You are here.
That’s the sign I’d like to see right now, on the big map of our lives. But there’s no red arrow to be found. All I know for sure is, we are where we are. Steve has taken a swift, significant downturn this week. I’ve only left our house in small, measured doses of time – to take Josiah to the church for camp, to pick up something our caregiver needed, to run a quick errand – and each time I walk out the door I feel like a deep sea diver, coming up for air. I don’t realize how dark the deep sea is until I see the light of day and remember Oh, that’s right – sun! But I also value my place underwater. In spite of all my misgivings and inadequacies as a caregiver, I can finally say: I know what I’m doing down here. I feel more at home than I’ve ever felt and for the first time I’m starting to wonder how I’ll adjust to life on land.
My sister and brother-in-law have moved into our guest room this week, to help me with a million things. Having them here has been so wonderful for both me and the kids that it makes me realize I probably waited too long to ask for help. I probably always wait too long.
I have learned to take comfort in the craziest things: The glub-glub whirring of the oxygen machine, the color of the pink cocktail of meds that I put through Steve’s tube to help him feel better, the smell of coffee brewing after a long night spent mostly in a chair by his bed. Most of all, I take comfort in the faces of our kids when they walk through the door. Kids coming home. Life. Hope. Legacy. Living, breathing pieces of Steve. They keep me both grounded and going.
I know you want to know how Steve is doing, how he is feeling. I don’t feel comfortable telling his story to the world right now. Maybe someday, but not now. I will say this: His words are measured and sacred and, more often than not, they are about the goodness of God or his love for one of us. No joke, we are tired. I mean – bone-weary, soul-deep exhausted. Him, me and our team. Steve is weary from sickness, the rest of us from stress, sorrow and the physical requirements of caring for someone so fragile. This disease is merciless…but God. He is rich in mercy and abundant in grace that is stronger than the grave. Our home is full of it. So full, in fact, that every time I lay down and close my eyes I get butterflies in my stomach because I can feel the Holy Spirit breathing so close to me. I’ve never been more convinced that He is near to the brokenhearted, pouring out new strength every. Single. Morning. And I’ve never been more grateful.
You guys, this life? Is short and hard. But it is beautiful. I don’t have to say that as a condition of my faith, I have to say it because it’s my only certain reality right now. God is good. His love is the wonder of our world. His companionship has been flawless. We are held and we are His.
With hope,
Bo for Team Stern
P.S. Thank you so much for your notes, prayers, gift cards, meals. We are beyond grateful and all the way to astounded. Not having to worry about cooking and cleaning has been a great blessing these past few days. If you’d like to be included on the email updates Whitney sends out to let our army know when we need help, you can send your email address to whitneyparnell@gmail.com. We love you.
Praying for you, Bo, and thanking God that everything you’ve said about Him is true. He is there, in all of His beauty. Grace and peace to you all!
“I’m starting to wonder how I’ll adjust to life on land.” So true. Judy was her mom’s only caregiver 24/7 for almost two years. When she passed a few weeks ago that is exactly how Judy felt. “What do I do now?” We are still figuring that out but we will get there. Not much to say but we love you, we are praying for you, and thank you for being so vulnerable, open and “out there”.
Oh, Bo. I love you. And I’ve said it before, but today I feel it fresh: Thank you so so much for sharing with us. I had the thought after I read this amazing post, “Wow, what can I say to be a friend and a blessing right now — I just don’t even know if I can come up with words at such a deep time of sorrow and struggle and beauty…” And then I realized: you did. In the depths and the face of all that you and yours are facing, you took the time to put it into a frame and give it to us. I know that writing is somewhat its own therapy, but I have to imagine that, at a time like this, it would still require a significant effort. But you chose to make the effort and bring us along. And in the process, bless and encourage and strengthen us. I’m so thankful for that — and for being, in a small way, in the mix of this together with you. No one should go it alone. I’m so glad for the help and the friends and the support that surrounds you — and mostly, for Holy Spirit’s presence that you so beautifully described. Praying, praying, praying, my dear, dear Bo.
Bo,
I don’t have much in the way of words. The two things I offer to you and your family right now are my prayers and some verses from the Bible that I hope will not come across as platitudes in the midst of your struggle.
Like you, I really believe, but I must sometimes pursue my refuge in Him and His words help me find my way there in the deep dark waters of our suffering.
Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him (Ps 34:8).
For the LORD is good. His unfailing love continues forever, and his faithfulness continues to each generation (Ps 100:5).
The LORD is good, a strong refuge when trouble comes. He is close to those who trust in him (Nahum 1:7).
All the words have been said, continued prayers we will say.
So cyber hugs I send. God bless dear Bo. And much love to your family. And Steve you are amazing. We love you.
thankyou for your encouragement and honesty which speaks volumes to me.
Your words breathe God’s promise into me. How constant and unfailing our Lord is. Praying with Hope
You are loved…praying for strength and peace
Bo, I got Psalm 91 for you, especially verses 11-16: “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone. You will tread on the lion and the adder; the young lion and the serpent you will trample underfoot. ‘Because she holds fast to me in love, I will deliver her; I will protect her, because she knows my name. When she calls to me, I will answer her; I will be with her in trouble; I will rescue her and honor her. With long life I will satisfy her and show her my salvation.'”
And also Psalm 139:7-12: “Where shall I go from your spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If of I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night’, even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.”
Love you and your entire beautiful family. Xoxo
Bo, just heard about Steve’s passing. We’re so sorry, we love your family.
Ron & Annette
I love that you have found home in the valley of where you are. You are there. And He whispers, “I am here.” And that is enough. How very reassuring that He will always go with each of you, even to the depths of the sea.
Bo. Sweet Bo. Sweet Steve. That’s all I can say except God bless you.
I’m so sorry. I’m glad he’s in a better place, but my heart goes out to you.
Dear Bo and Family, Continuing in prayer for all of you. Your lives and testimony have been a blessing to all who you have come in contact through the years.
Dearest Bo & Steve,thank you so much for letting us share with you-will be remembering you in my prayers.
Bo,
I just found your website and I am so sorry for your loss. My husband is dying of
ALS and yes, it is a horrible, awful way to die.
And no one wants to acknowledge ALS because they are scared it will touch their
lives. I certainly thought that ALS was the worst way to die, only I never dreamt it
found find my family.
My husband is a Vietnam era veteran and veterans are 2 to 3 times more likely to
get the disease. Thank God for the VA.
Steve sounds like an amazing man.
Best to all of your family,
in sorrow,
Patricia