Yesterday I awoke to see that I had a missed call from my mom. I remember hearing it ring as I was just beginning to fall asleep the night before. So I immediately thought something bad happened since the call was from 10 pm and my mom knows I got to sleep early. But she almost always leaves a message; this time she didn’t. And when it’s bad news, it’s a sinister voice saying, “Hi honey. Please call when you can.” I’ve heard that voice one too many times. The more sinister and firm, usually the more serious the occasion. So of course, I was nervous. I called and got no response from either Mom or Dad's cell phones, so my head started spinning. I was so worried something horrible had happened. Luckily my mom called a couple minutes later. Sure enough my brother Greg was in a car accident on his way home from work the night before but he is okay. I was still so worked up and anxious I could barely calm down and started crying on the phone with my mom not even noticing. (Ever since Christmas night, tears have come on suddenly, forcefully. When they start, it is like a warm blanket cascading down. So needed and comfortable at first. I have to let out all that pain, that pain so real, raw, indescribable pain. I can’t even put into words. There was no tragedy, just an imagined one, but everything comes back so easily for me. Probably for most people that have had a loss, an almost-loss, or some sort of traumatizing event happen to them. These get relived through little things, like phone calls and voices. They plague and imprint your mind and you can never forget. Add on to that the fact that I simply cry easily and get down extremely quickly. Call it a season. Call it depression. Call it Brittany. Whatever. I go through periods where I am more dried up; now is not one of those periods.)
Anyway, I also called Greg but not on an impulse. It was a carefully planned event. Should I say painfully thought-over. That’s my mind for you: What if he answers? What if he doesn’t? What am I going to be doing while I talk to him? If I don’t do something at the same time, I will be late to work. What if we talk too long? What if I say the wrong thing? But my phone is dead; maybe it won’t be charged enough to talk. Maybe I shouldn’t call him. I’ll probably be bothering him. If I don’t, what kind of sister am I? Why didn’t he call me after the accident?
Finally, I got my breakfast ready and told my thoughts to shut up because they were still going. He answered after the first ring and immediately said, “Hi, how have you been doing?” as if nothing had happened. My brother Greg is always one who gives. When we talk, he hardly ever talks about himself. And, I am one who, when given a listening ear, can never shut up. But today, I didn’t want to focus on this pain. How dare I turn his scary accident into my own problem? Augh! I hate when I do that. So I didn’t mention me, but kept probing about how he was. I knew it was better for me that way. He assured me he was fine so that was good to hear, but I was still so anxious and troubled. He told me a little bit about the accident that involved four vehicles. His car was totaled, and so were some of the others but everyone was okay. I should be praising God, right? I tried to amidst my soft, cracking voice and brewing tears. I could barely eat my breakfast. Before he hung up, he said “Well, I am so glad to hear you are doing okay.” As if I were the one in the accident. But he was positive and I tried to feel it too. Maybe I was okay. If I just talked myself into it…I knew I could change these thoughts, this horrible sinking feeling in my gut. It just got deeper and the nausea grew. But I forced down the cereal and coffee as I said “I love you” to Greg and hung up.
Believe it or not, I had a pretty good day after that-once I got to work. Yesterday, I worked with my friend Maddie. She is a young woman with special needs who lives at home with her parents and siblings. It has its challenges, but I think it’s one of the best jobs in the world. I knew Maddie would want to know all about my family. She always gets my brothers mixed up (who doesn’t, though?). “How’s Nate doing? Is he the one in Germany?” “Nope remember you met Nate and Kat when there were in town over Christmas.” “Oh yeah! How are they?! They are so nice. I mean so sweet! Can you tell them I said hi?”
It’s hard to hang out with Maddie, take care of her, help her and learn from her, when I am so buried in my thoughts. But, luckily, I force myself to. I take her out to the library, book stores, coffee shops, plays, and her favorite: the animal shelter. I love seeing how she responds to different situations and how personable she is with complete strangers (of course, that can be dangerous, so I’m there to redirect her if needed.) But if I am ever too afraid to ask for something, no worries, Maddie has few inhibitions. She doesn’t worry about what people think of her. I have a lot to learn.
Of course, Maddie is quite vulnerable. I know she gets sad too. In my role helping people with disabilities, I have connected with them probably the deepest when I am sad. I don’t want to say my depression is a gift, but I know that there is nothing like crying with someone and truly feeling his or her pain. Yesterday, we talked a little bit about the earthquake in Haiti. That particular subject had been haunting me the past day and I was still feeling down from the morning occurrence so I didn’t really feel like talking about it. Luckily, Maddie’s soothing chatter turned elsewhere and quickly (which is quite common).
I enjoyed my time with her the rest of the day. And also, at ACR later in which I just did a short shift at one of the two homes where I work. Some people with depression can’t work. I am the lucky one. I work to survive. At least in combination with other much-needed things like a faith and spirituality that consumes me, healthy food, enough water, exercise, psychotherapy and a strong community of friends. In my role as teacher and caregiver, I am distracted, able to put my mind and body to use and not focus on myself and my sadness.
I am extremely affected by sad stories in the news or from family, friends, etc., so with the recent events in Haiti, I have been as down as ever, but not necessarily joyless. Sometimes, I wonder, as I walk into a classroom of bouncy teens, or giggly, squirrelly first graders, or as I look into the deep eyes of one of the residents, Shouldn’t the world stop? How can I be giving a bath or teaching about the Civil War when there are people dying, gasping for air under feet of rubble, crying out for relief. And as Greg Boyd said, will probably never be found because of their lack of resources in that already-impoverished country. But, no, life doesn’t stop. And, as I always try to do, I put myself in the shoes of those I serve. How are they thinking? How can I make life better for them? Life goes and on and will continue to go on in Haiti, but also here. So I need to stay in the moment and be here for these innocent children/adults who are dealing with this tragic news in their own way, or maybe not-maybe they have no idea but I need to make life comfortable for them. How is this possible when I have a hard time caring for myself, that I can be so focused on others? But this thinking is what is actually the most freeing for me, the times I feel most liberated from my depression.
Showing posts with label ACR. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ACR. Show all posts
Friday, January 15, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Comfort Ye Others Just as You are Comforted
Last night I went to get an hour-long full body massage with hot stone therapy at a place nearby my house. I got a half-off deal in the mail! It was amazing! I'm glad I allowed myself to take care of myself that way. When she was doing my neck and shoulders she found I had knots up and down both sides of my neck that went all the way to the base of my skull. No wonder I've been in so much pain!
Anyway, the hot stones were the best because I was so cold, especially my poor bony fingers! I had so many knots and so much tension that she went an extra 15 minutes. I was able to really relax except the lotion she put on was a bit intense for my nose so I got a little headache. But people that are "too uncomfortable" to get massages like this don't know what they are missing!
I don't know what it is about me but I crave this skin on skin contact. I've always loved massage and got my first professional full body massage in high school when we used to have them included on my mom's insurance! I realized immediately that professional massages, just the ambience of it-everything-, was one of the only ways I can completely relax.
To get deep and spiritual, receiving a massage helps me connect with my body and realize again how beautiful I am. Also, just to be taken care of for once, ahhh, so nice. As I lay there yesterday, I thought of how I do physical therapy and massage/lotioning with the guys I take care of at the group home. I'm always worried I am doing it wrong, that maybe he is not comfortable. With the residents, they don't often communicate whether they are or are not comfortable. Because I received comfort yesterday as the receiver of massage, I was able to realize that yes, maybe I DO do a good job with the guys and maybe they enjoy my sloppy untrained attempts at PT and massage. More than that, though, I realize like my massage therapist, my first concern is for the other person.
Probably the best thing is helping my one resident get into bed at night. (Let's call him Cal.) Cal has a Parkinson's-like condition which makes him extremely exhausted and basically unresponsive as the day goes on. I just ache for him because he is so sleepy and often longs for his bed. I know all too well the feeling of being SO tired and having no energy to go through the process of getting to bed. Once Cal is finally all briefed, pajama-ed, lotioned and teeth-brushed, the next task is to get him to stand up from his wheelchair and take a few painful steps toward his bed, open and waiting for him. I, being a lover of my bed, can totally relate to his comfort in finally collapsing. Unfortunately, Cal is so weak that I have to reposition his rigid 150-lb body so that-to me-he looks comfortable and so that I, too, can receive comfort. Sometimes this is tough and requires him to stand and reposition himself a few more times (a process of a few minutes). Finally, finally he is looking cozy and I pull the sheet up, making sure it covers him evenly and then the comforter, tucking it under his droopy chin. I just see the release in his face and I feel it deep within. Rest. I know he's comfortable and at peace and that's the best feeling in the world.
To have that done to you every so often is great. That's why life is so beautiful. I am able to give because of the gifts Christ gives through others, whether it is a professional massage with hot stones, hugging and crying with a close friend, or a tiny child that you've known for less than a minute suddenly put her little hand in yours.
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in your patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. 2 Cor. 1:3-7
Anyway, the hot stones were the best because I was so cold, especially my poor bony fingers! I had so many knots and so much tension that she went an extra 15 minutes. I was able to really relax except the lotion she put on was a bit intense for my nose so I got a little headache. But people that are "too uncomfortable" to get massages like this don't know what they are missing!
I don't know what it is about me but I crave this skin on skin contact. I've always loved massage and got my first professional full body massage in high school when we used to have them included on my mom's insurance! I realized immediately that professional massages, just the ambience of it-everything-, was one of the only ways I can completely relax.
To get deep and spiritual, receiving a massage helps me connect with my body and realize again how beautiful I am. Also, just to be taken care of for once, ahhh, so nice. As I lay there yesterday, I thought of how I do physical therapy and massage/lotioning with the guys I take care of at the group home. I'm always worried I am doing it wrong, that maybe he is not comfortable. With the residents, they don't often communicate whether they are or are not comfortable. Because I received comfort yesterday as the receiver of massage, I was able to realize that yes, maybe I DO do a good job with the guys and maybe they enjoy my sloppy untrained attempts at PT and massage. More than that, though, I realize like my massage therapist, my first concern is for the other person.
Probably the best thing is helping my one resident get into bed at night. (Let's call him Cal.) Cal has a Parkinson's-like condition which makes him extremely exhausted and basically unresponsive as the day goes on. I just ache for him because he is so sleepy and often longs for his bed. I know all too well the feeling of being SO tired and having no energy to go through the process of getting to bed. Once Cal is finally all briefed, pajama-ed, lotioned and teeth-brushed, the next task is to get him to stand up from his wheelchair and take a few painful steps toward his bed, open and waiting for him. I, being a lover of my bed, can totally relate to his comfort in finally collapsing. Unfortunately, Cal is so weak that I have to reposition his rigid 150-lb body so that-to me-he looks comfortable and so that I, too, can receive comfort. Sometimes this is tough and requires him to stand and reposition himself a few more times (a process of a few minutes). Finally, finally he is looking cozy and I pull the sheet up, making sure it covers him evenly and then the comforter, tucking it under his droopy chin. I just see the release in his face and I feel it deep within. Rest. I know he's comfortable and at peace and that's the best feeling in the world.
To have that done to you every so often is great. That's why life is so beautiful. I am able to give because of the gifts Christ gives through others, whether it is a professional massage with hot stones, hugging and crying with a close friend, or a tiny child that you've known for less than a minute suddenly put her little hand in yours.
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in your patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. 2 Cor. 1:3-7
Sunday, October 25, 2009
God Does Not Intend for Us to Suffer
I have been reading this blog of a family with a child with Down's Syndrome and on one post she asked the question to her readers,
If there was a way to take away the extra chromosome away from your child and make them "typical" would you do it?
And why?
At least a dozen people responded and I was struck with the variety of answers. Many said, "no" they couldn't imagine their child a different way, and mentioned the joy he or she had brought in their life. Some who answered no in this way admitted they were being selfish, which I admired. A few answered, "yes" in a heart beat because of the pain and struggles their child had gone through. Of all the answers this one really aggravated me:
"For me this is an easy one! I would not take away Erin's extra 21st anymore than I would take away any other genetic trait that she has, as that is a piece of her that God created. I trust He knows what He is doing
. I would also not wish for my other kids to have T21 because that is not what God intended for them. I want what God wants. Over the past 22 months, my hubby and I have felt incredibly blessed to have our little Erin, as we believe she is a gift not only for us but for the world. Yes, our kids are hidden treasures! We sure have grown to love that little something extra!"
Okay, while I do believe God created this beautiful person and in his eyes she is perfect, the fact that this parent thinks God intended for her to have this disability is appalling. I would have agreed with this person (with some reservations) before I read the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Harold S. Kushner, but now I can see that God INTENDED for no pain or suffering for any of us. And to say "I want what God wants" is great, but does he WANT this little one to suffer with Down's? When he created her did he think, I want her to suffer. As Kushner says in his book, does God go around joyfully doling out depression, cancer, or MS diagnoses. Hell, no! Because as much as we gain from children with Down's aren't we being selfish and heartless to say "If I were to give son/daughter with Down's freedom, I would choose not to." Here is another post where I have similar thoughts.
I don't know because I have often thought of that with my depression, would I want to be TOTALLY free? My depression is NOT me but it is a PART of me. It has truly influenced every ounce of my being and brought me to an incredible understanding of people and life and faith. So, maybe God did intend me to have it; or could we say, he forsaw (is this a word) my life with depression and my life without...and then did he just choose to allow the former. Anyway, I guess, in essence, I am torn because I understand people who say "My ____ (insert, cancer, e.g.) is the best thing that ever happened to me" but then I still don't believe God wanted them to be struck with it...More on this later.
If there was a way to take away the extra chromosome away from your child and make them "typical" would you do it?
And why?
At least a dozen people responded and I was struck with the variety of answers. Many said, "no" they couldn't imagine their child a different way, and mentioned the joy he or she had brought in their life. Some who answered no in this way admitted they were being selfish, which I admired. A few answered, "yes" in a heart beat because of the pain and struggles their child had gone through. Of all the answers this one really aggravated me:
"For me this is an easy one! I would not take away Erin's extra 21st anymore than I would take away any other genetic trait that she has, as that is a piece of her that God created. I trust He knows what He is doing
. I would also not wish for my other kids to have T21 because that is not what God intended for them. I want what God wants. Over the past 22 months, my hubby and I have felt incredibly blessed to have our little Erin, as we believe she is a gift not only for us but for the world. Yes, our kids are hidden treasures! We sure have grown to love that little something extra!"Okay, while I do believe God created this beautiful person and in his eyes she is perfect, the fact that this parent thinks God intended for her to have this disability is appalling. I would have agreed with this person (with some reservations) before I read the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People by Harold S. Kushner, but now I can see that God INTENDED for no pain or suffering for any of us. And to say "I want what God wants" is great, but does he WANT this little one to suffer with Down's? When he created her did he think, I want her to suffer. As Kushner says in his book, does God go around joyfully doling out depression, cancer, or MS diagnoses. Hell, no! Because as much as we gain from children with Down's aren't we being selfish and heartless to say "If I were to give son/daughter with Down's freedom, I would choose not to." Here is another post where I have similar thoughts.
I don't know because I have often thought of that with my depression, would I want to be TOTALLY free? My depression is NOT me but it is a PART of me. It has truly influenced every ounce of my being and brought me to an incredible understanding of people and life and faith. So, maybe God did intend me to have it; or could we say, he forsaw (is this a word) my life with depression and my life without...and then did he just choose to allow the former. Anyway, I guess, in essence, I am torn because I understand people who say "My ____ (insert, cancer, e.g.) is the best thing that ever happened to me" but then I still don't believe God wanted them to be struck with it...More on this later.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Crazy Night at Work
Last night I felt very accomplished during a crazy night at the group home. One man began getting sick and was soon vomitting on and off for like 2 hours. In between wiping his face, rubbing his back and taking his temp I was running back and forth calling the nurse, who, upon discovering he had a fever, said we needed to put the H1N1 protocol in place. That required me to call the supervisor who came up and made me sign this paper that said I would wear a mask within 6 feet of the man among other things. Anyway, it was a bit insane because the 2nd staff was in the bathroom with another resident, a 3rd resident was hollering via his Dynavox (he is non verbal so he types with his head on this machine) that he needed something, and the 4th man, well, he was getting neglected. Luckily, we had a 3rd staff but she was out shopping. She comes home to the puking and everyone running around. Then my supervisor was there too. I was like, Oh great. I am probably infecting everything. So in between gags and pukes and writing in his book, taking vitals, and doing dishes, I was sanitizing the entire house. By that time, the other two staff had cleaned up dinner and gotten the other guys to bed. A 2nd resident was also beginning to show symptoms. So...
I feel pretty accomplished after that shift because I was able to hold it together while having worked 15 plus hours (I had sub taught that morning) and as I am not good with puke. My supervisor said make sure to go home and throw everything in the wash. (Which I typically do after each shift anyway!) The over night staff had to follow up on the sick man...but luckily between all of us, I was still able to leave at 10 pm.
Today I go to my PCA job. I had called the family and informed them that I may have been exposed to the H1N1 but could I still come to work. And my client's mom said that was fine, but the brother had been sick too...Anyway, I am ready for a nice relaxing day...And feeling fine, so far. Just tired.
I feel pretty accomplished after that shift because I was able to hold it together while having worked 15 plus hours (I had sub taught that morning) and as I am not good with puke. My supervisor said make sure to go home and throw everything in the wash. (Which I typically do after each shift anyway!) The over night staff had to follow up on the sick man...but luckily between all of us, I was still able to leave at 10 pm.
Today I go to my PCA job. I had called the family and informed them that I may have been exposed to the H1N1 but could I still come to work. And my client's mom said that was fine, but the brother had been sick too...Anyway, I am ready for a nice relaxing day...And feeling fine, so far. Just tired.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The Value of Life--My Musings
This is a portion of an essay I wrote on August 18th after accepting my current job with ACR Homes, Inc. in which I take care of adults with disabilities in their home. I worked for this awesome company for three years in college and felt drawn back and certainly not because of the pay.
Back at ACR: Conversations in my head about the Value of Life
...I really hereby say I alone cannot do this job. I got this job by a miracle (long story), and I do believe God led me to it, not so I could help, but so that I could be helped. As I am in training once again, I love hearing the stories and seeing the faces of the beautiful residents, some recognizable and others new. But again and again, I am puzzled: How did I get hired? How can I do this job? ...Empathy, compassion, integrity--all the qualities this company asserts I possess--the Evil One would like to think I don’t have them. I know I don’t either, but with the Spirit, I do. I have had the Spirit all my life but have recently tried to be more conscious of his ever-presence in my life. Working for this company and with these wonderful people, it has to be said no matter how cliché, literally changed my life. And as I went on a walk today, I wondered at it, musing, What was it that really changed in me? The main thing was my amount of joy. The funny thing was this job was such a gift and I didn’t even realize it because, in the first place, I didn’t even want to work there. It took second place to a full time nanny position. But I accepted it since I needed a job, having lots of doubts, but still surprised they would think me a good candidate.
Today in the class we talked about intrinsic value and compared people’s value to the value of a car. We had to discuss the differences in a small group. The other two girls and I were at a loss for words because it was just so obvious how immoral it was to even consider comparing a car with a person. Anyway, it really did get me thinking. If a car is broken, there is a point you don’t fix it anymore. How sad it is to say, that some still view people this way; well, in their minds, they wouldn’t even consider them people. As I continued to feel more and more righteous indignation, I continually felt the doubts about the Truth flood in and then…the familiar voices. “But do you really believe that? All people have worth? How do you know they wouldn’t be better off dead? How do you know if it’s better to allow a child with Down Syndrome to live because that’s the ‘morally’ correct thing? How do you know they wouldn’t be better off without all that pain and sickness? So maybe they seem happy. But aren’t we just using them? To bring us joy? Think about it. They might not even want to live. At least the ones who are nonverbal…how are we going to know if they really want to be alive?”
I thought about how I had pulled up into the ACR parking lot an hour earlier. The parking lot was incredibly full but I luckily found a spot only a few doors down from the training center. As I pulled up, there was a lady sitting in the corner staring at me. Her whole body was noticeable because it was a clear door with narrow clear floor-to-ceiling windows on either side. She was wearing a purple summer shirt and white pants. Her one hand was crossed over her knees which were drawn up and I instantly noticed she was developmentally disabled. When our eyes met, she immediately produced a gigantic smile and her hand waved against the glass. I don’t know how others feel when they are smiled at by strangers, but I think it is one of the best feelings in the world. I immediately felt intense joy as I smiled in spite of myself. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her and her smile. She seemed to not want me to look away and the moment we shared was so intense, I was even afraid it might disappoint her if I looked down. A thought popped into my head: “She is such a beautiful person. Why would anyone look down on her? If they really looked they would see and experience such joy.” And I was comforted with the understanding of why God allowed people to have disabilities. And then, “But that is so selfish. You have no idea who that lady is or the pain and discomfort she might experience on a daily basis. Why would you say it’s good that God allowed disabilities, allowed others to suffer so that they could help someone like you?” And then I went into a tail spin as my mind recalled all my experiences of joy with my former residents, all six of them. I love thinking of them because I can’t stop smiling. But, is that okay? My doubts continued. Because looking back at my ACR job, I can’t see that I did much, but that I was the one continually blessed.
I think of *** who had so much to endure at the end of his young life. And I wonder is it wrong to think, What if *** had never existed? If he didn’t have to go through all that pain? But then I realize. *** had a really great life. Amazing parents and family. Parents who would have laid down their lives for him and maybe did. I don’t know. He had a good home and caregivers who also loved him. He loved going on trips in the car, on vacation. He liked reading books and holding hands. He loved holding little objects and throwing them. He especially liked licking his finger and then poking you in the eye with it (or the butt). Why would God not want *** to experience that love and to have us experience the joy he brought us?
And so my resolution is this: We can’t question God. Why he allows this person to live, that one to die. This perfectly healthy one to die suddenly, another to die a painful death. Why this amazingly genius of a person gets in an accident and suddenly has the mind of a five-year-old. Why this perfectly healthy baby dies at birth by pure accident, and this other one lives fifty years with the mind of an infant. Why this child has severe mental disabilities and that one has severe physical disabilities. Why another individual struggles with chronic pain…the list continues to eternity. It is the question of evil and suffering. The constant questions of Christians and non-Christians alike. But what I do know is what is the point of questioning? What is, is. If I got joy from being poked by ***, I shouldn’t feel guilty that maybe I am using him or something. (Okay so maybe only somebody with such obsessions and tendencies toward absurd guilt will have thoughts like this, but I am being honest.) I should revel in that joy. I used to just sit and stare at him (or another resident) and just thank God for him or her.
I am allowed to feel joy. That doesn’t mean I am saying, “Oh you’re so cute. I like when you make me laugh. Too bad you have to go through all that suffering. Too bad you were created to be used by others.” That is the Evil One trying to ruin my focus and make me think I am a bad person when I am truly one living in the freedom of the Holy Spirit, one whose belief in the sanctity of life is unwavering. Yes I struggle when I see pain and I admit I wonder, what if that person just died and went to heaven? I admit this because I have said it a lot about myself in my own struggles with depression. And when *** died, I knew it was God’s timing. (I had had so many dreams asleep and awake of this happening…I just wanted him to be at peace, free of pain.) I felt sad that I wouldn’t see his happy face anymore or feel his pokes, even if they were slobbery, but I was relieved that he was now freed to be the true unbroken person God had wanted for him before the fall of man. He was laughing constantly, running, walking (and enjoying it!), eating all his favorite foods, taking hot baths and just laying down at the feet of the Savior who had carried him all those good and painful years.
So I guess I will always struggle in my mind. What is life? Do I really value it? Because ever since high school (maybe earlier) I started wondering about the value of my own life. The Devil had a stronghold. Unfortunately, my genes and tendencies toward melancholia didn’t help. But I am happy to say I now 99% of the time value my own life. How much more can I value others’ lives when I value my own? We are each a son or daughter of the Risen Savior, made in His Image. Imago Dei. I say that when I see someone, a stranger; it especially helps if they are not the most attractive. I don’t know why God allows people with disabilities to have a place in our world except for the fact that I am a completely different person because of them. I don’t even feel worthy of all that care, love and joy they brought into me, transforming into someone I have a hard time recognizing today! I don’t know if that’s selfish or not. Who are we to say that people with disabilities don’t experience joy or pleasure, or that they are continually in pain or discomfort? We are not them. Only Jesus knows their soul. So to have peace with myself, I will say, I am cut out for this job. With Him and only with Him, otherwise I would not have made it. That goes for every challenging thing I have gone through. Another thought, maybe I have contributed to the lives of those people with whom I worked. Maybe God did work through me to better their lives in some small way. Maybe they are happy with their lives and to be alive in a way that we will never understand. Doesn’t everyone have a chance at life?
Back at ACR: Conversations in my head about the Value of Life
...I really hereby say I alone cannot do this job. I got this job by a miracle (long story), and I do believe God led me to it, not so I could help, but so that I could be helped. As I am in training once again, I love hearing the stories and seeing the faces of the beautiful residents, some recognizable and others new. But again and again, I am puzzled: How did I get hired? How can I do this job? ...Empathy, compassion, integrity--all the qualities this company asserts I possess--the Evil One would like to think I don’t have them. I know I don’t either, but with the Spirit, I do. I have had the Spirit all my life but have recently tried to be more conscious of his ever-presence in my life. Working for this company and with these wonderful people, it has to be said no matter how cliché, literally changed my life. And as I went on a walk today, I wondered at it, musing, What was it that really changed in me? The main thing was my amount of joy. The funny thing was this job was such a gift and I didn’t even realize it because, in the first place, I didn’t even want to work there. It took second place to a full time nanny position. But I accepted it since I needed a job, having lots of doubts, but still surprised they would think me a good candidate.
Today in the class we talked about intrinsic value and compared people’s value to the value of a car. We had to discuss the differences in a small group. The other two girls and I were at a loss for words because it was just so obvious how immoral it was to even consider comparing a car with a person. Anyway, it really did get me thinking. If a car is broken, there is a point you don’t fix it anymore. How sad it is to say, that some still view people this way; well, in their minds, they wouldn’t even consider them people. As I continued to feel more and more righteous indignation, I continually felt the doubts about the Truth flood in and then…the familiar voices. “But do you really believe that? All people have worth? How do you know they wouldn’t be better off dead? How do you know if it’s better to allow a child with Down Syndrome to live because that’s the ‘morally’ correct thing? How do you know they wouldn’t be better off without all that pain and sickness? So maybe they seem happy. But aren’t we just using them? To bring us joy? Think about it. They might not even want to live. At least the ones who are nonverbal…how are we going to know if they really want to be alive?”
I thought about how I had pulled up into the ACR parking lot an hour earlier. The parking lot was incredibly full but I luckily found a spot only a few doors down from the training center. As I pulled up, there was a lady sitting in the corner staring at me. Her whole body was noticeable because it was a clear door with narrow clear floor-to-ceiling windows on either side. She was wearing a purple summer shirt and white pants. Her one hand was crossed over her knees which were drawn up and I instantly noticed she was developmentally disabled. When our eyes met, she immediately produced a gigantic smile and her hand waved against the glass. I don’t know how others feel when they are smiled at by strangers, but I think it is one of the best feelings in the world. I immediately felt intense joy as I smiled in spite of myself. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her and her smile. She seemed to not want me to look away and the moment we shared was so intense, I was even afraid it might disappoint her if I looked down. A thought popped into my head: “She is such a beautiful person. Why would anyone look down on her? If they really looked they would see and experience such joy.” And I was comforted with the understanding of why God allowed people to have disabilities. And then, “But that is so selfish. You have no idea who that lady is or the pain and discomfort she might experience on a daily basis. Why would you say it’s good that God allowed disabilities, allowed others to suffer so that they could help someone like you?” And then I went into a tail spin as my mind recalled all my experiences of joy with my former residents, all six of them. I love thinking of them because I can’t stop smiling. But, is that okay? My doubts continued. Because looking back at my ACR job, I can’t see that I did much, but that I was the one continually blessed.
I think of *** who had so much to endure at the end of his young life. And I wonder is it wrong to think, What if *** had never existed? If he didn’t have to go through all that pain? But then I realize. *** had a really great life. Amazing parents and family. Parents who would have laid down their lives for him and maybe did. I don’t know. He had a good home and caregivers who also loved him. He loved going on trips in the car, on vacation. He liked reading books and holding hands. He loved holding little objects and throwing them. He especially liked licking his finger and then poking you in the eye with it (or the butt). Why would God not want *** to experience that love and to have us experience the joy he brought us?
And so my resolution is this: We can’t question God. Why he allows this person to live, that one to die. This perfectly healthy one to die suddenly, another to die a painful death. Why this amazingly genius of a person gets in an accident and suddenly has the mind of a five-year-old. Why this perfectly healthy baby dies at birth by pure accident, and this other one lives fifty years with the mind of an infant. Why this child has severe mental disabilities and that one has severe physical disabilities. Why another individual struggles with chronic pain…the list continues to eternity. It is the question of evil and suffering. The constant questions of Christians and non-Christians alike. But what I do know is what is the point of questioning? What is, is. If I got joy from being poked by ***, I shouldn’t feel guilty that maybe I am using him or something. (Okay so maybe only somebody with such obsessions and tendencies toward absurd guilt will have thoughts like this, but I am being honest.) I should revel in that joy. I used to just sit and stare at him (or another resident) and just thank God for him or her.
I am allowed to feel joy. That doesn’t mean I am saying, “Oh you’re so cute. I like when you make me laugh. Too bad you have to go through all that suffering. Too bad you were created to be used by others.” That is the Evil One trying to ruin my focus and make me think I am a bad person when I am truly one living in the freedom of the Holy Spirit, one whose belief in the sanctity of life is unwavering. Yes I struggle when I see pain and I admit I wonder, what if that person just died and went to heaven? I admit this because I have said it a lot about myself in my own struggles with depression. And when *** died, I knew it was God’s timing. (I had had so many dreams asleep and awake of this happening…I just wanted him to be at peace, free of pain.) I felt sad that I wouldn’t see his happy face anymore or feel his pokes, even if they were slobbery, but I was relieved that he was now freed to be the true unbroken person God had wanted for him before the fall of man. He was laughing constantly, running, walking (and enjoying it!), eating all his favorite foods, taking hot baths and just laying down at the feet of the Savior who had carried him all those good and painful years.
So I guess I will always struggle in my mind. What is life? Do I really value it? Because ever since high school (maybe earlier) I started wondering about the value of my own life. The Devil had a stronghold. Unfortunately, my genes and tendencies toward melancholia didn’t help. But I am happy to say I now 99% of the time value my own life. How much more can I value others’ lives when I value my own? We are each a son or daughter of the Risen Savior, made in His Image. Imago Dei. I say that when I see someone, a stranger; it especially helps if they are not the most attractive. I don’t know why God allows people with disabilities to have a place in our world except for the fact that I am a completely different person because of them. I don’t even feel worthy of all that care, love and joy they brought into me, transforming into someone I have a hard time recognizing today! I don’t know if that’s selfish or not. Who are we to say that people with disabilities don’t experience joy or pleasure, or that they are continually in pain or discomfort? We are not them. Only Jesus knows their soul. So to have peace with myself, I will say, I am cut out for this job. With Him and only with Him, otherwise I would not have made it. That goes for every challenging thing I have gone through. Another thought, maybe I have contributed to the lives of those people with whom I worked. Maybe God did work through me to better their lives in some small way. Maybe they are happy with their lives and to be alive in a way that we will never understand. Doesn’t everyone have a chance at life?
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