Little Glimpses of God
This weekend was full of lots of activity. Our niece and her children were with us, providing fun and excitement that we always enjoy. We adopted a little dog from a shelter in a nearby state (more on that later) and we went to see our Lacy Alan as usual on Sunday.
How fun it was to play with the children, help our niece paint her new office, and spend time together. They always bring a smile to our faces and joy to our lives.
A week ago, as I was looking through the list of adoptable dogs in our area, I came upon Violet - a beautiful little French Bulldog missing a front leg, needing a home. She tugged at my heartstrings, and after our application and a few phone calls, I drove the 45 minutes to get her and bring her home. She's quickly becoming "our" dog, and her little eyes are beginning to light up when we walk in the door.
On Sunday, we went to see Lacy Alan as usual. Walking into his apartment, I was met at the door with a smile. "Hi, Mom!" he grinned. "Guess what? I was talking to Dr. Charles (not a real doctor - one that Lacy 'sees' occasionally) and telling him that my mind is crooked and out of whack. He told me to lie down and sing my worship songs and I would feel better."
He was so happy to see me, but what he said really caught me by surprise. How much does he understand about what is happening to him? We try to explain that the changes he sees in himself are the result of Huntington's Disease, but it doesn't seem to get through. Yet here he was, obviously having had some kind of insight as to what is happening in his body and mind.
As is usual with our visits, the joyful Lacy Alan - the one we have had the privilege of knowing for 30 years - disappeared within a few minutes. He became paranoid, and accusatory. We were 'pretending' to be his parents. We were bad people and were always trying to confuse him. We needed to be arrested. Within 20 minutes we were ordered out of his apartment, the door slammed and locked behind us.
I can usually get through these experiences, chalk them up to HD, be happy with the 5 minutes of connection, but this time, I couldn't get past the painful realities. I cried most of Monday.
So many parts of our life make me happy - we can see Lacy whenever we want, we have family close, I love my job, and enjoy my coworkers - yet that happiness somehow pushed me farther into despair. What was I thinking? How could I be happy? Our child is drifting farther from us; he is slowly dying, bits and pieces of him falling away week by week, month by month. Nothing can be done, we can't turn back the tide, we can't stop the train from continuing its relentless course toward us.
This is the whirlpool of thought that I was dragged into on Monday. It's hard to climb out of that by myself. In fact, I can't. I spent some time crying and praying. Kenny and I talked about our feelings and agreed that it was a 'bum deal.' Not fair. Cruel.
Then on Tuesday morning, as I was driving to work, a little tune I remember from a program that I watched when I was a child began to run through my mind: "Something good is going to happen to you...happen to you...this very day. Something good is going to happen to you; Jesus of Nazareth is passing your way."
As the day progressed, I could see the little glimpses of God in all this sadness. He is truly "passing my way" every day. My incredible husband, the wonderful moments with our boy, my supportive family, my coworkers, the joy I get from interacting with children, the happiness our little dogs give us - all of these are gifts, proof that we can have joy alongside pain. Every day He is telling us "I'm passing your way."
How fun it was to play with the children, help our niece paint her new office, and spend time together. They always bring a smile to our faces and joy to our lives.
A week ago, as I was looking through the list of adoptable dogs in our area, I came upon Violet - a beautiful little French Bulldog missing a front leg, needing a home. She tugged at my heartstrings, and after our application and a few phone calls, I drove the 45 minutes to get her and bring her home. She's quickly becoming "our" dog, and her little eyes are beginning to light up when we walk in the door.
On Sunday, we went to see Lacy Alan as usual. Walking into his apartment, I was met at the door with a smile. "Hi, Mom!" he grinned. "Guess what? I was talking to Dr. Charles (not a real doctor - one that Lacy 'sees' occasionally) and telling him that my mind is crooked and out of whack. He told me to lie down and sing my worship songs and I would feel better."
He was so happy to see me, but what he said really caught me by surprise. How much does he understand about what is happening to him? We try to explain that the changes he sees in himself are the result of Huntington's Disease, but it doesn't seem to get through. Yet here he was, obviously having had some kind of insight as to what is happening in his body and mind.
As is usual with our visits, the joyful Lacy Alan - the one we have had the privilege of knowing for 30 years - disappeared within a few minutes. He became paranoid, and accusatory. We were 'pretending' to be his parents. We were bad people and were always trying to confuse him. We needed to be arrested. Within 20 minutes we were ordered out of his apartment, the door slammed and locked behind us.
I can usually get through these experiences, chalk them up to HD, be happy with the 5 minutes of connection, but this time, I couldn't get past the painful realities. I cried most of Monday.
So many parts of our life make me happy - we can see Lacy whenever we want, we have family close, I love my job, and enjoy my coworkers - yet that happiness somehow pushed me farther into despair. What was I thinking? How could I be happy? Our child is drifting farther from us; he is slowly dying, bits and pieces of him falling away week by week, month by month. Nothing can be done, we can't turn back the tide, we can't stop the train from continuing its relentless course toward us.
This is the whirlpool of thought that I was dragged into on Monday. It's hard to climb out of that by myself. In fact, I can't. I spent some time crying and praying. Kenny and I talked about our feelings and agreed that it was a 'bum deal.' Not fair. Cruel.
Then on Tuesday morning, as I was driving to work, a little tune I remember from a program that I watched when I was a child began to run through my mind: "Something good is going to happen to you...happen to you...this very day. Something good is going to happen to you; Jesus of Nazareth is passing your way."
As the day progressed, I could see the little glimpses of God in all this sadness. He is truly "passing my way" every day. My incredible husband, the wonderful moments with our boy, my supportive family, my coworkers, the joy I get from interacting with children, the happiness our little dogs give us - all of these are gifts, proof that we can have joy alongside pain. Every day He is telling us "I'm passing your way."
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