 I will magnify him with thanksgiving.

 Psalm 69:29-30

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. 

Revelation 21:4

Waiting

Comfort, comfort my people,

says your God.

Isaiah 40:1

Sometimes our life circumstances leave us in a state of waiting. For me, I continue to work away at my dissertation while waiting to see how God will use this new learning. Likewise, my son and daughter continue to work while they wait to see where God will use their gifts.

Sometimes waiting comes in steps, such as with my mother-in-law, Dorris. We discovered that after 18 years of caring for her husband with Alzheimers, she was losing her own cognitive ability. We took a step when we realized she could no longer live alone: another step when we realized she needed daily care: another when we realized she needed to live a more sheltered life in memory care. We don’t know when the next step will be, but we have memories of what those steps will entail.

This past week, I experienced a different kind of waiting; the waiting of the opening of heaven’s door. Paul’s Uncle Jerry went for a walk, took a wrong step and fell, receiving a serious injury. Events at the hospital soon brought on the hospice team. Jerry was going home, to be with his Savior. Heaven was not going to wait for long.

Last Sunday I had the honor of sitting by Jerry’s side for a few hours. While I sat, I read scripture. In Isaiah God is waiting for His people to return to Him. The words provided a beautiful description of Jerry’s journey home.

Lift up your eyes and look around;

all your children gather and come to you.

Isaiah 49: 18

Jerry’s son, his grandson, his granddaughter, and his great grandson were among those who had opportunity to stand at his bedside, hold his hand, and speak with him. In church, today, our Pastor talked about how Marie and Jerry had a love for children and took many into their home. I know our two children were blessed to know Papa Jerry and Gram Marie and to be watched over by them.

He gives strength to the weary and

increases the power of the weak.

Isaiah 40: 29

Jerry struggled with pneumonia and gave great effort for every breath he took. Marie stayed by his side, night and day, Philip and Jesse spent every free moment in his hospital room. In their weakness, God gave them strength.

I am worn out calling for help;

my throat is parched.

Psalm 69:3

This verse from Psalm 69 was also a part of my reading. These words took on a new level of meaning as I watched the nurse tend to Jerry with swabs of water. His ability to eat or drink was gone and he waited, and labored patiently, as his Savior came for him. 

I said, ‘You are my servant’; I have chosen you and have not rejected you.

So 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.

Isaiah 41: 9b-10

Even as Jerry lay in bed, breathing, sleeping, waking, there was a restlessness about him. He spoke to Marie about things of the world, wanting to be sure that Marie was cared for. He was a servant doing the work God set before him, even as he took his final steps home.

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you,

I have summoned you by name;

you are mine. Isaiah 43: 1b

Shortly after moving to a hospice center, God called Jerry home. His family gathered around him with tears and hugs. The wait was over; Jerry, the redeemed, was summoned by name. We look forward to the day when we will be together, again. 

He tends his flock like a shepherd:

He gathers the lambs in his arms

and carries them close to his heart.

Isaiah 40:11

I'm but a stranger here

The phone rang at a familiar time of the day.

"This is Dorris.  I am at some sort of hotel, I don’t know where, and I need someone to come pick me up."

I responded in an equally familiar way:

"You are not at a hotel, you are in your room."

 

"I am?"

"Take a look around.  Do you see your things?"

"Yes, I see my couch and my clothes and my pictures, but .  .  ."

"Nothing seems familiar, does it?"

"No."

Earlier in the day my mother-in-law had suffered through a long eye doctor appointment and now that she was waking from her nap, she was lost and confused.   It is interesting to me that she easily recognizes her things, and often comments that she has her furniture at this "hotel" but, still insists that she doesn’t live there. 

 

One time she remarked that some salesman had made a mint selling black couches, because she explained, " there is a black couch, just like this one, in every hotel room I stay at."

What an unsettling way to live. Familiar objects surround her, but nothing feels familiar. Her brain no longer connects emotions to what she sees. We count on these matching emotions to make judgements about the world around us.  Even as early as a year ago Dorris was calling from her home of nearly 50 years and insisting that she was lost. 

Thankfully, she is blessed with the ability to trust those who care for her. Even though things don’t feel familiar, she is reassured that she is indeed where she belongs.

Some days I read the news and wonder why the world seems like such an unfamiliar place. Even though I sin continually, this sinful world does not feel like home. I cannot stop myself from sinning, but every fiber of my being wants to be in a sinless place. This is a desire born of faith, a desire put into my heart by the Spirit at my baptism. It is an unrelenting desire, and I cling to it.

This world that values materialism over concern for humankind, this world that tries to solve problems with violence and pride, this world that leaves its inhabitants without hope, without joy, without love. My life, my actions, my thoughts - my sins- tell me I belong here.

But, this world is not my home.

Dorris trusts me when I reassure her that she is where she belongs. I trust that my Heavenly Father knows the plans He has for me. I trust that He prepares a room for me and that one day I will be home, where I belong.

Thank you, Father, for creating this home, for giving me the desire to live there, and the trust that you will one day bring me home.

Brothers, join in imitating me, and keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us.   For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ.  Their end is destruction, their god is their belly, and they glory in their shame, with minds set on earthly things.  But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power that enables him even to subject all things to himself.  (Philippians 3: 17-21 ESV)

Birds of the field

Yesterday, I brought Dorris home after a long day that included two different doctor appointments in two different towns. She turned to me with a contented smile and said:

“What a delightful day we have had! What prompted this expedition?”

Trust me, Dorris, you do not want to know.

Truth be told, Dorris had an extremely challenging day. She had an early eye appointment with an Ophthalmologist receiving an injection in her eye. In addition to that treatment, she had to navigate an office system not conducive to working with the elderly.Then, because she had a stabbing pain in her back, I made an appointment with her home town doctor. Her day went something like this:

 

Standing, stabbing pain, walking, sitting, stabbing pain, waiting, pain, standing and walking, pain, waiting, answering confusing questions, waiting, eye drops, waiting, standing and walking, winding around tight corners, pain, listening to directions, waiting, pain, waiting, eye injection, walking, pain-now in both her back and her eye, long ride in car, pain, walking, pain, sitting, answering questions, pain, x-rays, understanding directions, pain, long ride in car, walking back into the building with pain.

Did I mention there was pain involved?

In addition to that, she spent the day not being able to see the trees when outside or to read her paper when inside – her two favorite things.

This is Dorris’ definition of a delightful day. She is such a good role model for me. 

 

Of course, her memory loss is helping the situation a bit. She is able to relegate the recent past to the dust bin that is stuffed full of many other memories. Her memories of the day did not dictate her feelings at that moment as she spent a few minutes outside on a beautiful sunny day. 

I could learn from that.

She has also learned to set aside current anxiety. When the doctors and nurses give her directions she looks at me and says that I will need to be her memory. Then I have to remind the nurse or doctor to write it down, because I can’t seem to get them to remember that Dorris needs memory care and these directions need to go to the good people who care for her. 

Whenever Dorris needs to be taken to another eye appointment, I get geared up and stressed; pumping adrenalin and every other stress hormone I can muster. She just willingly comes along knowing that I will take care of things. She has way too much trust in me. 

I need to pray for some of this trust and forgetfulness. If Dorris can trust me, why can’t I put trust in a God who can actually deliver? Why do I let memories of previous experiences plague me with new worries? 

 

God knows the past, present and future. I can have Dorris’ best interests at heart, but God knows AND accomplishes my best interests. And He does this every day; all the time.

When I sit in a poorly run doctor’s office and wait, I merely fume and stew; Dorris just experiences and lives. A good friend, someone who walked her mother through the journey of Alzheimer’s, recently reminded me that one of the blessings of not being able to create memories is to simply live in the moment. That is a great definition of trust.

 

 “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” (Matthew 6: 25-34 ESV)

Birds of the air and lilies of the field do not make memories. They live in the moment; doing the work God puts before them. 

I understand that thinking about future needs and planning are important. This is part of good stewardship. I just need to let go of the worry and anxiety parts. 

Which brings me back to God and my favorite prayer:

“I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24b ESV)