Kiss Your Miracle

My entire immediate family was together this weekend in Michigan. That’s two parents, four brothers, three sisters, two spouses, two grandbabies, plus three grandbabies on the way (our baby boy, due in February, and my brother and his wife’s twins, due in April). The days are a little chaotic with so many people around, but now more than ever it’s great to have everyone together.

The other day, as I watched two of my brothers help my dad into his wheelchair for a quick trip around the block, I was struck by how grown up everyone suddenly seems. There is still plenty of laughing and kidding around – thank God! I can’t imagine my family without that – but there is a new awareness of responsibility too. Everyone seems ready to help out in whatever way possible. There is stress and sadness over my dad’s cancer, but not the usual whining that used to go along with too much family time.

I wish I could say that I have always respected my parents, always given them the benefit of the doubt, and always trusted their decisions for our family. But I can’t. I know that over the years I’ve been quick to notice their faults, not to show grace. I bet that each of my siblings could look back and find things they regret too. But right after my dad’s terminal diagnosis, my mom told us, “Don’t go over your past mistakes. Let’s just focus on what we can do for each other today.”

I am so grateful that my parents are loving, forgiving people. As a new parent myself, I feel like I see my mom and dad differently these days. I understand a bit more the frustration that comes when your child won’t listen to you, especially when you’re just trying to help and protect them. I know it’s impossible to raise a family without any arguments, and that tension is part of the growing up process. But I also hope that somehow Adam and I can follow in our parents’ footsteps with our own children, gently teaching them by example that they will never regret investing time in their family today.

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” – I Cor. 13:13

When someone is sick, friends bring food. And my parents have a lot of friends. A LOT. My parents’ house is overflowing with ham, chicken, rice, casseroles, pasta, vegetable dishes, bread, and soups. And desserts. Oh my word, the desserts! The counter is currently covered with two apple pies and a pumpkin pie, brownies, several batches of chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, zucchini bread, apple cinnamon bread, and a plate of lemon squares.

Friends of our family have made sure that no matter what difficulty we’ve dealt with during the day, we’ll still get to sit down to a rich, home-cooked meal that night, and I am so thankful. It’s not just about the food itself, though the food has been amazing. It’s about all these people who love my parents and would do anything to make things easier for them. We all want to take my dad’s cancer away. We can pray for that, and of course we do, but how my dad feels and the course of his future belongs in the hands of God alone. The fact is that there’s very little anyone can physically do to make my dad feel better. But good friends don’t focus on that. They don’t dwell on the impossible feelings of helplessness that go along with a terminal cancer diagnosis. Instead they think about what they can do, and then they do it.

When we finally get around to dinner, usually at 8pm or so, I can’t help but think about the friends who made it, who coordinated the meal schedule, planned the menu, went shopping, cooked and baked, and finally arranged for it to arrive at a specific time – a big chore since many of them live two hours away near my parents’ old house in Chicago. I’m sure at some point my mom, the queen of note-writing, will thank each person, but I wanted to offer my thanks as well. If you’ve sent something tasty our way, please know we are so grateful for it.

Cancer is awful. But as my family walks this scary path, we know that we aren’t alone. God is with us, and so are a lot of good friends. A LOT. And once again, I can’t help but notice that in these dark days, God’s blessings on us are more apparent than ever.

“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.