Listen to me, part five
A change is gonna come
Six and a half years have passed. Your loved one is now very ill. He has already suffered two strokes in the past year. Now, as Spring begins, he breaks his hip. Your supporters on the chat site you all belong to as carers, rally around you while the days and weeks go past. You share stories with each other as various things happen. Then the time comes when arrangements are made to begin permanent care.
That’s when the fun begins, as now, you are responsible for making various claims; sorting out finances, caring for your husband’s finances, which has to be legally covered, and you have to try and make a new life for yourself as a single person, even though you are still married. You look around you, wondering how on earth it all came to this?
Well, it did. The awful day came, and now, you have to keep everything together on your own. That’s how it looks on the outside. On the inside, you know you’ve got God watching you. You’re still crippled in emotional pain. You’re fearful. You don’t know what the future holds and, by now, you are certain of disaster, however it may come.
So, you try to be strong and tell yourself you don’t care what happens. But of course, you do. You do care, because you’ve been given a love for life and the need to keep living, even though sometimes, it’s probably easier not to. Thing is, you haven’t got the guts to stop living. You just have to prepare to be ‘strong’ whatever that might mean. You’re told nothing. You have no inner promptings. Everything about the future remains hidden. So you just expect the worst, again, whatever that might mean.
The months roll by and you still have a roof over your head. You thank God for His mercy and continue waiting for everything to be sorted out. Suddenly, the care bills start rolling in and you wonder where the hell the cash is coming from to pay for them. Things get so bad that you again try calling for help as people on the chat site are advising you to do. It looks like there may be a break in the clouds and, for a time, it seems to hold. A couple of months roll by and, the bills you got credit notes for, having been told they were billed in error, come back at you, the Authority having changed its mind.
The person who promised not to leave you never returns. Another who promises to meet with you in the new year never turns up either. By now, you’re used to all this shenanigans. It’s all you’ve ever experienced where healthcare is concerned. Then, there’s your own condition which you have to be assessed for. Five and a half cold, wet hours waiting outside to be able to get in for the assessment on a Sunday, if nobody minds leaves you feeling you’re so evil, it’s by now all you deserve. You go home in a filthy temper again, having wrung yourself out. Again, and for what?
The kicked dog syndrome that you are by now heartily sick to death of.
About 13 days after this happens to you, suddenly, you see your deliverance. It comes to a point here where you are now so dog tired of suffering, you go almost blank. You almost feel nothing. Not a quiet thankfulness, not even an aching hole where a hug should be. The fight is over, and it’s going to take a bit more shaking to get your head right. You look at the pile of care bills in front of you and tell yourself: Thank God. I can start paying them off, now.
All your supporters are saying you shouldn’t be saddled with them in the first place. Well, all I know is that Christ told us to carry our cross. This is a small part of that, a human life who has become my responsibility. He needs care. The world is stuck in those Scriptures which talk about the love of money. My name is good if I pay up. It is mud if I don’t. I want to live honourably before God because He has never left me without anything I’ve needed. If there’s been anything not done, it is me who hasn’t done it, for whatever reason. Not God. Never God. He is Lord. He is mine, and I am His.
And the fight is over. It’s over, and I still don’t know how to react! Of course I’m thankful. Of course I’m glad I can pay our way through this now. Well, at least, for the time being. The Lord is worthy to be trusted; thanked; praised and followed, and loved. He’s worth all the agony. He’s worth it all, because after the agony comes delight. Absolute delight in knowing I have a Father Who is true to Himself and His word. He is also true to His people. Not for nothing does He talk in this way: Once more, I shake heaven and earth so that the things which cannot be shaken may remain. I must encourage you to read Hebrews 12.
I know this reads rather gloomy, folks. It’s been 7 years long, this painful, agonising trial and I’m still healing. It’ll hopefully come during this year as I plan to make enough changes around here so I can plan to move to somewhere easier to live in. There’s no support for the disabled where I am at the moment, so I need to work out a plan of action so I can again become self sufficient. I’d value your prayers, thank you, and thanks for reading through these pages.
If you’re currently hurting, please, please believe me when I encourage you to just trust God. Whatever He prompts you to do, do it, with all of your might.
Do it now.