Giving Thanks

 "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

Thanksgiving Eve has descended into these hills; it's dusky outside, and I can hear the occasional rifle fire (hunting season is upon us). Normally this day is spent doing cooking and baking prep ahead of our big gathering tomorrow: my husband's parents, siblings, niece and nephew, aunt, and cousins all get together at his parents' house for a huge meal, and we look forward to it all year long.  

Last Wednesday I began getting sick, and by Wednesday night I was Quite Sick.  Today is Day 8 for me of covid--my second covid infection of the year (the first was a very mild one in January).  Although I rarely catch even a cold, and I bounce back from illness fairly quickly, this virus has been protracted and difficult, with a whole host of unpleasant symptoms--although fortunately, none have been scary!  Just exhausting, lingering, and aggravating. And painful--my sinuses hurt!

We are not able to go to my in-laws' house tomorrow.  It's fine--I don't feel well enough to go right now, anyhow--but it's also hard.  You see, I didn't realize how the orphaned child within me longed to gather together with a family and have a normal-feeling holiday. I haven't had a normal holiday since last Thanksgiving. Every holiday since last Christmas has been clouded with the pain of the reality of my father's illness and his impending, inevitable death.  It has been a hard year. I miss the comfort of family gathering around food, without the specter of cancer overshadowing it all. I was looking forward to the happy conviviality of our Thanksgiving meal. 

After my Dad died, Annie asked me--are you an orphan now? I assured her that no, I am not an orphan.  Orphans are children! And I'm an adult. 

But the deeper truth is this: even though I'm an adult, and adults cannot be orphaned, I feel it.  My grandparents are all gone, and now both of my parents have died.  I'm so fortunate to have aunts and uncles, a stepmother, and in-laws who all love me in a similar way, as parents do.  But they're not my parents.  My actual parents are gone, and I did not realize how lonely that would make me feel, especially at holidays. There's something that existed that is now unraveled, a thing that can never be restored: mother, father, two daughters. I am not at all alone! I have my husband and children, my sister, and a lot of other relatives who love me.  But I still miss my parents. I still feel sad that they are no longer here with me.

I am thankful tonight for the 23 years I had with my mother and the nearly-45 years I had with my father.  I am thankful that although I have been sick, I believe I'm healing along an upward trajectory. I am thankful for sweet Allison for bringing potato-bacon soup to us this afternoon, to neighbor Kate for the elderberry syrup and chicken noodle soup, and to the inventor of the Neti Pot! :)

This too shall pass.  And we'll have our own little Thanksgiving here--not as elaborate, but still special.  Rejoice always.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends!

A True Story of God's Provision (and a Prayer Request)

 "I will sing of the Lord's great love forever;

with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known

through all generations." -Psalm 89:1

Let me tell you a story--which ends with a prayer request. It's one of those stories of how God looks after us and paves the way before we know what we'll need.  

First we must go back to the summer of 2021, back in the days before my father had cancer. For some reason that summer, for no sensible reason at all, I decided that instead of booking us into a hotel during our annual New Year's trip to Charleston, I would splurge on an Airbnb. So I found an adorable house that was just a couple of blocks from my Dad's place--a really tough thing to find in his neighborhood.  I booked it for late December/early January.

Fast-forward to late December: my father had just been re-admitted to the hospital at MUSC, brutally sick with We Didn't Know What Yet, and the doctors were chasing it down while he went in and out of hospitals.  We went to Charleston a day early and stayed in a hotel, and our Airbnb host kindly let my family check in early the next day while I was running back and forth to the hospital.  In the course of our texts she mentioned that she'd just spent 10 days at MUSC as her husband had treatment for cancer. They're in their 40s with two young children.  And I thought, wow, do I ever know *that* situation.

So I told her about my husband and we bonded a bit, acknowledging what it is like to be a parent, to have a very sick spouse, and to feel the fear and loneliness those things can entail. 

My Dad kept getting sicker.

We had to stay longer, and she reached out to offer the place for more days.  I readily accepted.  The screened front porch had become a spot for me to really lay my worries and anxieties on God during early mornings. It was a soft place to land for us; I fell into bed thick with grief and exhaustion every night. It was so much better than a hotel. The house was beautifully-decorated, sparkling clean, and perfect for us. I knew that God had somehow orchestrated this in His wisdom and kindness.

When we decided to settle up she refused payment for the extra nights.  She wanted to help us like so many had helped her. I was humbled and touched by her kindness.

One time after that--in the late winter, I think--we exchanged quick texts saying One Day We Should Meet. We never followed through--life is busy!

Fast-forward to August, when I was in Charleston for a week taking care of my Dad during his second week of brain radiation.  I had to drive him all the way to Mount Pleasant--about a 20-minute commute from his neighborhood--to the radiation facility.  On that first day that I took him, we walked into the waiting room, and I looked at a woman sitting there, whom I'd never seen before in my life, and I just *knew*, and I said her name.  She looked up.

In the Charleston metro area there are over 800,000 people and she and I just *happened* to show up at the same office at the same time on the same day.

Yes. Wow. To say we were floored was an understatement.

At the end of the week she and I went out together to talk and share stories for a couple of hours.  Her husband's cancer, like my Dad's, is considered incurable. Since then, we've spent time praying for her family every night. 

Will you also pray for this sweet lady, and her family?  They are believers, she is solid in her knowledge that God takes care of things, but still: that is an excruciating road to walk, especially with young children.  

Thank you for praying!

On Children, Cancer, and Loss

This autumn has flown by--I realized yesterday that we are already 8 weeks into the season.  "Where the time does go?" to quote Annie's Venezuelan ballet instructor. :)

Here's something that many people in my life have asked about, and that I thought it would be useful to write about: how we handled talking to our children about my father's terminal cancer diagnosis. This year I've seen my children make sacrifices that are not asked of most people their ages.  I've seen them watch their grandfather go from healthy to extremely sick.  And they handled it beautifully.*

Here's what I think helped.

1) Being transparent. Over the course of the year I had several people ask in hushed tones do your children know it's terminal? That question always took me by surprise.  Why in the world would I not tell my children the truth about the fact that my father would die soon?  Why would I set them up for a shock like that? From the beginning, when he was diagnosed in January, I made it clear to Annie and Finn that he would not outlive the cancer.  They understood that all of our traveling this year--and it has been significant--and all the sacrifices they've made--also significant--were occurring because the clock was swiftly ticking down on my Dad's life.  We had hoped he'd survive a year past diagnosis; he survived almost exactly eight months.  In those eight months we packed in so much time together.  

My father died at 6am, and my husband was at work.  I wanted to tell Annie and Finn the news myself, via Facetime, but I wanted my husband to be home.  When they were all gathered on the sofa together that afternoon, I said "I have good news and I have bad news, and it is the same news.  Pa graduated to heaven today.  It's bad news for us because we will miss him so much, but it's good news for him because he's with God." And my children did not actually cry during that Facetime call--or after, from what I've heard.  They *got it.* They were sad, but they expected it (when I went to Charleston that last time, I knew I would not come home while my father was still alive).  They were well-prepared.  We all were.

Being transparent also depends on the age of the child. I would argue that transparency is essential at any age, but of course a 3-year-old will have a totally different comprehension of a situation than a 16-year-old will.  Put it into the terms they can understand. I am not an advocate of scaring children with the harsh realities of the world (yes, I lean to the side of sheltering, and I am convinced that my children are more emotionally secure as a result).  But when a situation is personal to them, such as the illness or death of a loved one, it's important to be frank and open to answering questions.  

2) Focus on what matters most.  I neglected many housekeeping tasks in my own home over the past months, but I made it my business to not neglect my children's hearts.  Talking through their questions or heart issues took total precedence. I also prioritized my own health (sleep, some exercise, nutrition, no overwork) because that makes me more capable of taking care of their needs.  Annie and Finn are what you might call "well-adjusted" as a result of this. Ignore the non-essentials in life (the closets and the gardening will have their day eventually!) but never neglect or ignore a child's heart.  

3) Do little things as you can to bring joy into life.  A croissant from the bakery, a day trip to an interesting spot, cuddles on the sofa, a movie night with blankets....during a really hard time you cannot plan *big stuff* like trips. So just do sweet, tiny things and know that they're enough.  They are!

4) If you're a believer, be sure they understand what death is.  Again, this is one of those topics that must be handled in an age-appropriate manner.  My children understand that death is inevitable for us all, but also that God didn't create us for death (which is why, as the writer of Ecclesiastes says, He "set eternity in the hearts of man").  They understand that this world is not the only thing, and that death is the end of one thing and the beginning of another.  They are sure to have lots of questions.  Don't interpret these as "doubts" and don't be afraid of them.  I always tell my children that I'm so pleased that they're asking good questions, because that's the first step in getting good answers.  You don't have to be a theologian to answer their questions well. Just do your best, ask for the Holy Spirit to guide you, and trust. My children understand that death is a mystery (1 Corinthians 15:51-55) and that we shall all be changed at the moment of death.  Having witnessed death myself more than once, I can assure them that this is absolutely true. 

5) Pray for guidance, pray continually, pray without ceasing!  The Holy Spirit will help guide you and give you words and direction when you don't know what to say or do.  

*Note that the death of a grandparent is quite different than the death of a parent.  Although I think these 5 suggestions are applicable when a parent has a terminal illness, I know for sure that that situation is much harder for children.  Trust that Romans 8:28 is true, and do whatever is necessary to help a child grieve and heal.