Christmas Presence

“Serenity is not freedom from the storm, but peace amid the storm.” That quote by S A Jefferson-Wright reminds me of God’s Christmas presence during one of our most difficult life storms.

“We’ve scheduled your husband’s heart procedure for tomorrow. As soon as we complete his discharge papers, the ambulance will take him to Louisville. If all goes as planned, he should be transferred to the rehabilitation hospital the following day.”

Although Christmas was only four days away, I embraced that incredible news.

Christmas Miracle

Our family had gone from the doctor saying, “We can’t ever say there’s no hope, but it doesn’t look good,” on December 10, 2009, to witnessing unbelievable recovery in the days that followed. A heart attack, stroke, fall resulting in a severe brain injury, and lack of oxygen from an extended period with no heart or lung function — any one can result in death. All together, death is almost guaranteed. Almost. My husband’s new nickname, the miracle man, quickly spread throughout three hospitals, our church, and the community.

As soon as EMS loaded him for the hospital transfer, I made a beeline home to pack our essentials for the next few weeks. After gathering clothing, personal items, and reading and writing supplies, I realized we had to celebrate Christmas too. So, I grabbed a small crocheted Christmas tree and a miniature nativity scene. Satisfied the two were perfect for the days ahead, I added what Christmas gifts I’d purchased before all our excitement. Then I said goodbye to our house with its far more elaborate decorations.

The next day’s news could not have been better. I nodded as the doctors talked and pointed. A short time later we prepared for our final transfer.

Hospital Christmas Presence

Most that I packed from home remained in the car until my husband was successfully settled in the rehabilitation hospital the next afternoon. Since they had extra bed space during the holidays, they approved my request to move into the room with him. Firmly convinced this was vital for my husband’s mental, physical, and emotional recovery, plus my own sense of wellbeing, I told them, “He’s lost both long- and short-term memory, and I’m his memory bank. I need to be there to help him review the past and verify the accuracy of any recall.”

In addition, his weak muscles and poor balance placed him at increased risk for another fall. Even with a bed alarm, he could quickly hit the floor before staff reached him. I never had to present that argument; it spoke for itself immediately after our arrival. When a worker escorted me to his room, he wasn’t there! While she asked other staff, “Where’s Mr. Derringer?” I checked the bathroom door. Left briefly unattended, he somehow made it to the bathroom alone, a terrifying way to begin his stay.

Above all, I believed in the healing power of love. He needed to know that he wasn’t in this battle alone. I wanted to offer as much normalcy as possible, to touch him and tell him “I love you” several times a day, to eat and sleep with him, to talk, read, and watch TV together, and to pester the daylights out of him when he grew weary of all the hard work ahead.

Holiday Healing

Once settled, we began our daily routine of physical, occupational, and speech therapy. I reinforced the staff’s efforts, using their suggestions. When I included additional ideas from our seasoned speech therapist sister-in-law, the young hospital therapist applauded our efforts and added them to her bag of tricks. The hospital schedule proved extremely taxing for both of us, but we knew immediate, intensive therapy resulted in faster and more successful recovery.

During free time, my husband often slept. His body needed that extra rest for maximum healing. We also looked at family pictures and tried to remember names. We talked about the recent and not so recent past and how everyone fit into it. We discussed his employment history. We relived our favorite vacations. We brought the past into the present — over and over again.

Although separated by several miles, friends and relatives continued to make brief, well-spaced visits. A few joined us Christmas Eve and Christmas day. Siblings helped fill in the gaps of gifts not yet purchased and made desired deliveries for us.

Christmas Presence

Yet, we also had several hours alone. During that time, I found myself gazing at our tiny tree and nativity scene. In spite of the challenges we’d faced and those that lay ahead, my heart overflowed with the blessings we’d received and the joy God gave. In a half joking, half serious way, I told a few late visitors, “I’ve learned that all a person really needs is enough to eat, a warm place to sleep, and someone to love.”

Our solitude also provided time to be still and contemplate anew the significance of God’s Christmas presence and the gift of love and life offered to our world. I gained a greater appreciation for Mary and Joseph’s predicament that first Christmas night as well. Far from home, they faced their medical dilemma and unknown future alone — in a shelter intended for livestock. Sure, they had visitors after Jesus’ birth, but those men were strangers, not the people they knew and loved. And I could not imagine how intimidated they must have felt with the unparalleled task that lay before them and their newborn son.

Therefore, I gave thanks. Thanks that we were together. Thanks that we had abundant medical and emotional support. Thanks for a warm, comfortable place to stay until we could return home. Greater still, thanks that, because of God’s Presence to earth that night so long ago, we would never have to face the future alone.

“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”) (Matthew 1:23 NIV).

Thank you, God, for your never-failing peace and presence. Amen.