I’m always searching for signs of conscious control when visiting my son Christopher at his adult care facility. To the nurse on duty or a CNA or a respiratory therapist I ask, “Have you witnessed any signs of conscious control in Christopher today?” or something to that effect. The same question surfaces when thinking about God and about my own approach to life. This post focuses on the importance of searching for and finding signs of conscious control amid life’s turbulent storms. Such discerning thoughts are vitally important so that the turbulent storm waters of chaotic circumstances and emotional upheaval do not sweep us away.
To return to my son, the caregiver may say something like, “He was looking around, following people as they passed by him in the hall” or “He tried assisting me when changing his shirt” or “He laughed (a big smile) when I cracked a joke.” On a few rare occasions, several months ago, he spoke meaningful words in context in their presence. Since then, Christopher has gone radio silent, apart from occasional sighs, mumbles, and groans.
I’ve also been searching for signs of conscious control in my own life. I wonder how often my words come across like mere mumblings to others. It is ever so important that I keep my wits about me and guard against rambling, or veering off course, capsizing, and drowning in emotional turmoil. Strong emotions readily rise up just below the surface as conflicts in advocacy care or other domains arise. I cannot allow my angst to erupt like a geyser, or like Christopher when he violently coughs up his secretions. His speaking valve launches like a rocket across the room. Woe to the person whose standing in the way of those missiles!
We marvel at how strong Christopher’s cough is. That’s a good thing, as he does not harbor secretions deep in his lungs. For my part, I have strong feelings. But while I must not harbor them so that they choke my spirit like emotional pneumonia, I dare not blow up on others. Venting is important in the vent unit of daily life, but only in the presence of a trained professional counselor or a safe sounding board. Otherwise, toxic eruptions can result and destroy good will and relationships. As Pastor Tom Schiave likes to say, “Make points, not enemies.” Or when I feel like I’m about to have a meltdown, I recall Dr. Robert Potter’s apt exhortation, “The center must remain strong.”
The only way I can keep it together ultimately is by being aware of God’s conscious control in our lives. If I lose sight of God’s love, I will no longer make sense of the care plan of my faith and hope will pass away. While I do not like it when others slap Bible verses with no sense of timing and tone on me, like band-aids over gaping, surging wounds, still it is Scripture that sustains me: “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7); what others “meant for evil, God meant for good for the saving of many lives” (Genesis 50:20); and Jesus catching and lifting a sinking, panicking Peter from the water (Matthew 14:30-31). Then there’s that old Swedish hymn that my Swedish American mother loved to sing to us when we were kids, “Children of the Heav’nly Father, safely in His bosom gather; nestling bird nor star in heaven such a refuge e’er was given.”
God, the Heavenly Father, is the ultimate caring center of conscious control. But am I conscious of this divine reality? Does this truth about my Heavenly Father comfort and control my actions, especially when I feel like I am losing my grip on life, slipping beneath the current, drowning?
If I take a deep breath and penetrate the mirky, turbulent waters of our experience amid all the neurostorming of life the past 2.5 years and counting since Christopher’s catastrophic brain injury, I do see evidence of God’s abiding, conscious care. Impersonal fate wouldn’t have provided the various and unique personal forms of comfort to sustain us, nor will it provide reassurance to my son. After all, Christopher always responds differently to a caregiver who speaks to him rather than one who just goes through the mechanical motions, as on autopilot. That observation alone tells me Christopher is often conscious and aware of his surroundings, far more than I realize, and at times more aware than I am of my surroundings.
The other night I was comforted by our surroundings as different caregivers were tending to Christopher. They were so attentive, considerate, and cheerful. I left the room for a minute as they took care of my son, knowing he was in very good hands. When I returned, they reported of how Christopher assisted them with various arm movements as they cleaned him up and changed his clothing. When I quipped that he won’t cooperate with me like that, they said “It’s because you’re his dad!”
Speaking of dads, how often do I not cooperate with my Heavenly Father? I envision that God is doing range of heavenly motion activity to help me grow in conscious control and is tending and speaking to Christopher when I’m not there, deep in the night. It is not enough that I am conscious or controlled. I must combine the two and grow in conscious control, including awareness of God’s conscious, caring control in our lives. The same holds true for my son. If only the passive range of motion exercises I do for him would become more active where he moves his limbs in sync with mine. Apart from, or rather like, the fist bumps we often do together, he likes to bump up against his old man!
Thank you so much for helping us move our limbs in prayer. Thank you, too, for your kind notes, and means of sacrificial support for Christopher, his wife, and little girl. They sustain and provide for them and strengthen and reinvigorate me with encouragement when I feel like I’m not able to move or function on life support any longer. Thank the care givers of various walks of life for advocating for Christopher and his family’s wellbeing. And thank God for conscious, caring control amid life’s neurostorms. In the face of turbulent waters that could daily drown us, God is conscious, caring, and in control.
Carolina Sandell penned the words to that beloved hymn, “Children of the Heavenly Father,” along with more than 600 others. Like my own writing the past 2.5 plus years, her hymn writing helped her cope with having witnessed the tragic death by drowning of her beloved father, a Lutheran pastor. I close with her hymn that my mother sang to me so many years ago when I was a small child. I pray that each of us will become increasingly conscious and under control no matter our circumstances, knowing deep down inside that we are all children of this sovereign, deeply caring and close Heavenly Father.
Children of the heav’nly Father,
safely in His bosom gather;
nestling bird nor star in heaven
such a refuge e’er was given.
God His own doth tend and nourish;
in His holy courts they flourish.
From all evil things He spares them;
in His mighty arms He bears them.
Neither life nor death shall ever
from the Lord His children sever;
unto them His grace He showeth,
and their sorrows all He knoweth.
Tho’ He giveth or He taketh,
God His children ne’er forsaketh;
His the loving purpose solely
to preserve them pure and holy.
To listen to this hymn, click on this link to hear Deborah Liv Johnson’s performance. To follow our journey with Christopher and TBI, please click on this link. Thank you very much for your prayers! God bless you abundantly in your own journey of faith, hope, and love.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In