left with grace

life is so full of hard stuff.

it just is and it always will be. 

some days it rains hard stuff- like today. some days just start out cloudy, and those clouds feel like the end of the world because they are blocking the sun.  but. you. have. no idea. then it starts raining, and then the wind picks up and it's a full downpour.  the thunder and lighting are loud and scary and the streets are flooding and then comes  hail and the cracking of tree branches.  and then you know that just a cloudy sky would have been wonderful- because it's all relative. 

tonight i had to tell a good ugandan friend that her son's lymphoma had returned- only months after his treatment.  i had to tell her that it's not good- but somehow God is still good.  i had to tell her with tears streaming down my face because she is my friend and it's so. unfair. and he is only 14.  then we had to go and tell him.  how do you tell a kid that they have advanced cancer? how do you find that balance between hope and truth? and what is the truth? and what is hope? and isn't this what i do?

i got the biopsy results while i was sitting in the lawyers office with rose climbing on me as we waited for her birth mother to show up.  i simultaneously and silently swore and said a prayer, which i think God is fine with by the way- our humanity has limited options for expression. 

on the way in to the office, i'd been annoyed at the struggle to move things forward with roses adoption.  it seemed so unfair and slow and painful and i felt stuck and dependent and helpless.  but suddenly those clouds didn't matter quite as much when i was staring at the words Acute Lymphoblastic Lymphoma.  suddenly i remembered what real helplessness and dependence feels like- what real unfair is, and pain and stuck.

so when the time came to go pick up the other kids and roses birth mom still hadn't shown up yet- i was a lot less broken hearted than i would have been.  then to add to the afternoon, on the way to the school rose vomited everywhere in the car.  cloudy- maybe some rain.  we cleaned it up and gathered the other kids and drove home with most of them sleeping and me being thankful for each of them and their health and their stories which are thankfully continuing.

when we got home, i cried, a lot.  i cried tears and i cried help and why and please because in between the lawyers office waiting and the vomit i'd talked to the oncologist and i knew i needed to have a very hard conversation- a conversation i've had several times but not yet with a friend as their doctor.

so i know all about those moments that are not forgotten.  i lay on my bed and wondered what earrings i was wearing that my friend wouldn't forget, what song might be playing in the background when she had to hear me say- his cancer is back. i hated that i would be speaking some of the worst words a mother can hear- words that i've heard before too- words attached to the light coming into my san francisco apartment as i rocked my baby boy- words attached to the music of switchfoot and a tommy bahama tie and the plastic smell of the diaper bag mixed with lavender.  words that i remember knowing slapped and stung then, but couldn't compare to the pain i'd feel if and when he was gone from my rocking arms.

all that sat in me as i waited to be that messenger.

i'm reading anne lamotts new book: help, thanks, wow- the three essential prayers.  these days i'm very familiar with help.  okay for years i've been good at this one- in some form or another.  these days i've been living in 'help' - and i'm trusting that because God is the good shepherd i'm not at risk of crying wolf- i'm trusting He knows each 'help' is legit- and not a constant drone.

tonight as i drove over to her place to sit down and deliver the news to her son and her husband- i told God that i was tired of having to cry HELP all the time, but in fact- right now- help would be great.  i told God that i wasn't feeling very thankful, but, i was thankful that i was being heard, that we weren't alone, that She would walk with me down that dark path and right into their little house, and that i was thankful for the promise of provision- even if it doesn't look exactly like i would like.  then i told God that i was ready for WOW.   i was pretty sure that i was due for some WOW- that my friend was due and her son too.

so what am i left with?  i'm left with grace. 

we are left with grace in the middle of all the broken and the breakdown.  we are left with each other.  we are left with a still loving, non-abandoning God- in the midst of unfair and painful.  we are left holding hands and crying together and then laughing because there are still funny bits.  we are left remembering to hold on to the times when we said WOW.  we are asked to try gratitude- even in despair, but we are surrounded by grace when we can't.  we are covered in grace when all that comes out is profanity and 'help'- or even - just profanity.  we are loved and forgiven and understood - over and over again- that is grace- and sometimes we can only feel it in our most ruined selves- in our darkest hours.

and here is God.

sitting beside us.