All creativity and depth comes from the Exodus
All creativity and depth comes from the Exodus; None comes from “The Promised Land.”
By Rev. Dr. Fran Shelton
Over three decades of teaching homiletics and worship, Bob Shelton, my husband, posited evocative thoughts in the hearts of his students. Students at Austin Theological Presbyterian Seminary began collecting these thoughts. They are now known as the legendary, Sheltonisms. One of the sixty-one is the above quote about the Exodus and our contemporary times in the wilderness.
Our readiness for learning isn’t ready when we take our first footsteps into the Wilderness. Instead, we are dumbfounded to discover we’re in this topography. Life has been going so well. “What the hell has happened?”, we may ask. Of we may, as a friend shared, designate a ‘put upon chair’, take a seat, and weep, wail, and yearn for the familiarity of times of joy and gladness. FYI, all these responses are appropriate as we enter the Wilderness.
In 2012, Bob and I held hands out of both love and fear when we entered the Wilderness of Alzheimer’s and vascular dementia. Bob’s prayers before mealtime, before he lost his ability to speak, were, “Loving and gracious God, guide and direct us… .” The words I heard from a deep dream were, “We’ll run this race with perseverance, looking to Jesus the perfector of our faith.” I awaken with a start and a renewed confidence. I did remind the Divine that Alzheimer’s was not a race. It was more like a marathon.
Over the six years, I believe our prayers were answered and then some—creativity and depth were sacred gifts in the wilderness. I appreciated the creativity that came with guessing what Bob was desperately trying to convey to me. One afternoon, he was adamant that the Rangers were off.
I guessed that he was talking about the Texas Rangers, and I agreed wholeheartedly. “No, no!” he said, waving his arms frantically. Another guess, “Oh, you want me to see if they are playing and we can watch?” “NO!”, he said stomping his feet. After a few more guesses, I finally said, “Bob, show me what you are saying.”
He led me to our Grandfather Pendulum clock and pointed out that I had not pulled the chains; therefore, the clock had stopped. Thank you, God, for your guidance and direction.
Throughout the marathon, my understanding of God’s love and call on our lives deepened. Understanding that the wilderness required a new sense of call on my life as disciple, spouse, and lover, as well as living and exploring the depth of God’s steadfast love helped me in the difficult times.
All Bob’s life, he was brilliant, a star athlete, engaging preacher and professor, quick and witty conversationalist, visionary leader, overly responsible, terrific husband, father, grandfather, and friend. Alzheimer’s slowly and steadily diminished these outward and visible attributes.
Although he had as thorough of a grasp on grace as anyone I know, I’m not entirely sure he knew down in his heart that he was unconditionally loved for simply and profoundly being Bob—a child of God.
When Bob died on March 4, 2018, I prayed that if the Wilderness of Alzheimer’s had taught or gifted us anything, it’s the awareness that we are all loved. We are loved when we lose our mental and physical abilities, lose our tempers, lose or ability to speak and pray, and lose our zest for life.
We are loved through the wilderness to the promised land.
A founder of Faith & Grief Ministries, Fran leads bereavement workshops and spiritual retreats. She is a preacher and a keynote speaker at conferences.
For twenty years, Fran served PC(USA) congregations in Texas, primarily in pastoral care and was affectionately called “Funeral Fran” by the love of her life and last husband, Bob. She has the courage to take deep finesses in duplicate bridge, stamina to be a member of four book clubs and a spirit for life that sparks contagious laughter.
All creativity and depth comes from the Exodus and not the “Promised Land,” is an excerpt from Shelton’s book No Winter Lasts Forever.