An unexpected gift

The mama of the original Caleb, the Caleb that Aaron and I cared for back in 2001 and 2002, the Caleb that walked slowly, steadily and peacefully into the arms of Jesus right in front of our very eyes. This mother, the one whose grief I remember. She comes to visit, to cheer me up. She is quite successful.

One blurry gray spring afternoon, she gets a little unexpected miracle for all her miles flown from Phoenix to Wisconsin, all for the love of her friend. This Caleb, my Caleb, the one named after hers, comes running out from his nap and sees me, and then hightails it for Amy's lap.

I sit and watch, the joy of this pair. It reminds of the verse in John where Jesus tells His disciples that they will grieve, but it will turn to joy. Truly, truly, I say to you, you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will turn into joy. (John 16:20)

I need this visible reminder of unexpected joy, that lament will turn to joy someday, someday soon perhaps. That the sorrow that grips me hard and lets only a few laughs through will melt before His grace and mercy.

That someday soon the tears I cry will be of laughter,
 instead of inescapable sorrow.

Unexpected gifts

Last April, I could barely recognize my feet. Swollen beyond swollen, my toes swallowed up. You could almost squeeze water out of them, it seemed, if you tried hard enough, like Micky Mouse trying to squeeze water from his cheese.

A year later and a pacemaker working overtime to keep my heart beating properly, and there they are again, the feet I didn't know I had anymore. The feet I had when I was 14, before my heart started those funky beats and my blood pressure dropped. Although the rest of me has (regrettably) stayed the same size, what a relief to find my ankles and toes again!

A little like vine-ripened tomatoes in Mama's perfectly circular green bowl on the faded white table in the end of winter. A blessing in the dry season, an oasis in the desert of health, a discovery of wonder in a desolate landscape.

I beg your prayers for my heart and cancer issues. They always worsen in the spring, and I am in the throes of the exhaustion from hyperthyroidism and the toll it takes on my heart. Pray my pacemaker keeps me pumping, and for peace with the rest I must take to stay functional during this time of trial.

Thank you!