FORK IN THE ROAD

"I lift my eyes unto the hills...where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord..."  Psalm 121:1,2

      The stress over R.J.'s illness grew to monumental proportions when his mind no longer functioned normally.  Bravely, he attempted to lead a normal life.  I never knew what he might decide to do when he got up in the morning.  I tried to keep a bright and cheerful outlook each day.  At night I cried out to God for help in coping with the situation.

      One morning I inquired, "R.J., why is the power off again?  I'll never get the washing done."

      "I must have wired this air conditioner wrong.  Don't get excited.  I'll have the power back on after awhile."

      "I thought you went out on a refrigeration job.  When did you get back?"

      "Oh, I drove around awhile but I forgot where I was supposed to go, so I came home."

      "Did you call the people to say you aren't coming?"

      "Uhh...their name escapes me at the moment."

      It seemed as though the more I prayed the more frightening the days became.  Just last month he forgot to set the brake on his truck after parking in front of the garage.  The truck began rolling down the driveway and he tried to reach in and set the brake.  The door knocked him down, bruising his leg.  This happened twice in a month's time.  Both times the
truck ended up safely down in the field by the barn.  R.J.'s driving was becoming dangerous.  My nerves were becoming more jangled, worrying what he would do next.

      A few days later R.J. said, "I'm going to cut down that elm tree beside the patio.  It's diseased and its roots are are clogging the septic tank."

      "R.J., please let John take care of that tree.  It's too big a job for you to tackle.  John had promised to send someone over to cut down the tree for us."  R.J. yelled, "I know what I'm doing.  Just go on about your business and leave me alone."

      "Oh God, watch over R.J.  He won't listen to me, " I prayed as I left on an errand.  Upon my return I discovered that the tree was, indeed, cut down.  It had fallen on the power line, bending the metal pole where the lead-in entered through the garage roof.  Fortunately, the power line sagged but did not break.  Then I noticed all the broken clothes lines lying on the ground under the tree.  I simply sighed in relief that nothing worse had happened.

      At dinner that evening R.J. announced, "I have a praise report.  I had climbed up on the garage roof with my chain saw to cut off some branches.  I turned on the chain saw and took a step and slipped on a twig or something and the saw cut through my pant leg and shorts, barely grazing my leg.  I don't know why I didn't cut my leg off.  The Lord must have been watching over me."

      At this casual announcement a feeling of panic swept over me!  I thought, how can I keep going through one crisis after another?  I recalled praying for R.J. that morning.  Though I was unnerved by this disclosure, I prayed, "Lord God, thank You for answering my prayer.  Thank You for getting me through one more day."

      A few weeks of reasonable peace came to an end one morning.  R.J. was busy with another project!  You can imagine my worry when he decided to cut up a car body our grandson had left at our place the previous summer.  "R.J., will you please let John get someone to haul that car body away?"

      "Don't you worry about it.  I have a plan.  I'm going to cut this car body into small pieces and haul it to the dump."

      Sure enough, with his acetylene torch he proceeded to cut that car body in two, right down the middle, front to back.  Day by day that car body began to look like an empty shell as various parts mysteriously disappeared.

      One Sunday R.J. complained, "I don't feel well enough to go to church this morning.  You go on without me."  When I returned I happened to glance over at the car body and noticed the fenders had disappeared.  I did not even want to ask what he had done with them.  In the meantime John was trying to get someone to haul the car away.  "It's hard to find anyone who will take a cut-up car.  They want it all in one piece, but I'll keep trying,"  he remarked.

      The next morning I glanced out the front window and saw flames shooting skyward from the car!  A hot dry wind was blowing and I knew the whole neighborhood could go up in smoke.  I prayed, "Oh God!  What shall I do first?"  Just then I saw R.J. clumsily running with a bucket of water and throw it on the burning car.  The flames died down a bit so I thought I should move our older son Dan's truck which he had parked right next to the car body when he left for Alaska.  After moving the truck to a safe location, I saw that R.J. had the fire out.  I was shaking like a leaf as I returned to the house, and I prayed, "Oh Lord, I can't live like this.   Please help me."

      I called John and told him what had happened.  He came over and surveyed the situarion.  "Dad, this is really dangerous.  Why don't you just leave the car sit there until I can get somebody to haul it away."  Put your acetylene torch away in the garage before you hurt yourself, okay?"  R.J. replied "Well, I'll quit...guess it is making Mom nervous."

      A few mornings later I went out to water the flowers and there was R.J. torching that car again.  The sparks were falling on the dry grass and the flame of the torch was at least a foot long.  I pleaded,  "R.J. please stop before you burn our house down."  He flew into a rage and yelled, "I'm sick and tired of you telling me what I can and can't do with my tools!"  As I hurried back to the house, I cried out in anguish, "Oh God, what has happened to the gentle, kind man I married so many years ago?"

      I called the fire department and asked their advice.  The dispatcher replied, "There is very little we can do.  However, the next time you husband starts cutting the car with his acetylene torch, call us and if anyone is available we'll send them over to see if he is following safety procedures.  It's fire season, you know, and we're real busy."  This eased my mind to some extent, but the overall picture of life on these two acres with a sick husband was looking pretty grim.  That night a feeling of despair came over me.  I wondered how long I could survive living like this.  As I sat alone in my room contemplating the day's happenings I penned this poem:
                              
                              Drowning in a sea of broken dreams
                              I find no refuge in past light-hearted delights
                              My bleak horizon holds no hope, it seems
                              Illusions fade into a moonless night

                              Oh Lord, blow away the clouds so dismally dark
                              Let me hear again the song of a meadowlark
                              Steady my steps when I feel like running away
                              I need Your help to see me through another day.

      The next day John called.  "Mom, I found somebody who will haul the car pieces away.  They'll be over tomorrow morning."  I replied, "Oh thank you, John.  You don't know how relieved I am.  You have been such a help.  Thank you again."  I breathed a sigh of relief.  That problem was solved, but what would R.J. think up next?  The thought crossed my mind that sooner or later some changes would have to be made.

      R.J.'s long bout with his debilitating illness was causing major problems.  I felt that we had come to a fork in the road.  I knew our lives were at a crossroad.  What would we do?  Is anyone ever ready to face the inevitable?  Well, I certainly was not.  Nothing was turning out the way I had dreamed our golden years would be like.

      Sitting out on our old-fashioned front porch one morning, watching a hummingbird drink deeply from the feeder hanging near by, I did some reminiscing as tears rolled down my face.  A twinge of sadness set my heart astir thinking of all that had happened during the twenty-four years we lived on these two acres.  Scenes from the past floated before my eyes.

      I could almost hear the sounds.  Hammer and saw breaking the morning stillness as R.J. and our youngest sons, Jerry and John worked steadily building the garage.  Then came the cabana adjoining the back of the mobile home.  Later on this old-fashioned porch was added, where one could quietly rest at day's end.  Down the field stands the red barn where the hay was stored for the few cows we raised for our own beef.

      A parade of animals invaded our two acres--dogs, cats, chickens, ducks, geese, hamsters, parakeets, calves and a couple of pigs.  The day-old calves could be heard bawling in the early morning.  John, who was in junior high, raised the calves so he could buy his first motorcycle.  Jerry attended high school and held an afternoon job so he could buy a car.

      I laughed out loud remembering the little black hen Audrey, our eight-year-old, had trained to ride in her bicycle basket.  You should have seen the look of dismay on the man's face who had come up our driveway to inquire about directions just as Audrey came riding around the house with the little black hen settled cozily in her bicycle basket.  The man exclaimed, "Well, I declare!  I think I've seen everything now!"

      There were times of joy and laughter along with a sprinkling of tears while raising the three youngest children on our property near the foot of the Ortega mountains.  Yes, the time to leave these two acres was fast approaching.  Increasingly, I was finding the craziness of daily life more than I could cope with, never knowing what awaited me on any given day.  Oh, how I wished I could turn the clock back to those happy by-gone days.

      I tried to picture us moving to a small tract home.  R.J. was a Missouri farm boy at heart.  Planting a garden each spring was such a joy to him.  It provided the needed exercise out in the fresh air.  Also, it kept him from sitting in his recliner watching television hour after hour as many sick people are inclined to do.

      I decided that, for R.J.'s sake, we would stay put on our two acres as long as possible, even though at times it became a mite scary.  I would have to rely on my faith in God to watch over us day by day, moment by moment, and trust Him completely.  I read Psalm 121 over and over to help me keep my sanity, the first two verses especially:

          "I lift my eyes to the hills...where does my help come from?  My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth."

      We were able to remain on our two acres until R.J. went Home to be with the Lord.  I would face that fork in the road alone.