I realize that the value of the words is greatly diminished by the repetitive statement occurring during unwarranted situations.
I acknowledge that I am personally prone to overlook events and experiences that really support the phrase.
This past week I did not ignore proof that Life is Precious.
My father had a heart attack on Thursday, April 2nd.
I'll never forget the gut wrenching phone call from my Mom gasping for breath and sobbing that, "Dad has had a heart attack and it does not look good. They are working on him right now. I can't get ahold of your sister. Your brother and sister-in-law are on their way. Pray. I have to go and call my Prayer Warriors. Pray!"
I cannot fathom how difficult it must have been to relay the account.
I was literally paralyzed. My brain just froze. I could not function. Getting into action mode was like dragging my feet through quicksand. Suddenly all that I saw, heard and thought were moving around me like molasses.
First, I have never in my 50 years witnessed or heard my mother cry. She is a strong woman who has faced many potential setbacks. All have been addressed with aplomb and peace. Breast cancer, knee replacement, my divorce, loss of parents, partial loss of sight, broken elbow, etc...
On that frightful night, her typical demeanor was not present. And, I was 900 miles away. The one who has been an anchor of sensibility for the entire race was shaken and I found it to be disconcerting.
My mind raced like a cheetah after its prey. I am a problem solver. I can generate a list of potential solutions faster than one of my fifth graders can solve the Rubik's Cube. That is my modus operandi. But, the list of choices my mind started to generate were not immediate or powerful enough to soothe my mother or revive my father. Other than going through the unwanted collapse of my marriage, I have never felt more helpless and ineffective.
I called my sister and then texted the disturbing news in order to get her in the loop. I booked the first available flight ignoring the astronomical financial obligation. I washed a load of clothes and ran up to school to write at least 3 days of substitute plans. And, I sobbed. Then I sobbed a bit more. The uncontrollable gasping kept taking over my countenance. But, most of all, I prayed and contacted my prayer warriors as well. Of course, what words can one possibly use to petition God's healing hand to take over. I did not want to leave out any possible need. I got so overwhelmed with articulating my requests that I literally fell on Romans 8:26.
...the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words;
Upon my return to the house, I realized I had to consider what to pack. Nothing shakes you to the core more than preparing for cheerleader, nurturer or mourner status. It was an endless night.
The morning did not arrive soon enough. I had to get to my mom's side and give her a bear hug and cry on her shoulder. I needed to see my Dad and tell him I love him at least one more time should the tone of mom's voice really predict the outcome. My presence was required. The close proximity of my family was desperately craved. Why did I live so far away? Maybe I should sell my house and move back to Texas this summer. I should be there. Mom should never have to face such a traumatic situation without physical and emotional support.
When someone who has nurtured, supported, challenged, reprimanded, frustrated, loved, encouraged, questioned, angered, thrilled you for your entire life is actually lying at death's door, nothing else in the world matters. You imagine the worst. Scenarios that you have never considered play like "Groundhog Day" on the IMAX screen of your mind. The trek to DIA is not short enough. The check-in, security and boarding lines are not fast enough. The flight is not traveling the speed of light. The baggage claim crew is not strong enough. The conveyor belt does not hold enough bags. The drive to the hospital is too circuitous. The minutes ticking away in the surgical waiting room are creeping sloths. Information regarding medical status is not acquired soon enough.
How can the life of a mental giant dissipate so immediately? Did we take advantage of every possible life experience? Did we show him he was loved deeply? Did I live wisely enough to make his potential passing a smooth journey? Did I value life?
The rest of the story is for another post, but I will eliminate a few cliff hangers.
My brother and his wife are the best support team my parents could ever desire. They were at the hospital by my mom's side almost immediately and generously took over the difficult decisions, ministering to her physically, emotionally and spiritually.
My sister was on the road from Houston within one hour of the text I had sent her. I scared my baby sister to sobs and I regret that immensely. Thankfully, I had not scarred her enough to hinder her gift of medical knowledge, which brought such peace and understanding throughout the entire process.
I arrived safely as Dad was undergoing a procedure in the cath lab. He now has a stint and is working his way through the rehabilitation process.
I am back in Colorado with a mild respiratory struggle keeping me from returning to Texas as soon as I would like. I do not want to risk my father's health in any way. Also, the idea of selling the home is only a remote memory that I am not seriously considering.
God is good. I have no idea what He intends for my Dad to do from this point forward, but the man clearly has more work to do.
And, I am grasping a deeper understanding about the concept of Life Being Precious, for it truly is a gift!
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