As I walked away from the emergency room, I felt a heaviness for my friends who had just brought in their elderly father. They were rightly concerned about his health issues. But their dad wasn’t. In fact, he was angry that his adult children had insisted on admitting him to the hospital.
There he rested on the gurney, pouting because he wasn’t home. His lower lip was turned up, childlike, which enhanced the scowl on his face as he weakly waved me away.
It’s not easy parenting parents.
What my friends’ father was feeling is normal for the elderly in those situations. Agitated because they aren’t home, fearing what lies ahead ---“Will I get to go home? Are they putting me away? Why are they doing this to me now?”--- they often react in ways their adult children perceive as harsh and insensitive. And at the same time, the elderly parents frequently view their children as cold and uncaring.
Reversing parental roles isn’t easy. Being a caregiver for parents can take more and more time which can put a strain on the caregiver’s family. Often there are unexpected financial commitments, further stressing the caregiver’s family. Then there is the emotional toll paid by caregivers: “I can’t stand to see mom and dad go down like this. Am I doing the right thing? I feel guilty about not wanting to take care of them all the time.”
It’s a growing problem in our society. As Jane Gross notes in her recently published book, A Bittersweet Season, never before have there been so many Americans over the age of 85, and never before have there been so many Americans in late middle-age---that burgeoning baby boomer generation---responsible for the health and well-being of their parents.
The dilemma I observed in my friends and their father, I now see on the horizon for my parents and me. This Father’s Day, I will be helping my two older brothers as we move Mom and Dad to a life care facility. Instead of the home they’ve known and the town they lived in for the past 58 years, they will be in another location and a different home---an independent living unit. In time, they can transition to assisted living or skilled nursing.
Because I live farther away from my parents than my two older brothers, they’ve taken on most of the responsibility for moving them. My oldest brother has taken care of administrative details for their move; my other brother and his wife, living in the same town as my parents, have taken on the herculean task of helping Mom and Dad wade through a mountain of stuff in their house as they get ready for the move next week and an estate auction next month.
I will be there for both events. It’s my turn.
Mom and I talk most every day, and I hear the repeated refrain, “I wish you were here.” Moving Mom and Dad will be emotional for them and me. No longer will they be in the town where I grew up. The landscape bounding our lives will never be the same. They will no longer be where they have always been.
But they will be where they are supposed to be.
On one of my daily early morning conversations with Dad--- which always begins the same way, “Where are you and your buddies eating breakfast today?” and ends the same way, “Love ya Dad,” I told him about proofing one of my son’s research papers.
“He really didn’t need me,” I said. “It was fine just like it was. But I think it gives him a sense of security just to have me look at it. I guess he likes knowing I’m there.”
Then Dad told me something his dad, my granddad, said years ago. Granddad was in his late 70s and his dad, my great-granddad, was almost 100. (He lived to 104.) “Son,” Granddad said to my father, “no matter how old you are, and even when your dad can’t get around much like mine and is unable to do anything for you, there’s still some security in knowing your dad is still there.”
That’s something worth remembering this Father’s Day.
Mom and Dad won’t be where they were. But, they will be there, where they are supposed to be.
And there is some security in knowing that.
Email David B.Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
When Steeples Fall
Two old codgers from Kansas decided to make a trip to California. On the way, they stopped at the Grand Canyon. Staring down at the Colorado River 6,000 feet below, gazing at the far side of the Canyon 18 miles away, awestruck by the canyon’s multi-colored layers of rock, the two men stood speechless. Finally, one drawled, “Sumpum musta happened here.”
Yep. It took several million years, but something indeed happened there. And it’s a beautiful display, many would say, of God’s handiwork in nature.
If you could have flown several hundred feet over Tuscaloosa, Alabama, or Joplin, Missouri, or Monson, Massachusetts, the day after tornadoes struck their cities with devastating force, you could have joined the old timer’s declaration of the obvious: “Something must have happened here.”
But unlike the gradual formation of the awe-inspiring beauty of the Grand Canyon, it took only a few minutes to wreak havoc in Tuscaloosa, Joplin, and Monson. And it was horrible.
We observe the creation of the Grand Canyon and stand amazed at how God put it together; we look at the tornado’s destructive path and wonder if God went to sleep on the clock.
Tornadoes descend from the sky with strike force efficiency, destroying hospitals, high schools, and homes.
And houses of worship, too.
Harmony Heights Baptist Church in Joplin was hit by the tornado on Sunday, May 22, 2011, killing three women. Pastor Charlie Burnett believes it could have been much worse. "It has to be from God," Burnett said. Fifty people walked away from the church "when it looked like they should have died."
More than one church was hit by the tornado that trounced Alabama on April 27, 2011. Among those churches was the First Assembly of God in Pleasant Grove. Pastor Lamar Jacks tried to make some sense of it, “I don't understand it," Jacks said. "If I try to tell you I understand it, I'm lying. God's saying to us, do you trust me? Don't lean on our own knowledge. Just trust in him. God can take the bad and the hurts and lift up his name."
And in Monson, Massachusetts, Pastor Robert Marrone, on June 5, 2011, the Sunday morning after the storm hit his community, was also trying to make sense of it all. In his sermon, he asked where God was during the storm, “Did he take a break between 4 and 6?"---the time the tornado struck Massachusetts. It knocked down the steeple and severely damaged the historic church he pastors. But, Marrone saw evidence of God at work shortly after the storm. People began checking on and helping each other.
The technical term for these explanations is a theodicy---an attempt to defend the goodness and justice of God in the face of evil and suffering. If God is good, why does he allow tornadoes to strike buildings with people in them? It’s one thing for him to permit a gradual transformation in creating something beautiful like the Grand Canyon. But what to do with a Tuscaloosa, a Joplin, or a Monson?
Somewhere between a view that attributes all suffering to a capricious God who uses natural tragedies as a way of punishing people---a God who destroys one house while leaving another intact, a God who grabs one baby from one mother’s arms while leaving another alone---somewhere between that and the view that pain and suffering is somehow an area God didn’t quite “fix” in his universe, lie the words of Jesus, who himself, although he never turned down someone in need of help, including healing, did not rush in, constantly intervening in the course of natural laws.
In speaking of who is responsible for tragedies, either from the hands of ruthless rulers or in construction accidents, Jesus made it clear it was not the result of wrongdoing on the part of the victims. Then warning his audience, Jesus said, “Unless you repent, you too will likewise perish” (Luke 13:3).
In other words, make sure you are straight with God, for you know not when the steeple may fall in your life.
So maybe we don’t need to defend God. After all, he doesn't explain himself. And if he did, who of us could comprehend it all? Rather than giving an explanation, God gives himself.
Whether it’s in the breathtaking view of the Grand Canyon or the heart-wrenching tragedy of destroyed buildings and lost lives, God is somehow there--- in us--- helping us respond to the beauty of the canyons or the beast of the calamities.
When steeples fall, he is there.
Even when words are beyond explaining how or why.
Email David B.Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
Yep. It took several million years, but something indeed happened there. And it’s a beautiful display, many would say, of God’s handiwork in nature.
If you could have flown several hundred feet over Tuscaloosa, Alabama, or Joplin, Missouri, or Monson, Massachusetts, the day after tornadoes struck their cities with devastating force, you could have joined the old timer’s declaration of the obvious: “Something must have happened here.”
But unlike the gradual formation of the awe-inspiring beauty of the Grand Canyon, it took only a few minutes to wreak havoc in Tuscaloosa, Joplin, and Monson. And it was horrible.
We observe the creation of the Grand Canyon and stand amazed at how God put it together; we look at the tornado’s destructive path and wonder if God went to sleep on the clock.
Tornadoes descend from the sky with strike force efficiency, destroying hospitals, high schools, and homes.
And houses of worship, too.
Harmony Heights Baptist Church in Joplin was hit by the tornado on Sunday, May 22, 2011, killing three women. Pastor Charlie Burnett believes it could have been much worse. "It has to be from God," Burnett said. Fifty people walked away from the church "when it looked like they should have died."
More than one church was hit by the tornado that trounced Alabama on April 27, 2011. Among those churches was the First Assembly of God in Pleasant Grove. Pastor Lamar Jacks tried to make some sense of it, “I don't understand it," Jacks said. "If I try to tell you I understand it, I'm lying. God's saying to us, do you trust me? Don't lean on our own knowledge. Just trust in him. God can take the bad and the hurts and lift up his name."
And in Monson, Massachusetts, Pastor Robert Marrone, on June 5, 2011, the Sunday morning after the storm hit his community, was also trying to make sense of it all. In his sermon, he asked where God was during the storm, “Did he take a break between 4 and 6?"---the time the tornado struck Massachusetts. It knocked down the steeple and severely damaged the historic church he pastors. But, Marrone saw evidence of God at work shortly after the storm. People began checking on and helping each other.
The technical term for these explanations is a theodicy---an attempt to defend the goodness and justice of God in the face of evil and suffering. If God is good, why does he allow tornadoes to strike buildings with people in them? It’s one thing for him to permit a gradual transformation in creating something beautiful like the Grand Canyon. But what to do with a Tuscaloosa, a Joplin, or a Monson?
Somewhere between a view that attributes all suffering to a capricious God who uses natural tragedies as a way of punishing people---a God who destroys one house while leaving another intact, a God who grabs one baby from one mother’s arms while leaving another alone---somewhere between that and the view that pain and suffering is somehow an area God didn’t quite “fix” in his universe, lie the words of Jesus, who himself, although he never turned down someone in need of help, including healing, did not rush in, constantly intervening in the course of natural laws.
In speaking of who is responsible for tragedies, either from the hands of ruthless rulers or in construction accidents, Jesus made it clear it was not the result of wrongdoing on the part of the victims. Then warning his audience, Jesus said, “Unless you repent, you too will likewise perish” (Luke 13:3).
In other words, make sure you are straight with God, for you know not when the steeple may fall in your life.
So maybe we don’t need to defend God. After all, he doesn't explain himself. And if he did, who of us could comprehend it all? Rather than giving an explanation, God gives himself.
Whether it’s in the breathtaking view of the Grand Canyon or the heart-wrenching tragedy of destroyed buildings and lost lives, God is somehow there--- in us--- helping us respond to the beauty of the canyons or the beast of the calamities.
When steeples fall, he is there.
Even when words are beyond explaining how or why.
Email David B.Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
The garage sale: an old-fashioned social network?
I was so deep in thought---reading a book about evil and the justice of God, that when my cell phone rang, I flinched. It was my wife, Lori: “I thought this weekend would be a great time for a garage sale,” she informed me.
It wasn’t the news I wanted to hear.
“Why?” I pleaded, glancing at the book about evil and the justice of God, trying to resist the temptation of associating the first word of the book with garage sales.
Thousands of people love garage sales; they thrive on them--- anticipating the weekend thrill of making a profit or finding a bargain---browsing here, looking there, returning home with trophies of something for next-to-nothing.
I am not among the garage sale devotees: I dread them; I dodge them; I deny their existence.
Lori is by no means a garage sale enthusiast, either. But she is not as staunch an opponent of the trade as I am. So, whenever we pass a garage sale, and Lori is tempted to stop, I pretend not to hear. “What? What? Oh, I’m so sorry; I couldn’t quite make out what you said. You… (Here it helps to pause), you don’t want to turn around now do you?’
Sometimes it works; usually, I find a place to turn around.
Now, her reason for the garage sale: “Next weekend is that ‘Million Mile Garage Sale’ (she meant the annual “400 Miles of Antiques, Collectibles and Stuff,” sale, which includes our city), and remember, the last time we had a garage sale, it wasn’t a good time because we had it during the ‘Million Mile’ thing, and no one wanted to come all the way down our street, since there was so much to shop for on the highway.”
She was right. Only the lost or the true garage sale professionals took the time to leave the abundance of stuff on the highway to drive down our road. The lost found their way out; the pros turned up their noses at our paltry sale. It wasn’t a good day.
“But don’t you remember that day?” I protested. “We vowed never to do it again.”
“Yes, but we need to get rid of some things, and we could use the money,” she rejoined.
She was right on both counts.
And so the deed was done; the date was set; no more reading about evil and the justice of God: a garage sale was coming my way.
An elderly saint of a man was once asked what his favorite verse of Scripture was. “And it came to pass,” he responded. Some life experiences are of the “and it came to pass,” category.
Garage sale day is one of them.
But in between the jolt of people arriving thirty minutes before we opened at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday and the last customer leaving as we were boxing up everything that didn’t sell, more than just a little good came my way. There was the excitement I saw in the eyes of that young engaged couple looking for furniture, the elation in the voice of the single girl finding the perfect couch for her first apartment, and the satisfaction in the demeanor of the lady purchasing a bedroom suit she liked and could afford.
And, how relieved we were to get rid of that porch swing which no longer had a swing, the flower arrangements that no longer fit our interior décor, and the antique piece that never did suit Lori’s taste.
But the best part of garage sale day was reconnecting with people. “I haven’t seen you in months. How are the kids? Remember how we used to get together…”
“Oh, yeah, those were good days, and what are you doing now?”
And so it went through the day: it was a garage sale reunion---a place where people reconnect, an old-fashioned kind of social network.
And sooner than I thought possible, it came to pass.
With a sigh of satisfaction, Lori and I looked out at the back patio, now clear of the porch swing that didn’t have a swing. “You know,” she said, “I was thinking about looking for some patio furniture, and that million mile thing is this weekend…”
“What? What was that? I am having trouble hearing,” my voice trailed away from her as I hustled to the garden.
You can contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website at davidbwhitlock.com
It wasn’t the news I wanted to hear.
“Why?” I pleaded, glancing at the book about evil and the justice of God, trying to resist the temptation of associating the first word of the book with garage sales.
Thousands of people love garage sales; they thrive on them--- anticipating the weekend thrill of making a profit or finding a bargain---browsing here, looking there, returning home with trophies of something for next-to-nothing.
I am not among the garage sale devotees: I dread them; I dodge them; I deny their existence.
Lori is by no means a garage sale enthusiast, either. But she is not as staunch an opponent of the trade as I am. So, whenever we pass a garage sale, and Lori is tempted to stop, I pretend not to hear. “What? What? Oh, I’m so sorry; I couldn’t quite make out what you said. You… (Here it helps to pause), you don’t want to turn around now do you?’
Sometimes it works; usually, I find a place to turn around.
Now, her reason for the garage sale: “Next weekend is that ‘Million Mile Garage Sale’ (she meant the annual “400 Miles of Antiques, Collectibles and Stuff,” sale, which includes our city), and remember, the last time we had a garage sale, it wasn’t a good time because we had it during the ‘Million Mile’ thing, and no one wanted to come all the way down our street, since there was so much to shop for on the highway.”
She was right. Only the lost or the true garage sale professionals took the time to leave the abundance of stuff on the highway to drive down our road. The lost found their way out; the pros turned up their noses at our paltry sale. It wasn’t a good day.
“But don’t you remember that day?” I protested. “We vowed never to do it again.”
“Yes, but we need to get rid of some things, and we could use the money,” she rejoined.
She was right on both counts.
And so the deed was done; the date was set; no more reading about evil and the justice of God: a garage sale was coming my way.
An elderly saint of a man was once asked what his favorite verse of Scripture was. “And it came to pass,” he responded. Some life experiences are of the “and it came to pass,” category.
Garage sale day is one of them.
But in between the jolt of people arriving thirty minutes before we opened at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday and the last customer leaving as we were boxing up everything that didn’t sell, more than just a little good came my way. There was the excitement I saw in the eyes of that young engaged couple looking for furniture, the elation in the voice of the single girl finding the perfect couch for her first apartment, and the satisfaction in the demeanor of the lady purchasing a bedroom suit she liked and could afford.
And, how relieved we were to get rid of that porch swing which no longer had a swing, the flower arrangements that no longer fit our interior décor, and the antique piece that never did suit Lori’s taste.
But the best part of garage sale day was reconnecting with people. “I haven’t seen you in months. How are the kids? Remember how we used to get together…”
“Oh, yeah, those were good days, and what are you doing now?”
And so it went through the day: it was a garage sale reunion---a place where people reconnect, an old-fashioned kind of social network.
And sooner than I thought possible, it came to pass.
With a sigh of satisfaction, Lori and I looked out at the back patio, now clear of the porch swing that didn’t have a swing. “You know,” she said, “I was thinking about looking for some patio furniture, and that million mile thing is this weekend…”
“What? What was that? I am having trouble hearing,” my voice trailed away from her as I hustled to the garden.
You can contact David B.Whitlock, Ph.D., at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or visit his website at davidbwhitlock.com
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