Like a Well-Watered Garden

The Lord will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame. 
You will be like a well-watered garden, 
like a spring whose waters never fail. 

Isaiah 58:11

A Flashback

My dad could be a profound fellow. Sometimes at meals or walking through the aisles of the grocery store he'd make a statement commenting on worldviews or challenge my philosophy.
So when we were at the Ikea food court and I caught him staring intently at people shuffling about with their Swedish meatballs and potatoes I anticipated one of those moments and prepared mentally to debate or process what he was going to say.
"People need food," he said.
I laughed so hard it snapped him out of his trance. I applauded him for his keen observation and we shared a good laugh. I miss that guy.

When Healing Comes

(April 2013)
We prayed for instant healing. God was silent.

I sat beside Mom as her tears fell.Too many mornings passed by while praying and feeling completely helpless. Some mornings weren't as bad as others but it would take her at least two hours to get out of bed. Her whole routine centered around her pain and she'd have to be wary of movements; an uncalculated movement could cause tear-wrenching pain. Near the end of the day she usually felt normal but in the mornings the pain would come back. I wondered why God would let her suffer from so much physical pain while she was dealing with all the emotional pain of losing my dad only months ago.

She consulted three different doctors, the last of which was a physical therapist who thought it was a bulging nerve. At long last, someone finally had a semblance of an answer. However, her exercises didn't seem to help. We kept asking people to pray.

Months passed. Mom wanted to stop asking for prayer but because of an encouraging community she continued to ask even if it meant not receiving any results. 

Then we got into a motorcycle accident caused by an attempted robbery. She had a fractured pelvic bone and couldn't leave her bed for over a month. Her bed was moved down to the dining room / living room so she wouldn't have to climb stairs. Not only was her left leg still giving her pain but now her right leg was barely mobile. 

Day of Accident (posted with permission from my mom)

Discouragement filled our cramped living space and on top of all Mom's sufferings we received despairing news that left more tear-filled days and nights. There was nothing I could do but kiss her soft, wet cheek and pray for her. 
 

We didn't stop praying. Our friends, family and community kept praying. People came to visit and bring meals. Sometimes when people offered to pray for Mom she was tempted to say, "It's no use." But she didn't. She knew God was faithful even though all she could see was discouragement.

Slowly Mom walked around the house more with her walker. She started standing without it (we even had an impromptu dance party) and eventually she forgot she even needed it, at which times I would scold her for making herself prone to a slower recovery. At the end of April we moved her bed from the living room on the ground floor back up to her bedroom. She could walk and climb stairs again.  She could leave the house.

One morning Mom said to me, "Kira when I got out of bed this morning I didn't even have to think about how to get up without being in pain." 

It took me a minute to remember how much she had suffered with daily pain only a month ago and now she was healed. She was healed! The culmination of extreme physical and emotional pain had lessened slowly and here we were at the end of it. Could it be? The healing was welcomed but the gradual victory of it had caught us off guard.

I then thought of how easily I could write off her anti-climactic recovery and tell people with a matter-of-a-fact tone, "She's better now" if they asked about her. I realized God did not choose to heal her instantly. In fact, He chose to let her experience more pain before He healed her completely. He had healed her leg which no doctor could treat. This healing was miraculous and deserved as much praise as an instant healing. How many times in my life had I let things slip outside of the praise of God because they came gradually and not instantly in my own timing?
 
My mom is healed. Praise God. Praise God! 

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Huge shout-out to an encouraging and supportive community! Thank you family from overseas for calling and checking-in on my mom; thank you church community (and my mom's women's Bible study group) for coming over with meals, prayers, encouraging notes, foot massages and extension cords when we forgot to pay the electricity bill (thanks Beck family!);  for the Logos boys' high school soccer team for moving furniture, and last but not least thank you friends for laughter and company during hard times (especially coming ALL the way to Phnom Penh Thmei).

While the World Slumbers

View from my porch at 10:57 pm

no filter; 0.3 sec;   f/2.0;   ISO 1600

Sweet dreams.

Grief & Laughter

After my dad's funeral service we had to travel two hours to the burial site in Kompong Cham, my mom's hometown province. We rented two tour buses to travel to the site for anyone who wished to come. The buses were  packed and my two best friends and I squeezed into two seats. The two hour journey was filled with chatter, though a solemn mood hung over us. In between light conversations about every day life, I wondered what it would feel like to watch my dad's casket lower into the ground and how much more I would cry.

The cemetery was on a small plot of land in the countryside just off the main road. Men and women in black pants and white tops gathered around. I was amazed at how many people came along to the burial site to say goodbye to my father. Many had come to the funeral service but it was unexpected that so many would travel four hours for the burial. Part of me wanted it to be a private family gathering but the other part of me wanted to honor my dad by having all these people participate. We sang hymns, prayed and said one last goodbye.

After more hot tears and hugs, my dad was buried. My father and my uncle, who passed in 2008, lay next to each other. To the left of the site was a vibrant green rice field and a peaceful breeze. I was thankful for the soothing view and symbol of newness, life, and hope.

Purse Snatchers

Typically when my mom and I go out we take the car. But for the sake of convenience we took my motorcycle on our mother-daughter date. 

The mid-afternoon drive home was quiet, our minds and stomachs were satisfied with good conversation and cupcakes, respectively. A few blocks from home my mom started to yell. I turned my head to see what she was yelling about and saw two young men driving extremely close to us. They were trying to grab my mom's purse. 

Before I could react, my motorcycle slipped from under me. It slid to the right as I skidded to the left on my palms. The two men sped off straight ahead. I looked back at my mom whom was lying on the concrete road moaning in agony. I jumped up and asked, "Are you ok???"
 

She nodded, still moaning with a bleeding face.

I ran and stood in the middle of the road and yelled as loud as I could at the backs of the two men as they disappeared into the distance. 

"ASSHOLES!
DAMN YOU!"

As soon as I heard myself I felt ashamed. I regretted cussing them out. Not because I didn't feel justified badmouthing the idiots who hurt my mother --I have never felt so validated to use those words in my life-- but because I saw them as they were: broken people. It hurt me to see people who valued things over people's lives.

My prayer is for healing. 

My wounds are healed. You can feel the soft new skin regrown on my left palm and see the scars on my hands and on my left knee. My mom's fractured pelvis is on the mend. Those two men? I don't know the state of their hearts but my hope is that in that split second when they looked back at my mom and me fallen and injured, they would feel ashamed. Maybe their consciences would revive their apathetic hearts and lead them to healing.

 

---

They didn't get my mom's purse. My mom has a fractured pelvis and had to stay bed ridden for a month and a half. She wasn't wearing a helmet so thankfully no head injury. My motorcycle, aside from a broken mirror, is fine.

Two Months and Counting

It's been just over two months since my dad died. My family is used to going about our daily lives without him. Less and less do I sit around and think to myself, "he's gone...he's really gone."

As time passes the less I'll remember him. I don't mind forgetting the fresh pain of losing him but I don't want to forget the good memories. I want to remember the way he snort-laughed when he found something REALLY funny, that he liked cinnamon in his coffee, that he suffered from bedhead in spite of his decreasing amount of hair, that his face always got prickly from his five o'clock shadow but I still would kiss him on the cheek...

I want to remember the details. But my memories will fade.

Nothing here on this earth is permanent. I can't even control my own memory. It's a sobering reminder that this world isn't home.Thank God. 

I'll see my dad again.

Daddy and his granddaughter, Felicity