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Not Quite the Beginning We Wanted…
It’s not quite how I had planned for Spring Break to begin, and I’m not talking about the weather.
But then again, the best laid plans…
Right now it is Sunday morning but almost noon, and I have coughed like a smoker all night long–those deep, heaving coughs that wrack your whole body. My Bri is still in bed starting with this same cold, and I pray his doesn’t progress to his chest. We all stayed in bed for a long time this morning, and it seemed I couldn’t will my body out of bed if I wanted to.
I am up now, full of syrupy medicines that halt the coughing but make me feel loopy and disconnected, and I still am not sure if the children ate breakfast. If they did I don’t know what they consumed, I just hope it was somewhat healthy.
Pardon this post’s disconnectedness. You’ll see why.
Let’s step back in time…
Friday night was great. We grilled steaks to celebrate spring and spring break and nine days of togetherness and no school and no work and no packing lunches! Ash-man went to a middle school lock-in, and we worked together organizing our new pull-behind RV (we’ve dubbed him Gimli… short and stout and ready for anything). Saturday morning we worked on flower beds and cleaning, and Bri was installing something in the car. Then we heard him yell and saw a flash as he ran inside.
Knife slipped.
Finger sliced to bone.
He was going into shock and almost passing out, and I helped him put pressure on and staunch the flow of blood and we piled in the car and raced to the ER with the youngest two. He was lightheaded and thick speaking, and I’d never seen him so pale. They got us back fairly quickly and I handed the kids our phones and let them play Minecraft in the room, because I hadn’t thought about packing a bag full of things to do (that’s a joke, y’all).
The thing with this finger laceration? The numbing medicine didn’t work (they tried several times), so my hubby told her to go ahead and stitch him up without. WHAT?! Oh. my. stars. y’all. Can I just say, this whole women are stronger than men and men are really just sissies when it come to injuries stops now. Partly because I hate the whole silly competition thing (and we aren’t allowed to say hate in our house), but also because my man just proved it wrong. (I told him afterward that now when we watch movies or TV when people get injured and have to be stitched up in the wild, he can say he knows how it feels–well, except he was in a hospital with clean stitches and nurses with gloved hands).
So we got home two hours later and Bri took a few ibuprofen and finished fixing the car. (He has little sensation in the tip of that finger and he may never get it back, so would y’all pray? He’s a guitarist. ’nuff said.)
All through the day I could feel this icky cold I’d been fighting creeping into my chest and the coughing began, but we just kept on working. Bear went to his first baseball practice, and I read while I watched him catch and field and run, and he came to the car telling me how awesome it was. We are super excited about baseball starting up again.
I went out and about with Bella girl and we got some things done, and we picked up pizza and she danced her way out the door, and I told her to slow down and wait for me, and she stopped for a moment, but then took off again, only there was loose gravel under her feet and she fell…hard. Knees, hand, face slamming into grit and gravel. I grabbed her up with one arm, three pizza boxes in the other, put her in the car and doctored her up as best I could while she tearily wailed, “I wish I had listened to you, Mommmmeeeeee.” Oh, Bella-girl, me, too. Me, too.
We got home and I bathed cuts and dug gravel out of her hand and bandaged her up. The screams, y’all. Oh, the screams! And an hour after I picked up pizza, we finally ate–coldish pizza while we curled together on couches and chairs and watched a short movie then tucked kiddos in bed.
And here we are. Today.
Not quite what we planned… but we’re still together. Weathering whatever comes. Remembering when things have been much worse for us, and thanking God for today.
And togetherness.
Whatever it brings.
Spring Break 2014… here we are.
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What Is Dearest
It’s so easy for me to get caught up in the now-ness, the busy-ness, the chaos.
It’s so easy when the evening has gotten away from us, and we are running like crazy to get them in bed and tucked in and lights out to then flop on the couch with a huge, “whew,” because I’m tired and ready for a moment to my introverted self.
It’s easy to just turn off lights and whisper, “I love you” and forget to care for their souls–to forget that tucking them under sheets and kissing faces is dear, but it is so much more dear to kneel with them and intercede for them when they can hear me and not just in the quiet of my own heart.
It is easy to think about their grades and their sports and their piano and their artwork and their goals and their dreams and forget their eternal destiny by focusing on the now.
It is easy to focus on their behavior and not the gospel.
It is easy to applaud their successes with them and weep with them in their failures and not really walk through it with them because relationship is hard.
This is job of parenting is wonderful. I cherish it. I cherish them.
These gifts.
These marvelous, amazing children.
They are so dear.
It is easy to forget that what is dearest is their hearts and souls.
“Precious, no doubt, are these little ones in your eyes; but if you truly love them, then often think about their souls. Nothing should concern you as greatly as their eternal destiny. No part of them should be so dear to you as that part which will never die.” (~J.C. Ryle)
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Snow Days
Together we play outside until fingers are numb and cheeks are pink, and we run inside to grab dry gloves and fluffier hats, so we can play outside some more. And when we come in to the warmth, our fingers tingle and our noses run, and we stomp on the floor to make our toes wake up. Then we strip off our snow pants only to find the pants underneath are soaking wet and those three pair of socks we put on can be wrung out.
We hang coats on hooks and throw gloves by vents and stack boots high on the bathroom floor, and we dodge puddles of melty snow to run upstairs and find sweatshirts and fleece pants and wool socks for our feet. Then we fill mugs with steaming hot cocoa that’s warmed in the crockpot all morning, and we add some marshmallows and candy canes. And we feed more wood to the fire, watch it glow, and feel the warmth of it all.
We feast on yummy breakfasts like pear tarts and organic eggs and sausage with coffee (just a sip for Bella girl and Bear), and we eat junk food like con queso with chips and popcorn with lots of butter and salt (but at least I make it homemade with fresh butter, right?). And we watch far too many movies like Tom and Jerry and Snow Buddies and Dragons Riders of Berk. And maybe, just maybe, we eat dessert after supper, just this once… or twice.
And the kiddos sleep in, and I get my work done early while they’re in dreamland so I have time to play with them. And we play games like Chess and Scrabble and Uno and Yahtzee, and we read good books and follow that goings on of our friends on Facebook who are reveling in their snow days, too. And sometimes I say to them, “Not now, y’all. Mom has to rest.” And they view me with knowing eyes and a wisdom that belies their age, and they tuck me in for a nap and find another book to read while I rest.
There are times when I fuss at the mess in the bathroom, the cluttered piles of scarves and hats, the mud that melted from boots, but by the afternoon when we’ve come in for the third time, I stop the fussing and realize that it’s all going to get cleaned up soon… when the snow is gone and the kids are in school again and we aren’t frolicking through our days like this. And the beds go unmade and the hair may or may not have been combed this morning, and the laundry sits in a basket, folded but not put away. And it doesn’t matter. Not these days.
Because these days we are reveling in each other, in being together. And we are arguing and bickering and apologizing and forgiving. And we are laughing and crying and tickling and racing. We’re throwing snowballs and sledding down hills and attacking Daddy and sneaking up on Mommy and filling our days with each other. We’re eating snow and making angels and breaking off icicles to lick, and I’m telling them stories of when I was a girl and did these very same things. We’re petting the horses next door and walking the whole way to the back of the yard to play in the fort at the bottom of the hill and forgetting time in a winter wonderland.
Even poor Ash, who’s been sick with a fever and headache, joins in. He sits on the couch and waits for us to come inside again and asks questions like, “What was the fastest you went, Bear?” “Did you get a snowman built?” “How deep is it?” “Did you bomb Dad?” and “Tell me all about it.” And we do. We sigh deeply and throw ourselves on beanbag chairs and talk about how cold it is outside, and then we take a moment to pray for those who do not have homes and we ask for them to find warmth somewhere…because they are missing so much warmth not having a home. And I don’t mean physical warmth. They are missing the warmth of all this.
Tomorrow the snow days end. I am sad about this. I will miss the puddles on the floor and the boots piled high. I will miss the snuggles and blankets and shining eyes. I will miss the togetherness, the being, the laughter and noise.
But for now.. I will heat up some leftovers and we will watch one more movie (a short one this time) and we will snuggle together (except poor, sick Ash… we’re afraid to snuggle with him) and we will revel in the moment. This moment. This gift.
It is today for which I am thankful.
God still owns tomorrow.
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She Spins and She Sways
Last weekend we watched a lot of figure skating. Y’all, I am so excited about the Olympics. SO. EXCITED. I even have a google calendar with all the tv listings of events and when they’ll be aired. So needless to say, I am counting down the days until Sochi. It’s a bit hard for our children with bedtimes, so last week I recorded the women’s nationals, and we watched them together the next day. Watching figure skating in our house with our children is pretty much the best thing ever…
Every outfit. We had to comment on every outfit. Let’s just say, Bella’s into the bling.
“Mommy, I don’t like that their skirts fly up. Then you can see their bottom,” she said. So Bri explained to her that they are wearing a leotard like gymnasts do. That made it better. Except for when Ash pointed out that sometimes their outfits are just a bit immodest.
There were a lot of questions about the judges and who judged and how they judged, then finally Bella sighed and said, “It would be more fun if they voted on outfits.” (I guess I can’t be too surprised, since I was texting with my friend Caitlin about their outfits, too.)
“Oh my goodness, this music is so much better. The last girl was boring.” Score points for Bear and James Bond. Ave Maria, not so much a hit.
“You know, when you do better, you do worse sometimes.” After scrunching up my face in confusion, Ash clarified that Bear was talking about pride. Yep. Pretty much. It’s easy to do, isn’t it? When you’re good at something, you have to be careful of pride and pride can cause you to mess up.
At one point, sweet Bear just shook his head, “I would hate to be out there. Everyone looking at me. You know how I hate to be up in front of people.” I laughed and told him I understood what he meant (that boy cannot STAND any kind of recitation or program or public speaking). Then I asked him about when he plays football and if it bothered him when he had the ball and was running and everyone was watching him. “Hmmmm, not really. It’s a team sport. I’m good with that. Besides,” he said, “I can hear you yelling ‘Go, Bear!’ and it gives me more speed.” Day. made.
One of the times the camera closed in on a skater’s face, Bear said, “I like her face. She has a nice face.” He looked at me and smiled, “But not as nice as yours mom. When you have your lipstick on like them, you look awesome.” Remind me to wear more lipstick.
While we were watching, I told them how when I was little I would go to my basement and pretend to be a figure skater for days and days during and after the winter Olympics. I saw the sparkle in Bella’s eyes, and I knew how that drew her heart. When we finished watching and decided how we adored Gracie Gold, she popped up from her pink bean bag chair. “I’m going to go figure skate with Kaya (her American Girl doll) now.” I watched her go with a tear in my eye.
Oh my stars, I love these kiddos so much. They are gifts. Such wonderful, beautiful gifts. And these… these are the moments. The moments I don’t try to orchestrate or plan. The ordinary moment of just enjoying a simple figure skating competition turns into a peek into the heart of my loves, my gifts, my joys. These are the moments I cherish deeply.
And two minutes later, she was downstairs…
She spins and she sways
To whatever song plays
Without a care in the world…I cannot WAIT for Sochi.
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Hurry Up… and Wait
This morning I saw an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist. After I thoroughly embarrassed myself and fell apart in his office, I cried pretty much for the rest of the day. Overwhelmed is an understatement. Confused. Fearful. Frustrated. These all come into play.
Basically I learned that it takes new doctors a very, very long time to figure out just what I’ve been through, and then they still don’t get it. And when that doctor has a touch (just a touch) of arrogance and thinks they know it all when they don’t really have an inkling of what I’ve been through… well, then it just makes it worse.
After explaining to him all my cancers and how I spent a summer going over the mountain to a geneticist and how they determined my cancers aren’t genetic thankfully, he shrugged and said, “All cancers are genetic.” Aaaaand he lost me right there, so I had to work really hard to listen to him and not just shut down which is what I wanted to do… what I’d just love to do today. Shut down. No thinking. No figuring out what to do, where to go, etc. Just. stop. the. world. for a moment so I can catch my breath and some shred of sanity!
However, he did have encouraging things to say. The enlarged lymph node is just there, fighting something and doing it’s job. Not to worry about that one. He does think there is some impact from my thyroid treatment on my salivary gland on that side, but nothing he should have to do surgery on. Just something to watch.
He can’t feel the node the radiologist recommended the biopsy on and when he read the report, he said, “Oh, sweetie, it’s 8mm. Do you know how small that is?” Well, yes, yes I do. The radiologist told me it was small. He also said there is some calcification in it and metastatic cervical nodes from cancer of the thyroid tend to show calcification. “Well,” he continued, “It’s really small. AND it’s right between your carotid artery and your jugular vein. The risk of something happening there is greater than your risk of it being cancer.”
He recommends waiting. Another ultrasound in 3 months. If it hasn’t changed or grown, then wait another 3 months… and so on and so forth. Because thyroid cancer is so slow growing, 3 months won’t hurt me. He is contacting my oncologist. She will call me to discuss and we will go from there.
It was at that point when I fell apart, because I just. don’t. know. what. to. do. And I’m tired of making decisions and being poked and prodded and wondering and waiting and having no clear answers.
So.
Here we are.
Hurry up and wait.
Y’all. I am exhausted. Utterly and completely exhausted.
And to top it off, my Ash had exams all week and is in the final stages of his science project (and y’all, I am convinced that there cannot be good in a world where there are science projects), so our home is in high stress mode right now.
Despite my desire to shut down, I didn’t. I did the things that I am called to do–care for the ones I love–and I went to my warm and happy place: the laundry. I love the freshness, the smell of clean, the piles of neatly folded memories. That’s what they are. Some may see a shirt or a skirt or a pair of pants, but I see memories. As I fold a pair of pants, I think about that boy sliding in the gym, or that girl dancing in the kitchen, and I thank God for them and I pray for them, and I find solace in socks and sweaters and dresses and jeans.
While I was folding and praying, I realized this is all new to me. Not the laundry… not the waiting… not the scans. We have always been in a place where they found cancer, treated it or cut it out, scanned me and then said, “You’re clear.” I’ve never had to live for months wondering if it’s there. Will it come back? That was a questions I was always facing. Am I carrying cancer around with me all the time? Asked upon occasion but for all intents and purposes, I was clear. Cancer free.
Am I cancer free right now? I don’t know. All I know is there are things “of concern” inside me, and we will just sit and watch and wait and wonder what it is.
This is new.
And not easy.
And I am exhausted in every sense of the word.
So.
Here we are.
Hurry up.
And wait.
Whate’er my God ordains is right:
He never will deceive me;
He leads me by the proper path:
I know He will not leave me.
I take, content, what He hath sent;
His hand can turn my griefs away,
And patiently I wait His day.
(~One of my favorite hymns. By Samuel Rodigast)(Thank y’all for praying and encouraging and holding us up to the One Who knows. I am blessed. I am loved. Of that I have no doubt. The children still don’t know, although I’m sure they sense the stress. Please pray for their hearts.)
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Undone
On Thursday I wrote about where we are, about how I am doing okay even when I sit with the uncertainties of life. Honestly, the past few days have been the other side of being okay… what I wrote of how some days it seems the faith is sucked right out of me.
And today, I came undone.
The ultrasound on my neck showed something. The radiologist came in and looked over things himself. The node that is enlarged on the left side of my neck shows no evidence of cancer.
But… (sometimes I hate that word)
The doctor found a spot on the right side. Something small and dark and of concern. Once my oncologist has seen the report, they will call and schedule a biopsy and we will go from there.
I’m not seeing the beauty in this brokenness today.
But God… (I love that one)
When I am undone, He is not.
When I am shaken, test results don’t shake him.
When I can’t see beauty, He creates it and shows me.
When I am broken, He binds.
When I cannot bear the weight of it all, He carries me.
And I do what I must always do when the news is fearful and shattering. Cling oh so tightly to truth and beg God for strength to believe it to be true (even though I know it is). I am afraid I might forget the truth in all this.
I am okay.
I am His.
And that means I will be be okay.
But life just doesn’t feel okay right now.
And I’m okay with that, with being here, with being human and with being real before our Lord and others.
Look at the cross.
He has not forsaken us yet.
He will not.
I know that.
I cling to that.
I have to.
There is nothing else to cling to.
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Where We Are
This blog has been quiet these past few weeks, not because I haven’t wanted to write nor because I didn’t have time to write. I have been quiet mostly because so much happened, so much beauty and joy and love being with my children and extended family over the holidays, and I have held it safe and close to my heart. Sometimes I just need to do that.
Today I saw my oncologist, so I thought I’d take the time to update y’all on where we are now. I explained to her much of what the past visits and appointments with my endocrinologist held. She got angry along with me over the way the other hospital handled my care. She was frustrated over the lack of communication from my endocrinologist’s nurse. And she sympathized with my fears and questions in a way that made me thankful all over again for the way God has provided her for me.
She felt for the enlarged node in my neck, and while she didn’t feel anything enlarged, there is clearly a spot that causes pain. The good news? Unless the node is the size of Dallas (her words), cancerous nodes are not usually painful. The not-so-good news? I can’t just ignore it like I want to. (Which isn’t really bad news, it’s just news I didn’t want to hear.) She told me she would be remiss if she ever ignored pain in one of her patients. I say, “Amen!” to that.
I will be having another ultrasound of my neck at my hospital, so the radiologists here can look at it. Then she will refer me to an ENT (ear, nose and throat specialist) to talk through what it might be and what my options are. It may be something as simple as a swollen node fighting infection. It may be more complicated like a blocked salivary gland which could require surgery. And they may still want to do an ultrasound-guided biopsy on it. Ugh. But she feels very strongly that that node is not cancerous.
As for the PET scan and the warm nodes in my chest. She looked at the PET again before she saw me and said the nodes are barely warm and so small that if they were to try to biopsy them, the surgeon wouldn’t be able to figure out which nodes to biopsy. She is encouraged by that. She would like to give it more time (since I’m not having any problems with my breathing nor any chest pain) before she does the next PET scan, so I am scheduled the beginning of April to have another PET and we’ll see whether those nodes have changed or grown or stopped being reactive.
All in all, it was a very encouraging visit. Do I like that I have to add yet another doctor to my repertoire? No. Do I like waiting another 3 months? No. Do I like to live wondering if I’m carrying death around in my body? No.
Brian once described it to someone that I live with an ax hanging over my head. There’s always something they’ll want to scan or check or just to be sure of… life will always be in a bit of limbo. It’s a hard place to be, and there are days where I am okay with living this way. Where my eyes remain on the steadfastness of my Savior Who carries me.
There are other days where the muck and mire of it all suck the life right out of me… and it seems it sucks my faith with it. When the doctor looked at me today and said, “Remember, you have had thyroid cancer and breast cancer and colon cancer. We are going to always be working with you to try to beat the odds.” I had to catch my breath. The odds are not in my favor. Sometimes I forgot that. Sometimes the weight of that truth slams me into what feels like an alternate reality.
But the reality of it all is this.
I am here.
I am with the ones I love.
I am carried by a Father Who loves and only does what’s best for me.
I await an eternity without any odds only certainties.
And so… I am okay with where we are.
(Thank you, friends, for your prayers, concern and encouragements. I am so very blessed by you.)
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These Are Written
“Morning may bring a brand new pain,
With sufferings I’m afraid to face.
Confronted by things I cannot change,
I’ll remember how Jesus calmed the crashing waves…
These are written so, you may believe,
And that by believing you may have life in His name.”Thank you, Zach, for sharing this with me today. I wept through it and walked away with a stronger sense of peace than I have had in days. I’m sharing it with you and pray you’re blessed, too.
It made me think of what I wrote in 2008…
Have you ever thought about that day? Wept in anticipation? Dreamt of that moment when you are in His presence?
I often picture what it must be like–every sense heightened by perfection. Breathe in the sweet aroma of Christ with me. Feel the heartbeat under His chest and think of yours, sinless. Laugh with Him as your body moves pain free forever. Look down at your robes, spotless white. Hear His voice saying your name, a name He loves. Imagine the look in His eyes when he sees you–old friends finally reuniting, because you have known each other for all these years.
Imagine with me for a minute how it will feel when the most powerful arms in the universe embrace you. Those arms will be wonderfully familiar, because those are the arms that are holding you now. No pain, no cancer, no accident, no emotion, no lie, no heartache, no broken dream, no death, no person, no sin can steal that from you. His arms are there and they always will be.
If you would like another great blog to read, check out Zach’s blog, Newsong. His writing moves me, convicts me, encourages me, and makes me think–something I love to do.
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Filling
It has been a roller coaster of a week… a week of tasting the ache of our advent longing and reveling in the joy of friendship and good cheer. We learned on Monday of the sudden passing of Brian’s grandpa, and we tasted the brokenness of this fallen world. Then we left the very next day to spend three days at Bri’s company retreat with friends new and old, laughter and encouragement, and thankfulness to how God has provided for us in so many ways. Arriving home, we quickly turned around to watch our children in their annual school Christmas program and tears fell from my eyes as I listened to my Bear’s class recite several passages of Scripture (“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”), to Asher share along with his classmates the Gospel in six words, and to my Bella’s class dramatically recite poetry. We heard handbells and sang carols and listened as our children shared over and over the true meaning of Christmas.
Today is it snowing… our third snow this month so far, and while it hasn’t accumulated much, I watched my children grasp each moment and make the best of what they could. Ash-man has a fever and is on his third book of the day, Bella has been dressed up as Robin Hood playing with her school-made arrow and quiver, and Bear has been working on Christmas lists and helping his dad. Brian has been working around the house, and I have paid bills and cleaned and planned (menus and calendars and grocery lists) for the days to come: Brian leaving to go to his grandfather’s funeral, a trip together to celebrate a friends’ birthday, family arriving in town for holiday cheer.
My heart has been full these days.
Some days it is full of sadness over loss. Some days it is full of an almost paralyzing fear as we await another scan and wonder if there is cancer yet again. Some days it is full of quietness as I watch my children revel in the wonder of this season. Some days it is full of joy as we celebrate all He has done for us.
I love it, and I revel in it. I love searching Pinterest for new ideas for decorating or baking. I love heading out and about crunching in the snow. I love searching for Christmas trees and remembering where we received ornaments. I love the parties and the music and the excitement in the air. I love working my job and coming up with ideas for new music to try next Christmas. I love greeting my children when they come home from school and kissing their chilled cheeks. I love thinking up creative gifts for friends and searching for that perfect Christmas card picture to share.
I love how filling it all is…
How we fill sleeves of heavy coats and pockets with mittens and scarves, and we play in the snow and bundle up to trek to friends’ houses.
How we fill windows with crafts we make, and hold closely the look in their eyes as they see their treasured pieces of beauty.
How we fill our bellies with delicious foods, and we feed our souls with loved ones around our table.
How we fill our hearts will friendships near and far.
How we fill our home with delicious smells–spiced cider, hot chocolate, and citrusy scents.
How we fill our lives with memories as we fill our tree with ornaments.
How we fill stockings and lavish gifts on our children (for after all, hasn’t He lavished the greatest gift on us?).
How we fill the needy with money in Salvation Army buckets and food banks and toys for tots.
How we fill mugs with hot chocolate and marshmallows and candy cane treats.
How we fill our arms with hugs as we greet one another with the joy of what Christmas is all about.
How we fill with tears and sadness as we remember those gone before and those who struggle now.
How we fill mailboxes with letters and pictures and reminders of who and what is really important in our lives.
How we fill boxes with cookies and take them to our neighbors.
How we fill afternoons with snuggles and movies.
How we fill glasses with wine and toast one another and the year to come.
How we fill our evenings with Advent readings and worship.
How we fill our 25 days of Christmas calendar with fun things to do together.
How we fill minds with imagination and truth and watch them grow.
How we fill the rafters with music, and we dance together as we always do.
How we fill this season with an eye to the true filling…
And even with the advent longings, even with the ache of loss, even with the fear of future diagnoses, even with days that don’t go as hoped or planned, we will walk away full, because in the midst of it all, we are filling our lives with the gift of living… we are filling our lives with Christ’s blessings… and we are filling our lives with Him.
But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. (Galatians 4:4-5)
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Let the Music Begin
Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at me, “Can you wait for me?” she whispered, trying not to wake her daddy. “Don’t start the Christmas music without me.”
I nodded. “Meet me downstairs,” I whispered back, conspiratorially. “I’ll make my coffee.” She skipped to her room for her slippers.
I reminisced as I waited for my coffee. The day after Thanksgiving. I can still see Pappy bending over his old stereo cabinet. He loved this day. He loved starting the Christmas music and reveling in the anticipation of all this season would hold.
He sits alone in a nursing home today unable to even listen to music, and tears sprung to my eyes as I thought about how lonely he must be… how much he is missing.
My heart ached. The bitter howl of Advent rang in my heart.
Bella girl sneaked down the stairs to meet me. She snuggled on my lap and tucked her head on my shoulder as I pushed all the right keys and icons on our computer to bring up 2 days worth of Christmas music. I hit random play and waited to see what would start.
Oh, we need a little Christmas, right this very minute…
She turned her head quizzically, “I’ve never heard this one. Or at least I don’t remember it.” She listened a little bit longer, then said, “Can you find a real Christmas song?”
“What do you mean?” I laughed.
“You know, one about Jesus.”
The ache in my heart turned to a gentle quietness. Yes. This is the answer to the howl of Advent.
The true meaning of it all.
I still love all those old sentimental secular songs about Christmas. I love all the traditions and can’t wait to go get our tree tomorrow and decorate the house. I love watching their eyes sparkle in anticipation. I love wrapping presents and going to parties and celebrating. I love listening to music non-stop… music that sings of family, of home, of joy, of love, of Jesus.
I still ache when I think of Pappy… of Nanny… of how life is for them. But a gentle quiet comes when I think of how life will be for them.
Of the joy, peace, hope and love that Advent means.
The howl is still there. Some days it’s so loud it’s all I hear… other days it’s quiet, but always there is hope.
Because, yes, we need a little Christmas… a whole lot of Christmas… and a whole lot of Easter, too.
And He has met that need.
He has come.
He has conquered sin and death.
He is alive.
He is coming again to make all things new.
Yes.
Let the music begin… and may it ring in my heart all year round.
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A Spring of Joy 