Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.
As We Age
My mom faced several significant physical challenges during the last decade of her life – an operation to repair her shattered right shoulder, a heart attack followed by emergency triple bypass surgery, and aspiration pneumonia that landed her in the hospital for 24 days. Each time, I wondered if we’d lose her, but each time, the Lord sustained her and returned her home to us.
Still, the relentless deterioration associated with aging continued as arthritis pain became a constant companion, and osteoporosis made falling a potentially life-threatening event. I escorted Mom to most of her medical appointments and heard many of her doctors reply to her list of symptoms with a statement beginning with, “As we age.” It was one of Mom’s least favorite phrases since it usually meant there wasn’t much to be done to improve the situation.
It was difficult enough for me to watch Mom’s physical decline, but a year or so ago, I started noticing some changes in her mental capacity. Her inability to balance her checkbook after a long career in banking and failure to successfully produce her delicious pound cake, a recipe she’d been making for 50 years, caused me great consternation. I tried to explain her mistakes away. I didn’t want to embarrass or alarm her, plus I couldn’t bear the thought of there coming a time when my dear mother and best friend didn’t know me, a fate several of my friends have experienced with their parents.
Running in Front of a Freight Train
Mom’s decline, which had been progressing slowly, picked up speed earlier this year, exacerbated by severe pain in her left leg. Dad and I took turns accompanying her to various appointments in search of a definitive cause and potential solution. A steroid shot, low-dose pain meds, massage therapy – nothing helped, at least not for long. There were even times when I fretted my well-meaning attempts to help added to Mom’s misery instead.
All the while, an ominous sense of foreboding formed on the edges of my mind and colored my thoughts. The uneasiness grew with each successive failure to procure help for Mom until one day I told my daughter, “I feel like I’m running in front of a freight train, and I hear it getting closer.”
I got an appointment for Mom with my longtime physician, confident she would help us pinpoint the source of Mom’s pain. A series of X-rays revealed compressed discs in Mom’s lower spine were causing sciatica, those shooting pains that nearly incapacitated her.
Finally, a definitive diagnosis! I made an appointment for Mom to see a pain specialist in hopes he could administer a nerve block or an epidural, anything to give her some relief and enable her to return to at least some of her usual activities.
Sciatica, coupled with the bone-on-bone condition in her right knee, led to her being confined to the main floor of the multi-story house she shared with my dad. Perfectly reasonable considering her age (89) and increasing fragility. But as Mom’s world became ever-smaller, her emotional and mental stability weakened as well.
I watched as my once-active, always-determined mother spent more and more time sitting. When I made my lunchtime phone call, she’d say, “I’m just finishing breakfast. It took me a while to get going this morning.” A similar report accompanied my evening visits, “I didn’t do much today. I just sat here.”
All the while, the sound of that freight train kept getting louder and louder. Mom was slipping away whether I was willing to acknowledge it or not.
I kept the afternoon of April 20th, the day we were scheduled to see the pain specialist, in front of Mom. I held it up as a beacon of hope, trying to keep both of us motivated and focused on the long-hoped-for relief instead of the ever-growing pain and despair. But we never made it to the appointment.
Early on the morning of April 20th, Dad called to let me know he’d found Mom on the floor. She’d fallen and most likely broken her hip. At that moment, I knew the freight train had caught up. It flattened me and kept on going.
Yet it was then I also remembered what I had forgotten amidst the increasingly frantic flurry of attempts to help Mom – I wasn’t in control and never had been.
In the truest sense, I hadn’t forgotten God is sovereign over all. I prayed fervently for wisdom for those of us trying to help Mom and for relief of her pain. However, as efforts continually fell short and her condition deteriorated, desperation overtook me. My mind worked overtime trying to figure out how to help Mom, and anxious, guilt-infused thoughts prevented restful sleep.
It was appropriate for me to persist in seeking help for Mom, but at some point, I crossed a line. I didn’t want to let Mom down. But, instead of casting my cares on God and finding peace, I picked up the burden, convinced the outcome depended entirely on my self-fueled efforts.
The timing of Mom’s fall, just a few hours before the appointment with the pain specialist, wasn’t lost on me. I humbly acknowledged God had a different plan, one that would prevail. In the days that followed, Jehoshaphat’s prayer became my mantra, “Lord, (I) don’t know what to do, but (my) eyes are fixed on you.” (2 Chronicles 20:12)
The Lord faithfully went before me, directing and redirecting my steps over the last ten days of Mom’s life. But I’ll save that story for another time. The details of God’s goodness to us as He led Mom Home are deserving of a separate post.
O, Lord, how I thank You that You never meant for us to carry burdens too big for us. As our loving heavenly Father, You invite us to bring every care to You, that we might find peace that passes understanding. Please help us to remember You are sovereign over all, declaring the end from the beginning, always accomplishing Your purposes (Isaiah 46:10).
 An injury she sustained after falling off her bed while attempting to change a lightbulb in her ceiling fan!