She's here!

Caedence Scout Allhands, 9.23.11

wait mode

Got a note from a friend the other day letting me know that a situation she had hoped to get resolved is still in limbo after all.  "NO-O-O"  I wrote back "I hate when that happens!  Guess we're both in wait mode" referring to my own suspense about when Becky will go into labor with the newest grandchild!   (She was due on Saturday, fyi, and as of this writing has still not gone into official labor)

My friend emailed back "I HATE WAIT MODE!", and I have to laugh.  Don't we all!

Now, don't jump all over me for this, but I have to say something about this wait mode thing we all dislike so much.  I have found it to be a very enlightening place, when I finally stop screwing my eyes shut, and take my fingers out of my ears, and stop yelling "You can't do this to me!" about it.   Right now, there's a yellow light about quite a few things in my life-------the shop remodel, Stu's ability to come home, the new baby.  That's really just scratching the surface.  I could go on and on.   But before Stu had the stroke, back in February, I had an interesting conversation with God about things I don't like on my plate.  (I would consider "wait mode" one of them.  A big mess of brussels sprouts, staring me in the face)  "Lord" I said to him "I really don't like the way this stuff looks.  But you have brought it before me so many times, that I'm starting to think there's something there that you want me to digest.  Ugh.  Whenever I try to pass on it, You seem to bring it back again.  So this time I'm gonna take a bite.  And I can hear You telling me how important it is to chew every bite, and let it nourish me."  Well, friends, I have to tell you that I am very glad I took that bite.  And many more.  As I chewed, I began to see things a little differently.  Maybe a little more the way He looks at things.  And that prepared me for the coming storm.  The Stroke of Genius I've been chewing on since March 26.   I suppose it's another way of saying "Consider it all joy".   As I chew, I find that the most bitter-seeming circumstances become tonics for my soul, I find I can laugh freely and truly rejoice in all things.  God is a pretty good Father, I guess:-)   He knows what we need. 

Big Fat Miracle

the Lord is my Shepherd, by Stu Mendelson

It's 3:00 a.m.  My sleep has been peaceful tonight until now,  but suddenly I am wide awake and gripped by the hopelessness of my situation.  I am hemmed in by circumstances beyond my control.  Stu is inexplicably losing ground-----no one seems to know exactly what's wrong with him.  He's excruciatingly uncomfortable in his wheelchair lately, driven to distraction by a pain in his tailbone.  But if he doesn't spend time up in his wheelchair, he will lose strength and be at risk for pneumonia.  The regimentation of nursing home life is wearing away at his spirit, but I have no control over the progress of our remodel.  Until the remodel gets done, we cannot bring him home.  My gut feeling is that home is where he will finally be able to relax enough to heal.  No amount of human reasoning, encouragement, challenge, or any other of the usual goads that we use to prod a person to action is effective.  The situation is thickly planted with catch 22's.  There is no human reason to feel any hope at all. 

 So why, in the dead of night, do I have hope?


I see Jesus.


He is here, bright as day.  He knows the outcome of all this, even if He's not telling me what it is right now.  


He knows Stu, knows what he needs, knows when he needs it.  He reminds me that there are times beyond counting when He has showed up when there seemed to be no hope at all and deftly turned the situation on its head, showing everyone with eyes Who's in charge.


I see Jesus.  He is real.  He has power I can't understand.  And I am walking right up to him, confident of his love for me and confessing: Lord, I need a big, fat miracle.  Will you redeem this situation? 

I can hear him saying, a smile in his voice "I thought you'd never ask"


Ha!

Pacemaker

This past Monday, Aug. 29, as I drove up to Laurel Hill at 5:00 pm for my daily visit with Stu, I could hear sirens, and an ambulance pulled up at the same time I did.  One of the nursing home aides was coming out the front door and crooked her finger at me.  "Is it Stu?"  I asked, already knowing.  He had had a seizure of some kind while in the shower and they couldn't find a pulse.  By the time I got into his room, there was already a swarm of very tall-seeming techs working to stabilize him.  I lost count at ten----there were EMT's, firemen, AND police.  Kinda overwhelming.  The questions were coming at me fast and thick----especially "should they do CPR or not?"  Stu and I had agreed after the stroke that, should there be an emergency, we wanted the least intervention-----but Stu was alert enough right now to ask him directly.  "Do you think I could have two or three minutes alone with him?"  I requested.  The head tech didn't skip a beat "Everybody out!" he commanded, and they cleared the room in seconds.  I was very aware that this could be the last few minutes I would spend with him-----I had been told that if they didn't act quickly, his heart rate was so slow that he would die within minutes.  "Stu" I said to him, my hands gently on his chest, "do you want to let go now?  Are you ready"  "No" he said, "I don't think so"  That seemed like a pretty clear directive.  I said a brief prayer for both of us, asking for strength and wisdom, and then I called the posse back in.  Later, at the hospital, the head EMT approached me as I waited in the hallway and smiled in a head-scratching kind of way.  "You know", he said "I've been doing this for about twenty years, and I've never had someone request that.   I wouldn't have thought I'd do it, but it was fine."  I told him I wanted to be confident about the direction we took, and knew that prayer doesn't have to take a long time.  He said "Hey, can I use that in the classes I teach?"  Yup, you sure can:-)

Ultimately we were sent to RVMC to have a pacemaker placed.  The hospital stay turned out to be a blessing in diguise----when I walked into Stu's ICU room, the first thing he said is how much happier he was there!   I think the change of pace (sorry, couldn't resist the pun) was refreshing for him, and during the next two days we got visits from several of our friends from church.   We had been praying during the past week for fellowship for him----it gets a little bleak at the nursing home.  What a funny way for God to answer that prayer.

Pacemaker surgery is a pretty routine procedure, and after watching the videos at the hospital, it made me wonder if Stu hasn't suffered from undetected heart trouble for quite a while.  There is some hope that he will now experience an upsurge in energy.  That would be welcome!

The whole episode was over by Wed. afternoon.  Stu is back at Laurel Hill, the surgery site covered with a telfa pad.  I come away with a deep sense of comfort and connection from my friends in Medford.   They really took care of me and shared the crisis with me.  It was another stitch in our knitting together as a church family.  It all happened so fast, there was no time for me to send out an update, but I am ever grateful for the prayers of those that got Rachel's message on facebook.  

Tomorrow I will write about the exciting remodeling that is happening here!  Stay tuned!  

Hope

Greetings all
          Wow, it's been a while since I blogged.  It's not that there's nothing to report, it's just that it's all so open ended.  No nice neat conclusions-----at least not yet.
          Stu is still at Laurel Hill Nursing Facility.  There have been a few breakthroughs in his therapy----Tex got him standing up a few days ago (with lots of assistance), and has also been using electrical stimulation for his left hand and arm----but nothing major, really.
            And last time I wrote, we were feeling good about the idea of buying this property from our longtime landlord.  Unfortunately, after that writing I was contacted by the landlady and told that they had been advised not to sell after all (both their attorney and their CPA advised against it because of the current poor market)   They have no objection to us making improvements to accomodate Stu, at our own expense.  The only reason this seems like an option is that moving would be even more expensive in the long run, and I would no longer have the bakery.   But if we got a clear signal that there was a sensible place to move, I would not object.  As always, only God knows how this will all play out----in the meantime, the daily exercise of keeping the faith keeps me on my toes!   (See what I mean about no nice neat conclusions?!)

Which brings me to TODAY:  Today, we went to the Josephine County Fair, the first time Stu has been out of the facility since June!  Laurel Hill offers this option to any resident who wants to go, arranges the transportation, wrestles with wheelchairs and transport schedules----God bless them!    Let me tell you, there were skeptics when it was first suggested that Stu might go-----after all, he complains about sitting up in his wheelchair after only an hour----how would he withstand the at least four hours for this adventure?   Somehow, though, he and I both kept thinking we should follow through with it.   So, this morning at 9:15 I was there with a lunch packed and a baseball hat for Stu.   As I walked in the door I was greeted with a lineup of residents in their wheelchairs extending down the main corridor.  Why does that make me smile?  The smell of sunscreen was thick in the air, and there were some flamboyant hats on unexpected heads-----who knew that Lori even owned something that big and floppy?   And Shirley actually looked cute in her sweet little straw hat.
                We had to wait a while due to a mixup in communications about the bus schedule, but by 10:15 they were loading the wheelchairs one by one into the vehicle.  Stu was the last one on, riding in the back of the bus.  He was very sober----I thought about how long it's been since he's seen the streets of Grants Pass, and let the pang hurt my heart for just a minute.  I knew this trip would have it's share of moments like this, and the best way to deal with it is to acknowledge it briefly and let it pass. 

it's a hosta leaf----I just like it.

Once we got through the gates, it was agreed that we would all go our own way and meet up at lunchtime, and Stu and I made our way to the Flower Building.  Nice way to start-----quiet, restful, cool, and sometimes spectacular.  We worked our way through several buildings, marveling at giant cabbages, impressive sunflowers, not so impressive zucchini (come on, those baseball bats are the ones we all don't want to see in the garden, let alone on a paper plate at the fair!) 
           We passed the arena with the dogs dressed in strange costumes (?), and wound up in the cow barn.  It was quiet and peaceful in there, and there was a bench where I could sit for a while.  It was time to hear what was going on in Stu's heart.  "I'm in a wheelchair!"  he admitted, almost surprised.   I knew something had been bothering him.  At Laurel Hill, everyone's in a wheelchair.  Out here, it's an adjustment.  "Yes, you are" I agreed with him.  Ever since we started reading the book of Job, I've been struck with how easy it is to miss the person as you struggle to explain his condition.  Better to just walk alongside and share the moment, I think.  That morning I had heard something on the radio about "leaning into grief", and I thought now what a good way that is to put it.  Let it do its work.  I prayed for Stu as we sat together, munching on the chicken salad and cornbread I had brought.  The cows in the nearby stalls were large and passive, just....... there.  They seemed like fitting companions.   
              When we got back to Laurel Hill, both of us tired but content, I could see how happy Stu's aide was that he had actually done it.  "When they first told me he was going, I almost had a stroke!" she quipped.  "How was it, Stu?"  "It was nice" he smiled. "I had a good time".  And you know, he did.  Sometimes, facing your fears is the best medicine of all.
              As I got in the car to go home, the song on the radio brought tears to my eyes----"Dancing in the Minefield" by Andrew Peterson.  It was on the last verse:
"We bear the light of the Son of Man
So there's nothing left to fear.
So I'll walk with you in the shadow lands
Till the shadows disappear.
Cause He promised not to leave us
And His promises are true
So in the face of all this chaos, Baby, I can dance with you.
So, let's go dancing in the minefield
let's go sailing in the storm
let's go dancing in the minefields
And kicking down the door.
Let's go dancing in the minefields
and sailing in the storm
This is harder than we dreamed but I believe
That's what the promise is for.........
       That's what the promise is for."


Still dancing with Stu, even after a stroke------whatever comes, we are blessed beyond measure.


Until next time


Sue
           

Light in the Darkness

I knew I would wake up again tonight.   It happens every night now, this falling asleep for a  short time and then waking up.  In my natural self I have been dreading and resisting it, fretting that it was unhealthy and that I would somehow lose perspective.   But this weekend’s meltdown taught me something.  (I went over the line (briefly) between healthy compassion for Stu and co-dependence, enough to feel the heat.  It refreshed my memory about the huge difference between pressure from God and pressure from hell.)  And you know what?  This pressure that I feel each night now is something to yield to.  As I say “yes”, whole passages of scripture leap into full color, even brighter in the face of the darkness and emptiness of my circumstances.  I ache so deeply.  And there is an answering comfort to the ache, a Person who meets me.  He promises no remedy, at least nothing particular and earthy.   No resolution of the dilemma that shouts its facts at me daily.  But He does answer------he seems to be urging me to consider an answer that is intangible.  There is an assurance that accepting what He offers will actually satisfy on a much deeper level than a mere fixing of the physical reality.  He is offering healing.    I believe, Lord.  Help Thou my unbelief. 

         I step outside to the midnight stillness.  My property is a refuge, the stars like a living, breathing canopy assuring me of His presence and providence.  I am profoundly safe with Him, even in this darkness.  As I walk through the days,  I am profoundly alone with Him.  Again, I sense the pressing to accept the aloneness as a gift, to trust that He is steering this experience masterfully,  that there is a difference between willful isolation and this setting apart.  Isolation would be me trying to preserve myself-----this is something different, a yielding to His design.   My heart is filled with wonder and lightness-----I am the woman at the well, and he is giving me Living Water.   Whether I sleep tonight or not, I am refreshed.

A Kleenex Kind of Lunch

We are in the dining room at Laurel Hill, a large room with wood floors and enough tables for all the residents and any guests who show up.  It is lunchtime, and our daughter Becky is here for the first time-----she and her husband Matt live in Eugene, and are visiting this weekend.   They both look so young and healthy, a refreshing but slightly jarring contrast to the assortment of broken, aging bodies in wheelchairs at the tables.  Becky is in her seventh month of pregnancy, beautiful in a summery dress.  I am watching Stu carefully as he eats, making sure he puts his fork down between bites, reminding him to wipe the left corner of his mouth,  listening as he tells me about what's on his mind-----I look up to see Becky reaching for her kleenex.   Suddenly I realize how different life is, and how much I've adjusted.   I see the scene through my daughter's eyes, and I stop for a minute and let it hit me.  I reach for the kleenex, too.  It's good to have someone to cry with.

Before long the rest of the clan arrives as planned-----first Shayna, eager to see Zaydie, followed by Lucas who is fascinated by Uncle Matt.  Rachel is right behind them, and Jerome is in the van looking for Lily's shoe.   In a few minutes he shows up with a barefoot Lily-----oh well.....(grin).    We are all together around the table, and Stu is encouraged to see everyone.   He starts to tell them all about how this experience has made him realize how much he loves me, and begins to cry himself.   It seems to be a kleenex kind of lunch!   I tell the kids how encouraged I've been that Dad is starting to show that kind of emotion.  And it makes me marvel at the elasticity of our marriage-----truly for better or for worse!

Finally it is time for Stu to be put back to bed in his room (this still requires a Hoyer lift, as he is still unable to sit up reliably by himself.)   When the attendants give us the all clear, the nine of us congregate in Stu's room for a final goodbye.   Stu requests a family prayer, and we take some time to lift him up, thanking God for the progress that's been made and the faith that is being forged.   And then we sing: "Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!  Praise Him all creatures here below!  Praise Him above ye heavenly host!  Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!   Amen"   How I love that simple doxology-----it says it all!

the kid's table in the barn, surrounded by Stu's art

a handmade card from a young guest

my funky ladder decoration

They're taking notes for twenty years from now:-)

We celebrated that evening with a baby shower for Becky-----she is due in mid September.    Couldn't resist sharing some pictures from that lovely evening-----we even needed some kleenex during that!  But not too much, and there was plenty of laughter to balance it out:-)

Until next time

Sue