Fragrance of Life

The other day a lady from one of the local churches came to sit with Mom, as she left I complimented the fragrance she wore, I didn't recognize that it was the same one my Mom had worn for years. Even this last Christmas we managed to find a bottle for Dad to give her since the department stores no longer carried Jessica McClintock.

Historically Mom was always a sharp dresser who wore just a hint of fragrance. Never overpowering. I remember as a kid when I foraged through the recesses of her purse I'd often find a forgotten pack of gum or a mint. As I unwrapped it I'd catch a whiff of her perfume. It’s a memory that will stay with me forever – sometimes the gum or mint even tasted like perfume.

Mom remembers most of the devotionals she has taught over the years. And periodically she’ll share one with us. She’s had some good ones: The Value of the Second Fiddle, The Value of Salt, Bendable Spendable and Sendable, and one about a Teapot. She used it to illustrate that it is what is on inside that counts most because when we get ‘shook up’ it’s what is on the inside that will spill out of us. I’m also quite sure she also had a message on What Fragrance are you Wearing?

The passage of scripture was taken form 2 Corinthians 2:14-15 – “Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place. For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved…”

I’ve thought of this verse often as of late since many days have been filled with stressful challenges. I'm probably writing this more as a reminder to myself. There have been days when we’ve all had some ‘stinking thinking.’ It makes me think of perfume that has gone rancid as it sat unused in a bottle for too long. The secret of keeping the fragrance of Christ in our life is to keep it fresh. To be filled daily with a sense of His presence – to praise Him for He inhabits our praise. When we start our morning with Him he pours Himself out through us. It is only in Him that our lives are a pleasing aroma.

God's Sustaining Validity

Dad pronounces the word invalid as two words - “in valid.” He means it in the truest sense of the word.  “We can’t become in valid, Dot.” His way of thinking is that aging and weakness may devalue them. He fights weakness with every fiber that is in him and encourages my mother to do the same.

The very word, “invalid” or as dad pronounces it, “in valid” begs the question. Are we to believe that age, illness or other such physical limitations reduces someone’s value? The world may see it that way, but not God.

The prophet Isaiah expressed these words to God’s chosen, “Listen to me … Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”

As long as these jars of clay bear the treasure of God’s Spirit there is value. I read the story of a missionary who had pioneered the field on Bangladesh and suffered with Alzheimers in his final years. A young missionary from the same country visited him in the nursing home, but little was said between them because the disease had stolen his mind. As they sat together a news report came on the television about Bangladesh and suddenly the elder man threw up his hands and said, “Oh God be with the people of Bangladesh,” and then he began to pray in perfectly Bengali.

Recently, my friend and her mother told a story about a doctor’s appointment. Her aging mother had been baking pies and decided to take one to the young nurse from the doctor’s office. After arriving at the office they learned the nurse was working elsewhere that day. After the appointment ended they went to see the nurse and take her the pie. When the young girl came out and saw them she burst into tears and hugged my friend’s mother saying, “I needed to see you today – I just lost my mother.” As it turned out the pie was her favorite flavor.

To say that someone has lost their value just because they are weaker, sicker or older, limits God’s ability to glorify himself through all of his children. Each has sustainable value – there have been societies that have attempted to do away with the frail and aging – but these societies are not societies that acknowledge the sovereignty and power of a loving and living God.

Before Hospice came in we teased Mom that the reason she kept getting sick was because she was such a witness to the hospital staff. And now as a Hospice patient she continues to offer inspiration and prayer for those who are providing care. Each night and morning I overhear both of my parents in their devotions as they pray specifically for the lost. Perhaps it’s their prayer of intercession that keep them here on this broken earth.

I’m not sure why God extends life when it’s vigor is gone , but each life is valid.

Breath of Heaven

What is the most troublesome about Mom’s illness, COPD,  is that it steals away the breath of her life. We depend upon breathing treatments and oxygen to get her days started off right.

Mom and Charlotte Mazzu sing a duet 1970

How precious is the breath of life. How precious is the One who breathes life into us. When Mom was younger she had a good voice. Good enough that she invited to sing at special meetings. But even if she had never sung publicly she would be no less a singer.

She knew many sacred tunes and to my childish delight she knew some big band songs such as 'Chattanooga Choo Choo' and 'Let Me Call You Sweetheart'. I was sure I had the coolest Mom of all when she would pop out from behind the drapes and perform songs and sometimes a dance from long ago.

As anyone can tell you, to sing properly you must control your breath. Her heart broke about eight years ago when she lost her voice after a bout with pneumonia. Although she cannot sing for long periods of times, she still carries a song in her heart, and on occasion I can prompt her to join me in a short chorus or two.

Music is a very important part of this household. Sometimes we do the singing and at other times we play DVD’s or CD’s and within minutes we can see the soothing effect that the music has on the environment, especially when we play the familiar old hymns. Every Saturday Mom and Dad let their hair down and watch Lawrence Welk on PBS  (I think I’ve seen most of the shows.) Saturday nights from 6 to 8:30 has long been Mom and Dad’s date night and now Wolter and I are their chaperones.

This lyrics of this song resonates in my heart as I sing and pray it for Mom. Even now as she sits near me, I hear the oxygen machine gurgling and hissing, and I hear the words of the parts of this song.

I am waiting in a silent prayer

I am frightened by the load I bear

In a world as cold as stone

Must I walk this path alone?

Be with me now

Be with me now

                                                            Breath of heaven

                                                            Hold me together

                                                            Be forever near me

                                                            Breath of heaven

                                                            Breath of heaven

                                                            Lighten my darkness

                                                            Pour over me your holiness
                                                            For you are holy
                                                            Breath of Heaven.

Beautiful Feet

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of [the one] who brings good news, Who proclaims peace, Who brings glad tidings of good things, Who proclaims salvation, Who says ... "Your God reigns!"

Mom has had Rheumatoid Arthritis for over thirty years, the medication has arrested the disease, but she had already suffered the crippling effects of RA in her hands and especially her feet. It affects her mobility and results in many secondary problems such as severe calluses and one very cranky bunion. I’d like to take a quick detour here – bear with me.

I love baby feet – I love how we snuggle and play with their feet. And there is just nothing cuter than baby/toddler/kid feet. But once those feet reach adulthood… Well ... may I confess to you that I’m one of those individuals who “has a thing” about feet. I’ve never liked to be touched by other people’s feet or to touch theirs. I know it’s an odd thing to confess in a blog, but at times this blog gets just a tad intense. I’m sure this confession will bring me grief from friends and peers at RFK camp, but there you have it. I’m happy to admire (or not) your feet in a pair of summer sandals, but beyond that keep your feet to yourself. Whew! Okay- there! I’ve said it! Moving on.

Since I came here in the fall of 2013 Mom has had many foot issues. She realizes her mobility is her life so we’ve carted her to the podiatrist multiple times. In the last six months she is not able to get out as before, and she has been in severe pain due to her feet.

I’ve quoted the verse from Philippians often in the past two years, “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” I prayed it the first day I offered to help Mom doctor her feet. In all sincerity I didn't think I could do it - At first I soaked them, then I treated the inflamed areas and put pads and bandages on her feet.

As I worked on her feet I thought of how beautiful these feet were in God’s eyes. She looked down at her feet and said, “They are so ugly.” With my husband at my side we quoted the verse. “How beautiful are the feet that bring good news.”

These feet once traversed unfamiliar African trails: these feet grew weary with endless labor in households where she served the weary travelers. Fear and pain never kept these feet from moving forward. These feet never ran from a challenge - the messenger these feet carried knew the news she brought was good. There were so many who were enslaved to the ideas propagated by village witch doctors who live, not just in the jungles of Africa, but also the jungles of modern cities. Bewitching citizens with deceptions and lies. In a world where most of the news is bad it is refreshing to think that there are still those who carry good news.

Mom still believes this news is good. She has grown old, but the news is as fresh and new as the day when she first heard it. It refreshes the soul and gives peace and joy. And though the road may grow long and the travelers weary, it has been worth all the sacrifices and the pain. Bearing good news brings joy and in joy there is strength. Indeed, “how beautiful are the feet of those who carry the good news.”