Between the Rock and the Hard Places

"The steadfast of mind Thou wilt keep in perfect peace, because he trusts in Thee. Trust in the Lord forever, for in God the Lord, we have an everlasting Rock." - Isaiah 26: 3-4

I've been thinking a lot about my dad this week. I can't believe it's been ten years since he passed away... ten years last night, to be exact. My dad had been living with us for about five months prior, as he was suffering from dimentia and Alzheimer's. Saturday, the 22nd of May, 2010, my dad fell and broke his hip. The week that followed was a blur. It still makes my head spin recalling the events. He had hip surgery the following day. It was suspected that he had suffered a stroke during the operation while under anesthesia. It made things worse... fast. Monday night he almost died. Tuesday his doctor recommended hospice care. I really wasn't prepared for that news. I was still trying to wrap my head around how I would get a hospital bed set up in my house for him to recover with me there at home.

I have always gone to the Lord in prayer with my concerns and problems. I'm ashamed to admit that those are the times I pray most fervently. I should thank Him just as fervently and WAY more often than I do, as He has blessed me with WAY more than I deserve and He's forgiven me WAY more than He should ever have had to. Having said that, there have only been a handful of times in my life when I have felt so distressed and so anguished that I've thrown myself at the Lord's feet, prostrate, begging Him to help. Those were the times my heart was crushed... when I didn't even have the words to utter. I didn't have to. He knew. The week of May 22, 2010, was one of those times.

For those of you who don't know me, the last week of May, 2010, was also the week before my son got married. Mark is our oldest, the only boy, and the first to get married. He and Laura were having the ceremony on Saturday, the 29th in Georgetown. There was also a whirlwind of activity surrounding that celebration. Our youngest daughter, Sarah, was making the groom's cake, and there was a rehearsal dinner to attend, and rental car and hotel rooms for which to make arrangements. I'm thankful my family was able to take care of all that without me, because I was not doing well handling the pressure of the inevitable decision I knew was coming.

There's a song from 1982 by a group called The Clash: "Should I Stay or Should I Go." Maybe you know it. Though I wasn't familiar with it at the time, sitting here now, the title totally sums up what I was feeling back then. The hospice situation wasn't getting any better. I had hoped my dad would rally and give me some indication that all would be well again, but that didn't happen. He was getting steadily worse and downhill was the only direction things seemed to be heading. There were lots of wonderful, well-meaning people who weighed in on the situation, telling me I should go, attend the wedding. After all, this was a new beginning, a huge event for my son, one I should definitely not miss. I knew that. I had always been there for him and with him at every new adventure, but I also felt a loyalty to my father. There were just as many other wonderful, well-intentioned people who told me I should definitely not attend the wedding, that my son would understand, that I should stay with my dad at his end of life. I knew that too. I was caught... caught between a rock and a hard place.

I felt like whatever I chose, it would be the wrong decision. If I missed the wedding to stay at my dad's bedside, and he stabilized, I would have always regretted not being there for my son on his big day. If I attended the wedding and my dad passed away while I wasn't there, I would never have forgiven myself for not being there to walk him the last steps homeward. It was a decision I simply could not make. Adding to my angst was the fact that I'm an only child. I didn't have any brothers or sisters to help me with this decision... no one else to be there with my dad when I wasn't. He didn't have any other family living. My mom had passed away four years before, and my dad's only brother had died before my mom and dad even married. There was just me. I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to be there to hold his hand just like I did for my mother.

As the time grew closer for the wedding, the time also grew imminent for my dad's homegoing. Thursday evening, while my family attended the rehearsal and dinner in Georgetown, I stayed behind with my dad. By Friday morning things were worse. My sweet pastor (gosh what a wonderful, kind, and caring shepherd he was) offered to stay with my dad in lieu of attending the wedding. He said to me, "Who could dare make a 'catty' remark against you for attending Mark's wedding when your dad's pastor would be right there with him should anything happen?" What a caring gesture that was... but in my heart, I wasn't sure I could take him up on the offer.

That day I felt torn in two. My sweet husband, oh how thankful I was for him, asked me what I wanted to do. I still couldn't say. All I could do was cry, hold my dad's hand, and beg God for an answer.

Have you ever been in a situation like that? Has there been a time in your life when you just COULD NOT seem to come to terms enough to make a call... when you knew everything was completely out of your control? That was me. That was the moment I met God between the rock and the hard place. Like the Old Testament king, Hezekiah, who spread out his enemy's words before the Lord and implored Him to give aid and to rescue God's people, I laid my heart and my decision out before God. I placed it all in the Lord's hands. He is the One who knows all, understands all, can DO all.

... and God answered.

It wasn't the way I had hoped. It wasn't the way I expected... but He answered, and in retrospect, I understand that it was the most loving thing God could do for me, for my sweet dad, and for my son. You see, that Friday evening, May 28, 2010, around 10:30 p.m. the Lord called my dad home. I was there with him, holding his hand, walking beside him as far as I could go this side of heaven. I tell you truthfully, my dad's passing was like nothing I had ever witnessed before. In his final moments, it was as if he was trying to speak, trying to say something, but it wasn't to me. He was looking forward, focusing on something I couldn't see, and it seemed to me as if he was trying to wriggle free from the bonds of this earth that were holding him captive. He was headed home, where he longed to be, where he would be reuinted with his Savior... where all would indeed be well, and he was excited to be going there.

God delivered my dad that night, and He delivered me too. My anguish over the inevitable decision I had to make was gone. God had made the choice for me. I cried so many tears that night over death... and over life... and over how incredibly good and gracious the Lord is to hear and to answer when we are in those places of anguish and angst. He meets us between the rocks and the hard places, and this is where we see most clearly of all that we were never squeezed between the two. In this life there will always be hard places. That is inevitable in a fallen world, but you never encounter the hard places without also finding "the Rock" if you look. God is always right there. You never have the one without the other, and what an incredible blessing that is.

It turns out, the best place to be during life's difficulties, the place where rescue and deliverance happen is right there... between the Rock and the hard places.