Most nights, I crawl into bed next to Calvin before heading to my own. He gives a contented sigh as I roll him onto his side, prop his knees just right, and curl up behind him. I can see him grin as he waits for what's next: chatting about the day, reading a book, or just lying there breathing quietly together in the Christmas light glow of his room. There's a peace in those moments I haven't experienced anywhere else.
I'm not the only one. When the day has been unusually draining, or life has been hard for someone in the family, it's not unusual to find them somewhere with Calvin. It's easy to think that we're the givers and he's the taker. After all, he depends on us for everything, from moving his head to turning on his breathing machine to feeding him through his feeding tube.
But what's less visible is the joy and love he gives to whoever stands by his bed or spends a moment with him. Some days he's less alert, and his response is minimal. And it's true - his caregiving needs are exhausting. But his person brings joy, thanks, and calm to whoever is with him.
The paradox is that in all the chaos and upheaval of medical needs, his life is re-orienting and grounding for all of us.
It sounds crazy, but there's nothing that gives me greater joy than coming down to his room in the quiet house at first light. After laying in one position all night and unable to move even slightly, he's stiff and sore. Relief floods his face as I adjust the weight on his hips and slowly lift his stiff trembling legs, one after the other. Bending slowly, gently, carefully at the knee, then the hip. The smile on his face.
I can do all sorts of meaningful things with my day and at work, but the most rewarding part of my day is giving that relief, giving him dignity with a fresh diaper change, and bending in close to let him know he's not alone.
Maybe it's his contentment despite all that's lacking.
Maybe it's a living out-loud example of God being very present in our weakness with His strength.
Maybe he puts all of our sorrows into a perspective of hope, reminding us all is not well now, but one day it will be. Persevere.
Whatever it is, it's a gift to us.
Maybe you've experienced this too in a small tucked-away life?
That it's not always displays of power and strength that we need, but reminders that God is with us, even when life falls apart.
It is not always happy circumstances that we need, but a resolved hope to walk through difficult ones.
“Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Matthew 10:39
Much Love,
Kara Dedert
Think Twice is a newsletter of Kara Dedert inviting you to think twice about the popular narratives forming headlines and shaping our homes and hearts.
Kara Dedert’s writing has been called “raw, real, gritty, gracey.” From the desperation of an ICU room to the hilarity of home and growing pains in everyday life, her stories and essays vulnerably share life and learning from a gospel perspective.