We continue to live in something of a twilight zone with Ben. Since I posted here last, he has had at least three small seizures – one, as I was pushing him in a wheelchair around the grounds at the Mardon Centre, another as Simeon and I, with one of the nurses, walked him back to his room after a meal, and the third, just yesterday as he was sitting at the meal table and then back on his bed. Strangely, he remains entirely conscious during each one of them. During the wheelchair incident, he was able to tell me and his uncle to push his straitening body back into the chair and to take his flailing arms and press them onto his stomach. As soon as we’d done that, it stopped – he had no control physically, but retained his faculties to instruct us. It’s all so unlike any epilepsy I’ve ever encountered and it’s a continuing reason why the Neurology team are scratching their heads. It’s so hard to evaluate how he’s ultimately doing when you’re so closely involved, but we feel it’s all a gradual cognitive decline we’re seeing rather than improvement or even simply flat-lining. Both Catherine and I find him very easily and increasingly confused in both conversation and recent memory, although some days he can present well. A mother’s love for her child is unique, undiminishing, and Catherine has found herself in tears more regularly over these last few days as she struggles with the question, “Will we ever get him back again?”. He was whisked up to Taunton on Monday finally for a Positron Emission Tomography (PET) scan, a latest generation scanner which provides more information than CT or MRI scans. We await the results, hopefully in the next few days.
While we wait for that, we are now waiting also on our mortgage lender to give us the thumbs up for the new property. Having been told weeks ago that we had been given permission to port our existing mortgage across to the new house, we were then asked to fill in a fresh set of application papers. Those have now gone to the underwriters. We’re not sure how much of a formality this is. Even though our income is dropping significantly, we hope the fact that the ‘loan to value‘ ratio on the new property is drastically decreasing will be a positive incentive to the lender to give us the thumbs up. In my occasionally wobbly moments, Catherine is always the one to remind me that Father has taken us thus far and so we won’t be left stranded at the last hurdle. We remain in awe of the generosity of so many around us who have and are making all this even possible.
I remain in steady health (if I can say that knowing there’s a tumour in my chest) although both yesterday afternoon and today I’ve been feeling somewhat weaker than usual. These patches, I’ve come to recognise, tend to come and go, but remind me that we’ve made the right decision to opt for early retirement as I just don’t have the energy that I once had. My next CT scan takes place on the 6th May and will show crucially how things are as I progress. Having finally received a confirmation from the Church of England Pensions Board that I can take early retirement on grounds of ill health, I wrote my letter of resignation to +Robert, the Bishop of Exeter last week saying part way through…
Whilst it is a decision that I never expected to make at the age of 48, I am very peaceful about it and look forward to future and different ways of serving Christ as life, health and the Holy Spirit allow. To live is Christ, and to die is gain!
Whilst I’ll miss seeing many dear people in my parishes and miss living in wonderful Rockbeare village, as we journey towards this next phase in our lives, we’re increasingly filled with excitement about the ongoing and more informal ministry possibilities it may open up. I’ve long enjoyed getting alongside and encouraging other church leaders, as well as mentoring and discipling people to help them in their own Christian growth. I’ve never had as much time as I would have liked to give to these important things over the years, what with weekly rounds of services to prepare, PCCs and church meetings to lead and follow up, telephone calls to return, churchyards to sort, rotas to watch…and so on. But now, it’s more possible. A friend recently told me of someone who’d also taken ill-health early retirement and had found that it had ‘refreshed his ministry’. I’m finding that with this diagnosis and with Ben’s illness, opportunities to share Christ have increased hugely as people want to know how we’re coping. With my illness, I feel an increasing call to stand at the gates of death and testify to what I believe, know and experience, finding that there are so many people around, both in Church and not, who have little confidence – certainly no excitement and joyful anticipation – in facing their own life’s end. They wonder if they’ve been good enough. If they’ve got the pass mark. The trouble is that none of us can ever be good enough. If I can encourage them that (by simple repentance and faith in the Saviour who loved them and gave Himself for them) they can be washed clean as snow, that they can come to know Him for themselves, that they can have utter assurance through the personal indwelling of the Holy Spirit and know then an eternal security, even if it’s for just one person, then this illness has a wonderful eternal purpose which makes me sing to Christ Jesus with such joy. Whether He takes me home sooner or later, I really don’t know. But as I continue to live – and in many ways, plan to live, God willing – then it’s Christ I’ll serve.
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16-17)