A Spring of Joy

Let me explain something to you. I know nothing about growing things. I rely on the expertise of others and my own failed experimentation. But I love flowers and greenery and pretty things, and I want my home surrounded with them. My grandfather had flower beds and rose bushes and huge vegetable gardens covering his yard, and his thumb is greener than anyone’s I know. Me? I have a black thumb. Nothing survives my hand. But I try.

So today I took advantage of being home without my babies and went outside to work on clearing out dead flower pots on my front stoop and uprooting withered plants under the deck. It was beautiful outside and I needed my vitamin D fix. As I walked out the door with my bucket and spade and gardening gloves, I told myself, “Self, go easy. Remember you just had treatment. You are tired. Don’t expect to do all this in one fell swoop.” Heh. I barely made a dent.

Oh, y’all, it was a sight. Me out there tugging and pulling with so little strength that I don’t know how many times I pulled and fell flat on my behind empty-handed. At one point, I sat and cried, and all I could think was how I didn’t even know what I was doing. I don’t have the right tools for the job. Our deck is not small and there’s a lot of undergrowth and the job seems impossible to tackle especially with my limited strength. I wanted to stomp and kick and pitch a hissy fit and scream and ask why things have to be so hard. Instead I started to laugh at myself and the picture I must be for the neighbors, sitting in my pile of dead leaves and grass, bawling my head off, my crazy curls blowing so furiously that I ended up looking like Doc from Back To The Future.

But you know what? As crazy as this might sound, it felt good. I felt alive. I was breathing in fresh air and feeling warmth on my skin. And I thought about how our lives are like this. How I need the Gardener to come in and prune so that growth can happen! Far different from my crazy attack at my deck’s undergrowth, God isn’t up in Heaven chopping away the ugliness in my life and laughing maniacally. He’s pruning lovingly. He’s cutting back branches so that I can grow more and bear more fruit. And it’s painful. Not just for me, but for Him, too. His hands are being nicked by the thorns of my life as he pulls them away. But He hurts with me in my pain, so that I may become more beautiful, and in turn He will receive greater glory. Because it all points to Him. The fruit we bear would dry up if it weren’t for the vine from which we find our life flow.

I listened to a sermon yesterday on abiding. Becoming. How when we abide, we become. It’s from the church we visited in Nashville with our friends, Josh & Kristin, and if you have the time, I’d encourage you to listen to it. This is one of the many things that struck me…

“Jesus is serious about the ethic of abiding, and we abide because He loves us so abundantly, so perfectly… Why would you not abide in Jesus? Where would you rather go and abide than in Jesus? Answer that question honestly, because there is an answer. There are places we go and say, “I’m going to go abide over here because it feels safer and easier and more pleasurable.” (~Jeff Helton)

I have so many places I go other than Jesus… my family, my friends, my to-do list, my self-pity, my hobbies, my mindless entertainment.

Oh, how I long to abide! How I long to be so consumed with Him that it shapes and forms every facet of how I live! How I ache to bear His fruit so that the Vine receives the glory! And as hard and painful and brutal as the past 18 months of my life have been, how I am thankful that my Gardener has lovingly brought out those pruning shears and molded and shaped my branches!

Yes, there are days like today where I wonder if I am going insane, but then I see how He is teaching me even in these moments, and I realize I’m not crazy after all.

Today I fell in love with Brian’s smile all over again (he has the best smile EVER).

Today I had coffee with my mom (delectable nectar).

Today I took a huge bite of onion rings and sighed deeply (mouth-watering good).

Today I sat across the table from my hubby and my friend and I ate in a public place (instead of my bedroom at my parents’ house).

Today I looked at two little old ladies and a little old man coming into Dave’s and told Bri and Stat how that was us in 50 years (Stat was the one in the trendy sunglasses).

Today I wondered if I’d make it 50 more years (and I looked at Bri and I asked God, “please?”).

Today I went into my house for the first time in seven days for a quick visit (and it felt surreal).

Today I saw my Bear’s dimples and my Bella’s sparkly eyes (and I hated that my Ash was at school).

Today I didn’t care about the cacophony of noise (because I was with my babies).

Today I thanked my mother-in-law in person for flying out to help us (I am so blessed by her sacrifice).

Today I heard Stat propose to my son (he said “no”).

Today I watched my children say good-bye to my friend (and I hated it).

Today I listened to a Kanye West song (and actually liked it).

Today I cried buckets (again).

Today I hugged my B for a whole five seconds (five seconds of wonderful).

Today I was completely vulnerable (and it didn’t scare her away).

Today I prayed (and God answered “yes”).

Today I wished my friend, Jen, a happy birthday (and it was so good to hear her voice).

Today I video chatted with my babies (now if only butterfly kisses could be felt through my laptop).

Today I realized how much I need… no, how much I crave physical touch (it’s a literal ache in my chest).

Today I am thankful for today (because I still have today).

Today I returned to the hospital for a follow-up scan. There’s not a whole lot more to tell. It took an hour and a half of lying in a freezing room on a table 6 inches wide and a machine literally one inch from my nose unable to move. Then they said they’d show the scan to the doctor and they’d come and talk with me. Forty-five minutes later, they sent me home and said the doctor would call me Thursday or Friday. Sigh. Yes, I am frustrated. Yes, I want to know if this is working. Yes, I want this to be over.

It has been a long, hard week. I had complications over the weekend, painful, no-fun complications, but they have resolved. I have been lonely for my family and friends. I have read, journaled, prayed, watched TV, emailed, facebooked (is that really a verb?). Not a whole lot of excitement going on.

Wait a minute. Not a whole lot of excitement?

I jest. I truly do. I am jesting for one person. Kristen, aka K-Stat, aka Coach, aka Stat.

Why? You ask.

Because K-Stat is who drove me to the hospital today.

Yes, you read that right.

She. is. here.

Because when she heard this was all “going down”, she said, “I’m coming to see you.” No questions asked. No concern for inconvenience on her part. She hopped on a plane and flew in from Chi-town to spend 3 days with me. And I am blown away!

It has been so good. So, so good. I think my bedroom is smaller than a college dorm room, so we are squished in, keeping 3 feet away from each other (that was the “safe” distance from adults until today). We are talking, sharing, listening to music, crying (well, I’m the one that’s crying. In fact, in the past 24 hours, she’s probably dealt with more tears from me than she did in the 7 years we lived in the same town.) We are sitting in silence. That wonderful, companionable, comfortable silence.

I have been enriched by her. I have been comforted by her. I have been challenged by her. I have been blessed by her. I have been amazed once again by her heart.

And speaking of listening to music. She brought a CD mix for me. One she worked on with her good friend, Renee, to get it just perfect. She would only let me listen to it straight through, no shuffling allowed, because each song touches on and flows from the one before. And it is a-MA-zing. A brilliant work of art. It’s a walk-through of life… from desperation to glory. And smack-dab in the middle is this song by Katie Herzig. And every time I listen to it, I will think of Kristen, because I have seen in so many ways how she hurts, too.

I Hurt Too
Written by Katie Herzig (Katie Herzig Music/ASCAP)

When you’re weary
And haunted
And your life is not what you wanted
When you’re trying so hard to find it

When the lies speak the loudest
When your friends are starting to leave
When you’re broken by people like me

I hurt too, I hurt too

When an ocean sits right between us
There is no sign that we’ll ever cross
You should know now that I feel the loss

I hurt too, I hurt too

Even though you are drowning in valley’s of echoes
I believe there is peace in those hills up ahead
You will climb ‘til you find places you’ll never let go
And I will also be here praying just like I said

I hurt too, I hurt too

If you’ve never met Kristen, you need to.

Oh, and tomorrow, we’re driving up to meet my B for lunch at Dave’s. I. am. happy.

This past week of treatment and the beginnings of recovery have been filled with grief. Not only am I grieving my own losses and struggles, my trying to grasp a new way of living, but over and over I am bombarded with the pain of my friends… a new cancer diagnosis, a parent’s passing from death to life, a college friend who has watched her dear friend’s husband walk through brain cancer and meet His Lord on Friday, impending surgeries that bring fear and questions (and prayerfully relief). I hear of these and I pray for these and I weep for these and I can’t shake the urgency. There are my connections through this bloggy world and the people who I don’t even know. There is the two-year-old who died of cancer on Saturday. Her mom and dad will not hold her again until eternity. And I ache with an ache that only God can ease.

I read this post on Heather’s blog yesterday, and I couldn’t have said it better myself. I encourage you to read it and think of those around you who are swallowed in that vacuum. Think of those whose worlds have stopped and pray for them. If you know them, I encourage you to stop your world to sit with them and share with them. They need you more than you can even imagine.