I’m hitting the pause button for the next three weeks. Some might be thinking, but haven’t you been hitting pause for like the last three years? In some ways, I guess. But with extenuating circumstances and certainly not intentionally.
But in the next three weeks, my church is going to hit pause as a congregation as well as individually. Not pausing our whole lives, of course. But in giving up something, or putting it on pause (a little like lent, yes?) we will create time both in church and in our lives to be still and listen and pray to God. It will be a time to reflect, refresh, and restore. To listen and see how God moves in our lives. And I need that in the most intentional way.
Three years ago I fell and hit my head hard. It was one year after my open-heart surgery and I’d just begun to feel healed. Recovery from that fall took months. But one year later, when I was beginning to actually feel well, I had another terrible fall and once again suffered a concussion. This time it has taken me much longer to recover, but I see recovery in tiny steps.
My sister Linda
And then a month ago something happened that set me back emotionally rather than physically. My sister Linda died suddenly. She fell in her kitchen, hitting her head as she fell. There were many things that complicated that fall, might have even led to her fall. One being she’d had open-heart surgery like me, and an infection had made it’s way to her heart valve.
By the time she was admitted to the Trauma ICU, she was responsive but incoherent. I was able to visit her that night with our other sister (we were three sisters). The doctors said she was not as responsive as when she was first admitted. But we talked to her and squeezed her hands until visiting hours were over and the nurse asked us to leave. As we said our goodbyes, Linda began to wave her foot in a most responsive way. There was hope!
The next day, from 9am to 9pm, I was able to stay with Linda. Teams of doctors streamed in and out, each with information that made me realize how very sick she was. Her kidneys were failing, her liver, spleen, and brain had infection from her heart valve. But still I prayed for a miracle and I prayed that she might hear me. I spent the evening praying with her.
My brother–he had Covid and could not visit–sent me a text to read to Linda. It was a quote from a letter our dad had written to mom when he was overseas with the Navy. About how wonderful Linda was and what a proud daddy he was of their little girl. I read the text to her and a tear formed beneath the lashes of her closed eyes.
I played some Bob Dylan–she been at his concert in Portland only days before–and after awhile I played Amazing Grace for her. Once again a tear wedged its way between her lashes. I knew she could hear me and that was such a comfort. The doctors had identified the type of infection that wracked her body and now could begin treating it with a specific antibiotic. I told Linda goodnight and went home with such hope.
God’s plans were different from mine, and the next day she passed away. This is a link to her obituary. The past month I’ve been heartbroken with remembering the many memories I have of her, and the plans she had for her future. And many thoughts run through my mind about the what ifs. If she had done this, or I had done that. And I know I need to pull back, push pause, and ask God to come and sit with me. To reflect, refresh, and restore.
For me it’s time to turn off some of the noise, to have time to sit in quiet with God. With the exception of an occasional blog post, I will be off of social media for 21 days. On August 21, we will gather for a Celebration of Life for Linda. She loved life with friends and family. I know she will love this party. And I will be rested, my faith strong, and my tears will be joyful, knowing her memory will always be tucked within my heart, waiting to be beckoned with a tender smile and perhaps a tear or two.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer. Psalm 19:14, King James
Comments 1
I had no idea you were traveling this road. I am so sorry for your loss. I’m glad you were able to spend time with her those last several hours. Hugs to you and may your 21 days be filled with sweet memories and restful moments with God.