times like these

its times like these
you learn to love again
its times like these you learn
to live again

i picked mom up from the Treatment Center on saturday and drove her home and stayed for Easter. the chemo wipes her out so she slept through most of the weekend. we almost missed Easter worship because she was nauseous in the morning but she decided to tough it out and go anyway. we were late, so we had to sit in the overflow room anyway so she felt less stressed about the possibility that she would need to hurry to the bathroom.

we sat next to each other holding the hymnal and singing the Easter hymns, her voice weak and wobbly. the rich and beautiful smooth alto replaced with an unsteady faltering strain. but no less sincere. i keep glancing out of the corner of my eye to try to detect a glint of resentment in her face or her voice when she sings with joy about Christ having victory over the grave, over death and sorrow and pain. i've never seen it. i just see her taut pale skin and shiny blue eyes and a calm that makes me almost want to scream. scream! because i want to know how she keeps it so close all the time.

i see the way her church loves her SO MUCH. they clapped for her during the time when the congregation shares praises and prayer requests. someone had seen her sitting in the back and gave thanks to God for her and for the hope of better treatment. she sat there in the back in the wheely office chair i had snagged for her from the church secretary's desk so she would not have to sit on the hard metal folding chair and received the line of her well-wishing church family like a tiny queen on a throne.

i think that mom's summoning up the grace and grit to go to church that morning had less to do with her going to church and more to do with her friends' hearts being filled up with the hope and joy and faithfulness of seeing her keep trying. that their prayers are being heard and felt. that the Lord is at work. people i had grown up with and people i barely knew came up to me to tell me that they would be happy to drive her to appointments, get her groceries, help with her bills, clean her house, do whatever she or we needed.

when i get down on myself for the trouble i seem to be having finding a church home in chicago, or coming into the "right fit" for where i want to serve or volunteer in my neighborhood, i think it's because this little church in the middle of farm country has set the bar so high i can't figure out how to be "in it" with other people the way these Beloveds do so easily. the teaching is adequate. the music is a twinge stodgey. but they LOVE EACH OTHER is a way that smacks me upside the head each time i am there.

the image of Love that has been burned into my brain since yesterday morning is that of the dad of my best childhood friend, a man i have known my whole life, kneeling down in front of my mom as she sat in her office chair in the middle of the church entryway and held her hands and talked with her with warmth and Love and gentleness. all of a sudden it occurred to me that these friends have loved us through my whole life. not for the year or two years or college years or rogers park years or whatever, but for over 30 years. up and down and weddings and parties and hospitals and layoffs and children and deaths and money and success and tree forts and birthday cakes. and that in my entire life, there have only been 5 years where one of my parents was not ill. the 5 years between dad's death and mom's diagnosis. how much they have prayed! how much money given and time spent and hospital visits made! how many cards and calls and dinners and how many times have they begged God on our behalf.

anyway. i've just been thinking about that a lot. and thanking God for them a lot. i'm determined to write a thank you letter for the church, but i have been dragging my feet about it. i want them to know how much we appreciate them. i think that it just feels like words are too small.

the dog was beside himself when my car door opened up on saturday and mom slowly hobbled out. he spun in circles and woofed this quiet by desperately high pitched whoop of joy. like a sea lion barking, but with the lather of pure almost heart-attack-inducing levels of bliss. and as she shuffled up the sidewalk with her walker, angus walked slowly and adoringly behind her, almost as if he had his legs ready to catch her if she fell. he slept in front of the front door like a sentinel, jumping up like a puppy with his tail wagging to propel him to the moon whenever she appeared.

the whole world loves my mom. my heart would almost break if i loved her any more. somehow or other i've got to keep shaking off the Dark and Fear and learn to live again for every day of my life. with people. no more of this running away nonsense. no more excuses. just love. its not like her church had some big workshop or read a bunch of books about how to Love Each Other. its not like there's anything to figure out or some sort of excel sheet to draft. and it's not like my past fears and pains and losses and scars somehow exempt me from Loving or giving so much.

at Easter we remember that greater love has no one than he who would lay down his life for his friend. laying down my comfortable life, my easy life, my saving money life, my logical self preservation life. every day. for Jesus, and for the honor of living the examples sparkling all around me.