From Michelle. 21 January, 2011.
Dear Friends and Family,
As Steve makes more and more gains, I find my confidence to speak about our experience waning. Doubt clouds my mind, and I wonder what in the world gives me any authority to speak on the topic of suffering, let alone request your prayers? I measure the droplets of our suffering against that global tidal wave of pain and trauma, and I feel small and silly for saying anything at all. And yet, while suffering is deeply personal, it is also universal. We all feel it in myriad forms as diverse as we are, but we all feel it. If we have only tasted a little of it, we know others who have tasted more. We weep with both sympathy and recognition. We wonder when we will encounter it again, and in what configuration. We share the inevitability of that final suffering that marks the end of our earthly journey. In short, we all suffer. Measuring it is pointless. Comparisons cannot be made. Such attempts only manage to oversimplify and cheapen each life in the balance. God found us all so valuable that we were worthy of the life of his son. Period.
In the same way, we cannot measure our shares of happiness, the number of answered prayers, the sheer quotient of faith and good luck distributed in such seemingly random patterns among us. In Galatians 6:2-4 it says: “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. For if anyone thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself. But let each one test his own work, and then his reason to boast will be in himself alone and not in his neighbor. For each will have to bear his own load.”
Many people have begun to share their difficulties with me during the past six months, and then stopped themselves apologetically, saying things like, “well, that’s nothing compared to what you have been through,” or, “but I don’t want to burden you with all of that.” While I appreciate the sentiment, they deprive me of the opportunity to share in their burden. It is good when the suffering of others causes us to relinquish our pettier complaints. But when the suffering is genuine, however small, it helps to connect in the face of what we do not understand. And we do connect, powerfully, through suffering. We have seen evidence of that unifying force just these last two weeks in the United States. It fortifies those enduring it, but it also prepares those walking alongside for their own inevitable pain. It is mysterious terrain, dark, irregular in shape, unpredictable. But there is something about it that is also recognizable to all. And there is great value in the sharing. Those who have allowed me to walk that holy terrain with them have given me the most precious of gifts. And that is why I share our story despite my own inadequacy.
Today, that story is punctuated by some lovely happy notes. Steve is driving. Today, he drove himself to his therapy appointments. These lonesome excursions are carefully measured by Steve’s limited abilities. There must be close parking. He cannot walk far. Until now, he has only driven alone to places with health care professionals who can assist him should he need it, upon arrival. But nevertheless, this is an amazing level of freedom and independence for Steve, which also enormously impacts the practical arrangement of our days.
This has been one pattern of our grief: constant adjustment. The happy note of Steve’s progress means that we are forever adjusting our lives. We live amid a pile of medical paraphernalia surrounded by a complex web of intertwining schedules. These are forever being tweaked, discarded and acquired according to Steve’s abilities. The hoyer lift thankfully sits in the garage making space for a stationary bicycle. Steve’s automatic wheelchair sits alongside a more spiffy scooter and the still most often useful manual chair. There are walkers and crutches and canes strewn throughout the house like so many fallen branches after a storm. Our lovely bathroom is still marred by the ever present shower chair. Therapies are similarly in flux, not to mention our emotions. People ask me about my grief process. A common response: I don’t know what I’ve lost yet. Certainly, there are profound losses in this year, but any permanence is completely unascertainable.
For this reason, the gratitude I so often speak of has been an invaluable practice. It is a plumb line along which to faithfully measure the chaos. Grief remains mostly a cipher for which we do not possess the code, but in gratitude we can find some sure footing in the darkness. And so for the following we are grateful: driving, walking, continued hand agility, a Medicaid card (!), the constant love, support and prayers of family and friends.
Steve asks for prayer for his left leg. It drags more than his right and is more prone to spasms, all of which slows down the walking process greatly. We continue to pray for increased sensation and strength. Also, while we have finally been approved for Medicaid, there remain questions about how far back the coverage will extend which will meaningfully affect our finances.
“Now to Him who is able to do far more than we can ask for or imagine, to him be the glory!” Eph. 3:20
Dear friends and family, we are so grateful to you all for sharing our burdens!
Love,
Michelle