You know what they say. “If you want to make God laugh, make a plan.” I had a plan for my sixty-seventh birthday on February 24.
My sister and I had just spent a hurried and exhausting four days sorting and packing our mother’s belongings in preparation for moving her into a care home. Mom, who lives with dementia, had been on the waitlist for 15 months. Yet, when the call finally comes for these spots, you’re required to move fast. When check-in day arrived, Sis and I stayed for lunch with Mom at the care home, saw that she was settled in, and returned to our respective homes.
 |
| Mom at her new digs. |
 |
| I can always lose myself in Sarah's books. |
My birthday started as a normal Tuesday morning, enjoying a cup of coffee and writing in my prayer journal at my desk while Hubby prepared to go to work. I was packing his lunch when he told me he was experiencing weird pain in his chest, shoulder, and arm. As an amputee who often feels discomfort in his remaining, overworked arm, this wasn’t unusual—only a bit different. I advised him to call in to work sick, then rest on the couch and see what unfolded. He did.
I went out to warm up the car and shovel the sidewalk, all
the while ranting to God. “Seriously, God? Today?” My sister and
her hubby were catching a flight to visit our other sister for a few days. If
Hubby’s situation turned out to be serious, I should consider asking Sis to
cancel her trip so she could be around for Mom. But if it turned out to be
nothing, I sure didn’t want to spoil her trip and waste her money! What should
I do?
When I returned to the house, Hubby informed me that the
care home had called and I should call them back. I did. The nurse assured me
that Mom was fine but had taken a fall while reaching for her walker. Again,
the line, “Seriously, God?” sprang to mind. I decided I should go check
on Mom, but first I stopped by her vacated apartment to grab a couple of items
she needed. While there, I got a call on my cell phone. The telephone company,
with whom I’d arranged for Mom’s phone to be hooked up at her new place, called
to clarify a few things. Seriously? As we talked, it seemed to me that
the person I’d spoken with the day before had gotten almost everything wrong
that he could get wrong. Frustration mounted.
At the nursing home, Mom was doing fine and even remembered
it was my birthday. I stayed only a few minutes, then called Hubby. He was
still feeling the same. So, I returned home, loaded him up, and headed for the
hospital. Both of us were expecting to be told we had nothing to worry about,
but I texted our House Church group from the ER waiting room to let them know
what was going on.
My birthday ticked on.
After running numerous tests, the doctors told us Hubby’s
blood pressure and heart rate were good. But the protein marker in his blood
that can signify a heart attack seemed high. They wanted to retest it in two
hours. Still confident that we’d be sent home after that, I made the
five-minute walk to Mom’s apartment and spent the interval packing. (I’m a
task-oriented person, and frankly, having something like that to work on was
far more helpful to both Hubby and me than sitting in the ER. I guess no one
will ever praise me for being the “she-never-left-his-side” type.) While I
worked, our daughter called to wish me a Happy Birthday. Still convinced that
her dad’s situation would prove to be nothing more than a frustrating annoyance,
I filled her in.
By the time I returned to the hospital, the second test
results were in, and the decision had been made to admit Hubby. The protein
marker had spiked during the two hours. “Your husband is having a heart attack,”
the doctor told me. Is having. Not had. “It’s not the big scary
kind, but it’s still a heart attack.” They wanted to be able to monitor him
until he could be taken to the city for an angiogram—possibly not until Friday.
(“Seriously, God?”)
I stayed a while longer, then headed home to throw together
a bag for Hubby. While I was home, Amanda from our House Church stopped in with food, birthday treats, and instructions to take a hot soak before bed with
the bath salts she’d placed in the gift bag. Our elder son stopped in with a
gorgeous birthday bouquet and a hug. I put up my feet until Hubby called to say
he was finally settled into a room, then returned to the hospital with his
stuff.
I spent the next four days rotating between the hospital, Mom’s care home, and her apartment, where I continued to organize her things. When Hubby finally went to the city hospital by medical transport on Friday morning, a snowstorm was brewing. (Seriously, God?) The highway was closed by that afternoon, so he didn’t return to our local hospital until after visiting hours. We didn’t see each other at all that day, but the news was mostly good. The angiogram revealed no need for a stent. It did, however, increase the mystery as to why this happened. The following day—on his birthday—Hubby was discharged with prescriptions for four medications and a blood pressure cuff, and orders for no driving or lifting for a week.
 |
| Proof that Jon was in the hospital on my birthday and his. |
Still, I’ve had time to ponder this series of events and to
consider some of the “coincidences” leading up to them. I place the word in
quotes because I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe in God’s foreknowledge
and in His care for me. Even though I don’t understand why things were allowed
to happen, I can see these attributes of His colliding on my behalf. So, as I meet with
Him each morning, I record in my journal these blessings as they come to mind:
·
For the first time in years, I had no imminent writing
deadlines. Not that I could have put my mind to writing anyway, but I didn’t
need to. By the time an email arrived with an easy editing deadline, life had
begun to settle down again.
·
Also for the first time in years, I was not
working on a new book—with or without a deadline. No pressure to write niggled at me, not even the self-imposed kind.
·
Before I knew any of this was going to happen, I
had given up social media for Lent. This meant that the pressure of posting my
daily scripture memes and engaging with others, as well as the time-sucking
scrolling, were both off the table during a stress-filled time.
·
As it turned out, Mom’s phone was not hooked up
for four days. Once it was, and she began calling numerous times a day, I
realized what a gift those days had been. While I could visit her, the
fact that she couldn’t call me was helpful. I knew she was safe and the staff would
call me if anything came up. They’d already proved it that first morning.
· In the writing world, this was contest season. I had received repeated requests to judge two contests that I’d judged for
many years. For reasons I couldn’t name, I had not volunteered this year. I
just had a “sense” that I was to take a break. Now I know why.
·
A month earlier, I’d volunteered to trade
hosting dates with another House Church member for no other reason than we anticipated
a low turnout that week. We have a small house and can’t accommodate the whole
group. Had we not traded, our turn to
host and organize the meeting would have fallen on the same day we moved Mom
into the care home.
There’s more, some of it too personal to share. I’m learning
to take note of these sometimes weird little blessings that one doesn’t realize
are blessings until hindsight reveals them. I hope to make a habit of recording
them and sharing them when appropriate, because this is the stuff that can grow
our faith, increase our trust in God’s timing, and solidify our knowledge of
His love and care. Seriously.
“I will never leave
you nor forsake you.” Joshua 1:9
.jpg)
