It seems all of the long-term prayer requests in our Sunday school group had changes for the worse this week. The eleven year old fighting adult cancer lost her battle. The two year old they thought was finally on the uphill slope was given less than a year to live. A discouraged soldier. Continued pain for several younger women with chronic illnesses. More relationship problems from a daughter.
"Feel free to share praises, guys," Matt said.
On cue, the door opened and in walked a young family. Husband and wife with their newborn. She was still pregnant when I came back to school a month ago. We pulled out extra chairs for them and they got to sit front row center. The father reached over, grabbed the leg of his wife's chair, pulled it closer to himself, and put his arm around her. I had this sudden overwhelming urge to be that woman. Someday.
We added this family to our list of praises. The general energy of the room lifted upon seeing their tired faces. We began to thank God. We had to do some searching, but we found reasons to be thankful.
What are you thankful for today? Don't be upset if you have to search. Were you healthy enough to get out of bed? Do you have internet access to read this? A roof over your head? Food to eat? Clothes on your back?
Even if you say "no" to all of those things, you can say "yes" to this: you have a God who loves you. Let that be what you are thankful for today. It is enough because His grace is enough.
With love,
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Life Ain't All Rosy
If I count up the number of meals I've eaten in the last two weeks, it would not divide out to be three a day. If I added the number of hours of sleep I've gotten, it would not be anywhere near eight-hours a night. If I blogged every God moment I've had in the last two weeks, my blog would be updated infinitely more often than anyone would read it (that is assuming people actually read it as is). All of those missed meals and lack of sleep were worth being the hands and feet of Christ.
Except today I write with a heavy heart. Within four hours of returning home, I was hit with four different life-altering scenarios.
1. A professor, emailing me for a different reason, shared that one of her close friends is dying of cancer. Why the professor felt the need to share this, I may never know, but it took the smile from my tired face as my heart broke for her.
2. My mom has a self-diagnosed broken toe. That's not pretty. She's hobbling around with only one shoe on. Maybe not life-altering, but we drink our milk and have few broken bones, so it's a big deal.
3. One of my pastors and his wife were in a serious car accident. Both are in their seventies and were admitted to the hospital. It's my understanding that they have since been released with only lacerations and contusions; no broken bones or major injuries. Alleluia!
4. A close family friend had breast cancer surgery while we were gone. It has not metastasized but she has a long road ahead of her. The oldest of their four children just graduated high school this June.
We were still living in the old house when I noticed four names scribbled in the margin of a piece of paper on the table. It was my first experience with some people that would become important in my life over the next eleven years (and counting). We added a few more names to the group until we had a party of fifteen.
I think it's safe to say we've spent a lot of time together. From the water ski show to snow skiing. From pool parties and bonfires to trips to the lake. It was Christina who pushed Uncle Steve into our pool in his nice golf uniform. When Laura earned herself an ambulance ride, Christina and I were sent to their house at 6am. When I went to college, they all came over the night before to say goodbye.
The day we got home from the NYG, Mom said she was taking them dinner. Instantly I wondered who died. Great-grandma? Grandma? Not grandpa, he was just flipping around in a moon bounce a month ago. No one died. Sue had breast cancer surgery. What? She too was in the moon bounce a month ago.
On Friday, we went to a baseball game in the skybox, a perk of my dad's job and a trip that's been planned for months. I wondered what to say. Would cancer be the topic of conversation all night? Would we brush it under the rug like it hadn't happened?
I'm not so much into baseball, so I love when we have the box because it means I can curl up on the couch with a plate of mozzarella sticks and a good book. From my couch, I can observe. I saw seven of the nine kids (one was MIA; one was me) sitting in the front row laughing and teasing each other. I saw the three women in the middle row talking about anything and everything. I saw the three men--all wearing black shirts, khaki shorts, and no shoes--turn a baseball game into a betting game. I did not see the peanuts launched over shoulders in my general direction until they collided with my face. Thanks.
I saw the concern. The genuine, "Let us know if you need anything." I also saw the smiles. Together this group of friends would push through. For this next season of life we will laugh, cry, and pray together. We can acknowledge the elephant in the room without constantly staring at it.
Our team won the baseball game that night, but I cannot wait until the day when I say our family won the battle. Maybe we'll celebrate with some brownie soup.
Until then, will you join us in prayer?
Thank you,
<>< Katie
Except today I write with a heavy heart. Within four hours of returning home, I was hit with four different life-altering scenarios.
1. A professor, emailing me for a different reason, shared that one of her close friends is dying of cancer. Why the professor felt the need to share this, I may never know, but it took the smile from my tired face as my heart broke for her.
2. My mom has a self-diagnosed broken toe. That's not pretty. She's hobbling around with only one shoe on. Maybe not life-altering, but we drink our milk and have few broken bones, so it's a big deal.
3. One of my pastors and his wife were in a serious car accident. Both are in their seventies and were admitted to the hospital. It's my understanding that they have since been released with only lacerations and contusions; no broken bones or major injuries. Alleluia!
4. A close family friend had breast cancer surgery while we were gone. It has not metastasized but she has a long road ahead of her. The oldest of their four children just graduated high school this June.
We were still living in the old house when I noticed four names scribbled in the margin of a piece of paper on the table. It was my first experience with some people that would become important in my life over the next eleven years (and counting). We added a few more names to the group until we had a party of fifteen.
I think it's safe to say we've spent a lot of time together. From the water ski show to snow skiing. From pool parties and bonfires to trips to the lake. It was Christina who pushed Uncle Steve into our pool in his nice golf uniform. When Laura earned herself an ambulance ride, Christina and I were sent to their house at 6am. When I went to college, they all came over the night before to say goodbye.
The day we got home from the NYG, Mom said she was taking them dinner. Instantly I wondered who died. Great-grandma? Grandma? Not grandpa, he was just flipping around in a moon bounce a month ago. No one died. Sue had breast cancer surgery. What? She too was in the moon bounce a month ago.
On Friday, we went to a baseball game in the skybox, a perk of my dad's job and a trip that's been planned for months. I wondered what to say. Would cancer be the topic of conversation all night? Would we brush it under the rug like it hadn't happened?
I'm not so much into baseball, so I love when we have the box because it means I can curl up on the couch with a plate of mozzarella sticks and a good book. From my couch, I can observe. I saw seven of the nine kids (one was MIA; one was me) sitting in the front row laughing and teasing each other. I saw the three women in the middle row talking about anything and everything. I saw the three men--all wearing black shirts, khaki shorts, and no shoes--turn a baseball game into a betting game. I did not see the peanuts launched over shoulders in my general direction until they collided with my face. Thanks.
I saw the concern. The genuine, "Let us know if you need anything." I also saw the smiles. Together this group of friends would push through. For this next season of life we will laugh, cry, and pray together. We can acknowledge the elephant in the room without constantly staring at it.
Our team won the baseball game that night, but I cannot wait until the day when I say our family won the battle. Maybe we'll celebrate with some brownie soup.
Until then, will you join us in prayer?
Thank you,
<>< Katie
Monday, June 7, 2010
Godspeed and Good Luck
"One Sunday afternoon in June, you'll walk across a stage and I'll hand you a diploma" the headmaster of our school told us for years. For me, that one Sunday afternoon in June came three years ago. For Laura, it was yesterday.
At my graduation, tears welled up in my eyes but not until I sat down, diploma in hand. I kept a smile, and they never leaked out, but my family in the front row knew exactly what was happening.
For Laura's graduation, the tears appeared as soon as I walked into the gym where I recognized the set and the colored lines on the floor underneath it all. Again, I kept a smile and the water in my eyes but it was like someone hit me upside the head with emotion all of the sudden.
We took our seats in the back row and I fought to regain my composure. Before this one, every graduation we have purchased front row tickets at an auction. This year, my parents were competing with the wealthiest family in our town. She owns a company that probably affects your everyday life. He owns a professional sports team. There was no possible way Dad was winning those tickets. Instead, we took our seats in the back. At first we were worried about photos, but then I pointed to the end of our row: Uncle Greg. Tucked safely under his arm was the expensive camera of this professional photographer. We'd have photos from Laura's one Sunday afternoon in June, that's for sure.
The ceremony began with the graduates lining the aisle to applaud the faculty as they progressed into the seats that faced the audience. The graduates double back and sit in front of the faculty. At the end of the ceremony, the faculty progress out first, lining the aisle to applaud the newest batch of alumni. It's a special moment and a powerful tradition.
A more powerful moment and special tradition is that parents who are on the board or staff of the school are given the opportunity to call their graduate's name. For Laura and I, this meant we received our high school diplomas directly from the hand of our father. For Dad, this means he writes our names on his hand, so he doesn't forget what he's going to say (and then hopes he doesn't sweat it off). A friend's father took a photo of me hugging my father on the stage. It's a photo I cherish. I tried to do the same for Laura and was successful, but it's less than perfect quality.
An equally important photo to me is one of me in my robe with all four of my grandparents standing beside me. Sure, Boppy's sticking out his tongue (he refuses smile for photos, isn't that right, Boppy?), and Grandma's looking the wrong direction. But it's still the five of us, healthy and happy. Even though it's been three years since that one Sunday afternoon in June, that's still my desktop photo on my computer. I was too busy talking to Brian (my favorite advisor) to know if Laura got that same photo, but even if she didn't: we're still some of the lucky ones. Lucky enough to have our parents still married. Lucky enough to have four living grandparents. Lucky enough to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins take time out of their busy schedules to sit through a two-hour graduation ceremony celebrating our achievement. Lucky and blessed beyond belief.
As I looked around at the rest of Laura's graduating class, I realized not everyone was so lucky. Some of them come from broken homes, incomplete homes. One of her classmates lost an older brother a few years ago. Two classmates who graduated from a different school, lost their older brother. The class as a whole hasn't been so lucky either. In eight grade, they lost one of their own to leukemia. Two years ago, a classmate committed suicide.
For some, one Sunday afternoon in June is a day that never comes. For some, it is an end, a goal achieved. For some, it is expected. Either way, it is a milestone and everyone who meets it deserves a pat on the back. A sad ending to the book of high school but a great beginning of the future. For Laura and I, that has meant a move to a small, out-of-state college. For others, it means something else. It is s time to be celebrated (but tears are expected). Godspeed and good luck.
Well done, graduates!
<>< Katie
PS: I kind of rambled today... sorry. Thanks for reading!
At my graduation, tears welled up in my eyes but not until I sat down, diploma in hand. I kept a smile, and they never leaked out, but my family in the front row knew exactly what was happening.
For Laura's graduation, the tears appeared as soon as I walked into the gym where I recognized the set and the colored lines on the floor underneath it all. Again, I kept a smile and the water in my eyes but it was like someone hit me upside the head with emotion all of the sudden.
We took our seats in the back row and I fought to regain my composure. Before this one, every graduation we have purchased front row tickets at an auction. This year, my parents were competing with the wealthiest family in our town. She owns a company that probably affects your everyday life. He owns a professional sports team. There was no possible way Dad was winning those tickets. Instead, we took our seats in the back. At first we were worried about photos, but then I pointed to the end of our row: Uncle Greg. Tucked safely under his arm was the expensive camera of this professional photographer. We'd have photos from Laura's one Sunday afternoon in June, that's for sure.
The ceremony began with the graduates lining the aisle to applaud the faculty as they progressed into the seats that faced the audience. The graduates double back and sit in front of the faculty. At the end of the ceremony, the faculty progress out first, lining the aisle to applaud the newest batch of alumni. It's a special moment and a powerful tradition.
A more powerful moment and special tradition is that parents who are on the board or staff of the school are given the opportunity to call their graduate's name. For Laura and I, this meant we received our high school diplomas directly from the hand of our father. For Dad, this means he writes our names on his hand, so he doesn't forget what he's going to say (and then hopes he doesn't sweat it off). A friend's father took a photo of me hugging my father on the stage. It's a photo I cherish. I tried to do the same for Laura and was successful, but it's less than perfect quality.
An equally important photo to me is one of me in my robe with all four of my grandparents standing beside me. Sure, Boppy's sticking out his tongue (he refuses smile for photos, isn't that right, Boppy?), and Grandma's looking the wrong direction. But it's still the five of us, healthy and happy. Even though it's been three years since that one Sunday afternoon in June, that's still my desktop photo on my computer. I was too busy talking to Brian (my favorite advisor) to know if Laura got that same photo, but even if she didn't: we're still some of the lucky ones. Lucky enough to have our parents still married. Lucky enough to have four living grandparents. Lucky enough to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins take time out of their busy schedules to sit through a two-hour graduation ceremony celebrating our achievement. Lucky and blessed beyond belief.
As I looked around at the rest of Laura's graduating class, I realized not everyone was so lucky. Some of them come from broken homes, incomplete homes. One of her classmates lost an older brother a few years ago. Two classmates who graduated from a different school, lost their older brother. The class as a whole hasn't been so lucky either. In eight grade, they lost one of their own to leukemia. Two years ago, a classmate committed suicide.
For some, one Sunday afternoon in June is a day that never comes. For some, it is an end, a goal achieved. For some, it is expected. Either way, it is a milestone and everyone who meets it deserves a pat on the back. A sad ending to the book of high school but a great beginning of the future. For Laura and I, that has meant a move to a small, out-of-state college. For others, it means something else. It is s time to be celebrated (but tears are expected). Godspeed and good luck.
Well done, graduates!
<>< Katie
PS: I kind of rambled today... sorry. Thanks for reading!
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