Life Happens.

It's been more than two months since I last wrote on here, but those two months provided quite enough on my plate, thank you very much.

At the front of my mind is, of course, my dad.  He is not well--metastatic colon cancer is not the greatest thing on the planet, that's for sure.  And, in the month since we first learned of his diagnosis (well, at least, since we learned about the tip of that iceberg), I have spent a lot of time thinking about what this means in my life, in my parents' lives, etc.

I have found that, with each passing day (and sometimes, with each passing moment), I am confronted with a new perspective--a new set of emotions--a new starting point from which I approach this situation.  Here are a few:

1. Sometimes, I feel guilty.  In 2007, I had the good fortune to spend a couple of weeks in Malawi, Africa.  It takes turns with a handful of others for Poorest Country in the World...not something toward which anyone aspires, I'm sure.  While there, I encountered lots and lots of people who rarely eat, rarely have clean water, face a multitude of diseases (HIV/AIDS, hepatitis and malaria, to name a few) and who can expect their life to end (if they're lucky) around the age of 50.  These people seemed to attend funerals nearly as frequently as we Americans go to work.  Prospects are bleak for those folks.  And yet, despite the fact that their lives are perpetually in danger, there is an overwhelming sense of joy and peace and hopefulness.  There was jubilance at every turn.  Faith abounds.  Love prevails.  I almost forgot to be depressed about the circumstances in which these people live because their happiness was so great, despite such significant challenges.  And yet, here I am, back in my ridiculously cushy life, with an overabundance of everything.  Who am I? Who am I to be afraid, or to be disheartened or to be angry about Dad's predicament?  Where's my faith, my hope, my joy, my peace?  Don't misunderstand me--I don't think there's a single thing wrong with the fact that I have cried more in a month than I had in the sixth months prior, combined (at least).  I don't think there's a single thing wrong with being sad.  But I do feel some guilt about the fact that these people--my Malawian friends--taught me incredible things about life, and about how we ought to approach even the greatest mountains that we encounter--and it has taken me almost four years to pay attention to the gift that they gave.

2. Sometimes, I feel grateful.  There are a lot of people in the world who don't have what I have.  I have a husband and son who love me dearly, and who will stop at nothing to provide the comfort and support I need during this time, and during all of the other times, too.  I have a sister with whom I share the most ridiculous--and most important--parts of life--and who, together with her family, is also incredibly loving and supportive and kind and generous.  And my parents--my mom, who, for me,  has always been the textbook example of strength, and my dad, who has, likewise, been the textbook example of compassion.  Put that group together, add the very significant and exceedingly important attribute of faithfulness, and it makes quite an enviable crowd.  On top of that, I have countless friends who are literally spread out all over the world who have offered every type of help possible.  People just love my family and me.  It's overwhelming, really.  And it's humbling.  And inspiring.  Some of the people who have reached out to me are friends that I haven't seen in more than a decade...and, as for Dad...he's heard from people he hasn't seen for 42 years!!!  I think that all of this is a true testament to the kind of people that my parents are, and the kind of people that they sought to raise in my sister and me.

3. Sometimes, I just feel sad.  I believe fully in the power of prayer.  I believe that remaining hopeful and faithful is as important a treatment as any sort of doctor-prescribed therapy, and I'm even pretty good at living into this, and encouraging others to do the same--mostly.  And I am aware of the fact that pain is a part of life, and that people--even parents--do get older, and are faced with significant medical challenges, and will die someday.  I'm even aware of the fact that none of us knows the number of our days, none of us knows the future, and that God has it all figured out, thus making us foolish for spending a lot of time worrying about it.  But, even still, I am sometimes just overwhelmed by sadness.  Often, it's because it's hard to see Dad not currently be able to do all of the things that used to come so naturally.  It's hard to watch Mom absorb the burden of Dad's illness in so many ways, and to not have a support system that's able to help each day (though, I must say, as mentioned in #2, our support system is great, and I know my parents are both incredibly grateful for the generosity of so many people).  It's hard to think that my son might not have the opportunity to know his Papa the way I do.  It's hard to hear a 6-week sermon series in church about being fearless, and have it followed by songs that, in the first 3 weeks have included: "Trust and Obey", "His Eye is on the Sparrow" and "Amazing Grace" (though, to be fair, the sermons have been great, and the songs are completely relevant...they just also happen to be tearjerkers...and if "In the Garden", "Old Rugged Cross" or "How Great Thou Art" is in the bulletin for this week, I might as well just sit in the library near the sanctuary, rather than attempt to sit in an actual pew).  On some occasions, crying has felt therapeutic.  On others, it feels like I'm just emptying out the ol' tear ducts to make space for more fluid.

4. Sometimes, I feel angry.  And, this is an incredibly unfair way to feel, when you see why I have experienced some anger, but in the spirit of honesty and transparency, it has definitely been on the spectrum of emotions of late.  Here's the thing--a lot of really well-meaning people have attempted to offer their support, as I've mentioned.  And the vast majority of it has been incredibly helpful and meaningful.  And, I would even go so far as to say that all of the things that people have said are true.  But, I'm really sick of being told that "Everything Happens For A Reason."  Yes, I believe that God is in control, and that God is capable of doing things beyond our wildest dreams, and that God can, and does, have purpose behind each and every thing that we do or experience.  But, come on, people.  Is that really the best comfort you can offer?  To me, it feels like you didn't know what to say, so you read that line off of a bumper sticker, and repeated it back.  I'd much rather that, if you don't know what to say, you just don't say anything (you really don't need to--I'm not offended)...or, if you feel like you must say something, then say you're sorry...or ask how I'm feeling...or how Dad and Mom are feeling.  Also, a lot of people are trying very hard to help me feel as if I--and, more importantly, my parents--are not alone in our suffering.  Again, this is true, and it's something for which we're unspeakably grateful.  However, it is not helpful for you to tell me about the 38 people you've known who have all battled this same disease, with these same symptoms, and who have died.  Mostly, that just makes me more sad, more worried, and distracts me from the faith and hope to which I must cling.  Maybe that's rude and ungrateful sounding; I hope not, though.  I genuinely appreciate people's intentions, and know that their concern is deep and authentic.  I just had to get that off my chest.

So, I guess that I haven't really mentioned any of the other things in my life over the past couple of months, and there have been other things.  This is certainly the biggest, though.  I, and my family, will accept any and all of your prayers as we continue to plow ahead on this untraveled road.