Thursday, June 22, 2017




Advertise with us

Horne: Beauty for ashes

By Dorothy Horne
March 18, 2017 at 4 a.m.


As my husband's Alzheimer's progresses, I find it harder to write about because it is so personal. However, I believe it is a ministry to which God has called me so I will continue to write. It is always my prayer that these writings will encourage those who are dealing with Alzheimer's and other difficult circumstances. My objective is to testify to God's grace and provision in all things, and to raise awareness about Alzheimer's disease and people affected by it. My hope is that one day soon I can stop writing about it because a cure has been found.

These days, Byron seems less aware of his losses and is usually fairly content. The "blessing" of progressive memory loss is you are not aware of the sadness most of the time. But I am — it is a part of me and every caregiver who is watching or has watched their loved one slowly fade away. That is the way Alzheimer's takes its victims.

Sometimes, however, Byron will have a moment of clarity into his current reality and it is heartbreaking. He has always been a talented artist and still enjoys drawing. Recently he drew a picture that consisted of two simple figures. One was smiling and arrayed in vibrant colors; the other was smaller and without color. I asked him to tell me about the picture. He pointed to the bright figure and said, "This one is happy, like a child."

"What about the other one?" I asked.

He looked at it a minute and frowned slightly. "I think that one is just fading away." He was quiet, and I knew then he was aware of what was happening to him.

Sometimes we'll be sitting at the table and I'll notice his eyes welling up. "Are you sad?" I'll ask with a lump in my throat, while silently praying God will give me the right words to say.

"What's wrong with me?" he will ask anxiously. I'll gently remind him he has Alzheimer's disease, and that it is not his fault. I'll assure him when God calls him home he will not have the disease anymore. Sometimes we'll pray or I will read encouraging Bible verses and devotional selections to him. And we'll cry.

Occasionally, Byron will express that he doesn't know what his purpose is _ that he feels useless, that he has ceased to matter. He will ask, "What am I supposed to be doing? I know I'm supposed to be doing something, but I just don't know what." He will tell me, in so many words, what he has told me since he was first diagnosed. "I want to make a difference. I want to help people. I want to be a kind person. I want to be someone who cares."

I'll hold his hand and tell him he is all those things and more, and that he does indeed make a difference. I'll tell him that through his faith and courage, God is encouraging and touching many people. And we'll cry.

But the question he raised recently was the most heartbreaking yet. "Where are all my people? I used to have more people. I haven't seen them in a long time."

I assured him that his family and friends love and care for him and that they do come and see him. I reminded him I am here and will take care of him. We held each other and cried together until there were no more tears. What else can you do?

Maybe the best thing, the only thing to do is just to let go — to allow ourselves to be held, to rest in Christ. To be still and listen, to allow him to take us deeper, to have faith. For what is faith but trusting even when we don't understand? As we let go and trust, we will begin to sense his presence and his arms holding and comforting us. Under the shadow of his wings, we experience "the peace of God, which transcends all understanding" (Philippians 4:7). When we give him praise and thanks, our eyes open to the myriad miracles, both great and small, surrounding us. We rise up and discover he has given us "beauty for ashes."

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim freedom for the captives

and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor

and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn,

and provide for those who grieve in Zion —

to bestow on them a crown of beauty

instead of ashes.

— Isaiah 61:1-3

— Dorothy Horne's book, "Glimpses of Grace: Walking in Hope through Alzheimer's and Ordinary Days," is available in paper back or Kindle at amazon.com. Find her blog, Glimpses of Grace, at news-journal.com and dorothyhorneauthor.com.

SHARE

Comments

Powered By AdvocateDigitalMedia