What We Are Drawn To in Uncertain Times

"There's something about a man or woman who has loved God for a long time that is peaceful," she said aloud.

Photo: Ed Yourdon, Creative Commons, cc license

We were stabbing forks into slippery red cherry tomatoes and coaxing precarious bites of spinach salad into our mouths in the hospital cafeteria.

She told me again. "My friend Art, he just commented on how peaceful it was to be around older people who had walked with God for a long time. 'There is a peace about them, a gentleness that just shines out from them. You want to be near them,' he told me. He enjoys spending time with my parents," my mom said, wiping her mouth.

She smiled, and lifted a fork with green olives and grated carrots from the salad into her mouth. I tried, and failed, to get crumbled goat cheese onto my fork.

Her bite finished, my mom spoke again. "He's right. I watch my mom and dad together. He holds her hand, helping her down hallways now, and patiently explains each time she forgets and asks a question again. There IS a peace and gentle kindness about them." She paused and chose another bite, pushing food around her plate unconsciously.

I watched her. This black-haired, blue-eyed Irish mom of mine who just returned from seeing her parents on the west coast, arriving straight from the airport to the hospital here where her husband awaited scary prognoses. And I saw it in her.

Mixed in with the uncertainty and the risk of painful loss was a peace that came from years of walking with her Creator. This peace didn't negate the valid fears, but it simmered and rode the waves, a constant in all change.

In hospital room 4550, four shuttered windows revealed city lights turning on outside and reflecting off the rain. We rubbed our hands with the sanitizing foam found everywhere, and walked inside. My dad sat upright in bed, his navy-striped gown tied in the back, revealing the colorful tattoo on his shoulder.

"Hello, handsome man!" grinned my mom, rubbing his shoulder and bending over to brush back silvery hair from his forehead.

She sat down and pulled out her slim blue Bible, creased on the edges. Opening it, she read silently, smiling at parts. My dad and I had read from Luke together earlier. "I love the gospels," he told me. "They are my favorite parts of the Bible right now."

There is a Peace that flows from men and women who have walked with God for a long time. I see it, and it draws me nearer. He draws me nearer too, actually, this One whose name is peace.

So, it's pancreatic cancer, friends. It was caught early and is only stage one, but it's scary. Sometime in the next few days, my dad will undergo a serious surgery for this and I'll join them often in the hospital. Join us in prayer, will you, please? Thank you, friends.

Fighting Back Against Family Sick Days

Quiet rasping snores from my five year old at the table caught my attention. His yogurt sat untouched beside him, blonde tousled head resting on a green-striped right arm, while his feet curled into chair rungs below him. A moment later, his body startled awake and I carried him, protesting, to bed.

For two days, our family has slouched glassy-eyed on the couch, watching reruns of The Cosby Show and Phineas and Ferb. Fevers and hacking coughs have united us. We fill each others' water bottles, sanitize and hand off the thermometer, and apportion the couch syrup between us. Taking turns, we make quick easy food or see to other needs, before returning weakly to the couch. My five year old has become a junkie, asking me for the "blue stuff" every few hours, his chewable grape-flavored fever-buster. A flushed camaraderie grows between the four of us as we layer legs across blankets on the couch, and click from one episode to the next.

John calls us from college, his voice a matching gravel to ours, and we compare symptoms, calculating potential end dates for him. "I'm drinking lots of water, Mom, and trying to sleep a lot," he says raspy over the phone.

I woke up this morning feeling better than the past few days, and kicked into gear. After two days of paltry buttered bread slices, raisins, and yogurt, we were ready for something else. Topping off Morgan's water bottle, giving Mark a chance to nap, and snuggling with Daniel, I swigged from my own green water bottle, and scoured the fridge and cupboards for meal ideas for the day.

What helps on family sick days? Wanting an assortment of easy, healthy food in reach is always our biggest lament when everyone is weak on the couch. Knowing my energy supply might be fleeting, I quickly sliced an array of carrots, purple cabbage, celery, green pepper, and mushrooms, and set the platter on the couch next to my two kids. (I know. Those aren't necessarily our first choices either, but it was all that was left in the fridge. The apples, bananas, and oranges had been eaten earlier in the week.) Selecting the rapid button on our white box, I whirred the bread machine to a start. Fresh bread would make lunch easier, I reasoned.

As cartoons streamed from the living room tv nearby, I watched my kids nibble vegetables, and peeled and diced gnarled-limb garden parsnips, a wrinkled but still sweet rutabaga, and added them to minced garlic and onion for a slow cooked meat stew for supper. Sprinkling in oregano, rosemary, and two bay leaves, I cinched on the lid, wiped off counters, and added to my compost bucket, excited about next year's dirt I was making.

I'm thankful to be feeling much better and see the end in sight for us all. There are fewer of us on the couch now, and more times when we head off on temporary tasks or adventures around the house. Blue pill junkie? He's cracking jokes, beating me in Uno, and downstairs playing video games now. Daughter has picked up her art sketch pad again, and Mark is relaxing with a game now too. The fragrance of hot fresh bread wafts through the house as I type to you. Have a great week!

Has illness hit your home this month? What helps your family through it?