Surrogates & Heirlooms
Delicate saucers with dainty white flowers painted along a sterling trim…
These beauties were passed down to me from my grandmother. But just the saucers and dessert plates. No one knows or can remember how the cups were lost, broken or misplaced.
For years, I have dutifully kept up with the eight saucers and eight dessert plates, carrying them with me to wherever it is I call home. And yet, not once have I used them …
After our move this summer, I felt a fresh compulsion to right this wrong.
I whispered my sad state of affairs to a friend who is tender toward all things old and keeps a watchful eye for valuable beauty. Recognizing the pattern name, she assured me she would be on the lookout.
A week later, a box arrived in the mail containing five carefully wrapped Noritake - Pamela tea cups complete with a note pledging a continued quest for another three.
This is not my grandmother’s china. I know that. But the intentional grace that led these cups to my home is just as meaningful as the gift of inheritance.
Adding these dishes doesn't take away from the value of my grandmother's china … on the contrary, adding these cups redeems the purpose of the saucers and the usefulness of the plates.
Though incomplete and imbalanced, it is good enough for now. I can certainly begin to serve small settings of coffee, and that makes me happy.
This story is not over, and, best of all, I am not alone in this hope-filled, grateful, patient pursuit.
Occupation
Making conversation, a friend asks one of my daughters, “I haven't seen much of your mom lately. Is she doing ok?”
“Um, yeah. She's good. Just kinda busy, you know.”
“Busy? With what?”
“Uh … well, she has a kid finishing up elementary, a kid finishing up junior high, one finishing high school, another graduating college and moving into an apartment, one who is expecting a baby, another who is getting settled in a new town, and one who is parenting the three grandkids she loves. Plus she and dad are building a house and she has spent most of the last year serving on the pastor search committee. So … just a little busy, I guess.”
Bless.
Do you know what blesses me most about hearing this encounter retold?
●Someone misses me. I have been strictly conserving social energies these past several months, so I have skipped out on several group gatherings, and it is kind of nice to be missed.
●When my daughter gave a defense for what was occupying my time, she never even mentioned my pesky full-time job. Ha! In the reflexes of her mind, my work is further down the list of prioritized attention … well below my family … so that feels sweet and even surprising maybe.
●While attention (to details like food, transportation, and wardrobe) and attendance (at tournaments and award assemblies and milestones of every kind) fill a lot of my time, it is the task of attentiveness (in prayer, conversations, thoughts, and trust) that stretches and consumes me. Sure, the physical, mental, and emotional energies invested are substantial. But the spiritual effort it takes to simultaneously stay alert and be at rest … is its own full-time job.
●Amid the points of saturation, I hear from friends who are praying with me and for me, and this is the richest of blessings. Provision and protection, power and peace … plenty to go around simply because someone loves us enough to pray. This phenomenon fills me with gratitude and an eagerness to pray for others in the same way.
"Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus." 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18
Lookout
Seek, and you will find.
Look for an excuse to stay away from church, and you'll surely find it.
Expect to be hurt (again) by people at church, and it will indeed happen.
Keep a watchful eye out for hypocrisy and pride, and you'll discover that both run rampant toward ruin.
Likewise …
Look for blessings, and they will no doubt emerge.
Anticipate a certain amount of healing, and you will find mercy measured as miracles.
Watch for humility and integrity, and you'll discover that both surge quietly below the surface, alive and well.
Seek, and you will find.
Ready or Not
Seek, and you will find.
Look for an excuse to stay away from church, and you'll surely find it.
Expect to be hurt (again) by people at church, and it will indeed happen.
Keep a watchful eye out for hypocrisy and pride, and you'll discover that both run rampant toward ruin.
Likewise …
Look for blessings, and they will no doubt emerge.
Anticipate a certain amount of healing, and you will find mercy measured as miracles.
Watch for humility and integrity, and you'll discover that both surge quietly below the surface, alive and well.
Seek, and you will find.
Observation
These women who had spent the past few years literally following Jesus … traveling with him, learning from Him, serving Him … can you imagine?
They lived the last week of His life trying to keep up with all the ups and down, twists and turns … faced with the full gamut of emotions, processing their faith in real time amid the mystery and the urgency.
They had watched in horror for hours as Jesus was beaten and mocked and crucified. Their wringing hands numb in the heart-racing buzz of fight or flight …
Surrounded in the unexplainable darkness by a dreadful surge of screaming … bellowed commands, wails of soul-level sadness, and the hiss of deranged heckling …
With every sobbing gasp, they breathed in the stench of destruction and tasted their own tears.
All of their senses overwhelmed with fear and sorrow.
And what happens next? What on earth can they do? What must they do?
Rest.
They go home and rest.
A required rhythm of Sabbath, established centuries before, is a perplexing provision of peace.
Present peace.
Ushered in by quiet obedience.
Silently sending a cease and desist to the world.
Space.
To be filled with wholeness and surrender.
For the holy purpose of revival and faith enough to re-engage to see the story through.
Luke 23:56
This solitary verse in the Gospels that documents the day between Christ's death and resurrection speaks volumes to my sometimes anxious, fearful, hurried heart.
Lord, let us listen and live.
Pep Talks & Permission Slips
PEP TALKS & PERMISSIONS SLIPS
To all my friends who are graduating soon: I’m sorry.
On behalf of all the people at church and friends at the ballpark and relatives near and far, I’m sorry.
We don't mean to put you on the spot when we ask about your post-graduation plans. Truly. We’re just excited, and the first curiosity that pops out of our mouths is “What are your plans for after graduation?” And then you either get an anxious lump in your throat, or you rattle off your best answer for the 87th time that week.
Obviously if you recently landed an amazing internship in Colorado or accepted a nursing job in the NICU of Houston’s finest, you don't mind repeating your definitively good news.
But for those who aren't sure yet, here are a few sentences to consider having locked and loaded. The secret is to be gracious, give an honest answer, and then volley the attention back to the other person.
When a curious community member asks “So … what are your plans after graduation?”
●Aw, thanks for asking! I’m really focused on finishing strong, but I have a ton of options, so that's good. What was your favorite part of school?
●Oh, wow. You are kind to ask. I have applied to a few places, and I've got a little time to let things fall into place. Tell me about your first job.
●It is great to see you! I have lots of decisions to make, that's for sure. What wisdom can you share based on the last big decision you had to make?
To all my friends who care about people who are graduating soon: we can do better.
While this is an exciting time, it is also pressurized with expectations plus fear of the unknown and of failure, so maybe we can lighten up on the solid-plan talk and aim for a meaningful interaction where we've given the gift of interest and encouragement.
Perhaps have a couple sentences loaded for the road. Be gentle, watch their eyes and really listen to them, and affirm whenever possible.
When you spot a senior …
●Are you feeling more nervous or excited about graduating? That’s understandable! I'm [your age] years old, and I’m still learning how to navigate change. I believe God has good things in store for you!
●What’s been the best part of this semester? Where do you see yourself in five years? Sounds like you have some good ideas! You’re making memories and doing great!
●To you, does it feel like graduating is approaching slowly or quickly? What are your top options for what comes next? From what I can tell, you are [brave, patient, smart, wise, persistent, observant, thoughtful, etc]. I certainly believe you have what it takes.
Earlier this week I found myself in a crowd of graduating seniors. When my questions about plans seemed to fall flat or frustrating, I started experimenting with different wording. Gratefully, I soon began stumbling into some really significant and fun interactions.
Pep Talk: We can all be better prepared to foster meaningful conversations.
Permission Slip: We are free to NOT know what comes next.
All the love,
cdj
The One Where We Cry
There has never been a time she was not my friend. However, she and I walk through our separate adult lives sharing coincidental assumptions about the other one’s potentially packed agenda. One day she messages me, “I’d love to chat sometime soon.”
A couple of days later, I am traveling alone, so I call. The second sentence in, she volleys an innocent “How are you?” and as I’m considering how deep we wanna go, how quickly, my auto-reply of “I’m good!” is followed by an involuntary disclaimer, “ … yeah, I’m good, I guess.” And she just lovingly laughs. And then I laugh, mildly embarrassed by this surprising transparency which is clearly audible despite the hundreds of miles.
We talk for more than an hour. None of it small. We share our grief, share the humorous sides of life, and acknowledge the perpetual struggle. We crack up a bunch and break down a tiny bit too. We find comfort as we admit and admonish that the best we can offer is bound to be enough. Most importantly, we are not alone.
This is strangely similar to my experience with grief. It reaches out. I can stay busy and ignore the opportunity, or I can choose to return the call, willing to take some time, knowing full well there is no sense in pretending.
Notifications ping and sting without relent … reminders that we live in a broken mess of a world
His dad is dying. I remember how sad I was when my dad died. I feel a fresh version of it.
Her child is very sick. The uncertainty and fear resonate deep within. Grave concerns scream powerlessness. It’s all so hard.
Their marriage is strained, flustered and frayed. I've been there. But for grace I could be there again. The damage of discord lands heavy on my heart.
She stops responding to messages with no explanation. The fracture or fade of friendship is heart-breaking. I wonder how often I choose the easy route. I wonder who feels hurt by me. I am filled with feelings of rejection and remorse.
He makes terrible choices for all to see. I despise the clutches of sin. I rehearse the gossip and the judgement swirling at a close distance. In sadness and frustration, I want to strangle it. I want to make things right from every direction, but I can't. So I cry.
I see someone do the thing I thought I could. An opportunity or ability has been lost and discontentment must be laid to rest.
He stands at her side as she delivers her third stillborn baby. What on earth is there to do or say or think? Numbed in the excruciating sorrow.
I randomly realize ten years have passed since she died of cancer. She was such a sweet friend. I miss her comedic charm and the way she wielded wisdom to affect change and inspire. I recall how much there is to be thankful for and revisit the dreadful ache of silent separation.
Pain points.
Inevitable pain points us toward surrender. Surrendered grief bids us to empathize. Empathy compels us to pray, and prayer persuades us to reflect.
As our own sadness resurfaces, we can mirror the posture of our Savior.
Grief in all its forms and to every degree of severity can draw us closer into companionship with Christ. We find friendship with the One who claims to bear our sorrows, the One who is close to the broken-hearted and blesses those who mourn. We offer Him brokenness and He proves to be more than enough. Most importantly, we discover the comforting peace of communion. We are not alone.
When sorrow summons, resist the urge to ignore or redirect it. Perhaps we can engage grief like we would a childhood friend. We may not encounter her every day, but when we do connect, we will not shy away or fake an okay because the deep familiarity and time-tested comradery open a wide, welcoming door to true honesty [about the world and our place in it] as well as the tender-hearted, raw vulnerability necessary for real life and ministry.
More Than You Know
When Ardyn was two, it was her part time job to attend little league games. More evenings than not, she was at the ballpark watching both brothers bat and throw and run and score. She tolerated my steady supply of apple slices and pretzel sticks when what she really “needed” was a couple ring-pops.
Besides spectating and snacking, there was the very serious task of keeping a watchful eye on her “baby thith-tuh” Ashlin who was strapped into an infant carrier. With all these responsibilities, it is a wonder she found any time to play.
But one particular night between games, she joined a group of boys her age to roll cars in the dirt beside the dugout. After just a few minutes, she came running to the bleachers crying. Evidently one of the boys had thrown a car and hit her in the stomach.
She seemed to be in just as much shock as she was pain. She had played cars with her brothers and they had never hurt her. Did these kids not know or care that she was a princess? Had they no regard for royalty??
We got her dusted off, settled down and finally made it home safely for baths and bed. But around two o’clock a.m. she cried out for me, frantic and distraught. Kneeling at her bed, I wiped teary strands of hair away from her flushed face. Apparently traumatized by the evening’s events, she dramatically sobbed, “They hit me in my belly!! …and Jesus, too!!”
*May it be known: we are joint-heirs over here, people. You do it to us? You do it to Him too.
***
I found this little memory earlier this week written in an old spiral I had boxed up years ago. I shared the scribbled journal page with Ardyn and we both got a good laugh. She has always had confidence in her core valuability, and I must have said it a thousand times, “Jesus is with you wherever you go.”
Several hours later she and I found ourselves in the midst of a tender conversation with some friends. We were talking about the challenges of caring for the physical needs of terminally ill loved ones … how grace propels sacrifice and increases capacity and sustains strength in unbelievable ways. One woman humbly confessed, “I just did what I could …”
I caught Ardyn’s eye across the table and with a soft smile of revelation, she silently mouthed the truth, “...and Jesus too.”
Emmanuel. God with us.
Whether we feel bullied or burdened, He is with us and His grace is sufficient. He sees it all and never leaves. He promises peace and power as His presence somehow makes the impossible possible.
God loves you …
and Jesus too.
Convicted at Christmas
December 1999 was one of the happiest seasons despite our dire financial status. We were four humans stretching out one entry- level income.
Our house was decorated with warm and minimal holiday charm, and we enjoyed a flow of friends stopping by, keeping things merry and bright. Our taught and tiny budget didn’t allow for many gifts for our own children, let alone reciprocating gestures for all our visitors. But I wanted to do something.
I decided to buy two boxes of candy canes at the dollar store. The boys were weeks from turning two and four years old respectively, so they were very eager to help me hang the striped canes along the branches of the twinkling tree in our living room.
I huddled the boys up and explained, “These are gifts for our guests. You may not take them for yourselves. But any time there is a visitor in our home, you are completely welcome to take one off the tree and offer it to them with a hug and a ‘Merry Christmas’.”
I went on to clarify that if they had taken one and eaten it before our little talk, that would have been considered childishness. But because they were now aware of the deal, taking one would be foolish, and foolishness requires punishment. “If you take a candy cane off the tree for yourself, you’ll get a spanking. Understand?”
Understood. Great talk. Reindeer on three. Go team.
My 23-month-old left that meeting, walked immediately to the Christmas tree and took TWO candy canes, then walked directly to the sofa and laid over the cushion, ready to receive his punishment.
Lord, have mercy. I guess he thought it over, and with a miniature cost-to-benefit analysis, decided, "fair enough!"
I’ve always told that candy cane story in an effort to shed good-humored light on the very real challenges of raising a strong- willed child. *Twenty years later, with rows of poinsettias lining the stage, that blue-eyed, keen negotiator walked to receive his BBA. Thank the Lord!
But recently I shared it in a group, and, as usual, we all got a good laugh. Then it was time to close our meeting in prayer, and my friend began, "God, thank you for sending your Son to make a way for us. Forgive us for all the times we take the candy canes off the tree..."
As he continued to pray, I blinked warm tears away as a lump of conviction settled in my throat. Of all the times I’ve flippantly shared that Christmas memory, not until that day had it flipped to expose my own struggle.
Truthfully, God gives me instructions every day through his Word and by his Spirit. He has guidelines and commands and preferences for me, and these are rooted in love and appropriated generosity. And I am well aware that there are sure and undesirable consequences associated with defiance. As I look toward His face, I listen and nod in agreement, and in the next moments I’m willfully acting against His best plan. "I can handle it. I really would rather just [fill in the blank]... it all seems pretty doable. Fair enough."
God, have mercy.
It is not "fair enough" at all. Fair would mean I pay the price for my selfish ways.
“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Romans 6:23
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
Romans 5:8
The surrendered life is gloriously unfair. Thank the Lord!
Sing it o’er and o’er again: Christ receiveth sinful men,
Make the message clear and plain: Christ receiveth sinful men.
Daybreak
Today began with bacon and coffee.
I hardly ever cook bacon, but man, my Grandma Billie did. Coffee and bacon. The bold, darkness-to-dawn aroma so hefty it could wake you fully from a deep night's sleep. Steamy streams of Folgers and hickory smoke swirled through the heater vents and under the bedroom doors of her sturdy brick home. Thick wafts of preparation, provision, and peace. Strong and sweet.
As a girl, I remember staying at Grandma's house for Thanksgiving holidays. I found the sleeping part to be often fretful and lonesome … always tired from station wagon travels, overstimulated by the togetherness, and unable to rest in a place that was not my home. I remember straining to catch what the adults were discussing in the living room down the hall. Still, all I could hear was intermittent knocking and aggressive crackles as though from a fireplace (but it ended up being the shuffle & cut of cards in a late-night, aunt and uncle game of spades).
Mornings at Grandma's were quiet and calm, though. I would blink awake, then close my eyes again to listen. A sort of sizzling syncopated by faint flips and the gentle scraping of a cast iron skillet meant Grandma was up and I wanted to be up too.
My whole life, she has greeted me and treated me with confident cheer. Her high-pitched Arkansas twang calling my name and saying "I love you!", a resting smile transitioning to an open-jaw grin, and the way her curiosities started with, "Well, now, Cari…" I could count on her tight, squeezy hugs where she'd drum on my back with jangly bracelets and manicured hands while my face mashed into her hairline, pressing against the teased shellac of curls.
She had a standing appointment at the beauty shop on Fridays, and then she'd sleep with toilet tissue wrapped around her bouffant for the rest of the week. She insisted that I bathe in her bathroom and gave me full permission to use her Avon bubble bath (the kind with the bumpy pink bottle and a tall white lid). She also reminded me to "dust off" afterward using an enormous pink powder puff as big as a fur frisbee. It had a handle in the center made from loops of pink satin ribbon so you could gingerly pull the puff out from the round flowery box in a poof of shimmery floof. Bathtime adventures never smelled so strong or so sweet.
I remember Grandma scolding us collectively as cousins scurrying through the house. Her screen door could only slam a few times before she would squawk, "In or out! You kids decide where you wanna be and STAY in or out!"
And the next child who passed by her chair at the table would get snagged up into a giggly hug. Strong and sweet.
Tonight, my Grandma lies in a rehab bed alone. In her nineties, her mind (that until recently had been sharp with opinions and stories and thoughtful generosity) is slipping away while her frail body persistently remains. Just a few years ago, she was the designated driver for her friends in assisted living … doctor appointments, bingo night, Braum's, or church; she was the one at the wheel.
In the spring of this year, she and I danced in the dining room to more than one chorus of "Sweet Home, Alabama". But a series of mini-strokes and a string of subsequent falls have changed everything.
It is so hard and sad.
If this were simply a[nother] sizeable challenge, Grandma could manage and overcome … widowed three times, weathering all that death leaves in the wake, and yet characterized by bright gladness, Grandma can absolutely slay the hard and sad.
But this is not merely a challenge; it is thievery. The taking away of what we know and love, the robbing of communion and coherence … awareness of where you are and who everyone is, and why we're together in the first place. Standing by while sanity, stability, strength, and sweetness are stolen in slow motion … is hard and sad.
I don't know if it is more selfishness or compassion, but a secret part of me wishes she could stop teetering at this edge of earthly stuff. "In or out. Decide where you want to be ..."
In this dreary dusk of such a wonderfully beautiful life, I imagine it must feel lonesome and fretful to her … tired from her journey, unable to truly rest because this is not her home. I pray for peace and provision believing there is a place prepared for her.
In this dim waiting, I believe God's presence envelops her now and forever …
Strong and sweet.
And I smile when I wonder if heaven smells like coffee and bacon.
Choosing Sides
Their backyards share a property line. A single wrought-iron fence marks the boundaries you can see right through, and a swinging gate pass-through facilitates boundless peace and joy.
For years, both sets of neighbors enjoy the freedom to come and go as they like, sharing flour, swingsets, vegetables, and life.
When summer comes, the gate remains open for the series of splashy evenings spent poolside. As autumn breezes cool the air, the fire pit magnetizes people with stories and laughs. Whenever storms come and limbs fall, everyone works together toward restoration. When heat or cold keep people indoors, the shared fence with its propped gate can be seen through sheltering window panes from any direction.
One spring the western house sells.
Friends vacate, leaving a quiet void. New owners come and occupy the space but choose to dwell at a distance and rather avoid.
No one knows why. No transitional explanations are offered, but they leave nothing unclear.
The new kids on the block are at school the day their parents build the fence. The brand new wooden privacy fence butts up against the sturdy little scrolls of spaced-out iron as it towers solidly over both yards. And it has no gate at all.
The brick stanchions of the pass-through gate rest midway against the impenetrable barrier. Robbed of purpose. Silly looking, really. Noticeable by the eastern neighbors alone, the faithful little gate is positioned for connection and rejection all at once.
This is a true story about a real gate and a real fence in a real backyard … not in the town where I live.
But it is in a land of brave freedom. So those eastern neighbors can circle the block and walk right up onto the western front porch. They can politely knock and say hello, share some zucchini, and smile goodbye. If they so choose.
And they are free to keep doing this forever. Until neighbors move along or change their ways. Until the wooden fence rots or falls.
Even if it is repetitively reinforced, there is freedom to engage the whole neighborhood and freedom to keep that little wrought-iron gateway clear of weeds, the handle loose, and the hinges greased. If they so choose.
I wonder …
Who shares the proverbial backyard of your heart?
Is the gate open or has someone built a wall? Which neighbor are you?
"If possible, as far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all." Romans 10:18
So Here’s The Deal
Writing is like quilting for me. I gather segments of my days and mental snapshots of experiences and as I lay them out, I find pleasant patterns and colorful balance.
I stitch and sew, a little at a time, word by word and phrase by mentally melodic phrase.
Sometimes, amid the purposeful structure and shaping, a kind of beauty and warmth emerges that I could only hope for. Careful to bat and bind each idea with the truth of Scripture; each piece is an adventure for me.
This "quilting" is a self-serving endeavor at its roots … my release, expression, hobby, and joy. All my days are spent mentally weaving words. But when I share my pieces, some of my friends and even a few strangers seem to enjoy them too ... kind indications that there is value in the comfort, warmth, and design.
Social media has been like displaying my "quilts" at a flea market (without the giant turkey legs). Passers-by pause to engage. Each cheerful heart affirms the landing, and I watch as some enthusiastically share with their friends. *I am genuinely surprised by these generous responses almost every time.
Occasionally, I have opportunities to create commissioned pieces. Sometimes, I even get paid for my work. It's all just a marvelous gift.
Last year, I made it my goal to self-publish a collection of my pieces (essays not bedspreads ha!) by the end of summer for the purpose of making them available to your friends and mine.
It's called "Mile Marker 52 | A Year of Companionship, Wisdom, & Truth". Just 52 brief but thoughtful opportunities to sharpen the focus or soften the edges of our lives together … whatever works, a little at a time.
The goal is to have it ready in time for my 52nd birthday in late August. Get it? 52=52. I am sneaky and attached my goal to a fixed moment in time so postponement is simply not an option. I have been knowing me and all my procrastinative weaknesses for a WHILE.
Am I excited? A little. Do I have time to be messing with it? Not really, but I said I would do it, and it feels super icky to give up now.
This is my dream-laced prayer ... that my little "crafting projects" continue to prove to be useful and / or enjoyable to whoever chooses to partake.
Thanks for all the ways you are already helping to make this a super sweet deal.
Soundtracks
My fourth grade P.E. class presented a choreographed workout routine to Olivia Newton John's "Let's Get Physical" for PTA. (She was not talking about the cardio our 9-year-old brains were thinking about, boys and girls!)🫣😅
The opening notes to "Hard Habit to Break" spin disco balls and boy drama through the rollers rinks of my mind. (That confident heel crossover on a couples' skate, or even better … the somebody skating backward … the best.)😍
"Friends are Friends Forever" … the [OG High School] MUSICAL. No one should have to play the lead character who is moving away the month before she is moving away, actually. But I did. And then I played the lead again when I got to where I was going. All the feels ALL summer long.😭
The night my first baby was born, we were alone in the hospital room and he wouldn't stop crying. I whisper-sang through tears, "You are beautiful beyond description …" halfway to him as I stared at his adorable face, and whole-heartedly to the Maker who was going to have to help us face this new season with gratitude and grace.🙌
Music in all its forms is magical in the way it lays tracks for our emotions to follow while mixing sights and sounds with thoughts and feelings to produce memories forever linked to a particular tune.🤍
Months before his wedding last year, Luke sent me the link to "A Mother Like Mine." He wrote, "This can be our song for the mother-son dance at the reception ... I'll shorten it and make sure we have plenty of time to practice."🏆
Weeks passed before I could listen without bawling. Once, I was minding my own business in Walgreen's and heard it play … and almost came undone.🥺
As Ardyn and I chose [a bazillion] songs for her [perfectly brief] ceremony and reception, I made my own playlist of songs that I thought were such a great fit for my daughter, for her man, and for the hopes and prayers that Philip and I were holding up on their behalf. I still listen to it every couple of weeks. It reminds me of the beauty that infused every minute of their wedding day, and it ushers in a sense of rekindling and recommitment in my own heart. Good stuff.💕
Come Right On In
He is waiting for us in the driveway as we arrive just after sunset. His grin squints tanned wrinkles into tight pleats as we exit the car to see his face. One strong hand pulls us toward him while the other gently beats our backs with a steady mix of sorrow and gratitude.
Come right on in … relatives greet with hugs as they scoot around the perimeter of the living room. Three generations spread out to share a sofa, two chairs, and some barstools surrounding the hospital bed that consumes the space. Mechanized oxygen gasps and spurts in the background … loud but strangely calming … like the rhythmic white noise of ocean waves.
And there she lies. Frail and fragile … her depleted frame unable to support the internal battle much longer. Indigo eyes sparkle as her sweet smile speaks love and joy even before her feeble voice has a chance to welcome us in.
Pillows gird her on every side while layers of blankets guard her from the chill. A bruised and bony hand emerges from the warmth and reaches for a touch.
We take turns greeting her, holding her hand, and stroking the soft tufts of hair that have somehow survived the brutal blend of disease and medication. We say how much we love her and we swoon over how fancy she looks with her zebra print pillow case.
"I'm all right. I am good. I'm going to be good. I'm ready." She comforts us.
Peaceful. Happy even. Incredibly brave and humble. She has made her decision to give up the fight in order to claim her victory. There is freedom in hope.
As we settle in to separate conversations, she drifts in and out of sleep, but she still listens. Even with her eyes closed, she smiles at the jokes and nods in enjoyment.
We linger in the togetherness. Some munch on burgers and chips, others chat about houseplans and fishing. Everyone takes a turn sitting face to face with her.
Girls who couldn't make the trip show up on a video call. "HI, Granny! I love you." Tears flow on every side of the phone as sad sentences are choked out with laughter and love.
It's late, and it feels equally bothersome to go as it does to stay.
The grandson who lives across the highway whispers to his mom, "I'm tired. Is it ok if I go?" She nods approval and encourages him to say his goodbyes and run quickly to arrive safely.
He circles the room trading hugs for "I love you" and then he is gone. Foreshadows of days to come follow him into the night.
Soon, Granny will say in her spirit, "I'm tired, is it OK if I go?" Family and friends will draw near to usher her gently with truthful hope and demonstrative care …
And just before daybreak she'll see Him waiting for her as she arrives. Face to face with the Source of her strength and salvation, she'll be wholly healed. No more pain. No more tears. No more death nor sadness.
Only Light and Love saying, "Come right on in!"
John 14:3 | Rev 21:1-4 | Ps 27:1