Benched

Do you ever ask yourself "how did my life get like this?"  When we are in our 20's (yes, I realize some of you are!) we have this idea of what life will look like when we "grow up".  Twenty years later and my life is in a very different place than my fairy tale expectations.  I am not complaining...I want nothing else but the Lord's plans for my life. I can share 1000's of stories of God's goodness that have completely overwhelmed me over the years.

Still, I never dreamed of difficult days or a grief-filled heart.  Many of you know the last few years have been less than easy.  Dave's cancer diagnosis is what birthed this blog. Then being my aunt's caregiver took much of my time until her death last November. Before I could take a breath, my mom's health took a quick turn for the worse.  I have no regrets, it is truly my joy to offer care, encouragement, steadfastness (all which come straight from God).  It's just I wasn't expecting this.

Lately I've wondered if God has a dream for my life, as if there will be a destination where life will make sense.  I have felt like I've been taken out of the game and benched until this season is over.  I don't feel slighted or passed over, but a little more like the game of life is still going on and I am on the sidelines watching it pass quickly.

I found a book years ago at a conference, it had a pretty cover so I bought it.  It's been on my shelf unread since.  Until last night.  It is a story of a husband's journey with his wife who has Alzheimer's.  He was the president of Columbia Bible College and Seminary and retired early to care for his wife.  A student later asked  him if he missed being president.   He said he never thought about it, but on reflection, no he didn't miss it.  And then he wrote this:

     "But that night I reflected on his question.  Finally I turned to the Lord.  'Father, it's OK.  I like this assignment (caring for his wife) and I have no regrets.  But something has occurred to me.  If the Coach puts a man on the bench, he must not want him in the game.  You needn't tell me, of course, but if you'd like to let me in on the secret, I'd like to know - why don't you need me in the game?'  

     I didn't sleep well that night and awoke to contemplating the puzzle.  Muriel was still mobile at the time, so we set out on our morning walk around the block.  She wasn't too sure on her feet, so we went slowly and held hands.  We live in what is euphemistically called a transitional neighborhood, where the sidewalks are often peopled with those who've lived hard and, it would seem, outlived hope.  

    A short stretch of sidewalk is bordered by a weedy embankment on the left and a very busy thoroughfare on the right.  I was grateful we never met anyone there because someone would have to get out into traffic.  But this day I heard footsteps behind me and looked back to see the familiar form of a local derelict weaving his way behind us.  I thought, He'll never catch up.  But he did and, without missing a step, staggered out into the road and back up the sidewalk in front of us.

     There he turned, looked us up and down, and said, 'Tha's good.  I likes 'at.  Tha's real good.  I likes it.'  Then he headed off down the street, mumbling to himself over and over, 'Tha's good.  I likes it.'

      I enjoyed the moment with a chuckle, grateful for the affirmation.

     When we reached our little garden and sat down, his words came back to me.  I was startled, 'Lord, could you speak through the mouth of a half-inebriated old derelict?'  I wondered aloud.  Then the realization hit me, You could and you did!  It is you who are whispering to my spirit, 'I like it, it's good...' I may be on the bench, but if you like it and say it's good, that's all that counts."

As I learn to care for my mom in this new world of dementia, I can hear the Lord saying, "it is good".  And that is all that counts.  This is His dream for me.  Learning that life doesn't have to make sense.  Trusting Him for each moment of each day.  On the bench or in the game, oh to be in the will of our Father.  It is good.