It’s been one year since that beautiful October morning. My house looked like the aftermath of a wild tailgate party. There was an enormous RV in my driveway with the awning drawn out, tables and chairs and empty cups scattered around. A barbeque pit stood in my front yard while my porch held coolers and a huge white banner.
It was my 38th birthday, but more notably than that, it was the first morning I had woken up after losing my mom. This hadn’t been a party. This had been hospice care.
The hospital cot in my bedroom that held all 90 pounds of my sweet, fragile mother and was now empty. The cancer had been too aggressive, her body too tired, too weak to sustain more treatments, and she was sent home to be surrounded by family.
We were there beside her as she had taken her last breath. In tears, I fumbled around determined to quickly unhook her from the tubes administering medicines to keep her comfortable. After all, she wasn’t in pain anymore. Then my sister and I laid beside her as we cried and took in all that had happened.
I can remember smelling fresh cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. I certainly didn’t make them, they just appeared, much like everything had appeared and gotten done that past week. My refrigerator was full of fajitas and barbeque and cold drinks. My kitchen counters were covered in beautiful flowers and cards and baked goods — like lemon poppy seed muffins and buttermilk pie.
My four young kids were picked up, taken places, and brought home. Laundry was done. Friends and family would just show up through my front door, and like little love ninjas, they would leave packages of paper plates and plastic ware and trash bags. They would pile up dirty clothes in baskets and take them home to wash. They would see my unorganized closets and junk drawers and would jiggle the handle on the toilet in the hallway that always runs. They would stay and reminisce and laugh and sing and pray and play cards.
Essentially, they would hold our arms up, not literally, but figuratively in the best way.
There is a story in Exodus 17 where Moses is in a battle. As long as he could hold his arms up in prayer, the Israelites would continue to win. When he lowered his arms from exhaustion, the battle would turn the other way. So his friends came around him to physically hold his arms up with their own.
This is not unlike our hospice care experience. As we gathered around our mom to comfort her in her last days of a beautifully lived life, it took our full, devoted attention. I could barely remember what day it was as they all seemed to run together, much less think about cooking meals or making sure the toilet wasn’t running. Our arms were weak and tired and without the army of people that swooped in to help hold them up for my sister and I, we could not have done it.
But sometimes, the battles we are facing are unknown because we won’t let people in.
Somewhere a marriage is crumbling, an addiction is consuming, a depression is hovering, a loss is pending and our shame and fear of exposing the brokenness holds us hostage to our pain. We are losing the battle. My experience in these situations has taught me greatly about the need for community, the need to let trusted people in. To avoid doing so is to rob them of the opportunity to rally around us in our darkest hours.
Equally significant, to be given the chance to unite around another’s hardship is an honored privilege as we become the hands and feet of God’s faithful grace and hope. Life is not meant to be lived in isolation. We are better together. Stronger. Braver. Our willingness to be vulnerable will suffocate shame. Our arms will rise again. Whether warrior or hero, may the shared battlefields of life grant us freedom and growth.
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” {Galatians 6:2}
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Related: Encourage someone today with a gracious reminder of God’s greatness and grace through these beautiful note cards.
Leave a Comment
Tristi Carlson says
I needed this… to believe we are better together again. A couple of years ago, I believed it and preached it everywhere I went. Lately, I’ve been battling myself and everything around me. I just don’t know what I believe when it comes to relationships. This article revives a bit of hope in me. This is the picture of better together. We are better together. Thank you for sharing this. It challenges me to look past myself and see the truth again.
Cristi Dozier says
I’ve had so many seasons of crawling in a hole not wanting to let anyone in. Mostly its because I’m battling shame or the thought that I can or should be able to handle things on my own. Thank you for sharing your own struggle. It is so real.
Marty says
This is just beautiful. Such a great reminder of ways we can quietly minister to those around us. Thank you for sharing. 🙂
Cristi Dozier says
I love how you said “quietly minister”. So often we do not know what to do so we do not do anything. Or we want to think of just the right grand gesture to make things better. It really was the everyday small things that spoke the most to us in the time. Thank you for your comment Marty.
Keri Siegel says
First, let me say, I’m sorry for your loss. What a blessing to be close to your mom. I always wanted that. Regarding the rest of your article: We are better together than apart. Definitely! I remind people of this in one way or another when they need comfort and encouragement. Yet, I’m so secretive about my own pain. Perhaps, it’s because I was raised with so many double standards where I received the short end of the stick. Maybe, it’s because I was brutally punished by my mom when I was growing up for expressing any negative emotions she didn’t agree with. It may be that when I was growing up, every adult in my life told my mom everything I said, even when I talked to them about problems with my mom. It could even be that I grew up in a house of secrets and lies that felt like a prison, and the one in charge was a functioning abusive alcoholic, like in the movie “Mommie Dearest “. Most likely, it was the combination of these factors. It’s only been in the last nine years I’ve learned to express myself and I’m still not entirely comfortable with it, despite having people in my life I can and do trust to keep my confidence. Because of how I was raised, I developed a food addiction. In recent years, I’ve learned to not eat my emotions. I also used to take my emotions out on my vehicle because you can only stuff them for so long. So, God used a series of circumstances to take me off the road. I’m so glad He did, though I wasn’t at the time. God wastes nothing and I have learned a lot. Be blessed.
Emily says
Thank you so much for sharing. We lost my mother in law to a very aggressive cancer last year. In a few weeks, it will be the first anniversary. She spent her last weeks in hospice care and every second of it was a blur. Like you, I wasn’t sure where some of the meals and favors came from but they were a much needed comfort in the midst of chaos. As we near the anniversary, your article reminded me that the support and togetherness we felt with those around us a year ago is still around us. Although we haven’t utilized it much, it’s a comfort to know it’s there as the grief gets stirred up again.
Cristi Dozier says
The whole grieving process comes in waves. The first year anniversary is another one. I am so sorry for the loss of your mother in law to cancer, Emily. Ours too was very aggressive in the end. It was a tough road for all so I feel your pain in so many ways.
Darcy Hicks says
Very beautiful post and wonderful reminder that isolation is not the answer in times of struggle, community and friends are the key! So sorry for your loss.
Cristi Dozier says
I need the reminder myself many times Darcy. Even today.
Beth Williams says
Cristi,
So sorry for the loss of your mother! Losing a loved one that soon in life is hard!! I pray you are comforted daily by the memories of her!! So glad God blessed you and your family with a team of caring friends!! God truly blessed you all!!
I can so relate to your story. My mom died when I was 44–dementia & chronic brain bleeds took her life. It was a blessing in a way as she had been bed ridden for two years. We had hospice for almost 1 year. They were wonderful people. They helped my dad so much. One of the hospice people had her husband get my dad a biscuit for breakfast. They sat with him and looked at wedding pictures and listened to him till family could get there! Then my sweet church jumped in and did a small family funeral and fed us.
We are meant to live in community and need each other! People want to help you in your crisis!! I love to prepare meals for people when they have loved ones in hospital or sick at home. I get such a joy from that!! I want to pray for you or do whatever it is you need!!
(((hugs)))
Blessings 🙂
Christi says
Love this! When I clicked on to read I was confused by the title…but was instantly brought to tears when I realized the scripture. Wow! I do love how God has us as the “warrior” and “the hero.” It takes a lot of humility to allow our arms to be held up but oh how sweet it is to be in such a community. Thank you for putting it into words.
Emily Paige Gordon says
So beautiful, Cristi.
Allison Sullivan says
What a beautifully told story about real life. Thank you for sharing and motivating me to show up and to let others do the same. Love you.