Hating My Life

This blog is going to be bit on the personal side. I have debated with myself about whether or not to blog it, or just keep it in my personal journal. But since this is connected to church-planting in a roundabout way, here goes.

This week has been the toughest since I moved to New York. Last year my dad was officially diagnosed with Pick’s Disease, which is a progressive dementia of the Frontal Lobe of the brain. I say “officially” because as we look back at his behavior, it seems apparent that he has probably had the disease for at least 6 years For some time we suspected Alzheimer’s. The past 12 months we have watched his mental capacity diminish rapidly. All of this coincided with my getting ready to leave for New York to start Communitas.

My dad has lived all of his life very active and was always sharp mentally. It has been painful to watch the decline. But I was not prepared for how quickly it has accelerated. Since moving to New York I have had reason to return to Michigan a few times, and each time his deterioration was astonishing- to the point where he no longer knows who I am. Last weekend while in Michigan, I happened to be with him when he was undergoing an evaluation in his home by a psychiatric nurse. When I walked into the room, he said to the nurse “That’s Craig.” I was surprised that he knew my name. When she asked if I was his son, he laughed and said “No.”

This is especially difficult for my mom. She is a strong women- even at 5’ 1”! But on this visit I could see the toll this is taking on her. He does not know who she is (in the evaluation he also stated that she was not his wife) and she has to deal with his frustration, anger, repetitive and compulsive behaviors and everything else that goes along with severe dementia. However, over a half a century ago she made a commitment to stay with her husband for better or for worse, and she is honoring that promise.

Over Christmas when all the family was together we started the difficult discussion about knowing when we have reached the point where dad will need full time care- I don’t even like using the words “nursing home.” It has only been two months since that conversation, but now it seems imminent. My mom and I talked about this quite a bit last weekend. Then on Sunday morning, I had to catch a ride to the airport to get back to my new life in New York. Everything seemed unresolved. It is such a horrible time for me to be away from the family, unable to do much or to be helpful. It felt horribly wrong to leave my mom in that house with all the stress and anxiety. I have lived all my life near my parents, and now when perhaps I am needed most, I am unavailable.

All week long I have had this picture in my mind of my mom, standing in her bathroom in the cold garage of their home, holding their dog, and crying as we pulled out of the driveway. My mom loves Jesus and has other family around. She is not suffering alone, and truth is, she doesn’t really need me. I am the one who feels the need, the need to be physically present, to be a part of this critical transition in our family’s life, to help with the decisions and to find comfort in our relationships. New York has never felt so far away.

As I struggled this week, I found myself thinking about these words of Jesus in Luke 15: If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple.
I have read those words many, many times, and I know preached more than a few sermons on them. They have never meant that much to me personally as they have this week. I know that Jesus was not encouraging us to hate anyone. But there can be only one Lord, one to whom I give my complete devotion. Anything or anyone I love enough to not follow Jesus becomes my Lord, my object of worship.

So in my sadness and depression this week, I have had to recall why I am in New York. If I came here for personal reasons, for fame and fortune, then it would be unbearable to leave my mom standing in that garage. But if Jesus has really asked me to move to New York, then I must learn experientially what is means to hate my own life. I have to be honest and say it is not easy.

Bottom line. I love Jesus, and I love my mom and my dad. And that’s good. It’s just that sometimes it’s painful.