I’m my wife’s caregiver.

Pray for her.  I’m so completely unqualified for this.  But I’m trying.

A few months ago the neurologist informed Bertha’s daughter and me that all the tests reveal she has Alzheimer’s.  “Her brain is atrophying. It’s going to get worse.”

So far, she’s done all right, I assume.  She mostly sleeps.  Around the clock, every two or three hours, she goes to the bathroom and looks for something to eat in the kitchen.  So, my role is keeping foods handy on the kitchen counter and washing the bed clothes regularly and seeing that she takes her meds morning and evening.

A friend sent a chart of the seven stages of dementia.  If it’s reliable, then we’re at stage five, looks like.

At night as I lie down beside her, I try to think of what more I could be doing. What did I leave undone? What am I missing?  What’s on the agenda for tomorrow and what can I do to prepare for it tonight?

So, today in the mail came this card from a friend of fifty years containing a Max Lucado quote.

One day I believe you’ll hear the Lord say, “I’m so proud that you let Me use you.  Because of you, others are here today.  Would you like to meet them?”

And on the inside my friend wrote, As I pray for you, I am sometimes impressed to pray against sadness and discouragement.  Please remember that God has you and Bertha in His hands. And He and I love you very much. I praise Him for putting you in my life in my sophomore year at Mississippi College.

I teared up.

Now, it appears to me that what the Max Lucado quote is saying is:  You’re doing good. Keep it up.

That’s so hard for me.  As the caregiver for my wife Bertha, most nights when my head hits the pillow I’m feeling like a failure. I’m not doing well.  Do I dare leave her for an hour tomorrow while I run to the grocery, the cleaners, post office, and bank?  Will I come home one day and find that she is in trouble?

The word angst comes to mind.  It’s a generalized feeling that something is amiss.  Sortof a floating anxiety.

That’s what I feel at night.

The idea of saying to myself, “You’re doing good taking care of your wife. All is well,” is foreign to me.

I’ve never been much for patting myself on the back, giving myself a high rating.  Rather, I have always identified with the apostle who called himself the chief of sinners, and who said, “Wretched man that I am; who shall deliver me from this body of death?” (Romans 7)

To change gears and say to myself, “You’re doing great, Joe, well done,” is really hard.

And I’m betting that most caregivers identify with this.

One night a few weeks ago during my prayer time, the Lord said two things to me.  Not audibly, of course, but in that still small inner voice I’ve come to recognize as His.

I was telling Him about Bertha.  “This woman and her husband Gary served you so well.  They pastored churches and were missionaries. She has made afghans for a hundred people, and taken food to needy people–” and He interrupted me.

You do not have to tell me what Bertha has done for me.

Wow. I know that’s true.

And then later, I was saying I needed to cut back on my speaking in churches because I need to stay here and take care of her.

Once again, the voice:

When you are taking care of her, you are serving Me.

I’m confident I’m not the first–nor the last–to hear these words from the Heavenly Father.  They are true of so many of His faithful.

So, we go into another day.  She’s sleeping now.  I went in a few minutes ago and sat beside her as she slept, asking the Father to keep His hand upon her, asking for Him to show me what to do.

I’m dealing with my type one diabetes just now.  The endocrinologist has prescribed an insulin pump for me.  When we get it all straightened out, there will be no more finger pricking and giving myself injections of insulin.  But until then, it’s a challenge. There are so many steps to mastering the insulin pump.  And it’s calling to me now to do the weekly changeover.

If I could I would tell Bertha that given a choice, she should never have a caregiver who is 86 years old with medical issues.  Someone said recently that in Alzheimer’s cases, something like one-fourth of all caregivers die before their patients.  Oh my.

Today is Thursday, July 23, 2026.  Saturday I drive to Jasper, Alabama, for the funeral of my little sister.  Carolyn had many medical issues and we had begun praying for the Father to take her to Himself.  It’s a five hour drive each way, and I’ll make the trip the same day.  We have a sitter to stay with Bertha whom I will be paying.

I told my Sunday School class at lunch today about this long drive Saturday and added, “Good thing I’m still young.”   I mean it as a joke, but it’s also true that I have no trouble driving.  How much longer the Father will let me stay young is His decision.

Lord, you are my strength.  And you are sufficient for all my needs. Lead me now as I care for your special daughter whom I love so much.  For Jesus’ sake.