Fix It
Visits to my aged mother are tough duty now. One factor is that it drives me out of feel-good, rah, rah and forces me to confront the truth about the realities of life - not just those of an aged mother, but those of my own as well.
Confrontation with truth could be one of the reasons there are not a lot of visitors of residents in a nursing home.
Another may be that when we experience our loved one baffled, confused, half aware, blind, deaf, and fumbling for words she can't remember, we want to fix it. But we cant'. Again, our own limitations, our own mortality, our own feeble humanness becomes painfully apparently. Oh yes, I have it all together yet my mother is laying there, a mental and physical invalid, and my poor powers cannot help. I am not able to fix it.
"I want to go to my home," my mother said.
"You are home. You are not at the hospital anymore."
"I know, but I don't like it here. I want to go home."
"Mother, we sold your house years ago when you went to the nursing home.",death She studied me for a minute.
"I don't have that, but I don't like it here."
"Mother do you know where you are? You are in the nursing home."
"I know I am in a nursing home."
"Where is home then, Mother." She fumbled with her sheets and mumbled, trying to put together thought and words locked apart in her mind. She looked up at me with sad,fretting eyes in apparent frustration of failing to articulate meaning.
Finally she said, "I am no good for nothing here. I am not doing anything good here, like this." I didn't answer. She looked up at me with a stern and steady gaze, which I thought meant, "Can't you fix it." Like a wave, helplessness curled in upon me, and covered me up. The vivid truth humbled me. As I looked into her eyes I thought: I can't fix it. Past all I can do to hide and deny, past all the propaganda, I am just a man. I just can't "fix it." I can't even fix it for myself. I need Jesus for that. I was empty. I could be filled now.
I could see much more in her intent gaze. As we continued to study each other's face, her look seemed to say something more, something more eternal than "fix it." The eyes seemed to say, "I want to go home. I want to see Jesus."
"Do you want to go see Jesus, Mother."
"Yes." A smile came into her eyes.
-Come Lord Jesus - Fix It.
Mother died peacefully July, 20, 2016; once broken, now mended: once part, now whole, restored and renewed; fixed by Jesus.
Confrontation with truth could be one of the reasons there are not a lot of visitors of residents in a nursing home.
Another may be that when we experience our loved one baffled, confused, half aware, blind, deaf, and fumbling for words she can't remember, we want to fix it. But we cant'. Again, our own limitations, our own mortality, our own feeble humanness becomes painfully apparently. Oh yes, I have it all together yet my mother is laying there, a mental and physical invalid, and my poor powers cannot help. I am not able to fix it.
"I want to go to my home," my mother said.
"You are home. You are not at the hospital anymore."
"I know, but I don't like it here. I want to go home."
"Mother, we sold your house years ago when you went to the nursing home.",death She studied me for a minute.
"I don't have that, but I don't like it here."
"Mother do you know where you are? You are in the nursing home."
"I know I am in a nursing home."
"Where is home then, Mother." She fumbled with her sheets and mumbled, trying to put together thought and words locked apart in her mind. She looked up at me with sad,fretting eyes in apparent frustration of failing to articulate meaning.
Finally she said, "I am no good for nothing here. I am not doing anything good here, like this." I didn't answer. She looked up at me with a stern and steady gaze, which I thought meant, "Can't you fix it." Like a wave, helplessness curled in upon me, and covered me up. The vivid truth humbled me. As I looked into her eyes I thought: I can't fix it. Past all I can do to hide and deny, past all the propaganda, I am just a man. I just can't "fix it." I can't even fix it for myself. I need Jesus for that. I was empty. I could be filled now.
I could see much more in her intent gaze. As we continued to study each other's face, her look seemed to say something more, something more eternal than "fix it." The eyes seemed to say, "I want to go home. I want to see Jesus."
"Do you want to go see Jesus, Mother."
"Yes." A smile came into her eyes.
-Come Lord Jesus - Fix It.
Mother died peacefully July, 20, 2016; once broken, now mended: once part, now whole, restored and renewed; fixed by Jesus.
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