It seems that for all the waiting we've been doing over these last few years we had a rather non-eventful climax. By all means I'm not saying that my father having a liver transplant two weeks ago was not dramatic mind you. It just seems that we've had more drama along the way than when we were most expecting it. Funny how God works. We thought all along that we were ready any time for the call to come saying, "We think we've got a match. Get down here ASAP." We thought we were ready the day we heard that we would definitely need a transplant for Dad to live much less function well. We knew we were ready when we had to spend the Super Bowl in the hospital a couple of years ago. I mean seriously. If we have to watch Baltimore whoop up on New York from a confetti and cray-pappered hospital room we could at least get something better than a Giants loss for our money! We knew that when Dad was seeing little metal men on the walls of his room two years ago and thinking that the hospital had convinced me to have him done away with—we knew all we needed was a new liver. That would clear up the Beautiful Mind syndrome.
We learned a lot about hospital time during the wait. I, for one, never equated it with God's timing of course because God wanted what was best for us and the hospital system certainly wasn't giving us what was best. I really can't put a specific instance on the table as the mile marker for realizing that we really were on God's time. I can't say when we started seeing that what we thought to be the best for us might not have necessarily been God's best for us. Learning man's chief end is a part of the journey. To glorify God and to enjoy Him forever is not some light bulb experience. There's no capstone. There's no arrival. There's the ordinary, the simple, the stead fast.
He's an on time God because His timing is perfect. He weaves so many facets to make the tapestry of life, and there’s no way in our subjective-one-track-mind kind of being that we could even think to bring all the different people, plans, and opportunities together to fulfill His will to the glory of His name. While God wove times and circumstances He was simultaneously teaching us that the habits of today are the reactions of tomorrow. We were looking and waiting for the big day, which for us was a transplant. We knew that it wasn't a good idea to put our lives on hold until that day because we knew it could be a year or two. But to live in future hopes we often miss the small graces of the day to day.
In I Peter, the apostle is addressing a group of believers who have had quite a time in life with trials, persecution, and the like. We get the idea that Peter is commending the people for their faith but that he's also giving them a helpful reminder that faith is under girded by habitual consistency—by living life deliberately. Be self-controlled and sober-minded (1 Peter 4:7). Love one another (4:8). Show hospitality and do not grumble (4:9). Use you gifts—whether of service or of speech—"in order that in every thing God may be glorified through Jesus Christ" (4:10-11). To those elect exiles of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, to those of us whom Peter would call the stewards of God's grace he gives the reminder that the mountain top and the valley experiences are rarely as life changing as we give them credit. How we live life daily—when we have the time or make the time to think through why we do what we do—determines how we'll respond in the moments of crisis or joy. In those moments when there's no time to think and our minds are crowed by one extreme emotion or another .
There have been so many faithful people surrounding my family these last few years. I say faithful because I've seen their reflexes. They see a need and they respond not out of duty but out of habit. And with the habit is a sense of gratitude that they could serve in the Name of the One who has been so gracious in their own lives. One of my mentors painted a picture of grace for me before I ever knew what the word meant. "Grace can never be compensated, but as we become vessels of His grace the kingdom is served". That sums it up. God has not called us to a duty. There is no called in debt to be repaid by practicing the golden rule. Rather the stewards of God's grace are called to a lifestyle of living deliberately, with a purpose, acting out beliefs, on a daily basis. So that one day—one big day—when the ripple affects of the fall threaten to wash us ashore we'll already be grounded
It's a process. It's a journey. And it’s grace that we need not travel alone.
3.30.2004
3.29.2004
Seasons of Grace
It's been almost five years since the start of this journey that has been anything but dull and all of adventurous.
My father was diagnosed with Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis (PSC) some 19 years ago while living in Indiana. I was about two so my parents had only been married about three years. They went through a hard time at first with different complications including Dad's first introduction to extreme jaundice and weight loss, but when it seemed that the doctors had fixed what they could Mom and Dad went on with their new family. Then about five years ago we realized that all along the liver disease had been quietly doing its damage over the years, closing off bile ducts, shutting down blood flow through the liver, and beginning to cause jaundice once again. Dad's first doctors were in denial as far as his original diagnosis in Indiana went. We had to see a few people before anyone knew what to do with us. Then we found a gastroenterologist, and his secretary, who became the first taste of mercy on our journey. They walked with us as far as they were able and then lead us to the next group of doctors once Dad had progressed beyond their means of aid. It was that doctor who first told us that a liver transplant might lay ahead.
Four years ago I started keeping tabs on Dad's digression according to the school year calendar. It seemed that like clockwork he would yearly end up in the hospital during the last three months of school--specifically March and April. Though there were other evidences of mercy along the way, I think for me that was one of the chief. School was my first taste of community. Had our little hospital visits been at any other time I don't think I would have realized that as I do now. My friends and their families were the pillars that kept our hands raised and our gazes upturned.
My senior year of high school Dad had some stints put into his liver so the things could flow properly. That summer he had his colon taken out and was given an ileostomy, a waste bag of sorts.
My first year of college things started with a bleed, the a transfusion gone wrong, then a stint revision. From there we were told that we were heading for our transplant hospital to await a transplant, but not before Dad could experience a wild ride being weaned off the ventilator ending with a mild heart attack. But once again God graced us by surrounding us with people—Mom’s family kept the kids, our church family mowed the lawn, fed the cat, and took out the trash, and our school family…they never ceased to love, call, or bring food, give me their gas card, cell phone, or car. We didn’t get our transplant that year, but that’s another grace story.
Second year at school I remember an interesting infection. I don’t think the doctors ever figured out what the source of it was, but Dad did get to visit his favorite hotel because of it. His primary transplant doctor was going to suggest to the medical board to move Dad up on the list pretty drastically. We didn’t hear anything for over a month—it was a no go. But that summer—last summer—was the start of another gracious relationship. Dad applied a little closer to home and to a hospital that wasn’t so big to be placed on their transplant list. They accepted us and immediately our place on the list shot almost to the top.
It’s March. I’m at school thinking it’s time for something to happen. At the beginning of the month I had been a bit wearied by the duration of the journey, but amazed and grateful at how many people still asked about Dad and said that they were still praying. March 13, I’d had plenty of time to think about it but when the time came, I had no idea what to do with myself when Dad called to say that the hospital had a liver for him. I called a few close friends and e-mailed the network of Prayer Warriors Dad had asked me to notify. I waited through the night until Mom called around 6:30 her time Sunday morning to tell me that the liver was a definite match and Dad was going in for surgery. I called a couple more people and headed to the home of a good friend who was going to drive to North Carolina with me. As if the calls, the e-mails, the prayers, the food, the child care, the money, the phone, the car, the yard work and taking out the trash weren’t enough to show me how much God was taking care of us and loved us through the little detail of the big experiences—as if that weren’t enough, I was completely blown away by my friend’s offer to come home with me and help in whatever way was needed.
We were an hour away from the hospital when Mom called to say that the doctor would be out in about thirty minutes to give a report of how the surgery went. At that point we started praying the he could wait until we got there because I wanted to be with Mom when we heard. At the hospital it took me a few seconds to spot Mom in the little cluster of friends surrounding her. And it wasn’t even ten minutes later, after exchanging moisty-eyed greetings and big hugs that the doctor came out to talk with family. Talk about timing. Mom shared with our friends how the doctors thought it would take all day because of Dad’s interesting anatomy, but that once they were in things were better that ever anticipated. Through tears of relief, joy, gratitude, and hope Mom asked if we could all hold hands and sing the doxology:
Praise God from whom all blessing flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.
God is good—all the time. And at that moment we all knew it was true. Not just for that moment but it had been true when Dad was first diagnosed, when we were told we needed a transplant, when friends brought casseroles and bread, when two friends from our transplant support group died on the same day, when a friend’s mom shows up at our hospital some three hours away at the gloomiest point in our journey, when the church family shows up to take the kids to the park, when Dad had a mild heart attack, when we were lead every step of the way to those doctors, nurses, and transplant coordinators who were to care for Dad when the time came. All the time God is good.
The Shore family has in no way come to the end of our journey. It’s true that every step of the way the journey has prepared us for the climax. Taking into consideration that the rabbit-trails are indeed the point, I think a lot of what makes a destination so much more profound is what you learn or experience as you journey. It takes something like a bumpy road to be genuinely grateful for stationary solitude. If anything, we’ve reached a commencement. We’ve grown through first hand lesson on faith, hope, and love. We’ve been stretched and taught about offering a sacrifice of praise. We’ve learned how abundant God's grace is, and it never ceases to amaze us that He chooses to manifest that grace through people most often.
We’ve no idea what the future hold, but then again that’s not a new concept is it. We’ll continue to take one day at a time. We’ll dream a little more, plan a little more, hope a lot more, trust a lot more and see what God has in store. The things we do know: God is good all the time and covenant community is His most precious means of grace bearing tangible evidence to that fact.
That’s our story and you’re such a big part of it. Blessings in grace. Amy and fam
My father was diagnosed with Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis (PSC) some 19 years ago while living in Indiana. I was about two so my parents had only been married about three years. They went through a hard time at first with different complications including Dad's first introduction to extreme jaundice and weight loss, but when it seemed that the doctors had fixed what they could Mom and Dad went on with their new family. Then about five years ago we realized that all along the liver disease had been quietly doing its damage over the years, closing off bile ducts, shutting down blood flow through the liver, and beginning to cause jaundice once again. Dad's first doctors were in denial as far as his original diagnosis in Indiana went. We had to see a few people before anyone knew what to do with us. Then we found a gastroenterologist, and his secretary, who became the first taste of mercy on our journey. They walked with us as far as they were able and then lead us to the next group of doctors once Dad had progressed beyond their means of aid. It was that doctor who first told us that a liver transplant might lay ahead.
Four years ago I started keeping tabs on Dad's digression according to the school year calendar. It seemed that like clockwork he would yearly end up in the hospital during the last three months of school--specifically March and April. Though there were other evidences of mercy along the way, I think for me that was one of the chief. School was my first taste of community. Had our little hospital visits been at any other time I don't think I would have realized that as I do now. My friends and their families were the pillars that kept our hands raised and our gazes upturned.
My senior year of high school Dad had some stints put into his liver so the things could flow properly. That summer he had his colon taken out and was given an ileostomy, a waste bag of sorts.
My first year of college things started with a bleed, the a transfusion gone wrong, then a stint revision. From there we were told that we were heading for our transplant hospital to await a transplant, but not before Dad could experience a wild ride being weaned off the ventilator ending with a mild heart attack. But once again God graced us by surrounding us with people—Mom’s family kept the kids, our church family mowed the lawn, fed the cat, and took out the trash, and our school family…they never ceased to love, call, or bring food, give me their gas card, cell phone, or car. We didn’t get our transplant that year, but that’s another grace story.
Second year at school I remember an interesting infection. I don’t think the doctors ever figured out what the source of it was, but Dad did get to visit his favorite hotel because of it. His primary transplant doctor was going to suggest to the medical board to move Dad up on the list pretty drastically. We didn’t hear anything for over a month—it was a no go. But that summer—last summer—was the start of another gracious relationship. Dad applied a little closer to home and to a hospital that wasn’t so big to be placed on their transplant list. They accepted us and immediately our place on the list shot almost to the top.
It’s March. I’m at school thinking it’s time for something to happen. At the beginning of the month I had been a bit wearied by the duration of the journey, but amazed and grateful at how many people still asked about Dad and said that they were still praying. March 13, I’d had plenty of time to think about it but when the time came, I had no idea what to do with myself when Dad called to say that the hospital had a liver for him. I called a few close friends and e-mailed the network of Prayer Warriors Dad had asked me to notify. I waited through the night until Mom called around 6:30 her time Sunday morning to tell me that the liver was a definite match and Dad was going in for surgery. I called a couple more people and headed to the home of a good friend who was going to drive to North Carolina with me. As if the calls, the e-mails, the prayers, the food, the child care, the money, the phone, the car, the yard work and taking out the trash weren’t enough to show me how much God was taking care of us and loved us through the little detail of the big experiences—as if that weren’t enough, I was completely blown away by my friend’s offer to come home with me and help in whatever way was needed.
We were an hour away from the hospital when Mom called to say that the doctor would be out in about thirty minutes to give a report of how the surgery went. At that point we started praying the he could wait until we got there because I wanted to be with Mom when we heard. At the hospital it took me a few seconds to spot Mom in the little cluster of friends surrounding her. And it wasn’t even ten minutes later, after exchanging moisty-eyed greetings and big hugs that the doctor came out to talk with family. Talk about timing. Mom shared with our friends how the doctors thought it would take all day because of Dad’s interesting anatomy, but that once they were in things were better that ever anticipated. Through tears of relief, joy, gratitude, and hope Mom asked if we could all hold hands and sing the doxology:
Praise God from whom all blessing flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.
God is good—all the time. And at that moment we all knew it was true. Not just for that moment but it had been true when Dad was first diagnosed, when we were told we needed a transplant, when friends brought casseroles and bread, when two friends from our transplant support group died on the same day, when a friend’s mom shows up at our hospital some three hours away at the gloomiest point in our journey, when the church family shows up to take the kids to the park, when Dad had a mild heart attack, when we were lead every step of the way to those doctors, nurses, and transplant coordinators who were to care for Dad when the time came. All the time God is good.
The Shore family has in no way come to the end of our journey. It’s true that every step of the way the journey has prepared us for the climax. Taking into consideration that the rabbit-trails are indeed the point, I think a lot of what makes a destination so much more profound is what you learn or experience as you journey. It takes something like a bumpy road to be genuinely grateful for stationary solitude. If anything, we’ve reached a commencement. We’ve grown through first hand lesson on faith, hope, and love. We’ve been stretched and taught about offering a sacrifice of praise. We’ve learned how abundant God's grace is, and it never ceases to amaze us that He chooses to manifest that grace through people most often.
We’ve no idea what the future hold, but then again that’s not a new concept is it. We’ll continue to take one day at a time. We’ll dream a little more, plan a little more, hope a lot more, trust a lot more and see what God has in store. The things we do know: God is good all the time and covenant community is His most precious means of grace bearing tangible evidence to that fact.
That’s our story and you’re such a big part of it. Blessings in grace. Amy and fam