Since caring for my mom, who at 62 has a rare degenerative brain disease, I’ve had many friends walk along side me who have been through similar circumstances. I’m so grateful for those friends – their wisdom, gentle counsel and just plain understanding.
It’s an interesting thing to “parent” a parent. I’m pretty sure that if my mom could put the thoughts together, she’d laugh and remind me of when I was sixteen and so desperately wanted our roles to be reversed. As difficult as my mom is at taking directions, I was worse. I was far worse.
I’ll never forget driving my sister, Erin, on one particular morning. I was running late (some things will never change) to wherever it was we were going, so I had planned to eat my breakfast in the car.
Erin had been buckled up in the car a good ten minutes early (and still other things never change) until I finally got myself together. After loading up the car, I ran back in for my: grape juice, orange juice, and peanut butter and jelly doused English Muffins. Thinking I could successfully eat all of that while driving was my first mistake.
My second mistake was the response that came after my mom said to me on my way out the door: “You’re not going to eat that while you’re driving…. are you.” It was more of a statement than a question.
My response was, “whatever.” Not smart. Not smart at all.
After several minutes of chastising, it was decided that the breakfast would be allowed to stay in the car but only if my sister held the English Muffins until we arrived at our destination.
Again, the word “whatever.” I didn’t learn quickly.
Finally, we pulled away and within seconds I told my sister to hand me the plate of muffins.
You are so disobedient! We’re all going to die! Mom said to not eat it! I’m supposed to hold it! Do you even know God?
OK, so I don’t remember exactly what my sister said, but it was something along these general lines.
Tuning her out, I started into the English muffins, which were smothered with grape jelly. I remember that because I spilled some on my shirt. So, while driving, I set the plate down and attempted to clean off my shirt. Also, while driving, the plate slipped off my lap. And so, within a mile of our house, I leaned down to pick up my plate and turned the wheel just in time to hit a truck head on in the other lane.
We spun several times, almost flipping over, and it took several minutes for me to register the following things:
1. My sister, who was sitting next to me, was punching me in the arm.
2. Both of us were covered in Grape Juice and Orange Juice
3. There was Grape Jelly on the front windshield
4. The affected truck driver was banging on my window
For twenty-four hours my parents rejoiced in the reality that my need to eat my English Muffins took no ones life. But, it didn’t take long for the parental speech that I so deserved (and became very familiar with) which always began with the words: “You need to listen to me…”
I see it in my own pre-teen daughter who isn’t as defiant as me (this is one of many reasons I believe in God’s mercy and grace…. although there is a child under my oldest who is teaching me plenty about justice) but is easily embarrassed by my instructions. I
learned this when I made the mistake of joining her at her Jr. High School to show her a helpful way to set up her locker in order to fit what she needed.
Um, major mistake. Major. But then several weeks later when she told me she couldn’t fit everything in her locker, I said, “You need to listen to me…” My laugh may or may not have been slightly diabolical.
Something happens as we age. It happens almost miraculously. Our parent’s advice is no longer a hindrance or an embarrassment, but it’s a necessity. A welcomed and cherished necessity to life’s growing difficulties as we mature.
I had to give my mom some medicine the other night. She refused it at first, so I tried a little joking around. I told her it was my famous cocktail. While that usually works, mom refused it telling me, “No.” So, I resorted to a firmer and more direct approach: “Mom, you need to take this and I’m not leaving until you do.” Like a stubborn child, she literally put it to her lips then put it down again. So, I made myself comfortable on the bed and told her I’d sleep with her if she didn’t drink it all. The medicine was gone within a minute.
I’ve been taking directions from the neurologist that I feel less than equipped to implement; I’ve been giving advice to my step father on many issues that I’m still trying to figure out myself and have had to give mom instructions that I would have never imagined would come from my mouth: be gentle; wait for me to get you up; let me help you with your pants.
I find myself wanting my mom and dad and their advice. I want their instruction and their wisdom. And I long for their comfort.
God has gently and mercifully met me in my weakness. He’s sought me in these areas where my faith lacks. I’ve sought wisdom and assurance from so many around me, but at times nothing makes a difference except for the peace of God, which passes all understanding. I have to be willing to listen to Him.
His peace passes all understanding. So, there is no logical explanation for why when we tell my mom we’re going to pray, she calms from an incredibly agitated state.
There’s no medical explanation for a young woman, whose blog I follow, who is near death’s door to claim with confidence and assurance the peace of God.
It’s when we listen to Jesus that we can relinquish our fears of what could happen to our kids, what could become of our finances, and what might become of our own health. It’s when we listen that we find His peace.
But too often I forget to be still and to listen, not unlike my stubborn sixteen year-old self. I forget to be still, and I forget to open my arms to His comfort and understanding.
But in the strangest moments, I’m reminded.
After changing mom and threatening her with my never-ending presence in order to get her to take the medicine, we sat and prayed with my stepfather. And in the calmness and peacefulness of that moment, while she held my hand, I was reminded once again to just
listen.
