One year-a-vers-ary

The clouds were gray and dripping misty. The sounds of the rhythmic tinkling of moisture as the tires moved along the cold pavement.  I almost missed my turn.

As I entered the familiar building with its customary smells, sounds, and sights, I lugged my laptop bag, my purse, a fresh cup of Dunn Bros. coffee and a large tray of muffins.  Blueberry.  Apple crunch.  Chocolate chip. In a sense to celebrate.  In a sense to remember.

Kimberle greeted me with her usual giant-heart smile and big brown glittering eyes. Donning lilac purple framed glasses and enormous matching dangling ear rings, she embodies grace and comfort. She expresses joy in her very being, through her presence. "Breakfast!" I enthusiastically call out as I eagerly hand over the massive, and somewhat teetering, tray.

I am the only one in the office waiting room.  The TV blares some inane morning game show. The windows dark with clouds. I quietly read over my students' postings on my laptop as I wait until it is my turn to see my local oncologist.  But my heart and mind are distracted.  One year.  It's been exactly one year since I walked into this building for my very first chemotherapy treatment.  Scared, eager to begin, uncertain of the course, the outcome, the process.  And I look back and see the mountains, the valleys, the thorns and the flowers.  I remember the deep penetrating love of friends who journeyed alongside at various points in the trek.  The gracious gifts of food, trips, hospitality, friendship, and presence.

And I find myself reminiscing about the deep and emerging understanding of the grace of God.  Of its personal nature.  Its sustaining love.  And I rejoice in the truth that I have experienced the meaning of heaven - the experience of heaven - here, in this lowly earthly journey.  For it has been during tremendous and overwhelming emotions of gratitude - gratitude for the presence of God in the midst of long, lonely wanderings through chemo, radiation, and surgery, where I have tasted, just oh-so-little, the experience of Heaven. That is, being with Jesus.  The intense, delightful, flavor of His presence creating a longing for the great Feast. If only for this realization, this understanding, that I endured the long road of cancer treatment, it is enough.  I am savoring the longing for heaven, the experience of being in the presence of perfect Love.  For I have tasted a morsel and am eager, hungry, perhaps even ravenous, for the real.

But I am here today.  In this place of chemo smells, fluorescent lighting, blankets and IV beeps.  My nurse accesses my port, secures it with a dressing and hooks me up to the normal saline solution which is dripping quietly and steadily, waiting until the infusion to treat my cancer is ready to hang. A relatively quick infusion.  I'll be out of here in an hour.  So different from the six hours of my first chemotherapy.  And I'll only be slightly nauseated with an odd taste in my mouth.  Only three days or so.  Again, much better than the taxol, the adriamycin or the cytoxan days of pain, fatigue and helplessness. And yet, I am weary in a different way.  I heard myself exclaim, "I am ready to be done with this."  But knowing I have more tests, more infusions, more surgery ahead.

Is this what a runner feels like? After running miles and miles, up and down hills, around corners, through wind and weather, does the knowledge that the end is nearing - but is still quite far away - sap one's stamina?  Does a runner ever wonder, "Will I make it to the finish line?" "Will I crawl bloodied through the ribbon or run through triumphantly?"  I do not know.  But does it really matter?

I have tasted Heaven.

I am not alone. (Kari Jobe)

When I walk through deep waters
I know that you will be with me
When I'm standing in the fire
I will not be overcome
Through the valley of the shadow
Oh, I will not fear

I am not alone
I am not alone
You will go before me
You will never leave me
I am not alone
I am not alone
You will go before me
You will never leave me

In the midst of deep sorrow
I see your light is breaking through
The dark night will not over take me
I am pressing into you

Lord You fight my every battle
And I will not fear

I am not alone
I am not alone
You will go before me
You will never leave me
I am not alone
I am not alone
You will go before me
You will never leave me

You amaze me, redeem me
You call me as your own

You're my strength
You're my defender
You're the refuge in the storm
Through these trials
You've always been faithful
You bring healing to my soul

I am not alone
I am not alone
You will go before me
You will never leave me
I am not alone
I am not alone
You will go before me
You will never leave me

Today' Journey Joys: I am not alone.  Colorful Christmas lights still blinking in mid January, warm blueberry tea, a scrumptious salad with bright spring lettuces, crunchy green snap peas, broccoli florets, cheese, red aromatic strawberries, and a bright yellow-orange yoke of a hard boiled egg topped with poppy seed dressing.