The Frozen Chosen

Can you believe this weather? One day this week the high was ZERO! I just had to include this photo of my bed. I sleep right next to our sliding glass door. Yes! That is ice. Amazingly, I am not really frozen. We have a heater that keeps the room very warm, but ice comes in through the windows. Charlotte pulled a book off the shelf in that room one morning and she could not open it. It was frozen shut!!

The medical reports were mixed this week. Hemoglobin 10.5, the highest it has been in months. Calcium 13 and needing treatment. John was sent to the ER in July for a Calcium of 12.4 (it really goofs up the kidneys).

This has been a hard week for me. It started with noticing a large tumor on John's chest. The last time I had seen it, maybe four weeks ago, it was like a small pebble. I gasped when I saw the egg-sized mass on his rib. I could not believe the amount of visible growth in such a short time. It seems like we are going along just fine and then suddenly a bucket of cold water hits my face. When people ask, "How is John doing?" I always say, "Great. He's really doing great, or at least pretty well." This week I took a step back and saw how that response is within a bigger picture of difficulty.

It is true that John is doing great. He is clinging to Christ and continuously open to confessing sin and receiving life and hope from the Lord. He is doing "great" in the way that saints persevere during trials and learn with Paul, "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." Phil 4: 12 But he is doing "great" while at the same time fighting for his life. He is frail and fragile. I not only miss the wonderful feeling of being squeezed by John, but I can't hug him either.


On Monday Charlotte and I went to Culvers together for lunch after preschool. It was a holiday and so lots of children were there with their families. I sat there eating my grilled Reuben and mindlessly watching fleece-bound children bouncing into the restaurant. Moms and Dads queried their bobbing bundles about hamburgers, chicken fingers, lemonade, etc. A Dad and his two little girls came and sat at the booth next to us. For them it was one of a million little interactions they have with their Dad that they don't think twice about, nor will they remember. But the estrangement I felt from that situation settled on me like a bad fish sandwich. We are getting up and going about our lives, but our lives are greatly changed. It has been in this week that I have felt the change in a new way.

Are we doing fine? Yes. Are we taking one day at a time? Yes. Is God good all the time? Yes. Are we learning to give thanks in ALL circumstances? Yes. Yes, all of these things are true.

And at the same time, you will not bump into John at Culvers with his kids. You will not see him standing in line to order or carrying a tray of food. You will not see him sitting comfortably in a booth or chatting about the weather. All of these things are beyond his physical limitations right now.

I am endeavoring to keep a warm sense of normalcy in our home, but this week I am sad. I am lonely. I miss my husband's energy and loud laughter filling a restaurant as we decide who ordered the tastiest meal. I miss his list of 100 things he would like to do and see over the weekend. I miss his ability to stay up talking for several hours after the kids are in bed. I miss seeing him stand at the bathroom sink and shave, coming to the table with pieces of toilet paper on his chin. I miss trying to go to sleep and repeatedly being awakened by his chuckles as he reads Richard John Neuhaus' Public Square in First Things.


When John got home from work last night, (yes, he's been working! He goes in the morning and the afternoon for a few hours.) I burst into uncontrollable tears. The kids were at my parents for the night and seeing him hobbling in trying to get warm by the heater... I just couldn't stop. I simply felt, "I miss you." I get so very little time to connect with John because of our various schedules and responsibilities. Feeling disconnected makes this process all the harder to endure. Even at a time like this, so many things get in the way of our nurturing our marriage. This is so important to both of us and we are learning.

I read the story of Noah to the kids week. The Lord opened that scripture to my heart and mind in a way I had never known it before. I can't describe it fully, I just know it fed me. One thing I took away was imagining what that time in the ark must have been like. Noah had spent over one hundred years and probably his life's savings building the thing. And then once they got in, there was a long wait before anything happened. I thought of John and me sealed up in our "ark" of marriage and waiting for the journey that God has prepared us for to begin. And then it begins with a bang. Imagine how terrifying it must have been to hear the storm and feel the unleashed waters of the deep lifting and tossing the ark in a tempest. We, too, are in a tempest. We are warm (except for the ice on the door) and dry, our basic needs are met, but we are, nonetheless, in a tempest.



But God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and the livestock that were with him in the ark, and he sent a wind over the earth, and the waters receded. (Genesis 8:1) God knows we are huddled together in the ark waiting out the storm. He is in complete control and we are waiting for him to send a wind so that the waters will recede.

And yet, Lord, teach us "the secret of being content in any and every situation."

Lovingly,
Frosty
I'll take a big hug and an order of onion rings with that.