After Grandma Lila died, Ben and I felt a little bit aimless for a few days. We knew there were things that needed to be done and decisions that needed to be made, but we were very tired. The past few months kind of caught up to us and we had difficulty getting motivated to do anything but putter around and sleep. However, even if we weren't motivated we knew a few things had to be done right away and they were going to take a pretty big output of effort. The first thing was we had to decide what to do about our unfinished wood floors. When Grandma Lila first got sick, we were in the middle of laying the wood floor in the addition. When she went into the hospital the second time, our family saw a golden opportunity to sand the floors and finish them since they knew a big part of the difficulty of doing this had always been how to move and care for Grandma during that process and since she wasn't in the house and wasn't going to be for a few days, they had high hopes of getting this big task out of the way. However, when we decided there was nothing more to be done at the hospital and we needed to bring Grandma home as soon as possible, there was an instant work stoppage. The condition of the floors at that point was that they had received a first rough sanding in the old part of the house and only edge sanding in the new part. So we had unfinished, unprotected wood floors we had to take as much care of as possible to prevent the wood from absorbing anything that would in the future hinder it from taking stain or finish. Not an easy task under normal circumstances, but we also had a toddler and were caring for a bedridden elderly lady, both of whom present unusual challenges to keeping anything from getting on the floor. We didn't eat popcorn for two months because we couldn't risk Abigail leaving popcorn around for the oil to seep into the wood and then prevent it from accepting stain later in those spots. Mom Turner came through in her usual creative fashion and put old patio carpet over large sections of the floor, especially in the kitchen area. She and Ben also found a large old area rug in an estate sale across the street to put under our table - another trouble spot. Even so, over the course of the next few months a lot of small spots and stains showed up on the floor and we were getting a little uneasy about leaving them much longer and risking permanent damage. The thing was...we had a due date in three weeks. That meant we were cutting things right down to the wire to expect to pack up everything in our house, move somewhere else, completely finish the floors, and move back in before the birth of our baby...who we were expecting to give birth to at home. If we didn't do it, though, we would have to wait for the baby to be born and then for me to recover enough so that I could work on packing up and moving our house and be comfortable taking the new baby somewhere else. If I had a long recovery after the birth, this meant we could be delaying another two months on finishing the floor, plus have to do all of that work while caring for - and having to stop and nurse! - a newborn. Not optimal, in our opinion. So two days after Grandma's death, we took a deep breath and began packing. This took a lot of work because we had to put away all Grandma's things in the process. Mom Turner was again a trooper and spent hours sorting and packing and throwing out and going to thrift stores so we could not only move the things out of the rooms, but have everything in good condition to easily and quickly move back into when the floors were done. Personally, I've probably never been so exhausted in my life. Mom says she gained a whole bunch of new gray hairs and I think I may have too. In the meantime, Ben and I were trying to adjust to what life was like now that Grandma was no longer a responsibility. Should Abigail and I go to the office with him every day, for example? How should we arrange things like visiting with our other grandparents? It was strange having the freedom to consider these things. It was also strange to leave the house without making any special arrangements and get back whenever we decided to come home. We moved all our bedroom stuff to the new room so that the wood floors in our old room were cleared and that meant we were sleeping in a room with a window for the first time in months. It was wonderful, but it also meant Abigail was waking up at 6:30 every morning with the unaccustomed light and figuring it was time to be up rather than going back to sleep. Between our disrupted sleep schedule, our house looking like a hurricane hit it as we pulled things apart and packed them into boxes and carted everything down into the basement, and our sudden new travels all over - we do admit we went a lot of places just because we could just get in the car and go - things were definitely not normal. And running through everything was the concern that we really, really, REALLY needed to hurry because this baby was going to be coming soon. Babies have the unfortunate tendency to not be born on a timetable. However, our midwife was going out of town for a few days and she visited right before she left and brought her assistant Amy, who would be the one to come help if we happened to go into labor during that time. I wasn't actually too concerned. I'd always thought this baby would be late since Abigail was right on time and first babies are often early. Furthermore, the baby's head was still fairly high and wasn't engaged yet, indicating we still had the time until the due date around July 4th. Our families scolded me every time I picked up anything and said I needed to quit lifting things and rest more, but in my mind there was so much to be done resting wasn't much of an option and while I would concede I shouldn't lift anything heavy, there was a lot of stuff that needed moving which wasn't heavy. My motto for a long time has been "don't put something off for tomorrow that you have time to do today" and that mindset was in full swing for the two weeks after Grandma's death. Besides, I told myself and everyone else, babies are not born when they aren't ready to be unless there is a bad accident or some very extenuating circumstances. They tend to stay pretty firmly put until the time they're ready to be born, as anyone who's tried to encourage labor to start can ruefully tell you. And this baby was going to be born in July. I was quite positive about this. I even talked about it being nice if we could go a week late and hit Elaina's birthday on the 12th, since that was only a week from due and we've remembered her birthday every year since she was born - it would be nice, I reasoned, to actually have someone living born on that day to remember. Sometimes I think mindsets like this must make God chuckle. Right as he decides to remind us that he makes the rules and the timetables are really not up to us at all. I was going to post about our last few weeks all at once, but it got to be very long and I thought it might be better to break it into three parts and give myself a few days between parts. Grandma Lila died June 9, 2014. Even though we all knew it was coming, it was kind of a shock that it actually happened. For one thing, when we brought Grandma home from the hospital, it looked for all the world like she only had a few days left with us. She was nearly unresponsive, wasn't eating or drinking anything, and was doing steadily worse by the day. Then she bounced back. She was more herself than she'd ever been, clear-headed and rational and wanting to eat. We could still tell she wasn't really on the road to recovery, but for a week or so there we were honestly doubting the doctor's opinion and even began making plans how to help her get better for a time.Things did go downhill from there. First there was a kind of happy delirium in which Grandma acted like a happily intoxicated person most of the time but was pretty clearly not rational. This continued for about two months until suddenly a week before she died she became very, very sad. I think some part of her knew she wasn't going to get better and that she didn't feel well but she wasn't really able to express those things anymore because her mind had become very much like that of a little child. She compared herself to Abigail all the time, spoke "baby talk" and had a list of needs that was pretty simple: "Squatch my back!", "I'm hungry", "I want to get up" and "take me to the bathroom" became her nearly constant litany. What became difficult about this the last week was that she became desperate about those things and didn't recognize when they were being given to her. She would say, "I want water! I want water!" and would continue asking like that even with the water in her hand or even on a sponge in her mouth. She didn't seem to be able to understand that she had been given what she required because I think she knew she needed something else but couldn't really identify what. I have always had difficulty with what I saw especially in Hospice situations as the tendency to tranquilize a dying person right into death. I have a different perspective now that might help any other "me" kind of people reading: when we finally made a decision to begin giving Grandma stronger tranquilizers, we did it because of her desperation and how badly she was feeling. It was like watching someone in great pain only she wasn't really in pain. Her mind wasn't able to tell her what was going on. Causing her to become sleepy gave her relief much like giving pain killer would and while it felt a little wrong to do in some ways since we knew we weren't going to have many more days with her, her last few days were much more peaceful than the week that had gone before. Her last drowsy conversation with Ben went something like this: Ben: "Hi Grandma. How are you feeling? Would you like the windows open?" Grandma: "Yes...I'd like that." Ben, after opening the windows and then stroking Grandma's head a little: "There, Lila. We're taking good care of you." Grandma: "You sure are..." Ben: "I love you, Grandma Lila." Grandma: "I love you too, Ben..." The next night Ben was up most of the night with her since she kept crying and calling for help. We couldn't tell what was wrong, but we did notice she was having a much harder time breathing since her skin was getting bluer and we were giving her oxygen for the first time. By morning, she didn't seem able to talk anymore and we gave her some medicine hoping to help her breathe easier. She eventually fell asleep to me reading Abigail stories while I sat next to her and never woke again. She slept all day and we could tell her time was very short since her breathing became very rapid and shallow and her color kept getting duskier even though we had the oxygen up as high as it could go. She was still much more peaceful than she had been all week, no longer trying to climb out of bed or making frantic requests we couldn't grant. Later in the afternoon, I called the Hospice nurse and told her that I didn't think Grandma had much time and asked if they wanted to come by or if there was anything they needed done for their benefit, since they arrange calling people and taking care of things after someone dies. The nurse on call was a lady we'd seen once before and really liked and she came out to the house around 5:00 to see Grandma and assess what was going on. She told us that Grandma's heart was still pretty strong considering the condition she was in and that her breathing was at what was considered a normal rate with no pauses, so we were probably looking at being up that night with her but she agreed Grandma did not have much time with us. Mom called Jenny and told her what was going on and Jenny decided to stop here on the way home from work and I started the barbecue since it was time for dinner and it looked like we'd better feed everyone since it was going to be a long night. It was a beautiful warm summery evening and we had all the windows open in the house since we don't have air conditioning yet. Jenny arrived and came in and rubbed Grandma's head and said hello to her even though Grandma was sleeping. Mom and the nurse and I were going to clean Grandma a little since she was having some issues with her insides and we wanted her to be as comfortable as possible, so Jenny took Abigail for a walk on the path in the backyard we call "Lila Boulevard" since we built it to easily get Grandma back and forth from our house to Mom and Dad's. As the weather had gotten warmer and the dandelions bloomed, Ben taught Abigail to pick them and bring them to Grandma, since in her delirious state she would make a big deal about the "pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty flowers" that "the little girl with the curly hair" brought her - she would even make up little songs about it. When Jenny and Abigail came back, Abigail ran to me with a dandelion held out proudly. I thought she had brought it for me, but Abigail pointed to Grandma's bed and said, "Wa-wa?" "You want me to give this to Grandma Lila?" I asked her. "I do," she said - lately if you ask her a question she wants to answer "yes" to, she says "I do". "Grandma's sleeping right now, but I'll put it right here on her lap so she'll see it when she opens her eyes," I told Abigail. Then I went and got Abigail some raisins. Our family was all sitting in Grandma's new bright room with the windows open, since we had kind of gathered together to hear what the nurse would have to say. We were chatting about how Grandma's last year has been, since earlier in the day Mom had been keeping her company and putting pictures in an album from the past year and it had been amazing all the things Grandma had gotten to do and participate in. Suddenly Jenny said, "You know, Grandma's head has been moving with every breath but it's not moving now. Is she breathing?" I looked at Grandma, who didn't really look any differently than she had all day and said, "Um...I think so. Maybe her breathing has just gotten more shallow?" But after a few more seconds, I realized I really couldn't see any sign of Grandma breathing. I got up off the floor where I'd been sitting and feeding Abigail raisins and went over to Grandma and put my hand on her chest. I couldn't feel her breathing, but I thought I could feel her heart beating. The nurse came back in the room from having made a phone call and I looked up at her and said, "I can't tell if Grandma is breathing but I think I feel her heart." The nurse came and put her stethoscope on Grandma's chest and listened for a little while, then looked at me and shook her head a little. "I can't hear anything," she said quietly. "She's gone." So Grandma left us on a warm summer evening with her whole family sitting around her visiting and talking about her life of the past year while her great-granddaughter who had never lived in a house without her laid on the floor by her bed humming and peacefully eating raisins after having brought a dandelion in especially for her. It was the kind of way a lot of people might ask to die if we were given the chance to make that request. People have asked me over the past few weeks what I thought of Grandma's view on death and if she believed she would be with God someday when she died. I was never really able to tell exactly what Grandma thought, partly because she wasn't necessarily clear-headed enough to discuss it due to medications and forgetfulness issues and partly because I just wasn't able to really tell what she thought. I know she was very afraid to die, mostly because I think she was afraid it was going to hurt. Honestly, in the end I don't think it did. Most days Ben would ask her how she was doing and she would cheerfully say, "Oh, pretty good!" which is better than she usually said when she was actually in better health. Whatever Lila thought, however, I do know God loved Lila very much and gave her some pretty incredible blessings in her life, especially in the part of her life I was present for. As we realized months ago when we realized Grandma was "dying", a person actually lives right up to the second they die. The question always is...what kind of life are they living right up until that second? Grandma lived a special and comfortable life full of things and people she loved right until the second she left us. That was evidence of how much God loves her. Not only was her life very blessed with good things, but there were also bad things she was always afraid of that never came to pass. She always thought she was going to get cancer or that she would have another heart attack - she was terrified of those things. She was also afraid of being put in an institution somewhere until she died. One of the reasons she came to live with us in the first place was because our family decided together that we would do whatever we could to fulfill one of her most firmly-held wishes: to never, ever end up in a nursing home. That became one of our goals, that whatever we had to do to care for her, we would strive to do from home. In the moment that Grandma died, for me there was an incredible sense of peace because together our family had accomplished something good we had set out to do and we had not failed. It was like finishing a race for everyone and that meant we could all rest when Grandma rested. We were privileged to be given to each other and we were given the strength not to abandon each other. So in a few seconds on the evening of June 9th as we sat together peacefully talking around Lila's bed, the number of days God had given her - a little over 91 years - came to a very gentle and quiet end. Dad had visited the farmer's market a few days earlier and brought back some rhubarb with the request for a pie and I had made it the day before forgetting Dad was leaving overnight for a fishing trip. I hadn't had enough rhubarb for a straight-up rhubarb pie, so I used strawberries from the freezer and made a strawberry-rhubarb pie instead, then saved the whole pie when I realized Dad wasn't going to be there to eat it. Over the course of the day Grandma died, Mom happened to hear on the radio that June 9th was National Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie Day and we had gotten a chuckle out of the fact we just happened to have one to share. After we had gone through all the formal things that had to be done after Grandma's death, like disposing of her medication and signing paperwork and making various other arrangements, we took the pie next door and sat on the patio together sharing pie and ice cream and talking about Grandma and Grandpa. Sort of like people would do after a funeral when there's a meal and people are no longer crying. Mom says this is probably going to be a new tradition, where we have strawberry-rhubarb pie on National Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie Day and remember Grandma Lila dying so quietly and peacefully that beautiful June evening in 2014. As a tradition remembering the end of someone's life goes, I think Grandma Lila would've liked that one. She surely did enjoy her ice cream, especially the last few months of her life. Sleep well, Grandma Lila. We love you. Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.
I learned these verses seven years ago when I made it a project to memorize the book of James. They're actually James' first words after his greeting, which leads me to believe James was writing to some people having a tough time. Of course, "tough time" is relative - what these guys were dealing with was on a scale of "tough" I've probably never even imagined in my lifetime. Hebrew believers in Yeshua of Nazareth as the Messiah were being harassed on a scale that we have a hard time identifying with, being kicked out of congregations they didn't want to leave, imprisoned by those who claimed the title of "holy" and losing families, homes and livelihoods. James, the son of Joseph and Mary and one of Jesus' younger brothers, looked at the situation and said, "You know what, guys? This is good for us! Consider this time a joy because it's an opportunity for us to become what God made us to be." There is a school of thought which says that true faith in God doesn't really strive for anything, that all we need to do is rest contentedly wherever we are and God will just cover everything in our characters he doesn't like so he doesn't see it anymore. Whenever I hear this, I'm reminded of James with his reminder to be "steadfast". Being steadfast is not an easy resting all the time. Our faith - our conviction of the truth that God is good - gets tested all the time. It can get very tempting to start thinking that while God is in control, he doesn't always have our good in mind. The Israelites ran into this out in the desert when they got scared by the lack of food and water and said, "Weren't there enough graves in Egypt that you had to drag us out into the desert to die out here?" They believed God was there, they just weren't so sure they believed God is actually good. One of the hardest things for any believer to do is to keep giving up our idea of good and trusting that what God is doing is truly good. To remain steadfast despite whatever circumstances are going on. For me, it's been a rough time on the grandmother front. Two of my four grandmas (biological and in-law) are dying and my situation is such that I can't be with one of them much. Another is really struggling and my family is stretched right now trying to figure out how best to care for her from day to day. The grandma who is doing well is a bit neglected with all the drama going on with the others and we know time with her is just as precious, but we aren't able to see her anywhere near as much as we'd like. There are a lot of times when I'm wanting to ask, "Lord, why does this all have to happen at the same time?" If I were planning my idea of "good", this wouldn't necessarily be it. But if I remain steadfast in my conviction that God is good and all he does is good, I know this is the case even now. This is one way God is, among other things, encouraging me to grow the character to be "perfect and complete, not lacking in anything". He's not doing it for me, but he's certainly giving me the chance to do it. To remain steadfast. To not get discouraged. As a Grandma Lila update: we continue to wait with her and do our best to keep her peaceful and comfortable. We had a doctor pay us a visit this week and explain a lot of what we were seeing that was confusing. The most interesting thing is that Grandma's mind has changed quite a bit. For the first week, she was nearly unresponsive, but then she had a week of being extraordinarily clear-headed and able to converse and reason at normal speed - which was amazing because I've never known her in that capacity - but now she isn't usually rational like most people would be. Now's she had a week where she hasn't been unresponsive, but she hasn't been clear-headed either. Actually, as we enter the fourth week since bringing her home from the hospital, the closest way to describe her usual frame of mind these days is like someone who's getting a little whiskey all the time with the chocolate ice cream she so enjoys tasting. Apparently as a person's mind begins closing off everything but it's most important functions, their awareness changes and their mind no longer perceives accurately what's going on around it, sort of like what happens when a person drinks a lot of alcohol. Just as when a person drinks, it's not as if the actual personality of a person changes but their inhibitions go away. So what is inside is plainly visible because the person no longer has the capability or desire of masking it. In Grandma's case, she pretty much says whatever she's thinking all the time and clowns around happily saying things like, "Mm, this lemonade is pink ambrosia!" Sometimes she gets very sad and weepy for no apparent reason, but most of the time the last several days she's just been like...well, a very happy drunk. Or at least the way happy drunks are portrayed in movies. Mom and Dad Turner have been here faithfully every day in the afternoon and evening, while Ben, Elizabeth and I do the morning and nighttime shift. The usual roles are: Mom being in charge of keeping Grandma company (she's the one Grandma really wants there most, so just being here makes a huge difference in taking care of what Grandma wants) and finding new musicals for Grandma to watch; Ben being in charge of medicine and gets up at night if Grandma calls; and I've got cleaning and bandaging and general personal care (and Abigail). Dad and Elizabeth are the support team and fill in with all different things, including meals and cleaning and Abigail entertaining when the rest of us are doing Grandma care (like baths). Ben's sister Jenny comes by often and entertains Grandma and Abigail, often at the same time. One of the things that's happened with my other grandma who's struggling is that she came down with a stomach virus from the assisted living home where she'd moved to and my mom caught it, which meant for the safety of several fragile people my family has been quarantined until further notice. Elizabeth happened to be the sister staying here (Anna and Elizabeth have been taking turns) when this happened, so as she was outside the quarantine she is here with us for the duration. We've been enjoying her presence quite a bit, especially as she is using the opportunity to try out some very tasty Pinterest recipes that would be tougher to make on the scale of my family's size and tastes. Yesterday, for instance, we had poached salmon with spiced cream sauce, red potatoes and roasted lemon green beans. This is gourmet on normal occasions, but lately our dinners have degenerated quite a bit and that makes this kind of thing extra special. And so we continue to wait... It's possible the last four weeks have been the busiest of my life so far. After this, having two little kids instead of one is going to seem like a simple little walk in the park, I think.
It began with Grandma Lila going to the hospital for the first time since she's been with us. That was March 18th, a whole month ago now (hard to believe that's all it's been). She had a whole bunch of odd little things going on and the doctor finally told us to take her to the hospital because it was hard to get a handle on what was happening. The hospital misdiagnosed her with two infections she didn't have before settling on one she did; but the hospital stay included a lot of antibiotics, which Grandma doesn't tolerate well. When she got home, she seemed to be having a lot of trouble recovering, especially eating. She has a hiatal hernia that has made food a challenge for most of her life here with us, but especially the past year. I told people I felt like a food Nazi when it came to Grandma because I was always trying to make sure she got food that was good for her and didn't include any of the things that would make her choke or would irritate her stomach. Since the list included some of her favorite things, this hasn't been easy - especially when we realized chocolate bothered her stomach so badly it would get swollen and she would choke on her food for two or three days after having as small an amount as a few M&Ms. Other foods, like pasta of any kind, would make her choke to the point of getting sick, so noodles have been off the menu for over a year now. After the onslaught of antibiotics, I thought we were dealing with another big stomach flareup when Grandma began to have a lot of trouble eating. In an effort to let her heal, we began feeding her only very soft foods like strawberry nutrient shakes and dairy-free custard (dairy often irritated her stomach also). She couldn't swallow her pills, so we were crushing them and putting them in applesauce (which she really detested). After a few days of this she seemed to be doing much better and we thought all was well, the infection was licked, her stomach was healing, and we'd be back to our usual Grandma Lila any time. When she spent seven hours practicing piano one day after being able to get herself dressed again and getting up at a normal time in the morning, I was pretty sure we were back to normal. What I didn't realize at the time was the little "incidents" we were seeing that we kept attributing to other things turns out to have been TIAs. A TIA is also known as a "mini-stroke". The difference between it and a real stroke is that a real stroke kills part of the brain involved and a TIA resolves so quickly that while the brain may swell, it doesn't actually die so the affected person becomes symptom-free again within 24 hours of the mini stroke with no lasting effects. Except Grandma Lila wasn't becoming totally symptom free. Her ability to swallow properly was being damaged; and more importantly, the small flap at the back of the throat that normally closes off the lungs when a person swallows was becoming paralyzed and no longer doing it's job. Looking back, I believe I can identify three TIAs before Grandma's ability to swallow became so damaged that she began pretty much swallowing anything thinner than pudding directly into her lungs instead of her stomach. She had one Tuesday evening, March 25th; another seems to have been during the night or early morning of Friday March 28th; then a third on Saturday 5th. By Sunday afternoon, it became apparent something was really wrong. Grandma stayed up all night trying to clear her throat because she insisted something was in it. Ben convinced her to stop, but it seemed like she kept panicking about things and she was back to not being able to swallow her pills. By that afternoon she couldn't swallow water either. It's a pretty scary thing when you have someone not able to swallow. We considered taking her to the emergency room then, but Grandma was so terrified last time she was in the hospital we decided to wait until morning and do things in as laid-back a way as possible. After all, anything that was happening or could happen was likely not something we were going to be able to do a lot about. If she was having another TIA, which seemed likely, there wasn't anything to be done that night that couldn't be done in the morning; and if it was a full stroke, there wasn't much we could do either considering Grandma's age and what would have to be done to help her. So we put her to bed and slept with our door and hers open to hear if anything went on in the night. She slept straight through, but at 6 in the morning when Ben got up to check on her, it became clear that though she was awake, she couldn't seem to talk or say more than a word or two together in a very difficult to understand way. It was when I heard her from the other room that I began crying. Because I think I knew then we were ultimately losing her. After a week in the hospital having tests to determine that Grandma's ability to swallow is so impaired that everything pretty much goes to her lungs instead of her stomach, we had to make what turns out to be a very, very difficult choice: try to bypass Grandma's throat and put food in her stomach by a tube, or recognize that even if we do that, we aren't going to be able to return Grandma to health. Her throat is unlikely to heal. Putting a tube in her stomach actually won't stop the aspiration and she would continue to get pneumonia worse and worse. I felt as though one of my babies was sick and there was nothing I could do to help. Grandma isn't my baby, of course, and ultimately the decision wasn't mine to make. My job was to stand by and offer whatever encouragement I could and help to ask questions and gather facts to make that decision and to do whatever I could for Grandma and for Mom: but it wasn't my decision to make. I'm not sure if that made it harder or easier While this was going on, our entire house was being torn apart and worked on very hard by the rest of my family who wanted to finish the addition as fast as possible so Grandma could actually get to see it and enjoy it regardless of the outcome of the tests and decisions. This definitely added a surreal element to things as our kitchen disappeared and then all our household furnishings were packed up and moved as well. Abigail got a little confused after spending a week with my family and then having our house be so different when we were at home! In the end, we knocked off all work, put the house back together as best we could, and brought Grandma home. She has always been afraid we were going to put her in an institution somewhere and leave her there to die and one thing we knew we absolutely had to do if we could feasibly manage it was get her home. Mom was very worried about us at first because she said it was a lot to place on us and she thought maybe the hospital was a better place to stay; but after a few days spent just sitting at the hospital I think we were all ready to get out of there. At least at home we can open the windows if it's warm outside and do the laundry and eat meals without racing around like crazy people in the hour or two we're not at the hospital. And there are certainly a lot less germs. So here we are. For the first week Grandma was not very cognizant as we had to take her off all her familiar medication and switch over to the closest equivalent we could get that could be administered as a tiny amount of liquid or as a skin patch. We thought we were seeing a decline since Grandma hadn't been able to eat or drink, but as of two days ago her mind has cleared considerably and for the first time since I've known her, she even has times when she is speaking and processing conversations at a normal rate of speed. It's a little bizarre because it's like seeing Grandma without the fog or veil she's been behind since I've known her. It's so strange to care for someone who doesn't eat, but thankfully she is not hungry or thirsty and pretty much asks for tastes of things that she really likes, being very content with a little chocolate pudding or a little water on a special sponge that she sucks on. She hasn't had chocolate for a year since it caused her stomach and throat so much trouble, but at this point there's nothing it's going to do to her and she's been greatly enjoying her tastes of chocolate. We've gone through a lot of chocolate ice cream because the rest of us keep eating a spoonful when we feed some to Grandma. It's been a very odd time and it may even get odder. But we're all glad to be home and every day is definitely a "don't borrow tomorrow's troubles" kind of experience. Abigail has learned to run in our new big house and is enjoying having her aunts taking turns staying here to lend an extra hand. Ben and I are back on a newborn's schedule at night even though our newborn still has a few months to go before birth. Mom and Dad are usually here keeping Grandma company in the afternoon. And our family has been keeping our refrigerator full of meals, so I'm not even cooking like usual. We feel very loved and cared for and I think Grandma does too. Pretty much all we can do is take care of each small thing as it arises and wait. So we wait. With the recent news of the resignation of Bill Gothard as president of the Institute in Basic Life Principles and it's accompanying branches, including the in-depth homeschool program Advanced Training Institute, I've had some reason to read a little about what occurred there and what the flaws in the system have been to produce children who so revile it. (Apparently from what I'm reading, there isn't a large percentage of children raised in the homeschool program who will use it with their own children.)
I've come to a different conclusion about what happened than many people have, probably because I have a slightly different outlook on my own childhood experiences. I don't regret my parents' decision to walk off the "normal" path at all. I'm grateful to them that they did; and in the process, they avoided simply looking for a cleaned-up substitute to what they were leaving. 1 John 2:15-17 (ESV) Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever. At first glance, this is a pretty straightforward verse; but there's something a little unusual here that I wouldn't have known about if Ben hadn't been so interested in reading original language of interesting verses. The word "world" here is the Greek word "cosmos", which could more literally translate to English as "system". The Strong's description of the Greek word "cosmos": "Orderly arrangement [or system]." So the verse could be said to go like this: "Don't love the system or the things of the system. If anyone loves the system, the love of the Father is not in him." Humankind has a love-affair with systems. Organizations, rules, guidelines, curriculum, institutions. Systems. We get great comfort from putting our feet on a neat road someone else has already paved and just letting ourselves be carried along. It largely takes the thought and uneasiness of decision-making away and gives us a sense of confidence and peace. Right up until something happens that wasn't supposed to happen according to the billing of our System of Choice. It's often said that God isn't a God of chaos but of order. And this is true, as I understand God. The Universe functions in an orderly way or else planets would crash into suns. But just because he's a God of Order doesn't mean he's a God of Institutions. This is the Miriam-Webster definition of the word "institution": 1: an act of instituting : establishment 2 a : a significant practice, relationship, or organization in a society or culture <the institution of marriage>; also : something or someone firmly associated with a place or thing<she has become an institution in the theater> b : an established organization or corporation (as a bank or university) especially of a public character; also : asylum Institutions are formally recognized systems or "orderly arrangements". Ben likes to say God makes stones, not bricks. Institutions are built out of bricks, lots of pieces that are all supposed to look alike and work identically. Systems are built on the assumption that people and situations are all bricks, identical, unremarkable, and all exchangeable for the one next to them. God doesn't work that way. He builds things out of stones, something not uniform in shape or color or strength, each needing to be uniquely placed in order for anything built from them to function properly. Stones are unpredictable. They take a lot of time and thought to assemble into something useful. Humans do not like unpredictability. Glaringly, humans even took laws God made and formulated them so that they could always be applied the same way instead of recognizing that God himself made the laws simple as they are for a reason, partly so that there is room for things like love and mercy and understanding of actual people rather than seeing people as objects to be weighed by computer and judged accordingly. This brings me around to why I think the love of systems contributed to the breakdown of Godliness that occurred within the leadership and organization of the Institute in Basic Life Principles: the whole thing was a system. Yes, a system that was meant to help people lived Godly lives, but a system nevertheless. People grew disillusioned with the more normal system of society around them and wanted to leave it because they believed leaving the un-Godly system would help them become more Godly. But instead of taking decisions one step at a time and attempting to build a Godly life based on understanding of God, they looked for an already-established method to switch to that would guarantee them better results in their lives, marriages and families than they were afraid they were going to get. Bill Gothard formulated such a method and promised guaranteed results, so in great relief hundreds of families signed on and put their families on that road. They often did not stop to assess what was happening on that road, just continued on even in spite of warning signs that this system would not guarantee Godliness either. After all, there was an established answer in this system that had God's name stamped on it for every problem they encountered. Having health difficulties? Follow these three Biblical steps to resolve them. Financial woes? These seven Scripture-based steps would turn things around and bring prosperity to your family. I'm not saying these things to mock the IBLP teachings, because many of them contain interesting and valuable thoughts. But it is definitely a very, very structured way of looking at things and those who belonged to the ATI organization took on an even more structured organization. Not every family, of course, but far too many. This is not actually Bill Gothard's fault, by the way. He is responsible for his own character flaws and lack of faithfulness to the very principles he taught. But he was allowed to continue uncorrected in this hypocrisy because so many were desperate to have a system to belong to and they were invested in upholding this one new one they'd put their trust in. The system was so good that the flaws of the leader had to be overlooked. They loved the system. This is how we have many bad things in history that we look back on and say, "How could this have even happened?" There is no system for living the perfect life. There is no silver bullet to slay all the bad stuff. There are ways to think and ways to make decisions and a view that can give you a foundation of understanding that will help you approach all things, but the truth is that living a good and Godly life is less about getting onto a paved road than it is walking off into the trees. It's about having to scratch your head and figure out how to walk around the things that get in the way of reaching your ultimate goal. There are many wise people who can give advice on how to figure out ways around trees, but you are going to have to do the thinking and the walking. God wrote his ways down so we could have an inkling of what Godly life is like, but you ultimately need to be concerned enough about his thoughts and wishes that you want to live as he intended for those writings to be of any real use to you. Don't love the system. Because you can't serve two masters and you can't love two gods. Systems take the place of God. If you love a system, you can't love God at the same time. Walk into the trees and have courage knowing there is a way to get where you're going without having to walk on a road someone else built. I got a little sidetracked getting Abigail's one year photo and putting it online since I was also working on getting her first-year album put together and It made my mind think the project on the computer was already underway. Funny how that works, eh? However, Abigail's 12 month photos are now online here - I had to be careful to only put in her 12 month photos and not include the 13 month ones that show how she's really begun to walk over the past week or so! My baby is becoming a little girl... But she's not there yet. Case in point, today I gave her a plate with her breakfast on it and she dumped it onto her tray, stuffed some if it down next to her into the chair, and proceeded to try to feed Ben and I the rest of it. Guess she must not've been quite as hungry as she claimed. And that streak of mischievousness visible in this photo is definitely active now that she's getting older and more communicative. Yesterday morning she began tickling Ben to wake him up and giggling hysterically when he said, "WHOA! HEY!" Since Grandma Lila has first lived with us, I've become aware of a unique quirk of her philosophy and belief that I don't think I've ever encountered quite so strongly before. She is very deeply aware of the difference between those of her blood and "everyone else" who isn't.
To her, while a person may be very fond of adopted children or in-laws, they exist on a slightly removed plane from those of her blood. It's such a basic understanding that even as she's gradually forgetting so many things that used to be second-nature to her, she remembers this. There are those who are blood-related to her and those who aren't; and those who aren't blood can never be family. Not really. It took me a long time to put my finger on why this was disturbing to me. There was the obvious reason that I wasn't blood and Grandma just doesn't quite believe I'm a member of her family. I was not, am not, and probably will never be a granddaughter in her mind. This is partly due to the difficulty of not being able to remember who I actually am. But it's partly because I'm not blood and that's that. There was more to it, though. I've finally realized what it is: I believe in adoption. I believe there is something much greater and stronger than simple relationship through blood, as powerful as that is. I believe it's possible to become family with people I wasn't born blood-related to. I deeply believe that although I wasn't born one of God's Chosen People, I can be adopted into God's family as seamlessly as if I really was blood of their blood. Without this belief, this hope, it would be a pretty depressing thing to read the Bible. I would always be cut off from really being able to take part in God's promises to those he calls "my people". This doesn't mean I think I'm actually a descendant of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob because I've just decided I am - it means that I believe I've been grafted in to the family of his promise "you will be my people and I will be your God" just like any person who has faith in him. Adoption is a thing that if done correctly is an amazing outgrowth of love. Love creating a family that isn't bound together by blood at all - a family that didn't have to be one, but chose to be one. The love of a parent for a natural-born child is a pretty spectacular thing; but true love of adopted family is extraordinary. Even supernatural. You're biologically geared to love flesh of your flesh. Not so much someone who doesn't originally belong to you at all. The bindings this kind of love can create can often be stronger than the love of a biological relative, though: that's been proved over and over. Ask military men about the bond between people in combat situations, for example. As Proverbs says, "There is a friend who is closer than a brother"; and Jesus, "Greater love has no man than he who lays down his life for his friends." Marriage is a kind of adoption: a decision to become one person and to have lives bound together that otherwise would be totally separate, a decision that another person's family is going to become yours and your children will be part of them as well as part of the family you grew up. If those who weren't family can't actually fully become family, then there's not much point to a marriage, in my mind. My family would always be closer than the husband I live with and I would always want to be with them rather than here. How terrible would it be if Ben and his family could never measure up to my family in my mind, so I always held them a little further away than my family? I bet you've seen that happen in some marriages before. It's devastating to everyone involved. But God created marriage to be good. He said it was good for a man and woman to leave their parents and "cleave" to each other. To stick to each other, to become true family as if bound by the closest ties blood could create. He's enabled us to love those who were never born of our blood just as tightly and completely as if we had always been together. I know he's done it because he made us to be like him. And God himself tells us the spirit is stronger than the flesh. Love is stronger than blood, not contingent on it. It's come to my attention that, though we were very good at getting word out with Abigail, we have not really made it as well known that we are expecting again.
So here is the announcement. I am expecting our second child, due on the Fourth of July. As our friend Emily says, apparently we favor having babies during extreme weather months. Ben says it's because we wanted fireworks for this one. I personally think it's much better management to have babies when it's warm - no snowsuits, much reduced chance of getting sick, and it's easy to put the babies in the stroller and go for a walk when they get sad. It's taken me probably the whole five months to really believe we're really having another baby. (It probably helps to believe with this one because he/she's quite a mover compared to Abigail - he's been really busy since about 13 weeks and I didn't feel Abigail at all until almost 20.) Part of it is that in some part of my mind I just always expect to follow in my mom's footsteps and she not only went three years before having her first baby but never had any children closer together than about 27 months. So the idea of having two children 17 months apart is fascinating and mind-boggling to me. I've just never lived with it. And people thought Elizabeth and I were twins when we were over two years apart. It's new territory to me, almost even newer than being Mom in the first place. This pregnancy has been in some ways very much like Abigail's and in other ways totally different. I've felt much the same, though demands on me physically are higher this time, just starting with having a very active 8-months-and-onward Abigail to take care of. I had no idea how much time I had when I was expecting Abigail! Yes, I was taking care of Grandma; but Grandma doesn't need constant attention, so even though there a few times she called Mom and told her "everyone left me and there's no one here" when I was taking a nap, I could ultimately still go take one when I couldn't keep my eyes open. This time I had to basically force myself to sleep in during the morning as long as Abigail would sleep even though I would normally want to get up and do things; if I didn't, there was no time for a nap and I would end up pretty exhausted. Of course, I think I also felt worse with Abigail than I did this time, looking back. I certainly gained a lot more weight. One side-effect of nursing one baby while expecting another is that I'm gaining a normal amount this time rather than fifteen pounds the minute I was expecting and then going up from there. Okay...maybe that's a little vain, but losing weight is a lot of work and it'll be nice to handle a normal five or ten pounds instead of twenty. It's really funny to look back at this time last year and think Abigail was just a few weeks old and this baby is already almost big enough to survive on his/her own. It was even funnier on Christmas when I teased Ben that we haven't celebrated a Christmas since we were married that I wasn't expecting. Back when we first got married, I had no idea what our situation regarding children would be. I was actually a bit afraid that I was getting old enough that having at least the first baby might be a little difficult. Losing Joshua didn't help my confidence level on this. To be honest, I had to spend a lot of time NOT thinking about how we might start losing one after another. I had no clue how helpless it would make me feel to be just expecting and have this tiny, fragile little person I was carrying around who I couldn't see or touch or check on to see if he or she was doing okay. Having Abigail be so strong and healthy definitely dispelled a lot of that uneasiness, but not all of it. I still spent every day for the first three months this time saying, "Ah, another day the baby is still with us." I certainly don't take that miracle for granted. I also certainly have no concern now that we're going to be taking the route of wondering if and when we'll ever have children. So that's the (belated) news from our house. We keep telling Abigail about how there's going to be a new baby and how she's going to be walking and talking more by the time the baby gets here and how she's going to be a very good big sister. And she looks at us with this blank look like, "What on earth are you talking about?" Ah, my little twin who doesn't know she's a twin yet... I've been trying for a week to think of how to write this blog post.
A week ago yesterday, we buried one of the most wonderful men I've ever known. I've struggled to try to explain what his life has meant to mine since the moment I realized he was gone, early in the morning on the day Abigail was coming into the world just a year ago. The impact he had was so enormous that in trying to play the "what if we had never met" scenario I'm not sure I can even comprehend what my life would be if he had never come into it. It's almost like trying to imagine what would've happened if one of your parents had never been born. You simply wouldn't exist, that's what. In a way, without this man, I wouldn't exist. I know. It sounds melodramatic and ridiculous and might even sound like hero-worship. It's not. God used this man in a way men very rarely allow themselves to be used and the results have been - and will continue to be - tremendous. Joe was not a very imposing man. In many ways, he would seem at first glance very average. But he wasn't because he believed a very simple concept about himself and about God: he believed - still DOES, since God is not a God of the dead but the living - that God created him in God's image. It wasn't that he thought he himself was so great, but he believed in a great God. He believed more that God was greater than anyone else I've ever met. He believed God was so great that God created all things to be good and therefore all things had the potential to be good. They were made to be good, redeemed to be brought back to good, and therefore could be good. Stop and think about that a moment. A lot of people will say that God created everything. Fewer but still quite a few will say that God is good. Even fewer will say that God made things - including us - to BE good. And out of all those, very few at all actually believe any of it. You can tell by the fruit their life bears. If a tree says it's an apple tree and bears oranges, you can't believe a word the tree said about it's identity. With humans, their beliefs dictate what kind of tree they are and what kind of fruit they bear. You can say all day long that you're a hippie and a free spirit, but if you voluntarily wear a suit and tie to work every day, cut your hair short, believe in keeping all the laws you encounter, and love authority and structure...no one can or should believe that you really believe what you're saying you believe. If you say you believe in a God who created all things good and say you serve him but have all the same troubles and problems as people who don't, then you don't either. When Joe said he didn't believe in Terrible Twos because his beloved children were created by God to be good and Terrible Twos sounded like nothing God would look at and say "it is very good"...his children were delightful two-year-olds and just kept on getting better with age. Not only that, but his grandchildren were (and are) wonderful two-year-olds too. This was often the first thing that attracted other people to him: his children. His wonderful, happy, blunt, imaginative, humorous, creative, industrious, obedient children. Then teens. Then young adults. Then married with their own children. He understood and valued love and marriage and fatherhood like no other (he was asked to leave a very conservative church because they said he "valued fatherhood too much") because he believed whole-heartedly that God made all those things good and God himself was the original after whom husbands and fathers were modeled. He held himself to those standards not as a rigid authoritarian but as an enthusiastic, gentle and joy-filled leader; and it was impossible to talk to him without getting at least a sense of this. To him, God is a person, a father, a leader, a Creator who - even though he is so much greater and more than we can even imagine - still wants to live in our homes with us and interact with us as a father does with his children. God is wonderful and he was interested in a wonderful God. And he made the same wonderful God attractive to other people when they kept coming to him over and over and saying, "Tell us how you're doing what you're doing!" Peter advises his readers in 1 Peter 3: "Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good? But even if you should suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled, but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame." Joe was the best evangelist I've ever met, not so much because of what he said as how he lived. His life brought God glory because when other people looked at him and wanted to know how to have what he had, the answer was he had what God is always ready to give. He really possessed the peace that passes understanding and the joy that only God can give; and it was very, very, very attractive to anyone who really had a chance to see it. People would think, "Boy, if this is what the God you serve can do...tell me about your God!" My parents were like that. They first began really talking with him when they were 24 and I was about 6 weeks old. He was only a little older than Ben is now, but there was something about him and the God he loved that was so attractive that they were drawn to what he had. And when he began describing the things he'd learned about God that had brought him to where he was, they listened. They were already afraid to put me in school because of things they were hearing from the teenagers they were teaching at church. They looked at Joe and realized he'd done the unthinkable: he'd been afraid too, so he'd simply removed his children from school. Who does that? Well, he had and it was clearly working. Because he believed God gave children to their parents and they were therefore fully equipped to raise those children to be the kind of men and women God was looking for. If school got in the way, then school had to go and it would be a good thing that it was gone. I'm not sure my parents would've ever had the courage to take me and my siblings out of school without being able to see positive proof that it could be done and it could work really well. So without Joe, I would probably have gone to school. That would already make me a totally different me. When my sister was born and died around the time I was four, much of my parents' ability to weather that kind of storm - one that tears apart a sickening majority of marriages - came from reliance on the God they'd come to know so much better through Joe. It also came from his encouragement, advice and example. Without him, there is every possibility my parents would not have had the faith and fortitude to bring their marriage through Elaina's life and death. This would have made for a drastically different me. I would have been one of three children from a broken family, educated in the public school system and bounced between my parents' households. And it only goes on from there. My peaceful growing-up years that left me with a profound trust of my parents and love for my siblings. My understanding of how to see a good man that meant I found Ben so wonderful. My view of marriage and children and family which means Abigail exists and Grandma Lila doesn't live in assisted living. My belief in a God so wonderful that I can be at peace with my baby dying because I believe God is good and does not do anything evil. That same belief which leads Ben and I to do things even other Christians think odd simply because we believe God has always worked for the good of his people. All this came because God sent my family a very good teacher. And that teacher was Joe. I was talking to Ben about this last week. He looked at me soberly and said, "Joe saved your life." He did. And my life is what it is because God decided to save it; and he used Joe to suggest and model the things first my parents and then I needed to know about God and God's ways so that my life could be saved. Not saved just in the sense that I can hopefully go to Heaven instead of Hell when I die someday: saved right now so that Ben and I and our children can live in God's Kingdom during our lives too. In a way, this post has been about Joe, but ultimately it's really about God. I've had occasion to reflect on these things, on what my life is and what it would've been without God's intervention, because Joe was able for the first time to stand face-to-face with God sometime in the morning of Ben and Abigail's birthday, January 28th, 2014. It wasn't the easiest funeral to go to because we were feeling the hole left behind when a good man isn't around to see and talk to anymore. But it was the best funeral I've ever gone to because I have never been as certain with anyone else as I was with him that he is delighted to be finally in the presence of the God he spent his whole life loving so faithfully and completely. It was a good day. And his children and those who loved him were singing while the dirt was put into the grave. God is good. He is very good. Joe's life was a good gift to us. And I'm overwhelmingly grateful for the life I have because of his. Well, technically she's really eleven-and-a-half months...but she still isn't a whole year old yet and there is a slide show of her eleventh month available. It was December and we attended lots of gatherings, got three viruses (including Norovirus along with the entire Turner family...), shoveled a lot of snow, heard Abigail add a lot of words to her vocabulary, and felt the new baby move for the first time. All in all, a pretty eventful couple of weeks! |
Author: LaurenWife of Benjamin and mother to two wonderful little girls who are getting bigger every day. Enjoys writing down thoughts and discussions we are having within the family and sharing them with whoever is interested in reading. CommentPlease don't be shy! If you're reading the blog updates, we'd like to hear what you think. Click on the "comments" link to send us a note.
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