My dear Michelle,
It was a lifetime ago, when I was just fourteen or fifteen,
with just divorced parents, and living in a new small town. And you were born. First daughter to my oldest sister. A joy and delight. A curious wonder of exploration and
engagement. And I was privileged to
babysit you after school. I loved being with you.
You would giggle with those massive blue sparkling eyes and toothless
grin. Your belly jiggling and your arms a’
flapping. Your favorite word? “Cookie” of course. I could never give you enough cookies. (Don’t tell your mom, but I think between you
and me we often emptied the cupboards of nilla wafers.) I would attempt, and I mean attempt, to feed
you that nasty tasting vegetable your mom insisted I give you. And of course it wouldn’t go in that
delightful mouth. As if you were saying,
“If you want sweetness coming out of my mouth, then only sweetness can go in.” So consequently you would burple and spray
the orange pasty stuff all over me, yourself, and that high chair. We would
laugh and laugh. Sometimes to the point
of happy tears. Good memories
Michelle. Ones which I took with me when
I started my own parenting. You taught
me much in your early days of journeying.
A couple years later you and your mom and dad moved to the
country and a neighbor lady cared for you during the day when your parents were
away at work or school. I do not recall
her name. But I remember her as the lady
that taught you about Jesus. About how
he loves the “little children” and how he wants to know you and you to know
him. And although your parents did not
appreciate the gift of Jesus this lady was offering, I am deeply grateful she
was there, early in your life, to at least give you some knowledge
(understanding maybe?) of Jesus.
Why do I reminisce about days more than thirty years
ago?
Michelle, your deep, breathless, stomach-socking,
mind-numbing journey you are embarking on has me aching… longing for you to
find something, find Someone, to hold on to.
Your precious dear son – diagnosed with Ewing’s sarcoma – an aggressive primary
bone cancer. Two weeks ago your word was
filled with laughter, joy, curiosity, and thoughts of motherhood. Today, you have pain. A suffering pain to the core of your mother’s
soul.
I know the cancer Road.
At least some of it. It is scary,
unpredictable, life altering, priority changing. Your little guy will experience the hard road
so much earlier than most. And your
mother’s heart may feel tortured and beaten.
Every fiber of your being wants to protect your
children.
Every fiber.
Michelle, God may not explain the “why?” of these times. Knowing the why I believe may not even
help. But what I do know is that God
says that regardless of where you are, regardless of what you are experiencing,
regardless of the pain, deep and penetrating, that He is and will be with
you.
Grab Him. Hold tight
to Him. Embrace Him like you will never
let go.
Having Jesus with you during this journey does not guarantee
that you will see the cancer go away and your son healed. I wish it were so. But it does not. But, my dear Michelle, God is not afraid of
your hurt, your fury, your disbelief, your terror. Tell him.
Share it with Him. You will find
grace with Him. And I am confident that
you will be strengthened deep within.
That elusive peace, so often hard to experience in a cancer journey, is
found by holding on to Jesus. Not positive thoughts, not wishful thinking, not
linking to the great universal power. But to Jesus. Grab hard Michelle.
And when you lose strength, when you lose heart, when your tears have
saturated your pillow and your head is throbbing from holding your breath, know
that even through these times, though you feel like you can hold no longer… know
that He is holding you.
Has been all the time.
Talk to Him Michelle. Begin this journey with Him.
He will never let you go.
Today's Journey Joys: medicines for cancer, family who loves deeply, prayers for Michelle and her beautiful family, bees flying, grace-giving God.
"Who shall separate us form the love of Christ?" (Romans 8:35) Nothing. (Keep reading Romans 8:35-39...not even cancer or sorrow can.)
