Was there ever a year like that year?
That was the year the Uncle, who was the closest to a father in my life, died. That was the year Robin and Jim were taken from us.
That was the year I experienced so much physical pain and then ... pain - pills - pain - pills - addiction!
Uncle Al, my Mother's only brother, lived with us until he married. That year, two days before Christmas, I had a family-do at our place and we noticed how terribly swollen his ankles were. On Christmas Eve he experienced excruciating pain, vomited blood, called his wife's name and died of a massive heart attack.
Merry Christmas!
How do people stand it if they do not have secure assurance through Jesus Christ of a glad reunion with believing loved ones in Heaven?
Still wanting children after several miscarriages, we applied for adoption with so much hope and longing. Precious little Robin was brought to us in June and her dear, wee brother, Jim, came in September. After a few, sometimes confusing, visits from the case worker, we were told that the adoption could not be finalized and that the children would not remain with us, although by this time we'd had them for ten and seven months. I could hardly believe my ears when the case worker asked me to drive them to the Children's Aid Office. No way! When they went out in my car with me, they came home with me.
Did the woman have no feelings? There are no words to describe what my husband and I went through that night, that last night. Desperate thoughts filled our anguished minds. We would go away somewhere and hide them -- but -- of course, that was not possible. She came for them and they were upset because I couldn't stop crying and they couldn't understand my tears.
All their stuff could not fit into the big car she brought so I called a taxi to take the remainder of their toys. The driver had difficulty understanding me as my sobs and tears made me almost incoherent. But he was a kind man.
Oh God, what can You do for hearts so brutally torn?
That year, that awful day, Jim was almost 2 and Robin almost 3. Now they are 36 and 37. So many yearning, shadow-filled years.
In those painful years God taught me many things. He showed me unpleasant things about myself, things I would never have believed if I'd not been in this crucible. One particular thought brought me running to Him, pressing up close to His heart. I would never have willingly given up those precious children but God so loved us that He gave His one and only beloved Son. And my healing is to be found in the wounds of His dear Son.
I had already had several surgeries but in that year, during a ten-month span, I was in hospital five times and had three major operations. Although I'd had previous operations and a lot of pain through the years, the pain was very severe during these months. When the pills had less and less effect, driven by pain, I increased the dosage until I was taking eight or ten pills, three, four or more times a day. I never dreamed I would become addicted until after my last surgery, when the pain kept increasing even though they were giving me morphine. I couldn't sleep, I had to keep moving constantly and the terrifying hallucinations started -- frightening monsters and horrible, grimacing faces tormented me. The doctor wanted to put me in a psychiatric hospital so I'd have help with withdrawal but I begged to go home. Withdrawal was unbelievable. In addition to the incredible pain and petrifying hallucinations, my bowels and kidneys did not function.
I could not eat or drink but repeatedly I would vomit a bitter, hydrochloric acid, so bitter it made my whole body shudder. Most of the time I didn't know what was going on and I didn't recognize my Mother very often. Sometimes I'd hear a horrible, cracked voice and would be suddenly startled to realize that it was my voice trying to sing, "Yesterday, Today, Forever, Jesus is the same." In all of the confusion and pain, the thought of the Lord's Presence came frequently to mind.
One night things got so bad that Al called the doctor around 3:00 a.m. He said to give me one pill and every nerve in my body seemed to be screaming for that pill. I longed to cram my mouth full of that nasty, bitter taste. But, all of a sudden, I said, "No, it's a trap! If I take one pill, I've had it. I won't be able to stop at one and I'll never get back." I know now that the determination came from God because I was a helpless mess and wanting that pill so badly I could taste it.
The following Monday my mind seemed clearer; I realized that I was very ill and was quite convinced that I was dying. I remembered that the Bible said we should call for the Elders when we are sick and that the prayer of faith allows God to respond and get into action on our behalf. I didn't know whether or not it was God's will to heal me but I did know it was imperative to obey Him. That day I recognized my Mother and asked her to call the Pastor and he came with two Elders.
They counselled and prayed with me, anointed me and left. Nothing happened -- no diminishing of the pain -- no change. At that time I was not able to stand up but I said, "Well, if God has healed me, I'd better get up and make supper." So I tottered off into the kitchen and threw some kind of a meal together.
Before he left the Pastor told me to eat something; so I ate half a tomato and to my utter amazement, it stayed down.
Then I went to sit in the garden but the pain and restlessness made it impossible to stay. I went back to bed and fell asleep. It felt like the first sleep I'd had in about a hundred years. I slept for nearly an hour and when I awoke ... the pain was gone and I felt calm, not jumping all over. I couldn't believe it! I was afraid to move in case the calm, pain-free feeling went away. Several times during that night, the pain would start up again, a ghastly, grinding, churning pain; but I simply put my hand over the place that hurt most and prayed,
"Lord Jesus, I thank You for what You have already accomplished in me;" and each time I could actually feel the pain winding down, down, down and subsiding. When I woke up the next morning, I knew that I was no longer a sick woman -- just a very grateful one. A week later I walked into my doctor's office and when he saw me, he threw up his hands and said, "It's a miracle!"
That year, truly, I came to Wit's End Corner. That year -- a year I would not want to re-live but a year for which I'm grateful. What matters the storm, the thorny path, the losses, if through the pain I come to know my heavenly Father in a deeper intimacy and in that knowing learn to rightly know and rightly value myself?
A former Office & Personnel Manager