Grace for the ill. Grace for the caregiver.

GRACE FOR THE ILL When I can no longer work full time, your grace abounds.

When I am so tired, I can’t even sit up in the wheelchair, your grace abounds.

When the nurse makes an emergency visit at 10 p.m., your grace abounds.

When I watch church online from my bed each Sunday, your grace abounds.

When my catheter bag needs to be emptied countless times a day, your grace abounds.

When I need help getting my shirt over my head, your grace abounds.

When I need you to put toothpaste on my toothbrush, your grace abounds.

When my wife finds me at 7:30 a.m. half off the bed due to fever, your grace abounds.

When I can’t move my left leg, your grace abounds.

When my lap is covered in food after each meal, your grace abounds.

When showering requires a minimum of two people and a shower bench, your grace abounds.

When I need to take off my wedding band because my left hand keeps swelling, your grace abounds.

On the last night I sleep in bed with my wife before the hospital bed is delivered, your grace abounds.

When my son plays his first season of hockey and I don’t get to see a single game, your grace abounds.

When I can’t swallow food or liquid without choking, your grace abounds.

When the doctor’s prognosis is heartbreaking, your grace abounds.

When the heat of summer requires me to miss events and be indoors, your grace abounds.

When my 6-year-old daughter begins stories with, “Before you had MS…”, your grace abounds.

When texting on my phone is too hard some days, your grace abounds.

When I fall out of bed at a TCU and lay on the floor for hours calling for help, your grace abounds.

When I desperately miss being in the business world and providing for my family, your grace abounds.

When it becomes increasingly difficult to go out for a beer with friends, your grace abounds.

When I can’t remember if I ate lunch, your grace abounds.

When I can no longer sign my signature, your grace abounds.

When I can longer safely drive, and my spouse must take away my keys, your grace abounds.

When your eyes are on this child, your grace abounds to me.

GRACE FOR THE CAREGIVER When I sit in church alone, your grace abounds.

When friends go on dates, to the movies and out to eat with their SOs, your grace abounds.

When I take out the garbage and recycling at 10 p.m., your grace abounds.

When I didn’t pay the health insurance bill, your grace abounds.

When my king-sized bed of nearly a decade is taken down piece by piece, and replaced by a hospital bed, your grace abounds.

When I go to Home Depot, and bring the car in to get it fixed, your grace abounds.

When a kitchen full of dirty dishes awaits at 9 p.m., your grace abounds.

When I call 911 in the middle of my daughter’s 10th birthday dinner, your grace abounds.

When my daughter remembers months later that we never sang happy birthday to her, your grace abounds.

When I use the word disabled for the first time when describing my spouse, your grace abounds.

When I am married, but in so many ways I am a single parent, your grace abounds.

When I am married, but desperately miss my husband, your grace abounds.

When I must figure out all the tax papers for the first time, your grace abounds.

When he gets in car accidents and I must take away his keys for good, your grace abounds.

When I cry in the shower on Christmas Eve, your grace abounds.

When I spend 56 minutes talking to three different people to get an answer about my spouse’s medical care, your grace abounds.

When he becomes completely bed-bound without my assistance, your grace abounds.

When I must schedule a caregiver any time I want to go out, your grace abounds.

When I apply for FMLA because I’m out of PTO, your grace abounds.

When I clean up bodily fluids of every kind, your grace abounds.

When social invitations and visits become rare, your grace abounds.

When the burden of caring and providing for my family feels crushing, your grace abounds.

When my only prayer is “Jesus,” your grace abounds.

When I find yourself grieving what no longer is, your grace abounds.

When I won’t stop praying and believing for healing, even though the diagnosis is bleak, your grace abounds.

When you must learn about and buy an ‘accessible’ minivan, your grace abounds.

When his water bottle needs to be filled, his dishes cleared, his every single need attended to, your grace abounds.

When the counselor tells you you’re not angry with your husband, you’re angry with MS, your grace abounds.

When God seems silent, when His presence feels distant, when your prayers go unanswered, God’s grace abounds.

When I hear an ambulance, begin to panic and realize I’ve experienced medical trauma, your grace abounds.

When you see pity in other people’s faces, your grace abounds to me.

When you recognize for the first time that you are less of a wife and more of a caregiver, God’s greatest, deepest, most profound grace abounds.

When your eyes are on this child, your grace abounds to me.