My Life and Lesser Catastrophes by Christina Schofield

Author:Christina Schofield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group

9

The Whispers of God

The books I had illustrated were published. I opened the package excitedly when it arrived, anxious to see them for the first time. It was a thrill—yet it didn’t change anything. At the end of the day, Allen still wanted his nose cleaned out and Lily was clamoring for a sandwich. To be honest, I was surprised that it had been such a futile chase, that whole “dreams and aspirations” thing about my career. Like the time I panted and puffed and wheezed on a high-tech elliptical machine to burn about fourteen calories. Careers and elliptical machines had both sunk way lower on my list of priorities these days.

It was wonderful to have my parents still with us, and they were so helpful with our almost all-consuming needs. Allen was making good use of his arm strength, and he made a trip or two in to the Campus Ministry site at Rolla, where he worked for a few hours each week to offer whatever help and advice he could. But he just wasn’t able to return to business as usual or keep the kind of hours he would have liked.

A lack of muscle function wasn’t the only thing working against him. He was in almost constant, unexplainable neurological pain—burning, stinging, excruciating pain. And since his body was no longer able to regulate temperature, he constantly needed more clothes on, or less, to stay comfortable. And menthol for his sore shoulders. And a hankie. And a drink of water. And his laptop plugged in. I wasn’t always as patient as I should have been. It was like my chair was spring-loaded with an ejector switch that sprang whenever I went to sit down.

The daily grind was relentless. Allen was usually laid-back, but sometimes he became moody when pain or frustration got the better of him. And I would tire of things revolving around what other people needed. Sometimes I would lose my cool. The words of 1 Corinthians 13 would torment me, that things only count if they are done lovingly. Occasionally I did a good job of holding things together, even when I felt deep down that I was justified in my irritation. Other times I blew it.

“We don’t really talk anymore, we just kind of communicate in to-do lists,” I chided Allen.

Lily was catching on, too. One morning while I got dressed, she crept up beside me and reported, “I just thought you should know that the closet light is on and the toilet bowl is dirty.”

“Thanks, Allen,” I muttered back under my breath, amused by her likeness to her daddy.

Lily was also becoming a big help around the house, and Allen often had small jobs for her to do. She once whispered in my ear sincerely, “Is Daddy faking it just to get us to serve him?”

Her question made me laugh out loud. “Boy, is he in trouble if he is!” I quipped back with a smile.

The upside to all the menial tasks was that

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