| Family Non-Fiction posted January 2, 2022 |
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When trouble knocks
A Tough Pill To Swallow
by Begin Again
My stepdaughters didn't take it seriously when my husband was terminally ill. I assume their thoughts were that the doctors had him on death's bed so many times, it became another unwarranted version of me "calling wolf."
When I begged his family to visit or call, they always said they were busy but would try. His daughters claimed it was his fault because he hadn't taken better care of himself when he was young. When I asked them to keep him in their prayers, they scoffed and said, "Dad doesn't believe in God, and sometimes, neither do I."
The comment sent chills up and down my spine. Not for my husband, but for them. How little they knew about the changes in Mike's life and how God had blessed us time and time again. Together, we left the past behind and learned if we believed, our lives would be enriched beyond our expectations. When doctors said Mike wouldn't leave the hospital, I sat in the hospital chapel and prayed.
I would deliver the doctor's chilling message and feel their disbelief. Each time I mentioned he needed prayers, my requests were ignored. Each time we were blessed with a miracle, the divide between us widened until the relationship was gone.
When Mike's time came, he drifted into a coma without his girls being there to say goodbye. At the funeral, it was apparent they aimed their grief at me. They said if I hadn't scared them so many times, maybe it would have been different. They hated the fact my children had spent three days by his side; days they could have been there.
Yesterday I received several text messages and calls from Mike's family, the first contact in two years. His forty-year-old daughter has been on a ventilator in the ICU for eight days, and her doctors say the outcome is dismal. She has a twenty-one-year-old daughter and two younger children who can't possibly understand Covid and how the virus has no rules as to who gets it and who survives.
Of course, my mind understands the horrendous fear the family is dealing with and their questions about why. My heart breaks as they struggle to face the possibilities of Cheryl not being a part of their lives anymore. But my biggest amazement came when they requested that I and anyone I know include Cheryl in their prayers. Suddenly, the Lord was at their door.
Thus, I find myself at your gracious doors, asking that you find it in your hearts to pray for Cheryl. I wondered if my "new beginnings" were facing a test, checking to see if I've turned my back or if I still have forgiveness in my heart. I believe I do.
The Lord expects me to forgive anyone for past faults, misconceptions, and differences. To honor him, I open my arms. I know praying no longer makes me their "carpet"; instead, I offer a blanket of hope.
So, I shall pray for her recovery and the family's strength to face whatever outcome she faces. Not because they asked, but because their father, my husband, stands at the Lord's side, and it's what they expect me to do.
My stepdaughters didn't take it seriously when my husband was terminally ill. I assume their thoughts were that the doctors had him on death's bed so many times, it became another unwarranted version of me "calling wolf."
When I begged his family to visit or call, they always said they were busy but would try. His daughters claimed it was his fault because he hadn't taken better care of himself when he was young. When I asked them to keep him in their prayers, they scoffed and said, "Dad doesn't believe in God, and sometimes, neither do I."
The comment sent chills up and down my spine. Not for my husband, but for them. How little they knew about the changes in Mike's life and how God had blessed us time and time again. Together, we left the past behind and learned if we believed, our lives would be enriched beyond our expectations. When doctors said Mike wouldn't leave the hospital, I sat in the hospital chapel and prayed.
I would deliver the doctor's chilling message and feel their disbelief. Each time I mentioned he needed prayers, my requests were ignored. Each time we were blessed with a miracle, the divide between us widened until the relationship was gone.
When Mike's time came, he drifted into a coma without his girls being there to say goodbye. At the funeral, it was apparent they aimed their grief at me. They said if I hadn't scared them so many times, maybe it would have been different. They hated the fact my children had spent three days by his side; days they could have been there.
Yesterday I received several text messages and calls from Mike's family, the first contact in two years. His forty-year-old daughter has been on a ventilator in the ICU for eight days, and her doctors say the outcome is dismal. She has a twenty-one-year-old daughter and two younger children who can't possibly understand Covid and how the virus has no rules as to who gets it and who survives.
Of course, my mind understands the horrendous fear the family is dealing with and their questions about why. My heart breaks as they struggle to face the possibilities of Cheryl not being a part of their lives anymore. But my biggest amazement came when they requested that I and anyone I know include Cheryl in their prayers. Suddenly, the Lord was at their door.
Thus, I find myself at your gracious doors, asking that you find it in your hearts to pray for Cheryl. I wondered if my "new beginnings" were facing a test, checking to see if I've turned my back or if I still have forgiveness in my heart. I believe I do.
The Lord expects me to forgive anyone for past faults, misconceptions, and differences. To honor him, I open my arms. I know praying no longer makes me their "carpet"; instead, I offer a blanket of hope.
So, I shall pray for her recovery and the family's strength to face whatever outcome she faces. Not because they asked, but because their father, my husband, stands at the Lord's side, and it's what they expect me to do.
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