Sleepy joyful endings

When I met with my oncologist at the last appointment, we debated whether I would skip the last treatment all together.  There isn't evidence that shows 11 versus twelve is better.  I was trying to maneuver the dates with some events in my life and at the end we decided to just keep it where it was.  With this scenario I could be finished by the end of May and just be done for the summer.  I decided to keep the treatment during the same week we had visitors and in the middle of a lot of activities on my calendar.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  As in the past, the first few days are okay and then the symptoms increase greatly.  This last round somehow managed to magnify itself!  Perhaps my body was having some trouble saying goodbye to it's bedfellow Temodar.  I needed multiple naps on days 3 and 4.  By day 5 I was more nauseous than ever and I slept all of day 5, 6, and 7.  Of course, God's timing is perfect and I was home alone with the kids on those tough days.  They were thrilled to have a TV marathon and I was happy to be snuggled in bed with them while I rested.  No lunches to pack, no activities to drive to. I tripled up on my nausea meds, stayed in my pajamas and decided to ride out the storm.  

I barely got out of bed this morning, but worship today was so meaningful that I am so grateful I pushed through the cloud.  A beloved, healthy father in our congregation passed away suddenly last week at age 49 due to heart failure.  The entire church has been reeling with anguish and today we had a collective time to stand in disbelief and join our hearts in prayer.  It was a beautiful time to feel pain together at a great loss, a time to unite in promises to a mother and her children, a time to lean on each other and remember again that each and every moment is a gift, not to be wasted.  

It is in community that I feel most strongly that the ups and downs of life are manageable.  

We sang together the words of Zephaniah 3:17

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with   gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.

In God's community I feel quieted.  I feel that my personal longings and desires and baggage and junk are less prominent and often less important than I make them out to be.  In community I am reminded that I am not on this journey alone, even if I sometimes pretend or even boast that I am.  

By God's community I don't necessarily mean the church, though I feel incredibly blessed to have an amazing church community.  I mean the people that God has put in my life that I believe God is clearly working through.   

As I toasted with old friends on the last night of medicine and shared in our many years of friendship, a neighbor quietly knocked on the door with a large and gorgeous vase of flowers because she remembered what day it was.  My exhausted misery was mixed with old friends, great food, new friends, pain and beauty.  

It's all mixed up together.  It's ugly and beautiful.  Sometimes, too often, I only want the beautiful and I completely forsake the tough times.  

Today as the fog lifted and I felt my body rise again I was able, for one brief and fleeting moment, to hold all of the complexities together with gratitude.