Worship in the Wreckage

“In Christ alone, my hope is found.

He is my light, my strength, my song. 

This cornerstone, this solid ground. 

Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.

What heights of love, what depths of peace. 

When fears are stilled, when strivings cease.

My comforter, my all in all. 

Here in the love of Christ I stand.”

 

It was a sight I would love to forget; an etching in my minds eye that I hoped time would erase.  There lay the man I had always called my Daddy.  Or at least there lay the wretched inhuman version of his now disease-stricken body.  He was propped up in the starch white hospital bed and his eyes sank so deep into his skull I wasn’t sure if he could even see.  My stomach seemed to turn completely upside-down at the sight before my eyes.  Surely, this couldn’t be the same strong man who once perched me high above his shoulders, and made cyclones in our pool, and built a tree house that had made all the neighbourhood kids jealous.  My Daddy had always been so full of life;  dancing to his crazy Greek music, repeatedly ringing the doorbell to announce his arrivals, and riling up our dog. He was the one cheering loudest (and most embarrassingly) at all our sporting events.  When he walked into a room where he was known, people literally applauded.  Just three years earlier when he walked me down the aisle he had been so strong and vibrant.  He was my Daddy and  I was his “Goofy.”  This man before me now was barely a shadow of the one I knew so well.  I stood there unwilling, unable to believe that this was really happening.  For a moment the walls seemed to close around me and I couldn’t breathe.  I suddenly understood why some people hated hospitals.  I had only just arrived but I knew I needed to leave.  Regardless of  how much I loved my dad, I could not see him like this.  I would not see him like this.  And for the next five days as his health rapidly deteriorated I did everything in my power to stay away. 

 This had gone on for a few days, when I realized that my actions had been affecting the rest of my family who refused to leave him unattended.  My mom hadn’t slept for days, or even months depending on how you looked at it.  So finally I offered to spend a night with him in the hospital so she could get some rest.  I think my youngest sister Becca knew that this would be difficult for me because she insisted on staying with us.  I couldn’t have been more grateful, especially once we learned what the night had in store for us…

It turned out to be his worst night; far worse than any of us could have imagined.  In a disillusioned frenzy he screamed for hours on end as if he were living a nightmare.  He didn’t know who we were; he repeatedly exposed himself and ripped out his catheter.  The nurses had nothing to ease his pain or calm his nerves and eventually they just stopped responding to our calls.  My sister and I were at a complete loss.  Despite our best efforts we could not in any way better his situation yet we were forced to sit there and watch.  We held one another and cried as his torture rampaged on. 

And then, from somewhere deep inside of me rose a voice to sing.  It was the last thing my heart wanted to do. I had been so angry, and scared and empty all at the same time for weeks, months even.  But for some reason, I knew it was what I needed to do.  A strength more resilient than my despair pressed through and with a staggered breath I sang the first few stanzas to one of my favourite songs, “In Christ alone.”   Hardly a moment passed when an indescribable peace settled over the room and I no longer felt at loss.  The weights of stress and fear that I had been carrying seemed to fall right off my shoulders and I no longer felt the need to handle the situation.  I am certain that I entered a time of worship unlike anything I had ever experienced, and that time of worship brought acceptance and understanding.  Somewhere in my sub-conscious I stopped believing that all would be well and I started to believe that all was well right then in that moment.  Even in the midst of such pain and loss I recognized that we weren’t alone.  We never had been.  It was just that this was the first time I was actually focused on God and the fact that He is good, He works all things together for good and He never changes.  My dad had stopped screaming.  He rested his head and closed his eyes.  Becca joined in when I switched to hymns like “Tis so sweet” and “Amazing Grace”.  I have no idea how long this lasted but before I knew it my mom entered the room.  She had been unable to sleep and wanted to spend the night with him after all.  As Becca gathered up our things I leaned over his bed, kissed him on the forehead and told him that I loved him.  Just as I started to rise I heard his whisper, “I love you too, Goofy.”  Later I realized that this was our last lucid moment together.  He was gone less than 24 hours later.

And now, just over a year later I recognize how much of a gift that seemingly horrible night was for me.    Up until that point I had never felt so completely useless in a situation.  It was there that I truly learned to rest in the everlasting arms of my Saviour.  As far back as I can remember  I have had a heart for worship.  But it was there, in the wreckage of my wishes, that I truly understood the heart of worship - which would give Christ my complete focus regardless of the situation.   And perhaps, the greatest gift for me that night, was to know that my daddy, a relatively new believer of Christ had learned both of these incredible truths with me…