I still remember the many dark, tear-filled nights of confusion and despair. At 12 years old, I didn't understand what the announcement really meant. I just knew it wasn't good and that somehow it changed life as I knew it, forever.
I was in Junior High, an already awkward phase of life. There was many things I didn't understand at the time--like boys, friendships, algebra, the way my body was changing. With the addition of my 4 cousins and aunt, we had 5 extra people living under the same roof . My favorite dog and beloved pony both died. And now this. This news that kept haunting me, though I didn't even fully understand what it meant.
"Your mother has Parkinson's Disease." My dad's calm tone helped ease the sting, but only slightly.
I knew something wasn't right over the past few months. My mom just wasn't herself. And now doctors and second opinions had affirmed the news that months of speculation had feared.
This year marks 12 years since my mom was diagnosed with Parkinson's and thus means my mom has had the disease for half of my life. I've known my mom with Parkinson's as long as I knew her without. And, since the early years of life aren't remembered very clearly, it's safe to say that she has had Parkinson's in the majority of my memories with her.
When I think about that year in my life, a dark and gloomy cloud still hangs over most of what I remember. And yet, in the years since then, streams of sunlight have broken through as I can trace God's faithful hand over each and every detail. Through Parkinson's Disease, He has taught me lessons that I'm not sure I could learn any other way. I still wish that my mom didn't have to go through what she does every single day; but, it's what God has chosen for her and for our family, so we accept it--even if it's sometimes through tears. Here are some of the lessons He's taught me:
1) He is all I have. As a junior higher, everything around me was changing and nothing was reliable. My mom was the most sure and constant thing in my life. Or so I thought. She was there every morning when I woke up and every day when I came home. She was the only person I told everything and was the shoulder to cry on when my friends let me down or when I didn't do well on a test. Yet, she was still human. God used her being diagnosed with Parkinson's to show me that He alone needed to be my refuge and hope and sure foundation. The news rocked my world in such a real way, mostly because it reminded me that my mom wouldn't last forever. She couldn't meet my every need; she was never meant to. Only the God of the universe could do that; and He had stepped into a broken world to be everything I would ever need.
2) There is more. This world is broken and it's passing away. Seeing the frailty of my mom's previously healthy and strong body caused me to look forward to the hope of new bodies in heaven. And more than new bodies, the new life that awaits us; a life without brokenness and disease and all the damaging effects of sin. I long for that day for my mom. I long for that day for all of humanity. The day when we will know fully what we were created for; that which sin stole in the Garden, that which God became man to win back for us. And somehow, it will be even more beautiful for having once been so broken. Knowing what life in perfect unity with God is like will be understood so much more richly for having once been a stranger to that unity. When my mom has a renewed body, she will appreciate it so much more for once walking in a body tormented by disease.
3) Life is a vapor. Though it's true with or without Parkinson's, the disease is a reminder that I don't know how long I will have my mom. The thought of not having her here on my wedding day or to meet my kids someday frightens me. But, I am not called to worry about those things. She is here today. And none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. I have learned to embrace the today that I have with my mom and with others and to see each moment that is given from the hand of God as an undeserved gift.
4) He teaches through affliction what we cannot learn through mercies. I was first confronted with this idea in an Ann Judson biography. There are things that I truly cannot learn apart from pain and affliction. For example, I have experienced the comfort of God in ways that I never could have experienced without the pain of Parkinson's disease. I have experienced an aching for heaven that I would never know without the discomfort the disease has brought. I have grown to love and cling to the promises of God in ways that I never would have without being desperate for them.
5) He is compassionate and merciful. James 5:11 has become a favorite verse of me over the past couple of years. It says that in the story of Job, we see the purpose of the Lord--that He is compassionate and merciful. When I first read it, I was just confused. I could think of a million other adjectives to describe God's purpose through Job's story before the words "compassionate" and "merciful" would come to mind. But, as I've reflected on this journey our family has taken with Parkinson's Disease, I have come to understand the purpose of the Lord in deeper ways, ways that point so powerfully to His compassion and mercy. He is compassionate and merciful to bring us to a place of groaning in these earthly tents so that we're always longing for Home. He is compassionate and merciful to allow us to walk through pain so that we can share with Him in His suffering. He is compassionate and merciful to let us experience discomfort so that we can know the depth of comfort that He alone can offer us. He is compassionate and merciful to look past our desperate groaning to be removed from our difficult circumstances, knowing that He is producing in us something infinitely more valuable than we could ever imagine--becoming more like Him. He sees our pain, He bears it with us, and yet He allows it to continue because His ultimate goal for us is our holiness, not our momentary happiness. What a compassionate and merciful God.
God is writing a beautiful story that started before the foundation of the world and will continue for all eternity. And He uses every hurt and pain and disappointment for the good of His ultimate purpose. Parkinson's Disease isn't outside of His control. It's part of His plan, not just for my mom and our family, but for the bigger story He's writing--the story of redeeming the world that has been broken by sin. One day, Parkinson's disease will be no more. One day, the tears that this disease and so many others have caused will be wiped away, forever. One day, it will all be made right. And the memories of all this earthly pain will serve as a reminder of just how much Christ won for us on the cross. And we will worship Him forever because of it.
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