There has been much to bear this year. People ask me how I’m doing. Mostly I reply, “One day at a time.” I can’t count the number of times friends have said to me that they want to help us, or they wish they could do more to help. I’m reminded of something C.S. Lewis once wrote in a letter to a friend who had asked him about what God wanted her to do. He told her to go on doing all her duties, and enjoy your friends, your music, your books. ‘Remember we are told to rejoice, Philippians 4:4. Sometimes when you are wondering what God wants you to do, He really wants to give you something. As to your spiritual state, try my plan. I pray, ‘Lord, show me just so much (neither more nor less) about myself as I need for doing thy will now.’

This morning, I walked past the remnants of Karen’s hair, shed and discarded atop the bathroom waste container. These days, we talk about losing our hair like fraternity brothers. She finally understands my pain and we compare thinning hair notes. And there are the infusions, medications, doctor visits, stark moments of grief, chemo, images surreal and unwelcome, strange to our ears. Some nights are like those described by Jason Isbell when he awakes from sleep, after drinking too much whiskey the night before, “my hand turned into a rattlesnake, and I laughed myself awake, and that’s how I knew it was a joke.” These nights the dreams are my escape from the cold reality of our daily battle with cancer, and I awake not to laughter, but to the realization that a battle rages within Karen’s body. On some levels, it seems to be getting easier, but it is never easy. I’m reminded of Jim Valvano’s famous speech, and I consider that cancer can take away all of her hair, it can slow her steps, it can take away her activities, but it cannot touch her mind, her heart, her soul, and her love for her family and friends. We fight on with a power that comes from her indomitable spirit, but also from the One who created her and made her into a remarkable and lovely person. 

These are the days of darkness, of the winter solstice and short days. But light is breaking in this season of Advent, as we celebrate the descent of light from heaven into the world; the birth of light in a cave pointing us to the resurrection of light in a cave. A light that shines forever in Karen throughout her pain and struggle. Each day we awake thankful for the day, for each of you, our friends and family who shower us with light, with gifts of food, notes of love and encouragement, and prayers that never cease. We walk in the light as we dwell within it each day, alive and hopeful and blessed with an abundance of good things. 

We hold onto gifts and stars and mangers, but we live in the tension of what we are now and what we will one day be, between a world of what God has done and what God will do.

Our prayer for you this Christmas: 

God beyond time, help us to live in the tension between what you have done and what you will do, and into the truth that Christ will come again. May your moments together surpass the gifts received, may your eyes see the fullness and richness of life that is lived in many dimensions and layers of pain and joy, simple and complex constellations of God who dwells among us in so many uncounted ways, not comprehensible, but fully experienced. May your Christmas defy the false light of things that bring only superficial delight and bring into your homes penetrating light and the joy of abiding love. 

Merry Christmas!

Medical update: Karen has completed one round of chemo. Her energy and appetite are improving, and she is taking over her kitchen from me, once again. This is good news! We are hopeful and determined and encouraged by so many wonderful friends and family who pray for Karen’s healing and bring us everything we could possibly need. Thank you!