March 8, 2012
Yesterday, I read a book entitled, "Heaven is for Real," by Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent. The book is about Todd Burpo's son, Colton. When Colton was 4 years old, he had surgery for a ruptured appendix. His condition had become critical due to a misdiagnosis of the flu. For 5 days, Colton was being treated for the flu when his parents took him to a hospital that recognised his illness right away, and took him into surgery immediately. Colton was not expected to live. While Colton was on the operating table, something miraculous happened to him. Colton went to Heaven where he was taken care of by Jesus himself. Colton survived the operation but it was not until later, after Colton was released from the hospital, did he begin to tell of his journey to Heaven. Over the next several month and years, Coltons's story would unfold to reveal a beautiful journey of a child who went to Heaven, the people he saw and met there, and his amazing faith in Jesus.
Please, read this book. If you have ever wondered what Heaven is like, or need an affirmation of what you believe Heaven is like and what is waiting there for you, read this book.
Last night my sleep was peaceful. In the weeks and months that lead up to my diagnosis, my sleep was very unsettled. I had strange dreams and horrible nightmares. I never slept more that 3-4 hours a night. I woke up in a pool of sweat, heart racing. My neck hurt and no amount of rubbing it, eased the ache. My back ached. My left leg and knee, also ached which had never happened before. Then the Achilles Tendon on my right ankle began to hurt me again. In 1982, I hurt this tendon while jumping off a wall. The doctor wrapped my foot and ankle with an Ache Bandage, which I wore for several weeks. After that, I had completely forgotten that I had hurt the tendon in the first place. Now in 2012, thirty years after the initial injury, the ache came back. I began to walk with a limp wondering why my foot was hurting. Then, I remembered the injury in 1982. Interesting. Considering that the malignancy in a mole can lay dormant for up to twenty years of more, then wake up, I began to wonder if my body was waking up to all of the injuries I sustained over a life time, and all of genetic dispositions I inherited from my family. Now that the Baby Boomers (of which I am a member) are coming into age, this poses a new threat to the health care system in our country. Treatment is expensive. The older a person, usually the more health issues need to be addressed. In our country, older people are not valued like in countries such as Japan, Korea, and Denmark, among others.
When I 19 years, I went to Denmark with a relative in an in-law's family. He was born in Denmark and had an elderly mother that lived their in a nursing home. Denmark has a socialized medical system. His mother and the residents of the nursing home where she resided, were treated like royalty by the nursing staff, doctors, family, and community. People sought her out for advice, intelligent conversation, gave her books, took food to her, and checkd on her daily. She was not left to rot, alone with minimized attention and care. Our country is not and has not been caring like that in general. There are some people who do take care of their older family members, keeping them at home as long as they can before putting them in a nursing home or assisted living facility. I applaud them for their care and love. I pray that as our Baby Boomer population progress through their final years, younger people will realize that when they are looking at the older people, they are looking at what they may be like when they are older and will need care.
My mother died of Pancreatic Cancer in 1987. She died in the hospital one week after her surgery. My father died in 2005 after a stay in an assisted nursing home. My father and I were never close. There were hurt feelings between us that neither one of us addressed before he died. I don't know how long he was in the assisted living home. I only spoke to him by phone two or three times. I never visited him in the home. So, when I say, mend your fences, don't burn your bridges, and take care of one another like your life depends on it, I know what I am saying. Unfortunately, I cannot change the past. I can only confess my sins, ask the Lord for forgiveness, and in the time I have left, love and cherish my friends, and try to serve the Lord by ministering to those who do not have family members to care for them.
Before my father went into an assisted living home, I visited him once or twice at the home he shared with my mother. One evening we were going downtown for dinner. It was in September, and still very hot even in the evening. As I drove my rental car downtown, my father asked me to stop by a bridge. He had with him a brown grocery bag. I never thought to ask him what was in the bag when he got into the car. He got out of the car with the bag and told me to wait in the car. He would be right back. I remember asking him, "Dad, where are your going? There is no one around here. Do you want to throw that bag away? We can find a trash can downtown?" He looked at me and said, "Oh, no! I made friends with the people that live under the bridge. It is hot and they need water. No one cares for them. I'll be right back." I was stunned. My father who I believed never cared about anyone but himself is taking water to people who live under a bridge! Wow! When he got back into the car, he was ready to go to dinner. I asked him if I could meet these people. He looked at me and very loving said, "Not right now. People scare them. They are afraid they will have to leave their home under the bridge. They know me and trust me. I will tell them you want to meet them. Then, maybe the next time your visting, you can bring them water or food with me." I said, " Ok ,"with a renewed perspective of my father. However, this new perspective did not last long before I began to let old feelings, bad memories, and my anger cloud my new vision of the "savior on earth" my father had become. Needless to say, I never met the people under the bridge. That was the last time I went home to visit him. The year was 1995. He died ten years later.
