Love Comes Full Circle
This week, my heart has been spending a lot of time with my mom.
If you've been following along over the past several weeks, you know it has been quite a journey. She suddenly lost much of her ability to control her muscles. The doctors searched for answers but never found one. She went from the hospital to rehabilitation, and then into hospice because her condition continued to decline. Then, surprisingly, she improved enough to come out of hospice. For a little while, hope quietly returned.Now, it seems we are once again watching her strength slowly fade.
Life has a way of reminding us that very little is within our control.
As many of you know, this season of my life has been filled with challenges from many different directions. There are days when it feels as though one storm barely passes before another arrives.
Yet through it all, I keep returning to the same spiritual truth: I am not merely a human being trying to become spiritual. I am a spiritual being having a very human experience.
That doesn't mean I don't feel sadness. It doesn't mean I avoid grief.
In fact, I believe one of the most spiritual things we can do is allow ourselves to grieve with an open heart. Love and grief are not opposites. Grief is simply love with nowhere to go in the moment.
One of the greatest gifts this season has given me is a new compassion for my mom. Like many parents and children, our relationship hasn't always been easy. We've had misunderstandings. We've experienced hurt. We've both carried our own imperfections through life.
But something beautiful happens when we stop keeping score.
The relationship begins to change.
These days, I help feed her. I help her move. I help care for needs she can no longer manage on her own. There are moments that are physically exhausting and emotionally heartbreaking. Yet beneath every act of caregiving, I keep hearing a quiet whisper:
"This is what love looks like."
She spent years doing these very things for me when I couldn't do them for myself. Now life has gently handed me the opportunity to return that gift.
What an incredible privilege.
Last Friday, after picking her up from rehab, I took her to the lake. We watched the fireworks together as the colors reflected across the water. It was one of those evenings I'll treasure forever. We laughed. We smiled. We simply enjoyed being together.
At the same time, I couldn't help but notice how fragile she has become. The woman who once seemed larger than life now grew tired just sitting in her chair. It was both beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.
And perhaps that's the lesson life keeps teaching me.
Joy and sorrow are not enemies.
Hope and grief can occupy the same heart.
Strength is not pretending everything is okay. Strength is remaining open when life would tempt us to close.
As I walk this uncertain road with my mom, I find myself becoming more compassionate, not only toward her, but toward everyone. We never really know what another person is carrying. Every face we meet has a story. Every heart is fighting a battle we cannot see.
So this week, I invite all of us to love a little more freely. Offer grace a little more quickly. Forgive a little more easily. Hold the people you love a little closer.
Because in the end, it isn't perfection that changes us.
It's compassion.
And sometimes, if we're paying attention, love has a beautiful way of coming full circle.
With love, Rev. Dr. Bobby Kyser
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