12 stones

i woke up early to get ready for my first day back at work, made the coffee and the boys breakfast, and got on the computer to check in with the other side of the world-going to sleep as i'm waking up. there was a post from my friend as she was going off to bed -about the irony of what she is facing today- the likely complete cure of cancer with her bilateral mastectomy, but the acute reality of cancer in a new and for the first time, visible way. and she admitted to feeling scared and not too funny- although i still laughed as i read her post and was blown away by her ability to scarf down an piece of apple pie the night before surgery- i'm the queen of the nervous stomach.

mike and i sat down for our time in the morning before the crazy begins, to read the bible and pray together.  i was ready in a feisty sort of way.  i wanted to jump right into the praying part because i had some things to say- but i thought maybe i should listen to God before i started speaking. the first reading was a psalm about God opening the red sea for the israelites despite their rebellion.   the next was in joshua- the story of the israelites crossing the jordan river- how God parted the waters for them again, and told them to take 12 stones from the middle of the river and set them up as a reminder that the hand of the Lord is powerful.  the last reading was from mark, the story of Jesus healing the boy with convulsions.  the father asks, 'if you can do anything for us, please do it.' and Jesus replies, 'IF? everything is possible for him who believes' and the father says, 'i believe, help me overcome my unbelief'.

today these reading were for us.  it's not a coincidence.  it was a moment of esctacy- the divine entering the regular.  God showing up on a tuesday morning.  i heard:
-i care and provide, even if you're ignoring me
-i make big things happen- the impossible, becomes possible
-have faith, and i'm safe enough that you can even ask me to help you believe

so i prayed.
"okay God.  you ask us to remember.  to carry the 12 stones.  you fill the old and new testament with examples of your power.  i know your power.  you parted a giant body of water, twice, to protect your people. you healed people right in front of an audience, you have provided friends for my girl in africa.  i know you can do anything - so i'm asking you to completely heal my three friends with cancer.  i know you don't always do it, but we are asking with full belief that you are able. " (but i was more specific and i begged more and my voice cracked and i might have even sounded a little bit mad by accident).

then i got in the shower and bawled my eyes out.  i mean the full on ugly cry.  and i washed and i cried and i prayed some more, because i remember being the child of a woman with breast cancer and feeling the tension of needing to care for her and desperately wanting her to care for me, and fearing that what if the unthinkable happened and she someday disappeared. so i prayed for her kids and her husband and her parents and her surgeons and for her safety and her peace and freedom from anxiety. and i thought about the last scene in the movie 'it's a wonderful life', how i always cry through it. tragedy happens and everyone shows up, and george sees how loved he is, how valued. i thought about all of our george bailey moments, how people respond to the nudgings, how we become the hands of God for each other, we become the answers to some of the prayers.  we help bring the peace and the strength. i dried off, and dried my tears.

then as i packed my bag to head out the door, i heard bryn and jude on the porch.  bryn was holding a fake candle from the american girl set, and sitting still with his eyes closed so i leaned in to hear with out being seen.
"dear God, i thank you for this day, i pray that you will protect us  from angry monkeys and black mambas. amen."
it was so sweet to see that childs faith. to see and hear that he knows God shows up. because yesterday we had some crazy monkeys in our yard and a baby black mamba (fo' reals).

and i kept thinking about those 12 stones taken from the middle of the jordan river- 12, one for each tribe.  stones carried on shoulders across a dried river bed where the water had been peeled away.  stones set up as a memorial on the other side.  and then the river flooded over.  stones that were carried with them as they camped- set up as a reminder of God's strength- because he knows we forget. we get busy.  things are going well. we aren't standing in front of waters that need parting. 

i love that the stones were Gods idea.  his way of saying, 'trust me, you'll forget'.  his first commission of an art installation.  His love of the symbol- not just any stones, the stones from the middle of the jordan- not just any number, twelve- the fact that they were heavy and carried far and set up where the people were.

i wonder what are my stones? the things that remind me of when the rivers were parted for me.  symbols of the power and the grace.  how quickly i can forget. 

spots of sun

i had to write something to get that picture of my giant belly off of front and center.

what a crazy week.  emotions all over the place.  celebrating jude entering his 7th year. processing our move to africa.  looking at our lives each day imaging what it will be like when these things around us are gone-and our life smells different and sounds and looks unfamiliar.  a week of finding out another classmate died.  and reconnecting with old friends - different circumstances- glimpses of how our lives touch- some now running races-  some facing new illness- some with knowledge of that illness.  a week with a lot of crying- because when it hits close to home- and you're grieving,  you grieve many things - things from years ago, they come back to you like a scent or a song, right back to that place you were 20 years ago. it all leaks out- and what you thought you'd finished dealing with- is freshly back and demanding attention too.  it was a week of being busy with the business of it all.  i'm finding the need to catch my breath. 

there were three great things today.

last night lily and her brother slept over and zoe was so excited to have a sleepover.  but, lily needed to be with her brother who couldn't sleep - so zoe had to sleep alone.  this was a huge disappointment for her.  but - i was super impressed with her ability to acknowledge her disappointment and then, she was able to let it go. 

then one of my favorite patients - who's disease was progressing - had a huge drop in his tumor markers-  a sign that he's responding to 4th line chemotherapy, for now, and we'll take it.  because that is what you do.  you re-frame things. you take the good no matter what- even if it's just a spot of sun.  the spot reminds us of the possibilities.

finally, my friend who is wrestling with the possibility of a challenging illness- told me she's had a moment of peace- a feeling that even what she was most afraid of - might be OK- a decrease in her anxiety- a space to breath. that makes me so happy.

i'm going to sleep early- with hope- for zoe, my patient and my friend- and thankful for all their spots of sun- and the privilege of having them each in my life.

brokenness

it's finally warming up.  i've been thinking more about the book 'the dirty life' that i just finished.  i've been thinking about brokenness.  about how the things that move us the most- that stir our spirits- are interwoven with strife or pain.  people being born, people dying. running a marathon. climbing a mountain.

the author's experience of tilling the land- bridling the horses-lifting the hay barrels- took much sweat and effort- it was  a challenge- in many ways it broke her. she couldn't out-smart nature. she needed to rely on other people, learn their ways, and change.  experiencing birth breaks you.  you can have the perfect plan, and then you go into labor- and you realize your ultimate lack of control- and you experience the definition of a miracle-fruition, creation.  kicking, crying, breathing life from an act of passion 10 months before.  how little you really had to do with it.  and death. how a body so strong, knowledgeable, attractive, dignified- is broken, by illness or accident or the violence of another- and then in a moment-all that life- gone. those left loving, are broken.  now aware of their limits- their endings, and of the delicacy of us all.

for a long time i was frustrated by the brokenness.  by the need of it- in finding truth, just by the pain of it.  when we were living in the unknown valley of what to expect with jude during my pregnancy, after being given a poor prognosis- i remember falling to my knees in the shower- weeping- broken.  feeling the cold porcelain tub and the smooth warm water and my body- my swollen womb- and the helplessness rained around me.  i was just an object, a piece of something- like the water, like the tub- crying out for a God who loved me to intervene.  to meet me there- in that deep deep sorrow- and gather the pieces back together. and He did.  that brokenness moved me- it showed me a bigger world, a bigger plan- and how limited the view is.

it's ongoing.  life promises us joys and sorrows- you can't just have one flavor.  right now is one of the joyous times.  a beautiful day- sunny, warmish- lots of time with family- grandparents- good food- friends.  an almost full moon and a clear evening sky.  smiling children.  melted snowman with a hat still on in the front yard.  seeing that night sky- knowing that all around the world- people are all looking at that same moon- feels whole- feels healing. yet i know that some won't notice the moon- because they're too hungry, it's too stormy, or they're crying out in a tub somewhere with a deep, deep sorrow.

but with it all- there is hope.  each day, is new, and brings newness.  new people, new ideas.  new opportunity to see God- either in a sunset or through our tears.  to feel our smallness and our unity.  to give and to remind and to push through our tough times, with each other.  knowing that we really live for the moments when our spirits move.