Simple Faith

Well the week is finally over and I have survived!  It has been exceedingly rough.  The hair is gone, but unfortunately, unlike the hair, the other side effects hang on :o).  I am hoping and praying the symptoms will ease day by day this week.  This coming  weekend I go back to MD Anderson for further scans to see if the chemo has been at all effective.  I covet prayers for wisdom on the part of the doctor there as well as my oncologist  here and myself as we decide what, if any, further steps should be taken.  I also appreciate prayers that the pain which has increasingly become my constant companion might be under better control.

The last few weeks I have spent a good amount of time trying to arrange a spot at Breckenridge Village for my brain injured adult son to attend a couple of days a week (they have him on a waiting list).  The other children are growing up and moving out, there is a great uncertainty with my health as well as Mother's and so I feel a  need for Jes to have something special of his own in the near future.  To quote their website, "Breckenridge Village of Tyler (BVT) is a faith-based community for adults with mild to moderate intellectual and developmental disabilities. BVT offers exceptional residential and day enrichment programs to meet the needs of the persons entrusted to our care. We are dedicated to empowering each resident as he or she develops spiritually, physically, mentally, emotionally, and socially in a safe, loving, and closely supervised environment."  I can't begin to tell you how impressed I have been by this wonderful place.  Everyone who works there has a heart for God and for the residents they care for.   They give back to the community as the community gives to them.  Then there are the adults they care for:  everyone of them seem content and very happy with the simple things in life.

These trips have made me think of some of my Jesse's reactions to difficult things in life.  When my uncle died less than a week after Jesse's Dad, with smiling face Jes told me not to be sad because Uncle Floyd was not only with Dad, but was with Jesus.  When  we adopted him after he suffered severe abuse, I heard the man who inflicted the abuse was sentenced to not  a day in prison.  I can't begin to describe how angry it made me that this child abuser was out on the streets after the brain damage he inflicted on this young boy.  After six months of daily nightmares in which I dreamt the man broke into our house and I blew him away, the Holy Spirit dealt with me and I was convicted that I was no better than he as I was daily committing murder in my heart.  God was gracious to forgive me. However, in contrast, the only response from Jesse, in the simplicity of his faith, was "well, he wasn't a Christian."  When asked more recently about what my cancer means to him, Jesse said, "It means you don't have long to be here."  When I asked how he felt about that, his response was, "It's ok, because I know I'll see you again in Heaven!"

Life seems very complex to me right now and I envy the simplicity of such childlike faith.  Many decisions need to be made:  what medical treatments (if any) to pursue, how to handle financial decisions and plan for the future of Jesse and the rest of the family,  how to take care of day by day decisions, and what things to focus on next.  Sometimes those decisions are overwhelming and I want to hide my head in the sand, but I am reminded of my son and the residents at Breckenridge Village who rest at ease because they know they are loved and will be cared for.  I am put to shame for I have a heavenly Father who cares for me and loves me and will never leave me alone.  Oh that our faith were as simple in its trust as that of Jesse and the residents at Breckenridge Village!

As I was comforted this week by the words in Psalm 56:8 ("You have kept count of my tossings;  put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?"), I found this devotional by Charles Spurgeon in my e-mail in-box:

              

               Liquid prayers!  (Charles Spurgeon, "Treasury of David")

             

               "The Lord has heard the voice of my weeping." Psalm 6:8

              Is there a voice in weeping? Does weeping speak? In what language does it utter its

              meaning? Why, in that universal tongue which is known and understood in all the

               earth, and even in Heaven above. When a man weeps, whether he is a Jew or

              Gentile, Barbarian, Scythian, bond or free--it has the same meaning in it.

              Weeping is the eloquence of sorrow. It is an eloquent orator, needing no

              interpreter--but understood by all.

              It is sweet to know that our tears are understood, even when words fail. Let us

              learn to think of tears as liquid prayers, and of weeping as a constant dropping of

               importunate intercession which will surely wear its way right into the very heart

              of God's mercy, despite the stony difficulties which obstruct the way. My God,

              I will "weep" when I cannot plead, for You hear the voice of my weeping!

             

              "It is a sight fit for angels to behold, tears as pearls dropping from a penitent

              eye!" Thomas Watson