Posted by: browjan | September 24, 2010

Hair Today

I looked at my schedule this morning and saw “Hair Today” and prepared myself for battle or the inevitable Hair-Wash Wars. There is nothing  quite like a mom and daughter locked in conflict especially when the authority out of necessity has shifted. Mama still doesn’t know she is no longer in charge, and as far as possible I want to keep her from that knowledge. Dementia aids in that process, but a good bit of strategy is also needed, because for Mom, hair washing is as despicable as water boarding.

When I was a child, Mama used to lay me across the counter top and wash my long curls in the big kitchen sink. “Here’s a washcloth for your eyes,” she’d remind me to avoid getting any stingy shampoo in them. She’d carefully test the water to make sure it was not too hot and not too cold. Then she’d gently pour the warm water over my hair from a plastic cup. I loved the feel of her fingers as they massaged my scalp and the sweet scent of shampoo. She’d remind me of how important it was to have clean hair. Then she’d wrap it in a big fluffy towel and I’d sit on the stool while she dried and curled it.

Today it is a battle to get Mama to take a bath or shower, wash her hair, change her clothes. These things annoy her or scare her and in her opinion are totally unnecessary. Why can’t she wear the same clothes three days in a row? It’s too cold to take a bath. Showers scare her because water gets in her ears and face. Her fingernails are just fine thank you very much and don’t you dare go near her feet with clippers. Any form of hygiene is a battleground for Mom, but once we engage in the combat, she always comes out feeling like a winner.

Today, we washed her hair in the kitchen sink. But it took several minutes of intense negotiating and subtle stipulations before she ultimately surrendered. Even though I think I am in charge, she negotiated the terms of agreement.

“I need a washcloth for my eyes,” she stated.

“Check!” I nodded.

“And, don’t get the water too hot,”

Check.

“…or too cold…”

Check.

“And a towel for my neck…”

Check.

“And don’t get any water in my ears.”

Check.

Once the stipulations were all in place, we endeavored to carry out the plan.

“O.K. I’m ready,” She announced as she prepared herself for the ultimate torture. She held the washcloth to her eyes, her face squeezed tight against the coming trial of it all. Her legs shook nervously up and down. The enemy had her, and all she could do now was endure.

I was careful to test the water that it was neither too hot or too cold. I cautiously poured the water from a plastic cup over her tight white curls. Her expression softened. “That feels good,” she said.

Tenderly, I massaged the shampoo into her hair and she breathed in the sweet scent. “That smells nice,” she announced. Her evil captor was not as horrid as she feared.

Once we were done, I wrapped her hair up in a towel, and made sure her ears were nice and dry. “That wasn’t so bad,” she told me. Then we dried and curled her hair. I showed her the end result in the mirror, but the final assessment was not in her hands.

“How’s it look?” she asked Dad.

“It looks just fine,” he assured her. And he smiled.

“I just love getting my hair done,” she informed us. We smiled, both of us glad that it was over until the next Hair-Wash Day.

It may seem a bit cheesy, but this morning when I read the words “Hair Today”, I  was immediately reminded—perhaps by the Holy Spirit—to live in the now. All all this is so fleeting. We are “hair today”, but gone tomorrow. I cannot change the past, but I can affect the future by how I respond in the present. God has given me this moment with my mom, and this moment like all moments has a purpose in His grand scheme of things. In the past, my mother washed my hair. In the present, I wash hers. In the past, she was careful to calm my fears and make hair washing a pleasant experience. I remember those moments as I encounter these times with her today. Some of these moments are here to test my attitude, my fortitude, my perseverance. Other moments glaringly reveal to me selfish aspects of my character. Still others provide an opportunity just to love. An action that bridges the past into the future. As C.S. Lewis expressed it, it is how we respond in that now that touches eternity.

Ecclesiastes 3:11
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

Posted by: browjan | September 19, 2024

Her Stairway to Heaven

Her Stairway to Heaven

Miss you Mama.
May 17, 1927 to July 16, 2014.
6 days after Dad.

You couldn’t stay
Half of you was gone
And beckoned to you from the stairs
So you cried out
Though speech seemed gone
“I’ll be there soon!”

And as you labored to climb those steps
They waited there
Both of your Beloveds
Beckoning you on
Eager, Anticipating, Joy.

I knew it was time
As you reached the final rung,
I kissed your beloved lips goodbye
Your last warm breath touched mine

And I alone
In that fleeting moment
Saw happiness, love and joy upon your face.

I wouldn’t-couldn’t cling
But pushed you through
And whispered “Well done,
Brave beloved Mama,
Enter into your joy.”

Memories of a country/city preacher by George Farrington

My father George shared this memory with me, after he came to live with me and before his death in July, 2014.

In 1976, we moved to the big city of Long Beach to take a church in an inner city area. It was much different from our past ministry in the sleepy country valley. We lived on a dirt road there, with our only neighbor a brisk walk from the parsonage to the little grey church. We always knew that any car coming down that road was coming to see us, and coffee was always on to welcome them. We never worried about crime in the valley, and I never locked the church. In fact, I never had a key for it as it was long ago misplaced. The church philosophy was in place long before my arrival. It was to be a place of prayer and available to all at any time. Of course, some friendly migrant workers found this a place for rest and sleep as they walked from one job to another. They never hurt anyone or left any mess. And I always made it a point to wake them up a good hour or two before any Sunday service. In the late 60s and early 70s, we all appreciated these zealous workers. 

So you can imagine the shock to our senses, when we moved from our serene country ministry to one in the busy city of Long Beach, California. Now we lived on a busy road with buses that shook our tiny parsonage as they rumbled by. Our neighborhood contained many wonderful friendly neighbors, but it also had a lot of crime, quite a juxtaposition  from life in the little country town. 

We loved the new ministry in this melting pot of a neighborhood. We had a multi-international church, and our potlucks were terrific. Filipino food, Soul food, and Asian cuisine! So many wonderful cultures who met with the same love and purpose for God. It is funny as I think of it now, because I wanted to be a missionary but was declined by mission boards because of my crippled feet! God brought this wonderful mission field to me! There was only one concern. 

A lot of crime was happening in our neighborhood, and I began to second guess having moved there.  I prayed a lot about it and was concerned for the safety of my family. God heard my prayers and gave me a strange experience to assure me that we were protected. This experience was so personal that I did not share it for many years. But I share it now because maybe it will encourage future generations.

Nighttime Visitor

“My wife and I were asleep in bed, and our son Jimmy was in his room down the hall from us.  I remember waking up suddenly to a soft, peaceful light at the end of my bed.  It was shaped like a man but it had no features, almost the opposite of a shadow as no darkness was in it. It didn’t speak. In fact, the room was blanketed in total peace and an almost holy silence. 

 I watched this figure serenely glide about my bedroom and felt no fear. I only felt curious. Who was this ghostly figure, and why was it visiting us?

After watching it move about for several minutes, I decided to address my questions. ‘Who are you?’ I quietly called out.   ‘What do you want?’ 

I purposely kept my voice low, not wanting to wake my wife Evie still sleeping beside me. But at the sound of my voice she jerked awake. 

“What is that?” she clutched at my arm. Now I was certain this was not a dream, or figment of my imagination brought on by last evening’s multi cultural potluck!

We both sat up in bed and continued to watch the figure of light as It glided about our room. It would go to the window that faced the church parking lot, then to the foot of our bed like a solder standing guard. Then as if it was being directed, it silently glided out of our room and began moving up and down the hallway toward Jimmy’s room and then back toward the living room. 

I definitely wanted to learn the purpose of this celestial visitor. “I’m going to ask it what it is doing here,” I told Evie, as I began to get out of bed.   Evie would have none of that. She grabbed my arm and said, ‘No, George, leave it alone!’  Before I could find my slippers, it silently glided back into our room. It went over our bed with almost a rush of air, like someone had just turned on a ceiling fan, and came to an abrupt landing in front of the same bedroom window facing the church parking lot where it had earlier kept silent vigil. 

Startled, I called out again, this time in a loud, firm voice, “What do you want?” At my words, it instantly vanished.  Total silence enveloped the room. 

“Well, it’s gone now,” I patted Evie’s hand. “You can go back to sleep.” Of course Evie, would not sleep until I turned on the lamp and visited the bathroom, got a drink in the kitchen, and looked in on Jimmy still quietly snoring in his bed—his favorite stuffie clutched firmly to his chest. None of this nightly visit had disrupted his sleep. Nor had it disrupted Tammy our deaf German Shepherd curled on the floor by his bed. There was no sign of our visitor, and all was well. I wasn’t afraid at all. Just slightly bewildered. Who was this visitor, and what was it doing here? I returned to bed, and after assuring Evie, I prayed a quick prayer with her of thanksgiving. We were both immediately blanketed in peace and tranquility. God covered us with a deep fatigue, and we drifted back to sleep.  

Protection from Evil

“The next morning, with the incident fresh in my mind, I looked around outside that bedroom window where the light had hovered and stayed. Just beneath it, I found footprints in the ground and some cigarette butts.  Someone unusual and not belonging to our family, had been there. Perhaps they had been scared away when I called out loudly, ‘What do you want?’

As I stared at the ground and the evidence of someone who had been hovering uninvited outside, Peace, who is a Person, flooded my heart with confidence and great joy. I knew the light was an angel God had sent to protect us.  From that moment on,  I knew I had nothing to fear and nothing to worry about. God was with us, and He was protecting us.  

How it Affected My Ministry

We remained in Long Beach for over twelve years. The church, just next door to our house, was robbed once. The homes up and down our long and busy boulevard experienced robberies and other more serious crimes including rape, and one murder. But our home was never touched. 

We continued to have a highly effective ministry there, and my encounter with the angel had a profound impact on my work. Although I never spoke of the angel, I was always mindful of its presence. Peace accompanied me constantly. Amid a community often plagued by disruption and turmoil, Peace was our steadfast companion. Though I kept the angel’s presence to myself, I aimed to convey its mission to my congregation. I wanted my flock to experience the same deep Peace that I knew so well. We were not driven by fear but guided by a profound sense of God’s presence. Peace was with us.

This Peace remains with us still today in my twilight years.

As I reflect, I am reminded of John Wesley, the renowned Methodist preacher who experienced a profound sense of peace despite facing numerous trials in his ministry. Wesley was always aware of God’s presence with him. It is recorded that as he lay dying, he declared, “Best of all, God was with us.” I deeply resonate with his final words. Indeed, God has been with us and continues to be as I navigate the journey of old age. My greatest hope is that this peace will endure for the generations that follow. There is no greater gift I can offer than this legacy of Peace—an unyielding flame that flickers softly in the heart, undeterred by the fiercest of storms. Best of all, Peace is with you.

Posted by: browjan | August 31, 2024

Eternal Love

Eternal Love

Throughout their lives, my parents were inseparable. They did everything together and wouldn’t even consider taking trips apart. From morning coffee on the porch to their dedicated work in the church office, their synchronized steps through life’s dance (the only type of dancing Dad allowed!) showcased their unity. My parents, Pastor George and Evie, were not just partners in marriage but in every conceivable aspect of life. 

Mama even expressed that she hoped they would die together. She couldn’t bear the thought of an existence apart. This inseparable bond was symbolized by Dad’s hat, a constant in their daily ritual. 

Dad always wore this hat. He loved the ministry it represented, and every evening he would take it off and place it on “his side” in the same spot on the dresser. Every morning he would lift it from its spot and with hands trembling from Parkinson’s set it firmly in place on his head. The morning after he died, the hat remained on the dresser, a silent symbol of his passing. 

My mama, who no longer spoke due to advanced dementia, pointed to his hat sitting in its normal resting place. “You want Dad’s hat?” I asked. She nodded. 

As I handed her the hat, her fingers trembled, not just from age, but from the profound weight of memories it carried. As she placed it on her head, it was as if she was trying to keep a piece of him close, a silent plea to time to not separate them. Though she was unable to express it verbally, the gesture spoke of her deep grief and desire to always be near her beloved George. They were married just 2 weeks shy of 66 years. 

Four days later, she sat stoic and silent with my brothers who had come to comfort her. In the quiet of the room, where time seemed to pause, Mama, who had been silent for so long, suddenly looked upwards with a clarity that hadn’t touched her eyes in years. “What are you doing up there, George?!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of frustration and longing. “I don’t know if I can come up there… Sigh. Okay. I will try!” she promised. Those were her last spoken words. 

The next day, she began to struggle with breathing, the same hospice for dad was called in. Two days later, as she breathed her last, warm against my lips, it was as if her spirit passed through me. In that final kiss, she fulfilled her promise to join him in eternity.

The rain on the day of their burial was fitting, as if the heavens themselves wept for a love so complete, now reunited in eternity. The hat, their silent guardian, was laid with them, a symbol of their undying bond.

Posted by: browjan | March 2, 2016

Alzheimer’s Prayer

St. Ignatius of Loyola

Take, Lord, and receive
all my liberty,
my memory,
my understanding,
and my entire will,

All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours;
do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,

that is enough for me.

Yes, that is enough.

Posted by: browjan | August 11, 2012

Yours or Mine?

Sometimes people ask us, “How do you bear it–caring for loved ones with alzheimer’s?”

Attitude is everything, and finding humor in the midst of sadness can go a long way in fortifying your spirit. The other day, Mama provided us with such a moment.

No one takes more medicine than Mama. She takes so many pills that everyone at our pharmacy knows her by name. But Dad takes a few pills, too. For days, Dad had been looking for his prostate medicine to arrive. When it finally did, I took it to him, and as I was leaving I overheard this exchange:

Dad: “Oh good, the medicine arrived!”
Mama: “What???”
Dad: “The medicine.”
Mama: “I can’t hear you!”
Dad: “MEDICINE ARRIVED!”
Mama: “What medicine?”
Dad: “PROSTATE MEDICINE!”
Mama: “Your prostate or mine?”

Laughter is good for the soul and for the attitude.

Proverbs 14:13 Even in laughter the heart may ache…”

Posted by: browjan | July 29, 2012

It is Well with My Soul but Maybe NOT My Brain

I used to say with confidence, “There are a lot of things that Mom forgets, but no matter what she always remembers Jesus.” But the sad thing about this disease is that it goes in stages. The brain is slowly dying and parts of it are going away. So, it isn’t actually true that Mama forgets who I am, it is the case that this part of the brain is no longer functioning.

I believe we are made up of body and soul. We are corporeal and spiritual. C.S. Lewis said “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”  The simple fact is that our bodies are subject to aging and with that comes aches and pains and eventual death! Death is the separation of the soul from the body. An existence unfavorable with God. He made our souls to live in our bodies. That’s why the hope of the resurrection is so awesome. Jesus rose from the grave – His soul reunited with His body. Our soul in death awaits that day when it will once again join with the body – a body no longer subject to illness, decay or death  or long good-byes of Alzheimer’s.

In Alzheimer’s, The sad aspect of the disease sometimes called “the long good-bye” is that it goes in phases. In Mid-Stage you are forgetful, late Mid-Stage you may be confrontational, but in final stage you slowly lose cognitive and physical function.  In the final stage of alzheimer’s where my mother-in-law currently resides, one loses speech. While, I used to “brag” that my mother in law may forget a lot of things but she never forgets Jesus, today, I can’t say that with full certainty because my mother in law is in this final stage. Most of the time she sits and stares. She cannot walk or tell you what she needs. The light rarely appears in her eyes anymore – even if I read the Bible or sing or talk to her about Jesus. As the brain slowly dies cognitive thinking may be impossible. But here is our hope. Here is what we cling to, even if we become victims of this horrible disease: Though I may forget Him, He never forgets me.

My salvation rests in the fact that He knows me, He called me by name. It does not rest in my physical cognitive ability “to know” but in my soul’s eternal relationship with Him. It may be that I no longer know Him in a cognitive way, but it is sufficient to be able to say HE KNOWS ME. And this is enough.

It is the essence and meaning of the simple profound statement: “It is well with my soul.” Our brain may be gone, our body may completely fail us to the point where others say, “It’s not well with her brain!” But because of my relationship with Christ, they can say with full confidence even if I can’t: It is well with her soul!

Psalm 115:12 “The Lord remembers us…”

Posted by: browjan | June 17, 2011

Let’s Face It

http://wp.me/pSJm7-3q>Putting a happy face on a sad disease

Posted by: browjan | June 17, 2011

Let’s Face It

On Mother’s Day, I decided to give my mother in law a special treat. So, I gathered up all my Mary Kay and drove over to the nursing home where she is living in the Alzheimer’s Unit. Once there, she sat staring straight ahead as I began pulling lotion, powder and lip gloss out of my purse. I creamed her face and lotioned her hands and went a bit wild with the peacock-blue eye shadow. But, no amount of pampering seemed to alter her gaze. She clutched her baby doll against her soft cheek, and seemed to slip into another world. I left feeling a bit disappointed. I was certain she would not remember the time we spent together, but even so I was glad for one more Mother’s Day with her.

Mother's Day 2011

A few days later, I was visiting again when Mom kept pointing to my purse. I unzipped the closure and let her rummage about in the contents. First she pulled out the brush and said, “Well, well.” I gently brushed her hair for several minutes. Then with determination she began to rummage again until she pulled out a compact. Lifting the lid, she said, “Well, well.” So, I applied a bit of Fancy Nancy lip gloss to her soft mouth.

One of her friends in a near-by wheel chair began to shuffle her chair closer until she grasped my arm. “And thatsa maybe how,” she declared with soft laugh.

“Would you like some makeup, too?” I asked.

“Thatsa maybe how…” she answered.

I put a bit of lip gloss on to a facial tissue and gently applied it to her friend. But before I could finish, another and then another came to gather around me each communicating in their own special way that they wanted to be pampered, too. 

I spent a glorious hour playing make-up with women who might not remember any of it in an hour. However, seeing my mother in law rummage through my purse made me realize once again that it doesn’t really matter how much is remembered. There is great joy in the moment.

A rare smile after a fun day

 

And this may be just one way to put a happy face on a sad disease.

 

1 Chronicles 16:11
Look to the LORD and his strength; seek his face always.

Posted by: browjan | April 12, 2011

Mama Plans to Drive

Sunday morning didn’t dawn it began before the sun was up with a “tap, tap, tapping” on my bedroom door. For you Edgar Allen Poe fans, this was not the Raven rap-rap-rapping, it was my mom in her psychedelic bathrobe just there to inform me:
 
“She is not feeling well today. She doesn’t feel like getting up.”

My first thought was for our ancient of days everlasting never-ending bladder-leaky female cat SHEba who has taken up residence with Mom and Dad.

“Do you mean the cat? Is something wrong with Sheba?” I asked half hoping half dreading her ancient demise.

“No, no not the cat. He’s fine…but she had a bad night. She doesn’t want to get up.”

My thoughts turned to Dad who was recently diagnosed with Parkinson’s. He had been feeling a bit dizzy last night.

 

 “Do you mean, Dad is not feeling well?” I mumbled trying to pull myself awake enough to understand.

 

“No, no *she*…” My mom spoke as if it were top-secret or perhaps afraid that *she* would overhear us talking.

“Who do you mean then?” I asked for clarification.

“You know,” Mom whispered, “My mother, she is having a spell, she isn’t getting up. But its ok, I will drive us to church…if  I can just find the keys….”

At the words “drive” I jolted out of bed now fully awake as if I had just downed my first 3 cups of morning java. The mental picture of Mom driving anywhere brings up images of Mr Toad’s Wild Ride – that crazy harrowing journey put on by Disney.

I hurried downstairs to check on Dad. It turned out that he was not feeling well and had informed Mom he was not getting up.

“I feel too dizzy to drive to church,” he said.

 “Well, don’t you worry,” Mom said. “I can drive me and Mom to church…” 

“EVIE STOP IT! JUST SHUT UP!”  (Yes, you read that right!) Obviously, Dad had been putting up with this strange conversation for some time. He immediately regretted his choice of words as if he had just cussed for the first time. “God forgive me, I never say that…”
 
 I gently led Mom away and urged Dad to get some more rest, but silently applauded his effort to keep Mom in the present. Why was she acting this way? I think I may have figured out the reason.
 
 My mom is used to having Dad care (read do everything) for her, and when he was unable to get up as usual, she became disturbed. She would have to be the caregiver and her mind went back in time to when she was young and actually did care for her invalid mother.
 
Sunday morning, she stayed in that mode for about 3 hours coming upstairs via the hum of her little chair lift every ten minutes or so to give me a status report on *she*. I thanked her and pretended that I was concerned that *she* be allowed to rest as much as possible. I was able to convince Mom not to drive anywhere (yeah, right!), but stay and keep me informed.
 
A few hours later, when Dad was feeling well enough to get up, Mom snapped out of it. *She* then poofed and was as the poet said, nevermore.
 
Ordeal over. Crisis solved. Until next time…keys will remain safely hidden.
 
Isaiah 46:4
Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.
Posted by: browjan | October 3, 2010

The Long Good Bye

The Long Good Bye.

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