Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Cradled

Fear. It does not always come in the darkness of night. Sometimes it arrives in the early morning, when I wake to the weak voice of my son, who has type one diabetes, whispering in my ear, "Mom, I feel sick."  He bolts to my bathroom and I run, too, to try to comfort, hoping my presence is enough, while I wrestle with helplessness- and fear.

Once he is back in bed, miserable, aching, I can't get still. The jolt from sleeping to wild wakefulness leaves my heart racing. Flip flops pound across tile, hands sweep through the medicine cabinet for something, anything to help him. Within the hour, blood glucose has been checked, fresh insulin given, a new "set" for the insulin pump has been attached to his body.  The on call doctor has advised, and nausea medicine has been administrated. Everything medically necessary has been done. But another hour wait until the next blood glucose check leaves me gaping. If I sit with him, I will only keep him awake. So I train a watchful eye on the hallway, and wait for the next round.

He is up again soon, wretching. I run to him, again. I wish I could do more. I wish I could take this burden from him. So I stand close and rub his back, and wrestle. This is why I keep a change of clothes in the car for my son and myself. I try to be prepared. We have a bag packed with medical supplies that goes with us everywhere. I keep what is not practical for "the diabetes bag" (like pajamas and clean underwear in case of a sudden trip to the hospital) in the minivan. But try as I might, I can not anticipate everything. It's wise to be prepared, but sometimes the back up plan is a good start- yet not near enough.

 Tweaking, analyzing, and re-planning are good, even necessary- but can not guarantee there won't be rough patches. Sometimes, I do the best in can in the moment, and process later. It's in moments like these when I am reminded not to underestimate grace. For others, yes. But for myself too. Even now, when I do my best, but my son still suffers, grace is for me, too.

Grace is that loving Voice assuring, "You did the best you could, now give the rest to me."

So I close the cabinets, and place my hands on the counter top, to steady. I breathe, and pray. In... out... In, and out again. Prayer breaths in- "Jesus", I speak the name, and breathe out, saying aloud: "Lord", my assurance. In: "God", out: "healer", In: "Spirit", out: "Comforter." In: "rest", out: " release." Hands out, I find the altar, and place my son, and my own heart, in the place where we are safe. For I know this truth: sometimes God holds us in his hands, but always, he holds us in his heart. So here, now, in this moment, I nestle in, and find myself- and my precious boy- cradled in the arms of the One who loves us best.

~Just Me


 

Saturday, May 11, 2013

Pause

There is a weariness not of body, but of heart and soul. It's been one of those weeks. When I wake, bleary eyed to one child sick in the night, and another shaking with sugars skyrocketing, and later, plummeting.

It's been a week of frantic moments. Conversations with on-call doctors, diabetes educators, (long) calls with pharmacists, and yes, I have resorted to begging. Help me!  Help my son. Help me help my son! I am at the end of myself, simply making do with what's leftover.

And it strikes me. Perhaps I am looking for help in all the wrong places. Like the country song I knew growing up... looking in too many faces. Trying (desperately) to find what I'm dreaming of. When I push through the fear and the drowsiness, it is possible the answer is found in taking pause?

 If I stop I fear I'll fall to pieces. Maybe I need to fall to pieces. Perhaps the key to being strong is found beyond my own weak strength. Maybe being strong is coming to the end of all I am and crying out "Help Me!" to the One who is my strength, my very present help in trouble (if I will let Him in.)

A much needed reminder that came even today: I am not alone. Words of comfort flow in and fill the places where I feel hammered. I am grateful for hearts, here before me, hands ready to come along side and lift me up- when I am too spent to raise myself. And, above all the provisions of friends of the heart, there is One, who stands ready to hold, to shelter, to restore. I desperately need to stop holding my breath and running through chaos. As I was reminded today, I can choose to participate in the chaos, or I can let it go. Rest is a verb. It means to stop. To relieve weariness by cessation of exertion or labor. To be quiet and still.

It seems a long time since I was broken, spilled out. Yet there is strength in the spilling out. There is release, and a wholeness born of restoration. I lean in to the arms that hold and cover, allowing peace to unfold. My comforter smooths the layers of fear, lifts eyes laden with burdens to see his heart. As I pause, and linger, I am reminded that it is so good to 'Be still'.  In the stillness, He can draw near and calm my heart, and in his presence I find rest for my soul. 


~Just Me