She was an older lady and had been fighting cancer with an indomitable spirit for a few years. But she recently got the "nothing more we can do" and made her plans for finishing out her life with the remaining time she was given.
Like so many, I have to say with regret, "I thought there'd be more time."
And yesterday, we got the news that Little Warrior's scans were clear. We live in three month increments. Three months is a long time, man. Three months means that I can begin school tomorrow, and begin planning The Halloween party we've thrown every 14 years (except for last year, when LW was in the hospital). Three months means LW can continue Montessori and the children can go to birthday parties and The Husband can go on his fishing trip and I can continue guest preaching. Three months. It's a gift.
In all the funeral readings my friends sent me last week, there was one that I found in almost all of them:
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
Joy and woe are woven tightly together this week. Good news for my child, while a friend gracefully and gently, but too soon, leaves us. How fitting that I am scheduled to write a sermon this week about love.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord.
I don't believe in a God who causes people to die or survive. But when you loosen your grip on that verse, and see it more as a statement about our existence, it becomes one I can stand behind. Life works in such a way that we lose and we gain -- blessed be this gift of life.