Isaiah 35: 1-2

Even the wilderness and desert will be glad in those days.

The wasteland will rejoice and blossom with spring crocuses.

Yes, there will be an abundance of flowers and singing and joy!

February 23, 2024 is a day that ushered me into an uninvited identity – that of a caregiver. My mother had transitioned into my home in November of the previous year. I imagined our new life together would be spent chatting and enjoying meals and memories. I never entertained the idea that I would instead provide and spend my time taking care of her as a new paralytic who no longer could sit up on her own, control her bowel or bladder, nor be able to feel or move anything from above the waist and down. As a registered nurse for 38 years, I had taken care of many people, but this caregiving role was full-time and uncompensated and it involved a shared history between a mother and daughter.

My new identity left me with a slew of emotions and questions, some of which were anger, sadness, loss, compassion, frustration, grief, loneliness, guilt, resentment, physical and emotional exhaustion, and questioning why had God not taken my mother but instead left her to live her remaining days totally dependent on others to meet all of her needs. She did not want this nor did I want this for her.

In the days that followed I quickly understood that if I did not incorporate some self-care and self-protective practices and reframe how I understood my new role, my soul would languish, as anger and resentment was beginning to vie for my heart and mind.

I began to understand that living and caring were not on opposite sides of experiencing a full and rich life. Henri Nouwen writes: “Patience asks us to live the moment to the fullest, to be completely present to the moment, to taste the here and now, to be where we are. When we are impatient we try to get away from where we are.” After reading these words, I made a commitment to thrive in the midst of my desert while remaining committed to being a caregiver.

Here are some lessons I am gleaning and practicing as I walk through the desert and develop a life lens to see beauty in the midst of my journey, through the barren desert caregiving can create:

• Give yourself permission to say “No” to others so you could say “Yes” to yourself. This is both self-care and soul-care. Some best ways to say yes to yourself include eating good, healthy foods, as food is “Farmacy”, staying hydrated, intentionally creating space for doing the things that bring you joy, praying, taking a walk or other forms of body movement, reading, and simply sitting and doing nothing even if it is only 5 minutes.

• Don’t spend time convincing yourself that everything is going to be okay, problem solve instead. Not everything is going to be okay, and some days are filled with angst while other days you feel capable and competent. Convincing yourself through positive thinking does not prepare you to identify and exploit opportunities that can aid in easing the burden of caring for yourself and your loved one that problem solving can provide.

• Ask for and accept help. Give yourself permission to allow others to assist you and ask for assistance. Asking demonstrates strength and builds resilience and lessons the isolation caregiving can create.

• The desert places in your life bloom whether or not you see it, so seek what is good rather than rehearse what is hard. You can find whatever it is you are looking for, so spend your days and hours looking for what is good in the midst of the hard.

• Our journey through barrenness is an opportunity to praise God. “In everything give thanks, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:18. I had to decide that instead of living “foul” I was going to have to live out my faith and that faith often requires trials to bring us to a greater knowledge of both ourselves and our relationship to God. Learning to praise God in the desert is when your eyes begin to open to the beauty of barrenness as your awareness of God becomes acute, because barrenness strips you of unnecessary and unproductive busyness and distractions.

• Finally, caring for another person is simply sharing in a reciprocal relationship that points us to the truth of our own brokenness, and that the person we are caring for has something to teach us about our own blind spots of being broken and in need of care from them as well.

My mother continues to slowly decline and her need for me grows greater each day. My days remain hard, and I still struggle with physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion, however, I cling to the promise that God completes what he begins (Philippians 1:6). Showing up as a caregiver each day is simply the workshop He is using to complete and display the grandeur of His beauty in the midst of desert places. I am learning that caregiving isn’t measured by what I see today, but how I understand each day in light of eternity.

This article is featured in the July, August, September 2024 issue of the Invited magazine.