Life Marches On

It is snowy here, with sub-zero temperatures and a bitter wind. Winter humbles us in the Midwest, because we cannot control its fury. Our plans are constantly changing due to its Arctic blasts, and we must be flexible.

A foot of snow this weekend, the skill of driving on sheer ice, the stomach dropping out as we spin and whirl.

We look to find the beauty in the sheer whiteness of it all, to be thankful for heat and warm soup and thick afghans.

It is beautiful and wonderful. But it is cold. And we scan ahead from memory, recalling that indeed spring and summer do come in this region. But it's hard to imagine the birds and the bees, the sun and the rain, when you don't need a coat and the outdoors is friendly and mild.

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This Arctic season will keep me from visiting mom and dad this weekend, which brings a certain wistfulness and a bit of sadness.

Dad has mostly lost his hearing now, but I'm told he can hear us when we get very close to him. He's adjusting to closed-captioning on television, and the news that the Dr. will order no more radiation for him. After two more chemo treatments, he will be done with these medical gymnastics, at least as far as doctors can predict.

Ironically, to the cancer patient, stopping these treatments, although it is somewhat of a relief, feels like surrender at times.

Please pray for God to minister to his spirit, to whisper his love in the mundaneness of the routine, to bring hope and purpose to his heart.

Thank you for walking this journey with us. I can't form the words to let you know how much your prayers mean.