I am currently sitting in the surgery consultation room, waiting for the doctor to come inform me of the progress of my mother’s surgery. For the second time in five years, she is getting her kidney operated on to remove cancer. I am waiting to hear how she is and if they took all the kidney this time, or left some. The need for her to be ok, regardless of whether she has only one kidney or one and a partial, is very real.
Aside from the fact that she is 70 years old and I am nearly 48, I still need my mom. While I sit here through this process knowing that my job is to be the rock for her this time, I still want my mom to comfort me. Does this ever stop? Is there a time in one’s life where we reach a certain point and accept the fact that we may be the caregivers instead of the other way around?
I’m comfortable in the role of providing care to others, especially my family, and even more to my own son. I know he needs me, he’s only seven, and still prone to moments of knee-clinging, eye-averting behavior. I know I will roar like the most ferocious beast ever born if push came to shove for his needs.
Make no mistake, I will ROAR just like that bestial lioness if my mom needs me to, but my first instinct is to shrink in fear and want someone else to carry the shield. As I type this, I realize I’m only fooling myself if I think I really am strong enough to absorb all this on my own. I need God.
So as I often do, especially in times of turmoil, despair, and uncertainty, I open the bible and find Psalm 18:2. “The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.”
I knew it in my heart of hearts that someone else was holding the shield for me. I felt too strong for it to be just my own courageousness. Of course God’s got this. Who else could withstand the weight?