Lionhearted

My husband completes his 28th and final radiation treatment tomorrow. We are both tired. This has been a grueling 9 months for both of us. It is hard to watch someone you love bow beneath the weight of pain and suffering. He does not complain. He takes his medicine, he takes care of the laundry, he cleans up the kitchen. On a nice day he sometimes flies his planes. When we started our lives together, we really did not know ourselves or each other very well. We could always make each other laugh, we shared dreams and hopes for our future. We did not always know how to be supportive of each other in the hard times, when jobs got stressful, or children pushed us to overload. But we learned what to say, and what not to say. We learned to listen without comment and sometimes, when it was permitted, we gave advice. My husband is much better at this than I am. He sets the bar very high when it come to listening skills and patience in advice giving. Sometimes when I talk about our marriage to single people, they say "You got lucky". I don't agree with this, because a marriage takes hard work for both people, but I do agree that my husband is a special person. His strength is that of a lion, with a heart of gold.

Bridge

I was in Honduras 3 years ago with Volunteers in Medical Missions. We were there to provide primary medical care to the poor in the mountains of Yoro province, assisted by a local church. One day, we had to cross a long foot bridge across a very wide river. The bridge was somewhat modern, with steel supports and suspension wires, but the wooden boards that spanned the river were several inches apart. Between these boards, looking down, one could see the gravel river bed, then the flowing water. Although it technically wasn't, it seemed totally possible to me that one could slip through these wide spaces and fall to the river far below. At the beginning, because the gravel below was a different color than the boards, I was able to gauge where to step. Once the boards were over the same color river water, I could no longer see which was space and which was board. I was paralyzed, afraid, and stood perfectly still, certain I could go no farther. Suddenly, from behind me, a thin and smiling Honduran woman walked purposely to me. She linked her arm in mine, and, without pausing, continued her brisk stride, taking me with her. I could not be afraid, with her arm in mine. What a beautiful parable we made, walking together across that bridge. Bridges are made for crossing, sometimes we need a strong arm in ours.

Unseen Gifts

I have worn many different hats in my 30 years as a nurse. I have been present in hundreds, maybe thousands, of significant life moments in the care of my patients. Some moments were very sad, as those I cared for had to face their own death. Some moments were filled with urgent activity, to assess an injury or disease, and work with a team to bring health back into their lives. Some moments were filled with joy, when a wiggly wet newborn entered the world in my waiting arms. That was the job I thought I loved best, and felt the worst about leaving. For some reason, as time has passed, I forgot about the joy and only remembered the frustration and the reasons why I felt I had to leave. I got stuck thinking about it. Today I realized that all those different hats served a purpose in forming the person I am today. It doesn't matter that I am no longer in those roles, or why I am not. What matters is that the lessons I learned about life and death, courage and perseverance, forgiveness and friendship are lived out each day for my benefit and for the benefit of those around me. These lessons are the unseen gifts that each moment gives us; lessons best remembered with an open mind and gentle spirit. Then we become unstuck and teachable again.

Whitney

My daughter reminded me a few days ago about The Preacher's Wife soundtrack. I forgot how great it was. She remembered one song, Somebody Bigger, that I adapted to puppets. I edited it to make it shorter and made puppets out of stuffed toys that the girls used to "act out" the song. We performed this song several times to the folks who attended the monthly outreach our church made to the homeless and mentally ill. At the event, we sang a few songs, sometimes with puppets, someone preached, we prayed for those that wanted prayer, then went on to a hot meal of comfort foods and distribution of clothing and groceries. I am glad my daughter remembered the song and the puppets and the gift we gave to people who lived their lives largely feeling forgotten. I imagine Whitney never once thought that her song would be the basis of a very amateur performance in an old church in Hamilton. I imagine that she had no idea that 2 young girls would memorize every word of it, little sweaty hands holding heavy puppets, eager to do a good job. She wouldn't have known that her gift was being shared with some folks who needed to hear about a big God. I hope she knows now. I know one person who is grateful for Whitney. Me.

Cancer Confronters

I had lunch with a couple of cancer survivors today. I used to hate the term, especially since it didn't seem like my situation really counted. We talked about our dear friend Amy, who died last year. We talked about lots of other things, for almost 3 hours. I think we should be called cancer confronters. It is not like the disease is some sort of evil that invades our bodies. It is part of our story, the part that causes us to stop and reevaluate basically every part of our lives. It is the part that forces us to look at our life and see how it measures up to where we wanted it to be. It gives us permission to change it. We go through the physical transformation that surgery and chemotherapy bring. We confront our mortality, our fear, our weakness. We build bridges. We climb mountains. We live in the land of what was and what is and what might be. We confront ourselves and our lives and come out stronger. We have a vision for our future, a vision for our relationships, our finances. We take care of ourselves, cherishing our bodies so that each day we are given we can use wisely. Know this, we all have to confront our destiny. It has a name. Ours is cancer. But it is not a fearsome thing, it is a door to a new and better life.

Back seat/Front seat

We were sitting around with our girls when they were younger, and I asked them when they felt the most cozy. Jane said "When we are sitting in the back seat of the car, eating Taco Bell, driving in the dark when it is raining." My husband and I looked at each other, thinking the same thing; that for the driver that was the exact opposite of cozy. Nose pressed almost to the windshield, straining to see, wipers flailing away the dirty spray from passing semis, precious cargo in the backseat. It is like that when you are a grown up, where you could once relax you now have to steer. Where you could watch TV until called to dinner, you now have to shop and cook and clean it all up. We can't go back to the back seat. In 1 Corinthians chapter 13 verse 11 Paul put it this way: 'When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned like a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.' He means he moved to the front seat. When I was a child, that meant I could control the radio. As an adult, it means you have to control it all...your speed, your brakes, map your route, listen to directions, mind the weather, the road, other drivers. It may not be cozy in the front seat, but it is where we need to be to go where God wants us to go. Nose pressed almost to the windshield, following Him.

The desire of your heart

I love Valentine's Day, probably one of my favorite celebrations. The hearts and flowers are so welcome in the dead of winter, a reminder that life is full and blessed. Handmade cards, little trinkets, conversation hearts, hugs and kisses, all coming from those who love you. The desire of our heart, to be loved. In the Bible, God tells us that he will give us the desire of our heart, if we delight in Him. (Psalms 37). Most times we could look at that verse and think of God like a genie, rub the lamp just so and our wishes would be granted. What would you wish for? Expensive things? Better looks? Smarter? It probably wouldn't be paper cards, sticky with paint and glue, with crooked letters misspelling Valentine in every way imaginable. But the real desire of our hearts is only met in something that simple. God knows this. If we give Him our love, He returns love to us from every direction. We find ourselves surrounded by acts of kindness, words of encouragement, little hands in ours, snuggly evenings. In the heart of each person is a song to be heard. Delight in the Lord, he will give you bouquets of spring flowers, conversations with friends, a song, a hope. A paper heart in a little envelope, signed I love you.

1400

There is a calm in knowing that things are in motion. I went to my oncologist today, and we talked a little, and I had a blood test to see what my cancer antigen is now, and then I went back to work. He called me at 4:30 pm to tell me that my antigen is 1400, which is 20 times higher than it was in November. He gave me the chance to talk about it, but I was driving, so I said no, it's ok. I don't remember how we said goodbye. I drove the rest of the way home, feeling the calm that comes with staying in the light. I put the car in the garage, said hello to my handsome husband and picked up my knitting. We went out to eat with our kind and generous pastor and his wife. We talked about what might be happening, how to prepare for what is next, ways to leave a video legacy. We joked and laughed. My disease is speeding down the road, taking me with it, and I am laughing. Maybe the idea that we are speeding toward heaven makes me laugh. Or maybe the laugh hides some of the worries about going too fast. Whatever it is, there is still the confidence that I am not alone. We are surrounded by the warmth of God's love, His people. He knows what will be ahead, and He has already packed the car for the journey. I am still safe.

Living inside the circle of light

We want to know what is ahead. We need to see into the forest. We climb mountains to get a better view, we explore space, we build submarines that go miles deep into the ocean. We want to see what is going on around us, above and beneath us. We cannot stand not knowing, it makes us anxious. We must feel that knowing equals the power to master our world. Anyone who has scuba dived understands that knowing how to breath into a mechanical tube many feet beneath the surface does not equal power. We are never so vulnerable as when we leave our familiar habitat and go where we cannot breath, cannot see, cannot escape a hungry shark. Still, we want to know what is there. In God's world, He gives us just enough light to create a circle of sight that encompasses a single moment. In that circle of light, we can see all we need to see to do what is in front of us to do. The deep darkness that shrouds tomorrow bothers us. We want to see because we don't really trust God to watch over us. We want to arm ourselves, as if our puny efforts can master all the dangers that life brings. Living inside the circle of light takes the ultimate act of faith. Our alarms are off, we can rest and be at peace. Trust becomes the power to master our life.

Humble expectations

Today was a beautiful day, more notable because it is February in Ohio. Usually this is the dreariest time of year; long stretches of days with grey skies and frigid temperatures. The sun was bright and warm today, perfect for my husband to fly one of his radio controlled planes. He has been flying these planes for several years, with varying success. It is a touchy hobby, and one false move of the controller, a plane's malfunction or a gust of wind, sends the precious plane crashing nose first into hard ground. This happened to him today. He carries the pieces back to the car and wonders aloud why he has chosen this fickle business as a hobby. He knows others who are experts at flying, as well as those that bring planes to the field but never fly them. I hear the disappointment in his voice and see the damage to the plane he took hours crafting. He said he never expected to be awesome at  it, he had humble expectations and would be satisfied just flying around in a nice pattern. I think this is a perfect motif for life. Some people are awesome at living, full throttle, all the loop de loops, landing smartly on a dime. Some are afraid to lose what they have if they spread their wings. Some of us live humbly, grateful we have good friends, nice kids, and some extra money in the bank; even if we do take a nose dive now and then.