I hate phone calls.
I remember getting the message that my mom had called. Something wasn't right. Mom had been experiencing chest pain and was in the hospital to find out why. She had been in for several days and was wanting to come home. I walked to my office and dialed the phone. What I wasn't prepared for was the message that day. . . cancer. Mom had contracted breast cancer ten years earlier, and won -- or so I thought.
My mom was the strongest person I have ever known, but that day there was a definite quiver in her voice as she gave me the news. What had puzzled us for the past couple of days was now clear. . . cancer was back. Somehow the previous cancer had survived and had gotten into her spine. Mom was not strong that day on the phone. In fact, she had called me, her youngest son, her baby, to be her strength. She broke into tears on the phone as she sat in that lonely room telling me of her fears. I did my job to reassure her that she, or rather we, would get through this. I lied, not intentionally, but nonetheless I lied.
Nearly eight months later and mom was in the hospital again. We had taken her for months to get chemotherapy, radiation, and all sorts of other hopeful treatments. The doctors told us there was hope. We were to stay the course and keep pressing forward. Then we received another phone call. It was my mom's primary physician and he wanted to meet with my dad and I. I knew that this probably wasn't good news. The next morning in his office, he told us that the fight was over. It was his recommendation that we make my mom comfortable and call in hospice. He finished the conversation with us by asking us to let mom know.
Tears were there but they didn't seem to come out. Dad was hurting and I couldn't do anything to stop the pain. This was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. We went to see mom in the hospital. I remember trying to think of a good way to let her know. All that came out was "It's over. The doctor said there is nothing more that they can really do." I don't know how much my mom understood that day. Hospice was called and within a couple of days they had transported mom into a hospital bed at home.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010, somewhere around 7:40 p.m., mom passed on. She had reached her limit.
Everyday we are faced with limitations. Elevators have maximum occupancy. Advertisements are precluded with the statements "while supplies last." Cell phone planes have monthly minutes. Cars have their fuel gauges. Batteries have their charge life. Despite what may be still in my refrigerator, food certainly has its limits as to its "eat ability." Face it, we are limited beings. Time perhaps may be the greatest limitation of all. It makes us prioritize and postpone. Some spend it, some invest it, while other yet waste it. There are even those who wish it away. I was one of those people.
Being the youngest in my family had its privileges (or so my siblings always told me). To me though, being the youngest always had its limitations. As early as I can remember, there were always bedtimes, nap times, and those horrible statements like "your not old enough," or "when you get to be their age." I wished my days away. Constantly, I longed to be older. First, sixteen was the great mile stone, but that soon came and eighteen seemed to be so much more significant. Each of these days came and went, while I just kept longing to move on. Though friends had come to experience what I now know, I could only conceptualize about limits--that is until this past February.
I was there when mom took her last gasps of air. Everyone had tried to prepare me for what I was about to experience, but until you have to go through it nothing can. The room was full of family who were very tired, physically and emotionally. Each person was trying to be strong for the other, putting on their best faces and trying to stay occupied with other things. As I look back now, I cannot believe how short the time was. It seemed only moments ago that I was crawling on my knees under my mom's feet as she worked at her sewing machine. Those last long gasps of air are horrifying. There times that I still have nightmares of the sound of those last drawn out breaths. Another grim reality--life here on earth has its limits.
We were all gathered around the bed when mom passed on. As I stood their in pain and disbelief, someone offered meaningless words of comfort. Another insisted on everyone singing. Right then, I could not. Death had won. Limit reached. The only thing that seemed to be limitless was the pain. No matter what anyone says to comfort you, the pain is unbelievable.
In my foolishness, I had placed limits on everything, especially my faith. The greatest limitation in my life was ultimately me. Now I understand why so often the Lord Jesus Christ told people that they had little or no faith. My faith really isn't mine. It must be God's faith given to me. You see, hope has no limits. The Apostle Paul understood this when he wrote, "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? . . . . For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35a,38-39)
My cynicism had caused my heart to limit the only UNLIMITED ONE--God. I have been deeply confronted with the fact that I am the one limiting God in my life. Sure, we blame others for these limits--the pastor didn't do this for me, or the church didn't meet this need in my life, or this Christian or that Christian has deeply offended me. We need to get over ourselves and stop limiting God!
The Psalmist wrote in Psalm 78 how the children of Israel, despite God's mercy on them, and the awesome miracles He did for them, limited God (Psalm 78:40-42). Yes, people and circumstances can and do hurt us deeply, but God's mercy is unlimited. His love has no boundaries. His grace has been extended to all generations.
Today I have shed more tears for my mom. I miss her, but she is not limited by that sin-stained, decaying body she was painfully carrying around here on earth any more. She is in the hands of the UNLIMITED ONE.
"You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You." Isaiah 26:3
I remember getting the message that my mom had called. Something wasn't right. Mom had been experiencing chest pain and was in the hospital to find out why. She had been in for several days and was wanting to come home. I walked to my office and dialed the phone. What I wasn't prepared for was the message that day. . . cancer. Mom had contracted breast cancer ten years earlier, and won -- or so I thought.
My mom was the strongest person I have ever known, but that day there was a definite quiver in her voice as she gave me the news. What had puzzled us for the past couple of days was now clear. . . cancer was back. Somehow the previous cancer had survived and had gotten into her spine. Mom was not strong that day on the phone. In fact, she had called me, her youngest son, her baby, to be her strength. She broke into tears on the phone as she sat in that lonely room telling me of her fears. I did my job to reassure her that she, or rather we, would get through this. I lied, not intentionally, but nonetheless I lied.
Nearly eight months later and mom was in the hospital again. We had taken her for months to get chemotherapy, radiation, and all sorts of other hopeful treatments. The doctors told us there was hope. We were to stay the course and keep pressing forward. Then we received another phone call. It was my mom's primary physician and he wanted to meet with my dad and I. I knew that this probably wasn't good news. The next morning in his office, he told us that the fight was over. It was his recommendation that we make my mom comfortable and call in hospice. He finished the conversation with us by asking us to let mom know.
Tears were there but they didn't seem to come out. Dad was hurting and I couldn't do anything to stop the pain. This was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do. We went to see mom in the hospital. I remember trying to think of a good way to let her know. All that came out was "It's over. The doctor said there is nothing more that they can really do." I don't know how much my mom understood that day. Hospice was called and within a couple of days they had transported mom into a hospital bed at home.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010, somewhere around 7:40 p.m., mom passed on. She had reached her limit.
Everyday we are faced with limitations. Elevators have maximum occupancy. Advertisements are precluded with the statements "while supplies last." Cell phone planes have monthly minutes. Cars have their fuel gauges. Batteries have their charge life. Despite what may be still in my refrigerator, food certainly has its limits as to its "eat ability." Face it, we are limited beings. Time perhaps may be the greatest limitation of all. It makes us prioritize and postpone. Some spend it, some invest it, while other yet waste it. There are even those who wish it away. I was one of those people.
Being the youngest in my family had its privileges (or so my siblings always told me). To me though, being the youngest always had its limitations. As early as I can remember, there were always bedtimes, nap times, and those horrible statements like "your not old enough," or "when you get to be their age." I wished my days away. Constantly, I longed to be older. First, sixteen was the great mile stone, but that soon came and eighteen seemed to be so much more significant. Each of these days came and went, while I just kept longing to move on. Though friends had come to experience what I now know, I could only conceptualize about limits--that is until this past February.
I was there when mom took her last gasps of air. Everyone had tried to prepare me for what I was about to experience, but until you have to go through it nothing can. The room was full of family who were very tired, physically and emotionally. Each person was trying to be strong for the other, putting on their best faces and trying to stay occupied with other things. As I look back now, I cannot believe how short the time was. It seemed only moments ago that I was crawling on my knees under my mom's feet as she worked at her sewing machine. Those last long gasps of air are horrifying. There times that I still have nightmares of the sound of those last drawn out breaths. Another grim reality--life here on earth has its limits.
We were all gathered around the bed when mom passed on. As I stood their in pain and disbelief, someone offered meaningless words of comfort. Another insisted on everyone singing. Right then, I could not. Death had won. Limit reached. The only thing that seemed to be limitless was the pain. No matter what anyone says to comfort you, the pain is unbelievable.
In my foolishness, I had placed limits on everything, especially my faith. The greatest limitation in my life was ultimately me. Now I understand why so often the Lord Jesus Christ told people that they had little or no faith. My faith really isn't mine. It must be God's faith given to me. You see, hope has no limits. The Apostle Paul understood this when he wrote, "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? . . . . For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35a,38-39)
My cynicism had caused my heart to limit the only UNLIMITED ONE--God. I have been deeply confronted with the fact that I am the one limiting God in my life. Sure, we blame others for these limits--the pastor didn't do this for me, or the church didn't meet this need in my life, or this Christian or that Christian has deeply offended me. We need to get over ourselves and stop limiting God!
The Psalmist wrote in Psalm 78 how the children of Israel, despite God's mercy on them, and the awesome miracles He did for them, limited God (Psalm 78:40-42). Yes, people and circumstances can and do hurt us deeply, but God's mercy is unlimited. His love has no boundaries. His grace has been extended to all generations.
"You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You." Isaiah 26:3
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