WEDNESDAY WORDS: THE GIANT ROBOT MISSION

We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. ² Each of us should please our neighbors for their good, to build them up. ³ For even Christ did not please himself but, as it is written: “The insults of those who insult you have fallen on me.”^[a] 4 For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope. Romans 15:1-7

I knew it had to happen. For 18 months, the "robot" creature in the backyard grew to gigantic proportions. While it could be hidden inside a tent or a tarp, I didn't mind so much. It was Allen's project and it kept him occupied. But when the thing outgrew its tent, I knew we were in for trouble.

To no one but Allen would the jumble of aluminum cans, metal pieces, wooden pallets, and wheels resemble a robot. I saw a pile of junk; he saw a creation that would one day move and function. Anytime I was tempted to complain, I reminded myself of just what the project meant to Allen.

Our neighbors were not as understanding. Notes were shoved under my door demanding the demise of the monstrosity. One woman loudly complained that I was a “terrible mother” to allow my son his collection of Frankenstein-esque parts.

It became clear that to maintain harmony with my neighbors, the Giant Robot would have to go.

Honestly, I don’t always agree with what my neighbors do, either. I get tired of the little dog that barks anytime I get out of my car, and the kids in the back who jump on their trampoline at all hours of the night. But in Romans 15:1-7, the Apostle Paul encourages us to “please our neighbors”, particularly those of us who are mature Christians.

Let’s take a moment and think back to the time of Jesus. The leaders of the nation of Israel were instructed to serve the people and protect the helpless, but they failed miserably in their mission. Obviously, their own mission did not coincide with God’s. Jesus rebuked those who abused their power. In Matthew 23:2-4, Jesus says, “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees sit in Moses’ seat. ³ So you must be careful to do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach. ⁴ They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”

Ouch. Strong words from God’s Son, who was clear what His own mission on earth was. Jesus wanted His disciples to use their power to serve others. In Mark 10:44-45, He told them that they must serve others, not themselves. 

Allen had been clear in his own mission. It began in April of 2015 when Ron was hospitalized—again—with clinical depression and heart issues. Coincidentally, Allen had just been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome. While my son began job training with Occupational Vocational Rehabilitation, he was not allowed to work. And my kids, all three of them, are workaholics. Allen had time on his hands. I did not. With Ron in the hospital for six weeks, and me working three jobs, Allen was left to his own devices. Enter the Mission to Build a Giant Robot.

According to SAMHSA (2016), adults on the autism spectrum disorder tend to be introverted and often look for ways to self-medicate in order to avoid a sense of anxiety and stress. While genetics play a part in ASD, a chemical imbalance in the brain contributes to developmental delays and problems with thought-processing and neural stimulation. 7.9 million Americans with a mental disorder self-medicate with drugs or alcohol.

I did not want Allen to be one of them. While he went for job-training and dealt with physical and mental testing requirements, he built his robot. I bought a bigger tent.

Alas, one Sunday afternoon we took the Giant Robot down piece by piece and hauled it away to the junk yard in a rental truck from Home Depot. For the sake of our mission to win our neighbors to Christ, the robot had to go. Its own scrappy mission—keeping Allen occupied-- was over.

Accept one another, Paul advises us in Romans 15:7. I might wish that my neighbors and those who encounter Allen might recognize the uniqueness that lies beneath his quirks. I might wish that the poster of Romans 12:18 that hung in my long-ago college dormitory room would hang in everyone’s home.

I can only, as much as possible, live at peace with everyone.

And have Allen confine his robot projects to the basement.

WEDNESDAY WORDS: PACKED FOR THE JOURNEY

“Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out demons. Freely you have received, freely give” (Matthew 10:8).

My husband was barricaded in his hospital room, threatening doctors and nurses with his IV pole.

 “You’re here!” he shouted when he saw me. “I knew you would come. I told you, Diana.” He turned to the nurse that was behind him, the only medical personnel he allowed into the room. “You won’t let them steal my brain, will you?”

“No,” I said. “No one will steal your brain.”

Diana smiled weakly. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

I shrugged. “Thanks for calling. It’s not every day I have to come save my husband from space aliens. It’s a new adventure.”

In the years since Ron became disabled and I took on the role of the Well Spouse, I have often felt I had not really packed for the journey. The words “In sickness and in health” don’t really prepare you for the possibilities of what CAN happen.

I often wonder how the apostles of Jesus felt. The Book of Matthew relates the Great Commission which sent them out into the world. They were told not to burden themselves with luggage: no extra sandals or cloaks, no satchels, no money. They were to depend upon God for their provisions. And they were to freely give to others what had been given to them. They were not trained physicians, but they were to “heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out demons “ (Matthew 10:8). Surely, they must have wondered how they—mere mortal men—would be able to accomplish these things!

It's a question I’ve asked myself many times in my journey as the Well Spouse. I have felt as unprepared as the Apostles as they set out on their missions, untrained in medicine of the mind and body. There were many times I sat alone in a hospital waiting room, just me and God waiting to hear if Ron would live or die.

But Ron, my husband of 42 years, is beloved of Jesus. He is worth far more than many sparrows (Matthew 10:31). Even when fear enveloped me, I knew the words of John 3:16 to be true: If Ron should die, he would be with our Father in Heaven.

The twelve Jesus sent out into the world on the first mission journeys were ordinary men. Four were fishermen. None were from the professional religious of the day. Yet they spread the Gospel throughout the known world and, even though it was illegal to become a Christian, many accepted Jesus as Savior. While the apostles may have felt inadequate to the task, God gave them the power and the courage they needed.

The journey of a Well Spouse also takes a lot of courage.

After the effects of the anesthesia from the previous day’s surgery wore off, Ron was peaceful, nodding off to sleep in his hospital bed. No more space aliens threatened his existence. His brain was safe for now. I sat next to his hospital bed, calmly knitting a prayer shawl for a friend when Dr. Inger quietly entered the room and checked Ron’s vitals.

“He’s doing okay,” the doctor said. “How about you?”

I gave a shrug. “Just another day. I’m used to it all.”

He nodded. “You’ve been married, what, 25 years?”

“Thirty.”

“Hmmm.” He took a chair from the corner and straddled it. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

I shook my head. “Go ahead.”

“How do you do it? How do you stay with him? Why don’t you just walk away?”

And so I told the good doctor that my vows had been honest ones. The road had been long and hard, but that did not mean giving up. Whenever I felt inadequate for the journey, whenever I felt as if I had packed the wrong things and just did not have what it would take to move one step further, God gave me what I needed.

“I think,” said Dr. Inger, “I need to study this some more. You’re a strong woman.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I serve a strong God.”

The journey is far from over. This event happened years ago, and since then God has brought us to more surgeries and more hospitals and more people who need to hear the Gospel. My “go” bag for hospital emergencies now includes a knitting project, my Bible, a notebook, and several Bible tracts.

I pack light. God supplies the rest.

CAREGIVER GUILT: CONFESSIONS OF A WALKING GLUE STICK

“I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”

My father-in-law blamed me. It was unreasonable, hurled out of frustration while we stood in the trauma unit, waiting to see if my husband would survive. I was thirty miles away in a graduate class when the driver of the pick-up truck broadsided Ron’s Taurus, but the reproach stayed with me for seventeen years.

I’m a walking glue stick.

Guilt is a common emotion for those who find themselves in the position of caregiver. The 2015 State of Caregiving Report noted that 81% of spousal caregivers feel guilty, making guilt the #1 emotional trap. We think we should do it all without complaint and we become frustrated with ourselves because we can’t. We punish ourselves for just being human.  I beat myself up for an accident I did not cause, questioning every decision I made concerning my husband’s care. Yes, I agreed to the emergency surgery and it damaged his heart. My fault. Yes, I let him be put into the rehab unit where his slippers were misplaced and he caught pneumonia. My fault.   I even had occasional thoughts that it might have been better if Ron had not survived the accident.

That thought stuck on with Gorilla Glue.

But God is a solvent to even the strongest of adhesives. I began to search the Scriptures for a way to dislodge my self-reproach. One day, I was led to this verse in Joshua 5:9:

This day have I rolled away the reproach of Egypt from you.

The Israelites had been so beaten down by 430 years of slavery they no longer believed God could love them. Before they entered the Promised Land, God told them that the shame they carried was rolled off them. They were not stuck with the reproach of Egypt. They could stop being walking glue sticks.

So could I. It took time, prayer, and counsel from friends to realize that the guilt I bore was irrational. I held myself responsible for things that were not my responsibility. God had forgiven my shortcomings; I needed to forgive myself. I needed to learn to be more like rubber, repelling thoughtless remarks.

Just the other day, someone ventured to criticize a decision I’d made for my husband’s well-being. I just let it bounce off me.

Because it really is better to be rubber.