On Dealing With Living Or Dying
On the day after Thanksgiving I posted about our best friend who had just found out that the chemotherapy wasn't working on her cancer. Since then they have tried a couple other aggressive things- again with no apparent success. The day after Christmas they all decided that nothing was working and that she had only a month to live. She went to hospice care that day. That means no more chemo or other treatments. It means keep her comfortable and calm and peaceful.

That will be two weeks on Tuesday. For most of these days she had not appeared to go downhill. As I write this, all her friends- and she has MANY, are praying like crazy for her recovery. We wait for each new update from her husband. We know that the only hope now is for a miracle, very little else is possible. Some are convinced that the miracle will happen. Others are trying not to let that hope get the hopes too high. We don't want to give up hope, but neither do we want to live in a state of denial. It is a difficult road to be traveling. We don't know what to say or how to feel from moment to moment.

We talk to God. We talk to each other. We talk to ourselves. We wait in hope and sadness, promise and fear. Each time we call we hold our breath. Each time we wonder if the inevitable pain or progression will begin to show up. We try to ignore the possible signs.

Until they become more obvious. Like they seemed to be today when I called. More pain medicine as needed. Increased tiredness. The truth of the day is unavoidable.

So this morning I went to church. I prayed. I tried to put myself into God's presence and bring her into the combined prayers of all who were praying for her this morning. I was asked to serve Holy Communion at the church to give the pastor the chance to sit and take communion with his family. I was glad that I had said yes. There is something about taking that bit of bread and water and reminding all in the church- reminding myself as with all- that this is the body of my Lord. And that cup contains the blood of God's gift of grace. There is a real presence in that moment. It is a presence that is always presence- but here it becomes... the only word I can use is personal or maybe visible.

Three hundred miles away my friend is discovering a whole new meaning to that presence. She leans on those arms in the form of family, friends, church. She gets those embraces that bring comfort beyond human possibilities.

As often as we eat this bread, I said as I have said hundreds of times, and drink this cup we proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

He knows. Thank God, you know.