FocusOnTheFamily

Bound by hope

Written by Denise Budd Rumble

A crippling stroke ended his life as he knew it — he was 55. In spite of hard work, determination and a good attitude, the results of therapy were disappointing. Instead of being able to converse with passers by as he worked in his garden, it was now a major event just to get outside.

For someone who loved to talk with everyone he met, his vocabulary now consisted of only a few words and phrases: “I will,” “mother,” “no good,” “I know,” “don’t be silly,” “oh boy,” “s’alright,” “thank you,” “I’m trying” and “sorry.”

This was my dad, Denis Budd. For the 22 years following his stroke, he confidently told anyone who listened, “I will.” Whenever I went to visit, his eyes would shine, he would smile and say, “I will,” and point up. He believed he would get better. Maybe on earth, maybe in heaven, but God would heal him.

Most years Mum would put Dad in a facility for a few weeks of respite care. Arriving to visit in my usual rush, I’d go to his room.

Not there.

Okay, maybe he’s in the cafeteria.

Not there, either. Sigh.

I’d ask the nurses. No, there are no activities going on.

Grrr.

At first, I was often impatient with my Dad. Why wasn’t he in his room waiting for me? No, he didn’t know I was coming, but I had driven 45 minutes to get here. I was in a hurry. My limited visiting time was being wasted because he wasn’t where I wanted him to be. Eventually I would find him.

“Hi, Dad. Where were you? I’ve been looking all over. I can’t stay too long, you know.” He would smile and shrug his shoulders.

As we travelled the halls, Dad waved at everyone he saw. Some would stop and say “hello.” He would point to me and I was often greeted by, “You must be Denise, his daughter from St. Marys.”

During one of my last visits, Dad and I were sitting in his room when a man, in his 40s, burst in, “Denis– oh, you have company.”

“S’alright,” Dad replied.

“I was just visiting with my wife and we wondered if you’d come sing for us.”

Dad smiled, “I will.”

“You’ll come later then?”

“I will.”

“Who was he?” I asked my dad. “Do you often visit with them?”

Dad shrugged his shoulders, but he wasn’t getting away with that anymore. After some prodding, I discovered that Dad spent much of his time visiting the other residents, “chatting” and singing for them. He knew he would be going home at the end of his stay, but that others had little chance of ever going home again.

Following his death we learned that after the nurses put Dad to bed for the night, he would sing to them as they did their rounds. They remarked on how amazing it was that while singing, he could articulate the words of the songs. How Great Thou Art, Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah, The Lord’s Prayer, and Great Is Thy Faithfulness were his favourites, along with a newer song by Stuart Hamblen, Until Then.

Imagine being restricted to a wheelchair. I stride into your room, preach at you about God, then walk away. Would you listen?

Probably not. But imagine knowing a man whose capabilities had been stolen from him, just like yours. Now imagine him singing to you about the greatness of God, a God who is faithful. Would you believe him?

I often wonder about the impact of Dad’s life after his stroke. I marvel at his faith, his trust in a God that he was willing to serve regardless of the circumstances. Then I wonder what my excuse is. God is the God of the implausible as well as the impossible. He can work through any willing heart.

When Dad greets me at heaven’s door, we’ll sing Until Then, that song that defined his life even when others would say he had nothing to sing about.

“Until then my heart will go on singing, until then with joy I’ll carry on – until the day my eyes behold the city, until the day God calls me home.”

Denise Budd Rumble lives in St. Marys, Ontario, and is the associate managing director of The Word Guild. Visit Thewordguild.com.

© 2007 Focus on the Family (Canada) Association. All rights reserved.

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