Category Archives: Prayer

Family matters, Prayer

Unmoored

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My Granny died yesterday.

I was flipping through Facebook on my phone while I waited for Poppy’s dance class to end. Lots of first-day-of-school pictures, a bear crossing a parking lot, people drinking Starbucks or wanting Starbucks and celebrating birthdays and selling roosters and losing jobs.

And a request for prayers from one of my cousins, because her aunt had just died. I’m not condemning my cousin for putting it on there. Facebook has become our wailing wall. I wrote about Granny’s passing, too, and I’ve taken comfort in the condolences people have left there.

It was jarring, though, getting the news like that, and driving home afterward was difficult. I’m feeling a little detached today. A little floaty. A lot unfocused.

Granny was sick for a long time, and she’s only had brief moments of clarity for the last several years. I think she might have recognized me briefly the last time I was there, but I’m not sure. She was always busy, always moving, and I can’t help but think that confinement to the nursing home and, eventually, to a wheelchair must have been terrible for her.

She is surely better, happier, released now.

I’m concerned about my mom. She’s been going to the nursing home every day for years, caring for her mother. She seems to be handling it well today, but I’m worried about what will happen next week when there aren’t any arrangements left to make.

Prayer

The substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things unseen

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My understanding of theology is pretty simplistic: I believe in God, I believe that Jesus died for us, and I believe that the Holy Spirit is around to intercede on our behalf. See? That’s some “Jesus Loves Me” level stuff. I can’t quote you the Scripture to answer your big philosophical questions, and I’m not going to go toe-to-toe with anyone on Why I’m A Christian. Because “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” and there’s no logic in that but I kind of think that’s the point. (Like I said, though: Simplistic Understanding, so I could be wrong about that.)

photo by Steve Corey

The Spiritual has been on my mind since Sunday, when our pastor started a series on the Holy Spirit’s presence. I’ve always had a hard time with the Holy Spirit. It’s the wording; “spirit” and “ghost” just sound so mystical and supernatural. Even so, if I were to try to carve out a slightly more concrete reason for my belief it would be that intervention. You might call it coincidence or happy accidents, but I believe there’s more to it than that. There are times when the Holy Spirit puts something or someone in your path right when you need it. It might be as simple as a friend calling right when you were thinking about her, or finding a 10-dollar bill on the ground on a day when you really needed a 10-dollar bill, or a guy with a guitar and a little time left on a parking meter. But sometimes it’s more elaborate than that.

In June 2004, Wilco released “A Ghost is Born.” There were songs on that album that spoke to me so directly that sometimes I still have a hard time listening to them. It isn’t an upbeat album — “I looked like someone I used to know” … “I will always die so you can remember me” … “I’m an ocean, an abyss in motion” — but I was especially broken by this:

Remember to remember me: Standing still in your past, floating fast like a hummingbird.

In June 2004, Rockford and I were expecting our first child. We were young, elated and naive. It was early summer, the birds were in full song, the sky was so vibrant and I never in a million years did I think we’d walk out of that doctor’s office without hearing a heartbeat. I was completely blindsided and crushed, and that sort of news shouldn’t be followed up with blue skies and birdsong.

It was the first time I truly understood wanting the clocks stopped and the stars put out.

We weren’t alone. People at our church prayed for us and visited and sent their condolences. Friends brought us fried chicken and didn’t ask us to talk. Rockford and I weren’t alone, but we weren’t all that together either. We cradled our anger and sadness and became a little more brittle every day.

I had an aversion to beautiful days for a long time.

I kept hauling that hurt around with me until one day when I was walking into work and a hummingbird darted in front of me. It stopped a few feet in front of my face. I froze, and it hovered there for a few seconds, and when it sped away the bitterness started to crack. I wasn’t whole yet, but I could see the sun again, and I wasn’t alone. I would be alright, and I wasn’t alone.

blessings, Prayer

Praying for more tomorrows {a guest post}

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Hello, lovely readers! I asked my sweet friend Brook to share a little about her son with you today. And here’s what she had to say —

I can hardly describe Gabriel to you. He’s too close to me: My very heart.

I can tell you that close friends say he’s a spitfire and too smart for my good. I can also say he’s persistent, perceptive, funny and full of energy. He has his mama’s eyes and his papa’s smile.

He also has Cystic Fibrosis — a genetic, life-shortening, chronic illness.

We put a lot of work into keeping Gabe as healthy as possible. He eats six high-fat, high-calorie meals a day accompanied by pancreatic enzyme replacements because his body doesn’t absorb fats and other nutrients properly. He does chest clearance twice a day to keep the mucous in his lungs from settling in and creating inflammation and scar tissue. He uses a nebulizer and inhaler to thin that mucous and dilate his airways. And when he gets a cough, we ramp into overdrive to keep everything moving.

So far, so good. He’s almost exactly two-and-a-half years old.

I know that over time the symptoms will take a toll. It’s pretty likely he’ll develop CF-related diabetes. He’ll always have to focus to keep his weight up. Eventually, his lungs will have borne the burden of too many coughs, too much inflammation, too much scar tissue, and they won’t be able to support him. Whether this happens when he’s 20 or 50 is anyone’s guess. The median life expectancy for someone with Cystic Fibrosis right now is in the late-30s.

Which is amazing, really. Thirty years ago, CF kids didn’t make it through elementary school. Newborn screening leads to early diagnosis and early intervention. Modern therapies have made it possible to keep patients healthier longer. And there is amazing research being done right now to treat the disease at a cellular level, helping the CFTR protein function as it should, which keeps that mucous from getting all sticky and problematic in the first place. I’m hopeful.

And I worry. He’s my baby; how could I not? I pray (and pray) for more tomorrows. But I know he’s not mine to hold onto, not really. So in the between-times, I cherish him. He really is amazing.

The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation uses donations effectively and efficiently to support promising research on a number of fronts. Please consider donating. Please consider Gabriel.

May is Cystic Fibrosis Awareness month, and Brook would like to see at least 30 people to donate to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation in honor of Gabe. This family is so dear to my heart. I wish you could all meet them; I know you’d love them, too. If you have a few (or several) dollars to spare this month, I hope you’ll send it to CFF.

– Nichole