The Thick of Battle

I closed the door and let out a sigh. It had been a long day, and even from the top of the stairs I could hear her still whoosh-whoosh-whooshing away. Mom is a walking sound machine. She drums, she hums, but mostly she whooshes. From the moment she awakens until she finally settles down at night --some nights, hours after I've tucked her in. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Mealtimes I catch a break. She can't eat and whoosh, so she hums; but humming is not whooshing --I'll take it! 

Some days I forget Mom is in a battle. An insidious trespasser has stolen her adulthood, cruelly leaving her in a body that won't quit and working tirelessly to rob her of peace. Mom needs help. Not simply to dress and care for herself, but to remain at rest. Her confusion often translates into agitation. Speaking calmly to her, reassuring her settles her down. Albeit momentarily. Within minutes she has forgotten every reassurance and we repeat the whole process. All.Day.Long. And when I grow weary of all of this, when my patience has packed its bags and boarded a train to AnywhereButHere, when all I see is the battle I am fighting, I speak sharply. My voice gets louder. My movements, abrupt: banging on keys, shoving things into place, flopping into my chair. And Mom grows even more restless and uncertain as she watches. And the cycle repeats itself with much more intensity. We're taking on casualties!

In Exodus 14, the nation of Israel has been led right to the shores of the Red Sea with the armies of Egypt hot on their heels. Who would have led them there? God led them there. For a reason. But they were terrified, and they cried out to Moses, "Because there were no graves in Egypt, have you taken us away to die in the wilderness?" And they no longer wanted what God had to offer. They didn't like His plan. They didn't like the leader He'd chosen. They didn't like His reasons. They wanted to be left alone, and to remain in bondage. Have you ever felt that way? Like coming out of where you are just might be worse than the pain you know now? At least, where you are --in your pain, in your grief, in your rage-- you know what sort of devil to expect each day, but the devil you may meet...?

Well, if you've attended Sunday school a day in your life, you know what happened. God parted the sea and His people walked to the other side on dry land. After being faced with the prospect of perishing on the beaches of Egypt, Israel's only escape is a four hour (or more) trek between walls of water that, perhaps, towered over their heads by thousands of feet. Talk about tough choices! I get claustrophobic just hanging out at the aquarium! But God sometimes leads us into battles much more grueling than the situation we're in, battles that leave us bruised and broken and bloody, so that we can know He is our Fortress, He is our Healer, He is our Warrior and Savior. 

The battle Mom is in, God has permitted me to be of some help, but it places me right in the thick of things as well. When my eyes are on those tremendous walls of water, fearful they could come crashing down on me at any moment, I am paralyzed with fear. When I hear the roar of the chariots behind me, and see the crowd slogging along ahead of me, and I can't get to the other side fast enough, I wear myself out and drag others down. I want Mom to be well. I've prayed for Mom to be well. But right now, this is God's plan, to take us from here to who knows what. I will trust and follow Him into battle.