In Sunday school, teaching lessons from a marriage
How my wife and I stayed close through the chaos of hemophilia care
As a pastor, my Sunday mornings prove very busy. I lead morning worship at 9 a.m., teach a Sunday school class at 10:15, and finish my morning with another service at 11. Most Sunday afternoons I can be found collapsed in my comfortable recliner and dozing. I’ll be exhausted from such a busy morning, but I’ll feel satisfied and happy.
Last Sunday I walked into my class, eager to continue our journey through the Gospel of Luke with the fantastic men and women who attend. My goal is always to challenge commonly held beliefs and deconstruct what we read. I often ask my students, “What lies below the surface of the text?” When concentrated study leads us to eternal truths, I feel that I’ve accomplished the objective of providing others with a wealth of faith they could never imagine if they were glued to the written word alone.
As the class discussed Luke 12:22-34, we began talking about the surface level of the text, which instructs us to refrain from worrying. After reading the passage aloud, I explained to my fellow parishioners that while this message sounded great, I didn’t buy the nice, fluffy feeling that the words indicate. The truth is, we’re human, and we’ll worry. It’s a part of life.
A woman in the class said, “Perhaps the author means that our worry can keep us disconnected from the divine. If that is so, why do we continue to worship the God of mistrust or anxiety?”
In good times and bad
After hearing her words, I shared a story from my role as a caregiver for my two sons, who have hemophilia. I told them that when Caeleb, my youngest son, continued to bounce back and forth between extended hospital stays and his few moments at home, my wife and I managed our lives as best we could.
An almost devastating event occurred amid that chaos of disease. We eventually realized that our concern for our young son had created a gap between my wife, Cazandra, and me. In our efforts to care for Caeleb and our oldest son, Julian, as well as maintain our jobs, clean our home, and address every other emergency, we recognized that we lived on opposite sides of a great sea. In our struggles, we fought to overcome the constant barrage of whitecaps as the waves of their bleeding disorders roared, and we had to fight to find our way back to each other.
I explained to my classmates that once my wife and I realized what was happening to us, we knew we had to take on that fight. I asked her to go on a hot date to Yanni’s, our favorite Mediterranean diner in Albuquerque, New Mexico, near our home. After we ordered drinks, I grabbed my glass, raised it to my wife, and said, “My name is Joe MacDonald, and I am your husband.”
We both laughed, but we knew we needed to be intentional about returning to the intimate relationship we’d shared. I never stopped loving my wife, but I’d lost the ability to turn to her and explain how I felt about Caeleb’s frequent hospitalizations. She shared her struggles with me and the way she’d processed those difficult times. I listened intently, realizing that her way of dealing with uncomfortable situations was to talk with friends. She’d also written and published a book, “Dear Hemophilia: Finding Hope Through Chronic Illness.”
I stood amazed at her ability to process so quickly. It’d take me years to speak about my feelings regarding that tough season in our family’s life.
My faith provides the bedrock where I seek solutions to challenging situations. One critical way of addressing my issues was to maintain open lines of communication with Cazandra and know that she was a safe space to land. Just as prayer in my spiritual practice is necessary to maintain my oneness with the Creator, so must I dedicate sacred space for my wife.
As we water plants, we must tend to the rich soil of our loved one’s heart. Failure to give it life-affirming food can harm and eventually kill what we planted. We should nourish our relationships and continue to cultivate the sacred relationships we hold dear. When we feel that we’ve lost our way, we share special times to hold fast to the holiest thing we have: each other.
Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.
About the Author
Comments