Kiss Your Miracle

“We should take more pictures,” my mom said to me the other day, so I’ve been trying to keep my camera ready, especially when my dad is feeling good. I took this photo the other day in the middle of dinnertime chaos. My brothers and sisters were pulling their chairs into our usual circle to eat near my dad’s recliner in the living room, and I think he was smiling at one of them. When I showed my mom the picture later, she said, “Oh that’s not a great shot. I’m hanging onto him so tightly. But keep it anyway. I want to keep every picture of your father.”

When I put the picture on the computer later and looked at it more closely, her words came back to me. But I disagree with her. I love the photo, especially the way my mom is holding my dad’s arm. My parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary is this coming November, and throughout my life I’ve watched them put each other first. These days I see it more than ever. My mom is with my dad at every doctor appointment and every cancer treatment. When he goes upstairs to nap, which is a large portion of every day, she follows him up so he doesn’t have to be alone. He counts on her to keep track of his medications and to help into the shower. She cries with him, encourages him, and prays for him too, probably a lot more than we even know.

My family isn’t perfect and we’ve had our share of struggles over the years. But I can honestly say that I’ve never doubted my parents’ love for each other. I’ve never wondered if their marriage would survive. When things are hard for them (and have they ever been harder than they are now?), their response is to cling to each other. I think this photo shows them at their best. And I think that without even realizing it, my parents have given their children something that will never fade: a living picture of what God intended marriage to be.

The other day Adam and I decided to take Sky to the beach, which is a short walk down the road from my parents’ house in Michigan. The sun was about to set and the beach was windy, chilly, and deserted. Sky loved it. She jumped around and clapped her hands, smiling and laughing at everything. I’d taken a few pictures of her and of the sun sparkling through the clouds on the water when I turned to Adam and said, “Hey, we should take a belly photo. I’m almost 23 weeks along and we haven’t taken any yet.” When I was pregnant with Sky, we took pictures of my growing belly every other week, but with everything happening in my family we just hadn’t gotten around to it this time. We took some more photos and played in the sand a little longer. When we got back to my parents’ house, Sky’s cheeks and hands were cold, but she was still smiling.

We walked into the living room and found my parents sitting quietly with Pastor and Mrs. Lutzer. They had pulled their chairs up close to my dad, and Pastor Lutzer had his Bible open. He gave us a quick smile and then said, “We’re about to read some scripture and pray.” So we scooped up our noisy toddler and headed for the other room.

Many things have been written about the contrast between sickness and health, youth and age, life and death. I don’t know that I have anything original to add. But I have to at least mention it because right now it’s happening in my life. It’s strange to look at my dad and know that cancer is hiding inside his body while at the same time our baby boy is squirming and growing inside mine. I suppose it’s a cliché, but I can’t help feeling more aware than ever that life is fragile and temporary, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves that it’s not.

Lord, make me a person who lives in gratitude for each day and each person in my life.

On Friday, Adam, Skylar and I flew from Florida to my parents’ place in Michigan for a long weekend. Normally, Sky wakes us up hours before everyone else, but on Saturday morning, Nelson appeared downstairs at 6am. We made tea and coffee while Sky played with my parents’ dog, Jack. We’d been sitting around talking about my dad’s cancer for fifteen minutes or so when Nelson pointed out how easy it is for us to do just that – talk. We analyze how my dad looks, his best possible course of treatment, what the future might hold, and what type of plans we should make for the coming months. By the end of the conversation, we’re all usually agitated and stressed.

Since we heard about my dad’s cancer, Adam and I have had many discussions about what we should do. All we want is to be here with my parents as much as possible, but the fact that we live in Florida is a major complication. Last week we went around and around. Should we just get plane tickets for a quick weekend and plan to come back again soon? But how many times can we afford to fly up and back? Should we try to stay longer instead? But what about Adam’s job? Is there a way we could somehow move near my parents for a season? But what about our mortgage, the awful housing market in Ocala, and Michigan’s rising unemployment rate? And what about the fact that I’m more than half-way through my pregnancy and my insurance is only good in Florida? Whenever we’d talk about it, I’d end up completely confused and overwhelmed. We eventually chose to fly up for five days, but I felt strange and conflicted whenever I thought about leaving my parents so quickly.

“Have you noticed that plaque on the wall over there?” Nelson asked on Saturday morning. The old wooden plaque, which belonged to my grandma years ago, has the King James version of Isaiah 26:3 written on it in gold letters – “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee.” Nelson shook his head. “We all want to know what’s coming,” he said. “We want to make plans. But now is not the time for that.” For a minute we sat there quietly. Then Nelson said, “We just go round and round, talking in circles about things we don’t know. Maybe we should sit here and pray instead.” And so we did. Sky chattered away, interrupting us here and there, but Nelson, Adam and I sat still for a while and did our best to hand things over to God.

Later that day, Adam and I took Sky to the park, and as we were walking home, I said suddenly, “How about if I just stay here with Sky for a while?” Our original plan had been to fly back to Florida together on Tuesday. “I think that’s a good idea,” Adam said. “I’ll fly home and work and drive back up in a week or two. We’ll see what’s happening then and be flexible.” And just like that, our decision was made with no major discussion and no agitation. God showed us what to do in his timing.

Nelson is right. Now is not the time for long term plans. God gives us peace when our minds are stayed on him, not the future. For now, Adam will head back to Florida and I’ll be here at my parents’ house. It’s never easy to be apart, but we both know it’s what we need to do for now. When we’re ready for the next step, God will reveal it to us. What a relief, to let go of the burden to make plans and focus completely on God and the time he has given me with my family today.

At the beginning of the summer, my mom told me she wanted to start a blog. Adam had just set mine up a few months earlier, and he volunteered to do one for her too. We decided we’d work on it when we were all together in Michigan in July.

“Do you have a general idea of what you want to write about?” I asked my mom. She thought for a minute. “You know, when I was younger I used to view the hard things that happen in life as exceptions,” she said. “But the older I get, the more I see that life is really a long series of difficult circumstances. There is always something wrong.” For a moment I just looked at her, surprised to hear those words come out of her mouth. My mom is optimistic to a fault. “What I want to do is offer people hope for how to get through those times,” she continued. “We’ve been through a few things,” she pointed out, and I knew she was thinking of their experiences raising seven kids, the financial issues they’ve faced, and even their recent home sale, which only happened after four long years of ups and downs. “God helps us get through the things he allows in our lives,” she said. “Maybe I could call it ‘Get Through This’ or something like that…”

Adam went to work, helping my mom buy a domain name and choose her theme. She finally decided on “Getting Through This: Encouragement to Keep Moving Forward,” and picked a blue and white wave background to symbolize the way life can sometimes seem to swell up and crash over our heads.

Little did we know then that just a few months later, my mom would use her blog to share about what might be the biggest struggle of her life: my dad’s terminal cancer diagnosis. You might be thinking, how sad! What is she going to write now? How can she encourage others when she’s going through so much herself? But that’s just the thing. Her joy in the Lord is more apparent now than ever. And what she is facing now gives her new authority to be an encourager.

On Wednesday she wrote a post called Chuckling, about how much she appreciated hearing my brother Nelson and my dad talk and even laugh as they all drove to my dad’s first radiation appointment. I’m consistently amazed at my mom’s ability to accept what she’s been dealt and find God’s goodness even in the middle of her tears.

She also happens to be a phenomenal writer. If you haven’t already, stop by her Website, www.GettingThroughThis.com. I think her perspective will be a blessing to you. It is to me, every time I see it.