i am at the gardens across the street studying in a little hut named 'jinja' where i have taken to studying for the medical boards. i'm sitting here wondering how in the next 5 weeks, i will get all this information into my head in order to pass. i am sitting here studying hematology/ oncology while my friend, family member, mentor is at home "living" what i'm studying. living hematology/ oncology- fighting it.
it's these times when i hate being here. when it seems impossibly hard to be separated by an ocean. when all i want to do is sit in an infusion room with the people i love, while they experience what i'm cramming into my brain. it just feels wrong.
today buechner's reading was about not having anxiety- about paul's words that in everything- the good, the bad and the ugly-with prayer and supplication - we need to lay it all before our God- no matter what. it was about the promise we are given- not that "it", whatever "it" is, no matter how awful or painful or unfair or unfathomable "it" is- not that it will be taken away, but that we are promised peace in "it". despite "it". that even cancer and loss and suffering and our own internal deep darkness- there, buried perhaps, initially obscured, is peace.
i know this to be true. a peace that makes no logical sense. a peace that can only be given- allowed to be found and clung to and dug into- if only to keep our near drowned head above the raging water of "it".
because what can you do, when there is nothing to be "done"?
i know this to be true because when jude was a baby and i was told he had 6 months to live and the only thing i should have felt was consumed and angry and empty and sorrow- i somehow felt a very strange and unexplainable peace- despite. i still felt empty and a lot of sadness and some anger- but i crawled on my bloody knees to God. i fell in the shower and poured it all out in tears and words and maybe loudest of all in silence- where i know the spirit interceded with groans that even words could not express. there was nothing to "do" with "it". "it" just was and i was just stuck with "it".
maybe that was when i first caught a brief glimpse of the trinity- that impossible idea that life and God are not so black and white- that it's not just good and bad- it's not so simple- its actually incredibly and unfathomably complex and other worldly. it is in fact, magical and mystical and beyond what we can grasp.
somehow it's these "it"s, these moments when our world is turned so upside down that our logic falls out and we are left only with our rawness, our spirit- we are almost forced to stop trying to contain God and allow God to hold us. this is Grace. somehow, we need to move toward it, we need to fall, or crawl, or open our clenched up fists just even a finger, even if all we can do is ask for help to pick up our lead foot- that, because of Grace, seems to be enough.
and to the rest of the world it doesn't make sense. to everyone else who in our moment, isn't having a moment, it sounds crazy, and probably because it is. it is miracle- it is the divine touching our days, or maybe just our hour, or minute of greatest need, so that we can then get up off the shower floor. so we can get dressed and change a diaper and nurse a hungry 3 month old- even if "it" is true- because today, he's hungry. even though i cried the whole time i fed him and watched his little face blurry through my eyes- knowing that the pain of him not being there would make the pain of this knowledge seem like nothing- because today, he was in my arms. even in all that ugly- was somehow- Miracle- the peace that passes all understanding.
that is not found in my reading- in my pages of books on cancer and everything else that can go wrong with the body- that is not taught in medical school or residency- but it's seen in the shadows and corners of all our lives.
it's not that God is for the weak or the stupid- it's that when life breaks us- our eyes pop open a little wider and sometimes we can see a lot more. when we reach the limits of our knowledge and are left with little and see how small we all really are and finally we mutter, or whisper, or in silence scream 'help', then we become in a way free and able to bear "it". the beautiful awful reality of the hardness of life- to accept the mystery, to sit with the discomfort of not knowing- to even just be held- despite.
despite the fact that we are oceans away. despite the terrifying unknown. despite all limitations and unfair and 'what ifs' - when we lay it down- there comes miracle. and to see for even a moment, the wing of an angel- to feel the shelter of the everlasting arms, to hear the breath of something so much bigger than we ever imagined- that, that is something.
it's these times when i hate being here. when it seems impossibly hard to be separated by an ocean. when all i want to do is sit in an infusion room with the people i love, while they experience what i'm cramming into my brain. it just feels wrong.
today buechner's reading was about not having anxiety- about paul's words that in everything- the good, the bad and the ugly-with prayer and supplication - we need to lay it all before our God- no matter what. it was about the promise we are given- not that "it", whatever "it" is, no matter how awful or painful or unfair or unfathomable "it" is- not that it will be taken away, but that we are promised peace in "it". despite "it". that even cancer and loss and suffering and our own internal deep darkness- there, buried perhaps, initially obscured, is peace.
i know this to be true. a peace that makes no logical sense. a peace that can only be given- allowed to be found and clung to and dug into- if only to keep our near drowned head above the raging water of "it".
because what can you do, when there is nothing to be "done"?
i know this to be true because when jude was a baby and i was told he had 6 months to live and the only thing i should have felt was consumed and angry and empty and sorrow- i somehow felt a very strange and unexplainable peace- despite. i still felt empty and a lot of sadness and some anger- but i crawled on my bloody knees to God. i fell in the shower and poured it all out in tears and words and maybe loudest of all in silence- where i know the spirit interceded with groans that even words could not express. there was nothing to "do" with "it". "it" just was and i was just stuck with "it".
maybe that was when i first caught a brief glimpse of the trinity- that impossible idea that life and God are not so black and white- that it's not just good and bad- it's not so simple- its actually incredibly and unfathomably complex and other worldly. it is in fact, magical and mystical and beyond what we can grasp.
somehow it's these "it"s, these moments when our world is turned so upside down that our logic falls out and we are left only with our rawness, our spirit- we are almost forced to stop trying to contain God and allow God to hold us. this is Grace. somehow, we need to move toward it, we need to fall, or crawl, or open our clenched up fists just even a finger, even if all we can do is ask for help to pick up our lead foot- that, because of Grace, seems to be enough.
and to the rest of the world it doesn't make sense. to everyone else who in our moment, isn't having a moment, it sounds crazy, and probably because it is. it is miracle- it is the divine touching our days, or maybe just our hour, or minute of greatest need, so that we can then get up off the shower floor. so we can get dressed and change a diaper and nurse a hungry 3 month old- even if "it" is true- because today, he's hungry. even though i cried the whole time i fed him and watched his little face blurry through my eyes- knowing that the pain of him not being there would make the pain of this knowledge seem like nothing- because today, he was in my arms. even in all that ugly- was somehow- Miracle- the peace that passes all understanding.
that is not found in my reading- in my pages of books on cancer and everything else that can go wrong with the body- that is not taught in medical school or residency- but it's seen in the shadows and corners of all our lives.
it's not that God is for the weak or the stupid- it's that when life breaks us- our eyes pop open a little wider and sometimes we can see a lot more. when we reach the limits of our knowledge and are left with little and see how small we all really are and finally we mutter, or whisper, or in silence scream 'help', then we become in a way free and able to bear "it". the beautiful awful reality of the hardness of life- to accept the mystery, to sit with the discomfort of not knowing- to even just be held- despite.
despite the fact that we are oceans away. despite the terrifying unknown. despite all limitations and unfair and 'what ifs' - when we lay it down- there comes miracle. and to see for even a moment, the wing of an angel- to feel the shelter of the everlasting arms, to hear the breath of something so much bigger than we ever imagined- that, that is something.
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