ROI

My mother-in-law has reached the point in her final journey where she requires someone to help her get out of bed.  She no longer even walks with a walker but must be transported from her room to the dining room using her wheelchair (which my 4-year-old granddaughter referred to the other day as "Grandma’s stroller").

So it was with surprise and anger that I went in to check on her the other day and she had gotten herself out of bed on her own.  I was wise enough to not say much, not trusting myself to not give it to her with both barrels.  She had literally risked her life and health in order to do something on her own that should be done only with the help of others.  The reason she is on hospice is because she wants to die at home rather than in a hospital.  I was about to point out how one moment’s decision could shift her current delicate balance so significantly that she would make it impossible to die at home because she would have hurt herself so seriously she would have been admitted to the hospital.

When Anina was 86 (she turns 97 on April 12, Lord willing) we asked her how she would like her life to play out if she had some control and some choice in the matter.  She made clear she wanted to keep attending her church, shopping at her stores, living in her home and finally dying in her bed.  This began the journey for Sharon and I in which we moved back to Southern California in order to honor Anina by doing what we could to make her desire come to fruition.

What saddens me about my inner response to finding Anina out of bed is what was taking place in my heart.  My inner conversation with Anina went something like this:  “We didn’t give up the best church we ever served located in the best place we ever lived and exiled ourselves to Southern California for eight years only to have you break a hip and die in the hospital.” In other words, I was thinking of me. 

I thought I had counted the cost when we decided to move back to Southern California in September 2006 so that we could be closer to Anina and help her with whatever years she had left.  Evidently I have come to think the cost might be too high if the story ends differently than what Anina and I envisioned.

When her impulsive decision threatened to provide a different ending to the story all I could think of was that this would somehow make our sacrifice null and void. It will all have been for naught.  In essence I was angry because it felt like all we have done for her over the years was not worth her being careful enough to stay the course and step into eternity from the comfort of her own bed.  In short, there is evidently in me an assumption that when I choose to serve another then the other must cooperate in the process so that things turn out the way I want.

When I typed that last sentence I realized that that has never been the case in my forty-four years of following Jesus.  It hasn't been the case with my marriage.  It hasn't been the case with my children or grandchildren.  It hasn't been the case with the people in the churches I have served.  God doesn’t lay out how things will turn out and then ask me to serve.  He asks me to serve and leave the results to him.  Sadly it seems I have adopted a Return on Investment attitude toward serving.  If I can’t get reimbursed, at least I want the scenario to play out the way I have it pictured in my head.  Like you, I can be very shallow.  I just hate it when it becomes so obvious.

When you run out of things to do today you can take a minute to pray for me.  Just like Anina I want to finish well.  And while you're praying, ask God to impress on Anina the need to accept the help available. Tomorrow is the celebration of her birthday and her retirement from ministry last December.  I'd like her to be here when the guests arrive instead of being in the hospital.