You just never know.
For the most part, our days consist of routines that result in more than our survival, but our well-defined values and the pleasantness of existence in the twenty-first century.
We arise and cleanse and take in vitamins, perhaps medicine, and nourishment - to maintain our physical health. We prepare for, transport ourselves to and enter into - employment. Mostly for money - if we are blessed and have planned well, for fulfillment and enjoyment.
We take breaks and rest and refresh again with a meal, or errands, or reading, or tweeting...then return to the work station and plug along until it is time to return to our home.
We may then exercise, play with pets, love our mate, refuel again with food and drink...we might play games, watch TV, enjoy the internet, study, worship, enjoy friends, lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling.
And then lay down to sleep, to dream and to rise again to repeat - and rinse.
Then we take longer breaks called weekends or vacations where we entertain ourselves, travel, visit family or friends - if we are lucky, both.
But
You just never know.
Some Saturday you might be laying on your bed with a heel spur throbbing because you went shopping for clothes, and bows and arrows, and groceries - and came home pleasantly pooped. Your husband might come in with your cell phone and hand it to you saying, "Ginger just called."
And you call her back and she is upset because a mutual friend is ill and Ginger is at work for the night and the other friend is REALLY sick and could you just go over there and see if she is ok?
You can and you do - and when you arrive, this dear one is doubled over in pain and is gray and cannot breath.
Who knew?
Rushing to the hospital you try to keep up a light-hearted banter, gradually becoming aware that this sweetie is dangerously ill.
The emergency room is packed. Guess what? They are all really sick, too. But you bully your way in front of someone who can at least stand on their own - while some strange man assists Cyndie (your sick buddy) into the ER. Told it might be a two hour wait, you make sure it is not.
Fifteen minutes later they tell you she is being taken straight back and you follow and answer all the questions about - no, I am not related - I think she takes this medicine or has this condition. Cyndie tries to chime in, but she is growing weaker and weaker and is in much pain.
By ten that night, you find yourself trying valiantly to keep Cyndie's hands from rising up for the fortieth time to pull her oxygen mask off. This horrid, wonderful machine does not fit her face well and keeps slipping and making all manner of ungodly noises - waking poor Cyn up from med-induced slumber.
She has pneumonia. Ginger joins you and brings herself and some lotion and footies and plans on sleeping over. What a nightmare.
And people come and go - and this poor woman - whose journey to this point has included the death of her mother when she was a young girl, strained relationships, 15 years of drug addiction which she has bravely recovered from these past three years. And the separation from her husband, who has also turned his back to drugs and evil, and embraced the Light of Christ. But he is finishing up on some consequences - and cannot be here to advocate and love and protect.
And who am I to be butting into her dilemma? A friend - but I have not seen her much this past year...and feel like she deserves someone closer - someone she loves and with whom she will feel safe.
Surprise - you are that person. She leans deeply into Ginger's warm and lush embrace. Ginger is superb with the hurting. She says it is healthy people she can't deal with. This makes me laugh.
"Why should you have to?" I ask her. And we laugh together at the joys of codependency.
Ginger runs an errand to pick up dentures and puppies and take little boys their pajamas at grandmas and make some phone calls. I watch nurses surround Cyndie and try, unsuccessfully, to find a vein that will put the medicine into her failing body. Later, more wrestling with the half-unconscious lady as she tries to rip out the needles and tubes. I prayed over her - with her - and dry her tears as she begins to lose herself in the morphine and Ativan. The lack of oxygen making her stumble in her thoughts.
She began to gaze into my eyes and ask over and over, "Where am I?"
"You're in the hospital, Cyndie," I tell her.
"But where?" she pleads.
So I practice different ways of telling her the same thing, until I strike on a few phrases that satisfy her for 10 or 15 minutes.
"Where am I?" Cyndie wanted to know.
"You are still in the hospital in Pittsburg, because you have pneumonia and you cannot breath on your own. Now lie back - the kids are at Ruby's. And if you don't keep this mask on, Missy (here I push her hands down once again to the white coverlet), they will sedate you and put a tube down your throat. We...do...not...want...that!" I tell her firmly.
She nods. Her hazel alligator-eye glare melts into agreement, and she lets me rub her back and cool her brow and guide her back to her pillow and she sleeps for another few minutes before she demands I tell her where she is again.
You never know.
Her dad arrived in town today. And Pastor Jan is there when I come back with milk shakes and dinner for Ginger. So I know I can move back away for now.
Ginger is such a wonder - she stayed with her all day (most of the
night)...wouldn't leave her side until we all pushed her out to her own
affairs - for now.
Cyndie has her "peeps" with her.
Funny, I forgot that I am one of them.
Life is like that - you muddle along in your own little world. Paying bills and snoozing and making doll houses and playing with puppies and loving your family.
Then - poof - out of the blue a tender, hurting someone rushes in and out of your life again...and your heart reconnects in Love with this person who has been on the other side of town doing the same things....living, surviving, growing, giving.
But connected we are. That Jesus did more than let them nail His hands and feet to a cross. With those same nails - we who believe are joined together. The great Carpenter sealed the joints with the hot, red blood that flowed down Calvary's tree.
What a Builder.
Ephesians 4:16:
"He makes the whole body fit together perfectly. As each part does its
own special work, it helps the other parts grow, so that the whole body
is healthy and growing and full of love."
You - or, at least, I - just never know.
For now I leave you, Suz
