I read their gut-wrenching words. I feel their anguish. My heart races, I clench my fists, and I fight back my tears. I walked in their shoes, yet I sit clueless as to how I should take their agony away. I despise the word should because it’s a word of shame. But that’s how I feel. I feel ashamed that I can’t find words to help them. So goes another morning on an Alzheimer’s social media support group.

One person wants prayer because her loved one wandered away and is lost. Several others announce that their loved ones gained their wings in Heaven. Some wish they had never complained how hard it was to be a caregiver—because now all they wish for was one more smile, one more “I love you,” or one more time to hold a weary hand (I know that one!). And some see absolutely nothing positive in the experience and can’t wait until it’s over because they’re weary from providing 24-hour care, cleaning soiled clothes and linens, and losing their lives too.

So my heart cries.

Social media support groups were a lifeline for me when I struggled to manage my mom’s battle with Alzheimer’s. The hardest part was trying to balance her needs with my own. Balance is so subjective. The disease caused my mom to weave from side to side as she walked down a hallway. The disease caused me to emotional weave from side to side in order to respond to new emergencies and balance them with work, cooking meals, cleaning and sleeping.

I maintain a presence in these online support groups because I have the belief that I can help them all. After all, I already went through caregiving. But on this day, I was without words. I didn’t know how to minister to those who were grieving their losses, or the one who was so afraid of where her parent was, or the ones who can’t find anything good. I hated being reminded of how hard it was for me to be an eyewitness to this wretched disease—twice. And I felt failure, which contradicts my belief that God called me to minister to caregivers.

So God took me for a walk on our mountain ridge. He had my full attention, except for the worship music playing in my ears. It was no coincidence that Voice of Truth by Casting Crowns popped up on my playlist. God always knows when we feel like we tried again and failed. I was hearing the lies—I will be no good at ministry, should never have written a book, and can’t help anybody. God’s response?

He reminded me that He called me for His purpose (Romans 8:28 NIV), but that He didn’t choose me to do everything for everyone. That’s His job. My job is to contribute in accordance with the calling He gives me. In other words, I can help some of the people some of the time, but I can’t help all of the people all of the time. Only God can do that, and I can’t be God. What He’s called me to do is to write Undefeated Innocence and point hurting caregivers to God’s grace—and to encourage them to find the collateral beauty, rather than the collateral damage. If they rebuke God’s grace, I move on. Even Jesus moved on.

This freed me. It led me to understand that God wants my obedience, not my sacrifice. What’s the difference? Obedience is an act of responding to a request to do something. Sacrifice is causing or permitting injury for the sake of something else. God said, “For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God” (Hosea 6:6 NIV). God didn’t just give instructions for burnt sacrifices; rather, He said to “walk in obedience to all I command you” (Jeremiah 7:21-23 NIV). And Jesus came not to “call the righteous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13).

Caregiving can be horrendous. I know because I did it for both my parents. It’s physically grueling, mentally exhausting and spiritually depleting. At times, the only definition is gross. But I wasn’t asked to sacrifice my life for it—only be obedient.

Sacrifice is Jesus. He was sent to earth alone to die broken, beaten and alone in order for us to receive a place in eternity with our Father, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. He was beaten, stabbed, mocked, crucified and left to die. He was sacrificed like a beast.

Obedience was Abraham willing to kill his son. Obedience was Daniel willing to spend a night in the lion’s den because he was unwilling to quit praying. Obedience was a young David willing to select a stone to slay a giant. Obedience was my willingness to respond to my mom’s need for help, taking the nursing home and hospital calls in the middle of the night, and answering her frantic calls when she didn’t know where she was or what she was doing there.

Jesus said, “What you did for the least of these, you did for me” (Matthew 25:40 NIV). That’s collateral beauty. That’s obedience. That’s ministry.

So now I understand why I can’t help everyone. God didn’t call me or equip me to help everyone. But I can lead them in the direction of God’s grace. And I understand that what I did for my parents was out of obedience, not out of sacrifice. I was doing it for them, while at the same time doing it for Jesus because He asked me to. If I view my hard times as sacrifice, I see only collateral damage and losses. But in viewing hard times as an act of obedience and love, I see the collateral beauty and gains.

Micah 6:6-8 (NIV) says, “With what shall I come before the Lord? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings? Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

I continue to spend time with the communities of caregivers in social media. If God leads me to respond, I will. If God leads me to be quiet, I will. I can’t be everything to everyone at every time. It’s not failure—it’s obedience to the one who sacrificed it all and humbly sharing God’s grace and mercy with them through my obedience to Him.

©2018 Regifted Grace Ministry LLC

We help weary caregivers find the courage they need to regain hope and stop feeling alone, fearful and broken.

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