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As we step into Lent, this Ash Wednesday article starts a time of preparation with a clear picture of our sovereign and merciful God...
The texts begin benignly: “How are you, Gram?” Slowly they move to: “We are hungry, have no money, and the baby is in the hospital.” The final message assaults my senses and brutalizes my heart. The message is not unexpected for it had been several weeks without “help, send money!”
What to do? Godly friends offered earnest exhortations on the sovereignty of God; the call on a believer’s life to trust firmly and finally in His plan and hand; and of course, the admonition to “cut him loose to face the consequences” (Job’s friends).
Surely they think I pray. Surely they think I love God and want to follow Him. Surely they think I want to be a help, not a hindrance in the life of my grandson and his family. But their words fall on a numb soul.
Oh, the aloneness of loving a lost and foolish one. The ache is visceral: A foolish son is a sorrow to his mother (Proverbs 10:1, ESV).
The helplessness of my grandson’s situation knocked on a closed door. “Where have I felt this way before? What nerve is this touching?” And then came the unspoken, but sharply defined answer: “Mom and Dad”.
The attempt to worship while wondering had driven me back to another time. For seven years my mom and dad had moved into my house. She lived four of those years with the ravages of Parkinson’s disease; he for three more after her homegoing, with end stage renal disease requiring three days a week dialysis.
Long before Covid I experienced a 2-year lockdown as their health rapidly deteriorated. At night, after rearranging them in their hospital beds, I sat in my office writing. The initial effort was to “share” what I was learning; but slowly sidebars titled “Musings and Amusings” surfaced, allowing my emotions to spill from the computer late at night.
I pulled out my little journal entitled “Divine Confinement: Facing Seasons of Limitation” and began reading. As if led, my hand turned to one entry: “Meltdown.” With your permission (assumed) I invite you into one of those late nights.
Where did the sob begin? Almost uncontrollably the wail began and took over my entire body. It was 2:00 in the morning. Mom tried to get out of bed, but merely ended up wedged in the hospital rails. How would I release her? If I lower the rails, then she is crushed; if I lean over and try to lift her I risk a back injury that would leave me as incapacitated as she is. Please God…help me rescue her!
The next 90 minutes are out of a Stephen King novel. Mom, who has lost almost all mobility thrashes, kicks, talks incessantly, and pleads to die when not threatening to kill me. This has to end, but what can I do? I am powerless; I am out of control; I am incompetent. What can I do to protect her? NOTHING! Is she past the time when I can keep her at home? Are they right? Have I taken on something that is hurtful for everyone? Have I truly failed? The wracking sobs began.
Dad, even in his deafness, is aware of my trauma and wakes up. “I have never heard you cry so hard.” “I can’t protect Mom; I can’t get you out of bed.” I CANNOT! I CANNOT! I CANNOT! I glance at him and a single tear is rolling down his cheek. He understands and he weeps because he, too, is powerless.
But his tear reminds me when we are weak, then He is strong. When we are empty, then He is full. Praise Jesus that in the nighttime of frustration, pain, and sorrow … HE CAN! (“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” —2 Corinthians 12:9, ESV).
The texts still come from my grandson begging for help. The dilemma still exists. Tears still flow. But 18 years later the evidences of God’s faithfulness are even more deeply engraved. I know without a doubt I can’t; but I am firmly convinced He can: The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The LORD is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him” (Lamentations 3:22-24, ESV).
By the way, God allowed me to free Mom’s Parkinson-afflicted body that night. She died in my arms two years later fully relying on the peace of God.
A personal note: where is your “I can’t” right now? Where is your cry in the nighttime hours? You are never alone; you are never deserted. The fellowship of our great trinitarian God provides sweet communion when we feel the most destitute: “Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20, ESV).
I can’t; but HE can. Hallelujah, and praise be to the Lord God Almighty! I can do all things through him who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13, ESV).
Brenda Smith
Brenda A. Smith lives in the Piney Woods of East Texas. Her work as President of the Breakfast With Fred Leadership Institute creates opportunities for Christians to “stretch and bless the next generation of leaders…to the glory of God.” She is currently a Womenary board member and a Womenary student since 2012. Observing God’s life lessons in the everyday gives her a love for illustrations which bring His truths home. Her colorful seasons of life: marriage, mothering, divorce, business, caregiving for parents, and non-profit leadership. Music, reading, writing, and most of all – family(including 9 grandchildren) are sources of joy. Encouraging women to truly see His sovereign hand even in the darkest days and trusting in His goodness is her heartbeat. 
