God gave him a needle-sharp mind and exceptional gifts of teaching and administration. But in 2007, after a thirty-year career as a clergyman, encephalitis, one of the many consequences of his case of West Nile Neurological Disease, infected the Preacher’s brain. Ever since, his mind exhausts rapidly after spurts of mental exertion, including conversations and listening to or delivering sermons (which he still does occasionally).
Since my husband’s brain injury, compounded by his simultaneous loss of physical ability, we’ve had to re-think every aspect of our lives, including the way we manage our marriage. That’s not all bad – just complicated.
Arthur, the Kratz Brothers, Curious George and Paw Patrol have become his favourite TV programs to watch – even when our nearby grandchildren are nowhere nearby. I hold words back as long as I can, but every so often a few leak out. “Honey,” I say, all thin-lipped, “could we please watch something for people over eight years of age?”
If we lose track of each other while shopping, I can usually find him in the children’s department, choosing a gift for a grandchild’s upcoming birthday, or a “just because” present to add to his stash back home. As my readers and friends know, I adore our six grandbeans, but sometimes someone has to say “when.” And then that someone feels Grinch-like and rather small.
Nevertheless, when it came to buying gifts last Christmas, what did I buy the man I love best? Two kids movies and a Melissa and Doug Magic set. Ages 8 and up. He loved the magic kit, and within days had mastered each trick – to the delight of the Beans. Today he went shopping and came home with the only thing the kit lacked – a magician’s hat.
“Of all the things I miss, I miss my mind the most, author Samuel Clements (alias Mark Twain) quipped. I’ve never heard the Preacher complain about the abilities the mosquito stole. Frankly, I seem to miss his mind more than he does. He has a unique contentment with what remains (and what remains is a brain that often works better than my own.)
Brain injury has taught him my husband to practice deliberate simplicity and intentionality. He moves through his days much as does a very young child. No multi-tasking, rushing or worrying. He rests often and focusses on one thing at a time. And both of us are better than we once were at trusting our Heavenly Father to supply our needs.
Jesus confounded his listeners one day. Some viewed him as a political Messiah – others as a brilliant teacher who threatened their authority. Taking a child on his knee, he looked about him. “Truly, I say to you,” he said, “unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3-4)
We would never have chosen encephalitis as a teacher, but we are gaining unexpectedly increasing insight into what it means to become like a child. That too is an exceptional gift.
