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Published by Jeff
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 10:03 AM. 
In sickness and in health
Robertson McQuilken was president of Columbia Bible College and Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina. His wife, Muriel, was not only a devoted wife and mother, but also a painter, speaker, hostess for the college, fabulous cook, and host of her own radio program. Then Muriel was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Initially, the college board arranged for care, but then McQuilken decided to take early retirement to care for his wife.
In spite of her deterioration, McQuilken stood by her and continued to love her deeply. Eventually she rarely did more than mumble "nonwords." He wondered if he would ever hear her sweet voice again. Then came February 14, 1995. McQuilken writes:
Valentine's Day was always special at our house because that was the day in 1948 that Muriel accepted my marriage proposal. On the eve of Valentine's Day in 1995…I bathed Muriel on her bed, kissed her good night…and whispered a prayer over her, "Dear Jesus, you love sweet Muriel more than I, so please keep my beloved through the night; may she hear the angel choirs…"
The next morning while Muriel slowly emerged from sleep, I dipped into memories of some the happy Lover's Days long gone. Finally she popped awake and, as she often did, smiled at me. Then, for the first time in months, she spoke, calling out to me in a voice clear as a crystal chime, "Love… love… love…" I ran to embrace her. "Honey, you really do love me, don't you?" Holding me with her eyes and patting my back, she responded with the only words she could find to express agreement. "I'm nice," she said.
adapted from The One Year® Book of Christian History by E. Michael and Sharon Rusten, Tyndale House Publishers (2003), pp 90-91
Robertson McQuilken was president of Columbia Bible College and Seminary in Columbia, South Carolina. His wife, Muriel, was not only a devoted wife and mother, but also a painter, speaker, hostess for the college, fabulous cook, and host of her own radio program. Then Muriel was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Initially, the college board arranged for care, but then McQuilken decided to take early retirement to care for his wife.
In spite of her deterioration, McQuilken stood by her and continued to love her deeply. Eventually she rarely did more than mumble "nonwords." He wondered if he would ever hear her sweet voice again. Then came February 14, 1995. McQuilken writes:
Valentine's Day was always special at our house because that was the day in 1948 that Muriel accepted my marriage proposal. On the eve of Valentine's Day in 1995…I bathed Muriel on her bed, kissed her good night…and whispered a prayer over her, "Dear Jesus, you love sweet Muriel more than I, so please keep my beloved through the night; may she hear the angel choirs…"
The next morning while Muriel slowly emerged from sleep, I dipped into memories of some the happy Lover's Days long gone. Finally she popped awake and, as she often did, smiled at me. Then, for the first time in months, she spoke, calling out to me in a voice clear as a crystal chime, "Love… love… love…" I ran to embrace her. "Honey, you really do love me, don't you?" Holding me with her eyes and patting my back, she responded with the only words she could find to express agreement. "I'm nice," she said.
adapted from The One Year® Book of Christian History by E. Michael and Sharon Rusten, Tyndale House Publishers (2003), pp 90-91
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Published by Jeff
on Thursday, September 27, 2007 at 10:06 AM.
I touched on this in my other blog, Psychosomatic Wit, but I am having a major concern about the walk that others see of me. I have generally been a happy person, full of hope. Lately, since my marriage, I am sure I don't come off that way. It is just the pressure is getting to me.
My wife has some problems that hopefully she is working out. In the meantime, she has no job and subjects me to the fallout over her problems. This fallout amounts to torture. My home should be a refuge, but it isn't and that is taking a toll.
As a result of her unemployment and my inability to sell my other house, finances are getting to me also. I have cut out all recreational spending and all purchases that rise above absolute necessity. That is too much pressure, also, because I was subjected to this kind of poverty - wondering if I will have electricity today type stuff when I was a kid after my father died.
I am also checking on my mother at least three times daily. She is disabled after having 34 hours of brain surgery. My time and stress plate is full. Quite ironically, the times I check on my mother are the most peaceful times of my day.
I mentioned all these things just to say this: People who see me and observe my "walk" are probably not seeing in me the God of peace that we all long for. I am not representing well. I know that we all go through valleys and this is normal, but that doesn't excuse those strangers and acquaintenances that do not know my story. I don't feel compelled to tell it anyway.
My faith sustains me. I don't know where I would be without it - or maybe I do and it isn't pretty. Yet, it sure doesn't look that great from the outside observer. I just wish I was stronger.
My wife has some problems that hopefully she is working out. In the meantime, she has no job and subjects me to the fallout over her problems. This fallout amounts to torture. My home should be a refuge, but it isn't and that is taking a toll.
As a result of her unemployment and my inability to sell my other house, finances are getting to me also. I have cut out all recreational spending and all purchases that rise above absolute necessity. That is too much pressure, also, because I was subjected to this kind of poverty - wondering if I will have electricity today type stuff when I was a kid after my father died.
I am also checking on my mother at least three times daily. She is disabled after having 34 hours of brain surgery. My time and stress plate is full. Quite ironically, the times I check on my mother are the most peaceful times of my day.
I mentioned all these things just to say this: People who see me and observe my "walk" are probably not seeing in me the God of peace that we all long for. I am not representing well. I know that we all go through valleys and this is normal, but that doesn't excuse those strangers and acquaintenances that do not know my story. I don't feel compelled to tell it anyway.
My faith sustains me. I don't know where I would be without it - or maybe I do and it isn't pretty. Yet, it sure doesn't look that great from the outside observer. I just wish I was stronger.
