A YEAR OF CHANGE...

"Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday and today and forever..."    Hebrews 13:8

"Where is it? I can't find it!"I had my eyes closed during church this morning, trying to focus on the pastoral prayer, when suddenly Karen turned to me and in a loud voice announced that she could not find the book of Jude, the focus of the morning's sermon. This is the same woman who could in earlier stages of her illness still pray aloud with clarity and substance, and in later stages has assumed the little girl "praying hands" posture during any pubic prayer. But today she was totally unaware of the setting and circumstance. Once I was able to show her how to find Jude, she was still agitated; she insisted that the name "Jude" was actually the name "Luke", as she now struggles to recognize words. 

"I am...the true...vine...and...and..." John 15:5 has been Karen's life verse, embroidered on pillows, inscribed on wall hangings about our house. Karen was often asked to read Scripture at Christmas and Easter church programs; she has been one of those people who could read complex passages as if she had written them herself. This morning in our adult class our table was assigned to discuss John 15, and she volunteered to read; she made it through the first few words, then could not decipher, nor remember, the initial verse of a passage that in the past was inscribed on her heart.

Karen is no longer who she was. Part of me has known this for some time, but this was the year the reality set in. This was the year that I went to Texas for Thanksgiving with our older daughter, leaving Karen behind as travel is nigh impossible. There have been other occasions, birthdays, social events where the "frontal lobe syndrome" has kept us apart: further intellectual decline, yes, but more so the loss of awareness and empathy, abrupt emotional outbursts, intolerance of change. In spite of the research drug that Karen has received which has slowed the decline, nevertheless the decline continues. She is not who she has been. 

Nor am I. As I write in the last few days of my sixth decade, wear and tear on the parts is evident; I acquired a total knee replacement (left; the right awaits its turn) in August. And I may not be exempt from following Karen's path; possessing a two-generation maternal history of dementia in my own family, I signed up for a new research trial involving the same medication Karen has received. The concept is that if one who may get the disease receives the drug before symptoms develop, there may be a way to prevent progression. I have completed full neurocognitive testing (good news: I passed, at least for now) and had the PET scan that searches for the telltale amyloid deposits that can accumulate in the predisposed person for years before symptoms develop; I find out those results in early January to determine if I am at risk. Another unexpected change: I have found (caused?) conflict in the clinic job where I have worked for two years, and it is almost certain that I will need to find other work in early 2015. Knowing I need to generate income to pay for Karen's care, I am still less than excited about another change. Yet I sense that God is telling me that my part in this situation arises from my clinging to who I have been, still relying on my own now-aging skill set, doing things the old way, not yielding to the changes He has for me. 

Positive changes:The rest of the family is changing in all the right ways: older daughter remarried this year, and now both my daughters are in marriages being led by godly husbands. Mary Poppins has nothing on my practically-perfect-in-every-way grandchildren, each growing into a bright, inquisitive kid, each growing up in a Christian home. The Godspeed ministry where we invested our years prior to Karen's illness, is growing both in personnel and outreach capabilities. There are good things happening; change is not all bad. 

So while dementia takes more and more of the "Karen that was" than I can sometimes tolerate, and while God continues to show me that I need to surrender more and more of the "Barney that was" than I can sometimes accept, I know further changes will inevitably fill 2015.  The only assurance is that He will not change, not now, not ever. May each of you enjoy His unchanging grace this Christmas and into the year to come.

We are blessed. 
Barney