Refuge

Last week, my social media “memories” feature was kind enough to remind me of the one-year mark of my mom going into the hospital—and in twelve more days, it will mark one year since her departure from this earth. Just three short weeks from hospital, to hospice, to Heaven. I never thought it would happen so quickly, but I thank God for answering her prayers over mine. While I’ve never been one to linger on “deathaversaries”, that one just hits different. I lost my best friend that day…I held her hand as she drew her last breath a little after 5 a.m., on October 21, 2019, and I’ve longed for her presence a thousand times since.

Fast-forward to the same timeframe this year, as I find myself preparing to move my dad into an assisted living community. Fortunately, my dad’s situation is completely different and this is a move he is making of his own choosing. (Thank you, God, for placing your grace upon a conversation that I have dreaded my entire life.) Yes, he needs some help with things and yes, it’s getting harder for me and my family to do it all as well as we would desire. But mostly, he misses my momma. That old house is pretty empty without her, and you can’t be in it without seeing her touch on every wall. At this point, he needs community and desires new surroundings, so that’s what we’re doing, and it’s the right thing.

While signing papers at the facility he’ll be living in, I briefly left the room and, upon my return, I stood about 5 yards outside the office door as the entire scene gripped my heart. There my dad sat, hunched forward in a wheelchair, mask on, preparing to make his big move…and He looked old and he looked tired, and for a moment, I was frozen. All I could think was, “I’m not ready for this. I’ll never be ready for this.”

Fighting back the sting of tears that pressed against the brim of my eyelids, I breathed deeply, pulled back my shoulders, and whispered the name of Jesus. Consciously turning up the corners of my mouth, I forced a smile and moved back into the room with a brave face—trying to keep this about what’s best for him rather than making it about me and my feelings, because I know how much he relies on me to be strong. But in that moment, I didn’t feel strong at all.

I woke up at 4 a.m. today…moving day…and I sought God. For it is He, and ONLY He, Who can give me the grace I need for these moments. In this raw, weary place, the words of my heart united with King David as he said, “…my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.” (Psalm 84:2) And you know what happened? God was already there. In fact, it was He who woke me up with a strong nudge, then led me to this place of releasing, into the safety of His hands once again, all I have been harboring.

The tears I held back in the lobby of my dad’s new home were released this morning in a torrent of emotional healing with my Heavenly Father. By His wrap-around Spirit, I was held in His arms as He reassured me that He is deeply concerned by and involved with the matters of my heart; He is still bigger than every obstacle; and He is now, and always will be, more than enough.

It’s still an emotional day, and that’s okay. Emotions aren’t inherently bad. But now it’s an emotional day that God is leading us through. It’s not relying on my strength, but His, and the heaviness in my spirit seems so much lighter.

May we all get to this place, every day, where we remember Whose we are and take refuge in the all-encompassing magnitude of His love.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and the One who rescues me;
My God, my rock and strength in whom I trust and take refuge;
My shield, and the horn of my salvation, my high tower—my stronghold.
– Psalm 18:2