Julie’s Story:
As I sang the familiar hymn “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus,” Mom labored with every breath. Tears rolled down my cheeks, wetting the sheets of her ICU bed. Over the last few months, I had watched Mom’s health rapidly decline and her hope for restored health evaporate. I longed for her to finally focus on the One who mattered most—Jesus. The end of her striving would also end this season of suffering in my life as a caregiver. Too tired to lift my head from her bedside, I closed my eyes and reflected on how the Lord had used the most difficult relationship in my life to reveal my greatest benefit: his grace—how to recognize it, give it, and receive it.
As sole caregiver for my late mother, I always fell short, never able to satisfy her expectations. My mother lacked empathy, demanded attention at any cost, and lived squarely in the center of her world, leaving no room for me. God refined my heart throughout the fourteen years my mother lived near my family, but nothing prepared me for the transformation he accomplished the final two years of her life. He changed the burden of caring for mom into a privilege.
Two months before my mother died, I sat next to her in the emergency room after she had suffered a hard fall. Earlier that evening, my family had enjoyed a memorable dinner with Mom. She had laughed and made jokes, revealing a glimpse of her past self.
Waiting in the ER, Mom leaned in so close to my ear I felt her breath on my neck. With tears, she said, “I wish you did not have to be here.”
“No apologies, Mom,” I responded, only by God’s grace. “I get to sit next to you through all of it.” I meant it.
I had not always felt that way. My mother rarely considered the time, feelings, or resources of others—often eliciting my frustration instead of compassion. Most days I fought selfish urges to avoid Mom because of her complete disregard for my time. She would refuse to end a conversation when I needed to get off the phone. She would call while I was preparing dinner and demand I pick up a prescription she needed “right away.” Sometimes I arrived to pick Mom up in the middle of my full day for her doctor’s appointment—only to find her asleep in her recliner. By showing up late to my daughter’s high school graduation, she attempted to shift attention to her hurt feelings rather than celebrating my daughter.
When Mom called, I sometimes cut her off when she only wanted to be heard. I avoided taking her to my boys’ baseball games because she would make me late every time. And I did leave for my daughter’s graduation without Mom, because we needed to arrive in time to find seats. At the time, I felt justified in these choices, but reflecting on these little moments, I wonder if I responded with the interruptible compassion of Jesus. I lived in a tension between feelings of guilt and the desire for a healthy life balance.
As a mother of four, life was already hectic as I drove my four children to their activities. When Mom still drove, she faithfully attended school performances, soccer and baseball games but arrived atrociously late. I watched for her, checking the entrance often. That anticipation left me exhausted, disappointed, and often distracted from enjoying my children.
Mom felt alone, but she displayed attention-seeking behavior much like a young child. A mother of four young children myself, I recognized her need but struggled to handle this tension. I failed to show grace on countless occasions, but God used my failures. I took on the role of caregiver to honor and love Mom well, but I discovered my desperate need for God’s grace. I could only give away what I had received from God first.
Mom’s lack of empathy certainly required more grace than I could muster in my own finite strength. Her frequent demands led to a battle between my flesh and God’s Spirit. Every time I felt disappointed by her selfishness, I bit my lip, my heartbeat accelerated, and I wanted to throw daggers of justified, painful truths. But when I paused, God intervened, and this practiced liturgy began to guide my response. Taking three deep breaths, I would pray, Refocus my scattered senses on your presence. Give me your grace.
Every visit with my mother required another stroll through this feel-think-breathe-act response. Miraculously, in God’s kindness, Mom eventually reciprocated, and a grace exchange sustained our relationship toward the end of her life.
The life I shared with Mom taught me both about the infinite grace of God and his infinite love for me. This deep-seated security in God’s love for me enabled service to Mom that delighted rather than drained, enabling me to respond less from duty and more from privilege, as Francis Chan describes in his book Beloved.
And so by God’s grace, I could say to Mom that night at the ER: “I get to sit next to you through all of it.” When I remembered God’s love first, the impossible became possible.
Photo by Jomarc Nicolai Cala on Unsplash
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