That's What Grace Is For
resting in Him
Though the waiting area next to the Radiation-Oncology department of St. Joseph Hospital is spacious, I feel like I am suffocating. We make our way to a wooden bench next to a gently flowing waterfall, and make small talk. "I heard them read the twenty-third Psalm over the PA system a little while ago," she says, "they said today might be a hard day."
A wheelchair across the way cradles a tiny woman in its cold, unmoving arms. Angry burns from radiation wrap like a necklace around her reddened neck. I'm sure she would rather be on a cruise basking in the warm, soothing rays of the Caribbean sun. Instead, she faces rays of another kind - blistering, unmerciful, unwelcome. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend," scripture says. Some friend this radiation. She has no choice but to walk arm in arm with her. Anything less will cost her, her life.
Through the window I see another woman walking. Tall and stately, but obviously ill. A turban covers her balding head. Her floral print dress hangs loosely on her body and I wonder if her foe is breast cancer. I wonder, too, what tomorrow holds for her.
We settle onto a bench just outside of radiology, a cup of hot chocolate cradled in our hands. Neither of us really wants it, we just hope that it will warm our tummies, and soothe our battered souls.
She starts to speak, then stops and begins to cry. "I can't believe we're here. Why can't God just take us when He's ready instead of letting us suffer?"
I immediately think of all kinds of theological sounding things to say. You know, things like, "Suffering makes us strong, conforms us into the image of Jesus Christ. Why, I'm learning that there is added purpose in our suffering when it gives courage to others in their grief." It would make a great outline for a sermon, but today it lacks punch. God seems to whisper in my ear, "Put your lips together and hush. She doesn't need a sermon, she needs a shoulder."
It's sad - to another person, on another day I might actually have said those words. But, this is not just another person, this is my mom. And, it isn't just another day. This is the day my dad becomes an unwitting contender in the battle for his life.
We cry together, then sit quietly for a while. "It would be okay," she says, "if you just woke up one morning, and God said, 'this is the day' and then He just took you home."
"Yea," I say, "You could get up, make your bed, brush your teeth and then just go."
"You wouldn't have to brush your teeth," she muses.
"Or, make your bed for that matter," I quip. We share a smile, and then we do the difficult thing; we just sit and wait, each of us lost in thought.
This is all new to me. We have had lots of cancer in our family, but it has never been my dad's cancer before.
Yesterday I sat in the parking lot near a small lake south of town and cried. Broken, and confused, my head throbbing and my stomach churning. "I don't want my dad to die," I sobbed over the cell phone to my husband, Rob.
The sun was setting when I pointed the car toward home. Turning the corner into our neighborhood I was suddenly aware that I could not even remember making the drive. Dad and Mom have always been my tower of strength, now I must be theirs. "Father, help me," I prayed, " I need to be there for them and I don't have anything to give."
Early this morning He whispered one simple phrase to my heart, "That's what grace is for."
Sitting beside my weeping mom, and drying tears of my own, I feel so helpless. I wish for words to make it go away. He gently reminds, "It's okay that you don't know what to say. Trust me with her hurting heart; trust me with his broken body. Let Me care for them. That's what grace is for."
I feel so small, and very much alone. He reminds me that life is tough. "I know it's hard. I will be your strength. Let me carry you. That's what grace is for."
The future seems so bleak. God whispers, "Don't fear tomorrow for I am already there."
I rest in knowing they are His, and He will never leave them. I'm tired, but my heart is at peace. I snuggle into the Father's arms and He holds me.
And, that's as it should be
That's what grace is for.
