Observing Grief

He is not here. I cannot pick up the phone and call. I cannot ask for his advice about anything--even if it is big, and I don't want to make the decision without his input. And when I go for a walk, I cannot feel his hand in mind; neither can I feel his quiet presence and gentleness.

These are no longer options. And the harsh reality is that his chair will be empty this Thanksgiving and Christmas, too. He will not show up on my doorstep with his tools, ready to help do something that needed doing. Some of his books are mine now, because although he loves reading, he no longer needs them. He will never need them again.

His clothing has already been given to new owners; his tools distributed; his few mementos, lovingly packed away.

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Group Grieving

A few weeks ago, mom and I visited a grief group, with 8 or 9 others whose hearts were sore and ginger, whose emotions were just below the surface, waiting to gush out.

And the social worker named Clare kindly and gently explained to us what to expect from this strange process of letting go of a beloved one whom we do not quite know how to live without.

The 26-year-old new mom who lost her daddy to a 10-year fight with cancer acknowledged her pain--wishing her dad would have lived 18 days longer to meet his first grandbaby. If only. A well-mannered elderly couple lost their vibrant, 50-year-old boy, when they should have gone first; she kept a quiet composure, her husband spoke only with tears welling over.

A mom lost her teenage girl to leukemia, after a brave three-year struggle. Another lost her once strong husband whose personality loomed bigger than life--his vibrancy replaced with silence as she faces an empty house and an equally empty bed.

There is no efficiency to grieving. It upsets your life, leaving a gaping hole where life has been snuffed away, and all you can do is be willing to face it as it comes.

Yes, Clare explains, when your loved one has cancer you do experience anticipatory grief. It is a way of preparing for what's coming. But you don't get extra credit or a "get out of grief" free card. Your journey is not shortened; you must still walk the road of coming to terms with your loss.

And so we are, one day at a time; one memory here, another there; tears that start and stop, healing and grace that comes through a card or a hug. Serenity that comes through drinking in nature's beauty or sitting quietly with a friend or loved one.

Honestly, I think we are coming through the shock of his absence from us. Now we must be willing to face the pain that will surface and to acknowledge "the greater the love, the loss." I would never take back the richness of our relationships with dad or the depth of our love.

A love well-spent, to be remembered and cherished throughout eternity.

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.
Psalm 68:5

quote for a Monday

"Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal."
-Thomas Moore

Remembering you, Dad

Here is the letter/conversation I read at dad's memorial services last week:

Dear dad:

If you were here today, and one of us was to ask how bad things—like cancer—happen to good people—like you, for instance, you would listen sincerely and nod.

You would remind us that long ago the world was broken, and that God never intended things to be broken like this. That it was people—just like us—who made it this way. So death isn’t what we’re made for. And that’s why it hurts like crazy. “That’s why it doesn’t seem right,” you would say. “Because it isn’t right.”

And then you would tell us this story of how all of us will face death—some earlier, some later, but because of one amazing rescue on our behalf, we don’t have to fear it at all.

You would smile and say the moment we breathe our last breath, like you did last Thursday, is the moment the life God intended for us really begins. This is the story of what one God-man did, sacrificing his life in place of ours, so that we could be forgiven of everything we’ve ever thought, done, or said that was wrong. And I can almost hear you now, because you’ve said it so often before: Jesus loved you, Suzie, so much that he paid with his life so you could have life—life FOREVER. A life filled with joy and free of pain.

You repeated this story hundreds of times—and you shared it in different ways, depending on who you were talking to at the time. But the heart and the truth of the story never changed.

Dad, I’ll admit, this story still sounds bigger than life and grander than our wildest dreams, but you staked your life on the belief that it is absolutely true. Truer than anything else you knew.

This story shaped your heart and informed your service. It altered the way you responded to those who meant you harm, and led to a lifestyle of servanthood. It kept you from caring about this world’s wealth and meant that you received the greatest joy from seeing others changed by the story of God’s love for us.

And if you were here right now, you would speak up to remind us that you also had faults and missteps, errors in judgment and times when you acted selfishly. And that, you would say, is exactly why God’s forgiveness and pursuit of us is so amazing; it’s why it changes everything. Because we are a messed-up lot with burdens that sometime threaten to undo us, but God’s story of rescue can bring hope where there is heartache.

This is the truth, dad: you didn’t want to leave us, not yet. You felt you still had ministry to do and people to love and you wondered why in the world your heavenly Father would send you to heaven now. Honestly, it just didn’t seem right.

But as you grew weaker, and we saw the future more clearly, we began to move toward this Story we have grown to love and believe in more than anything else. Dad, once we knew you were headed home, away from us, we began to talk about the breathtaking beauty and reality of the place where you will spend the rest of your days.

We even got excited with you about your homegoing at times, even though we dreaded the thought of saying goodbye.

Our hope and faith has been centered on something we could not see at all. Actually, the character Puddleglum from CS Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia may describe it best, as he tells the White Witch why he will keep on believing, though he doesn’t see the world of Narnia:

“Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things—trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one . . . That’s why I’m going to stand by the play world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia.”

But there IS a Narnia, dad, isn’t there? Death and evil have been defeated, haven’t they? If you were here today, I have this feeling you would tell us its streets are paved with gold, that its filled with people you knew here on this side who are loving on you. And I think you would also tell us that the sights and sounds you have now trump the best moments you ever experienced or dreamed about on this side of eternity.

I smile, dad, as I imagine you wearing a t-shirt that says, “Wish you were here.” How I do wish we were there, dad. And one day we will be—because we choose to trust in what we can’t see—in what God has done on our behalf.

With love and anticipation,

Your daughter, Suzie

Memories of Dad soon to come

Hello all:

I've had the most of annoying of technical problems, which has prevented me from posting the letter to dad I read at his funeral and memorial services. But it is soon to come--I promise.

For now, please read the article below, and grab your kleenex first.

We have made it this last week through the whirlwind of a visitation, a funeral service in one state, a memorial service in another and a graveside service just for family.

Memories include my two-year-old niece declaring that the funeral home was "heaven" and that "him was sweeping there." An attendant at the funeral service (who had never met my father) broke down and went outside to compose himself. Grown men wept at his casket, his services were filled with holy joy, tears mingled with laughter, and a multitude of loved ones, including parishioners from each of his churches, college roommates, pastor and missionary friends, even those who had meant him only once (from charismatic to United Methodists to police officers) and walked away somehow changed.

He is loved, that is for sure. And he is free...

'Til death do us part -- and soulmates forever

(written 2 weeks before dad's homegoing)

Sooner, or sometimes later, in marriage, things get difficult. I know this not from personal experience, of course, but from watching and listening to others.

Friends have let me in to their relationships, and along the way, painted a picture of less-than-nuptial bliss; the two entities of each couple I’ve known each have their own pasts, their own preferences, and their own ideas of what’s “normal.” And so, the friction that initially sparks chemistry can turn into a fire that burns and illuminates selfishness, competing goals, and differing expectations.

If carefully tended, the fire will not char and destroy the union—but it takes a healthy dose of realism and tenacity. And, in my own opinion, supernatural help from God. Fifty percent of marriages in the US will make it. Fifty percent of those who marry, unfortunately, will divorce for a variety of reasons. (The divorce statistic is supposedly 60% for those who attend church, but don’t get me started as to why that might be.)


I was born into a union that God smiled on, was in the middle of, and one in which he still has his hands on today.

But this couple, my dear parents, could not have been more opposite if one had been born in backwoods Arkansas, and one in fast-paced Manhattan. He was studious, well-read, creative, romantic, highly affectionate, a laid-back procrastinator, and from a blended family on the east side of Michigan. She was also accomplished in her studies, but that seems to be where the similarity ends. She abhorred procrastination and tardiness; she often preferred acts of service over “I love yous” or flowers; she shyed away from spontaneity and was accomplished at balancing everything that needed to be done—and then some. And she was from ‘da U.P. of Michigan. And from a strict Baptist upbringing. Enough said.

Yes, life was interesting for these opposites. But 37 years later, although certain irritations and personality clashes still exist, they are deeply, divinely, in love.

And this is how I know. My father speaks of my mother with tenderness and gratitude these days. My mother speaks of dad with commitment and love and affection. I don’t believe that they started out as soulmates; but they are soulmates now. It’s a mystery born amidst the births of three daughters, and one son who was miscarried. They rubbed shoulders as my dad served as a pastor in several churches; my mom faithfully and willingly serving as his “woman behind the curtain.” Children married and established careers, grandchildren arrived. And no one doubted they would be partners for life. Even when they drove each other crazy!

Now that I look back on things, I don’t believe dad would have made it in ministry without her; I don’t believe mom would have wanted to do life without him.


Dad is feeble now. He has cancer everywhere, and to be honest, he may be going to meet Jesus within just a few weeks. So today, on father’s day, we gathered around his hospice bed, and stroked his legs, and kissed his head, and felt the tears gathering at the corners of our eyes.

And this is how I know my parents are soulmates, that they would do anything for each other.

This weekend, dad was lying there, and my mom entered the room after waking up from a nap and crossed over to his bed. And she leaned over him gently. He said, “Hi sweets, how was your nap?” And she “good.” And he said, “What did you dream about?” And she said “You, hubs.” And he said, “What was the dream?” And she smiled and said “That you were all better!” And he said, “That was a good dream.” And she laid her head down next to his.

And this is the truth, as true as I know how to tell it: my parents have had their ups and downs together, their jubilant highs and their very lows, but they have never given up on loving each other or being for each other. They grabbed on to God first, and knew that they would serve him as one. And they had their moments, they certainly still have their “opposites,” but they knew as long as they lived, they would also have each other.


Don’t you wish you could bottle this love, that you could find it everywhere? Oh, but its rarity makes it infinitely more precious.

And this is the kind of love I have waited for. The “I love you” that is less about red-hot chemistry than candid commitment; the heartfelt affection that seeks to give rather than take; the self-sacrificing heart that seeks to show love through the work of becoming one. When two individuals resolve to give and grow together—and to become soulmates at last.

You may have heard rumors of this kind of love before, or perhaps you have witnessed it or even experienced it yourself. But if you have not—if you, like me, are still waiting for your true love—take heart.

I have seen two people we might label a “contradiction,” love each other unselfishly, imperfectly, but faithfully. And their love glows red hot today, as he lies in his hospice bed, squeezing her hand, and she tends to his needs, lovingly, unselfishly, to the very end.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”
I Corinthians 13:7-8a

Dad goes home

Dear ones:

Dad slipped away peacefully, mercifully, at around 9 am this morning. He went "home"--to heaven--the place he had mentioned for several days after my sister finished reading the 23rd Psalm and as my mom sang the song "Jesus, Jesus, there's just something about that name." One of his favorites.

I was en route to Indiana when he passed and called just in time to hear my mom say he had taken his last breath. But all was as it should be, as I had my special moments with him just last Sunday and felt in my heart that might be the last time we spent together here on earth.
Thank you for holding our family up in prayer through these last many months of trial. We already miss dad's gentle spirit, and his laugh, and his affection, but he is with Jesus now, where he has always belonged. How thankful I am to know this, to be able to celebrate even as we grieve.

With joy and some sadness,
Suzie

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him--but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit." I Corinthians 2:9-10

Thoughts for a Thursday

A friend sent me a devotional that included the quote below. It is written by Anne Cetas of RBC Ministries for Our Daily Bread:

“Bad things happen—tragic and horrible things. Good things happen—amazing and miraculous things. And all this happens randomly to us. But it is not random to the God who cradles our aching hearts. He knows … Suffering will come. But God is … larger than the events that seem to contradict God’s goodness.”

We will experience sickness, accidents, sorrow, and death. But we are not on our own. God is in control. “Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all” (Ps. 34:19).

For the love of dark chocolate

Hi, my name is Suzie, and I have an emotional attachment to dark chocolate. (And, no, I'm not a member of Chocoholics Anonymous--yet.) The darker the better. And if by chance I crunch on a cocoa nib, it's the closest thing to heaven.

Last Christmas, I received an amazing array of European-style truffles from an author who found them at the Chocolate Fetish in Asheville, NC. If you're wondering how to tell what's the really good stuff, visit http://www.chocolatefetish.com/

Needless to say, these truffles still exist in my imagination (and in the photo above). They were that good.

You might argue with me, and you certainly deserve to have your own opinion. My opinion though, is this: dark, beautiful chocolate creates a seritonin rush so divine that I believe chocolates should be prescribed as an antidepressant. Or at the very least the ultimate cure for a lousy day!

The bottom line is this: the rush from dark chocolate makes me deliriously happy. And when I thank God for simple pleasures, this one sometimes tops the list.

I can't quote you chapter and verse, but I believe within me that chocolate must exist in heaven. Or at least a substance like it, no matter what they call it. Perfection. Divinity. The ultimate. Whatever.

The other night, after a really long and hard day, I found a gift bag on my doorstep. I took it inside and emptied the contents on the floor. There was a lovely coupling of Bath and Body honeysuckle lotion and shower gel. It's really great and I use it often. But honestly, what brought tears to my eyes was the dark chocolate bar.

It was as if God reached down, through my anonymous friend, and said, "It's been a rough day, a rough week, a rough year, in fact. But I love you and I know you, and things will be OK. Enjoy this little treat on me."

And that is the story of my emotional attachment to dark chocolate. What's your chocolate story?

"Giving chocolate to others is an intimate form of communication, a sharing of deep, dark secrets." -Milton Zelman, publisher of "Chocolate News"

The irony of the urgent

Here I am, down in Indiana with mom and dad, hoping to offer some comfort and cheer. Hoping to make the burden a bit lighter, if that's possible. Hoping that the simplicity of my presence might help them breathe easier, sleep harder, and forget some of the difficulties the big "C" brings day after day after day.

I knew as I was driving that dad would look different than the last time I saw him; he can no longer turn his head, he lies exclusively in his hospice bed, and he just today received a catheter. Small movements bring great pain. And so I ever-so-lightly kiss the top of his bare head. And he says one of his favorite phrases: "'Preciate it." It is all he can do.

I comment on his fuzzy chin, and he offers to shave. With a smile, I tell him it doesn't matter, not at all. He is fine just the way he is. And within moments he is asleep again.

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The hospice literature tells us that in the last few months of a person's life, they begin to pull inward. They will stop keeping up with the television news, they will seldom be in the mood for a visit, they will doze off for most of the day.

And so I realize that every effort dad makes to interact with a child or grandchild, with a well-meaning parishioner, with a brother, with a friend, with a man he led to Christ, are precious gifts to us. They do not come naturally; they occur only because of intense effort on his part.

In the last few weeks, the visitors have been virtually non-stop--and don't get me wrong, I'm most grateful.

Still, it occurs to me how sad it is to wait to make these moments until the end of a person's life. Now I look back on my times with dad with fresh gratefulness; some days I regret I didn't drive to see him more often, that I didn't live closer the last few years, etc.

But mostly I learned from him to express my appreciation and love to others. As he showered affection on my sisters and I, I felt free to express my love to him, often and repeatedly. It was his way. It is perhaps the greatest gift he has given us. And in return we loved to give it back to him with our own expressions of fondness.

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And so, this week, I felt an urge to gather those I care about close to me. I wanted to tell them I enjoy their company; to tell them I admire their fortitude, wisdom, and compassion; to tell them that I treasure time spent in their presence. And that I hope our friendships and family relationships continue to thrive and grow.

If you read this entry, will you do me a favor? Will you call your mom or dad today and remind them that you're glad they are your parents? Or if you're not quite there in your relationship, will you reach out to them in some way, to let them know you're there, and that you do care. These people who have given us life, and nurtured our growth, and put up with our personality quirks, and accept us anyway are amazing.

Perhaps your parents are gone, or estranged for some reason, and you have already walked this journey of saying goodbye or parting ways for some reason. But I believe in my heart that there is someone in your life whom you value. We hesitate to give too much of ourselves emotionally for so many reasons; but self-protectiveness does not bring life. It does not lead to real living. It's just existing.

And you want more. And you should. If by any chance this entry prompts you to move towards someone in your life, will you let me know?

Peace,
Suzie

Living and Dying

My prayer seems awkward, but it rings true: "Father, help us to continue to breathe. Help us not to hold our breathe in these our last few months together as a family. Make us experts at showing love to our dad. Work supernaturally in this transition as dad has one foot planted here, one foot reaching out for his forever tomorrow."

And I believe in my heart that God will answer this request--it is, after all, his heart to see his children lovingly home to heaven. He is already showing up. He will show up next week when new limitations present themselves, and ultimately, he will usher our dear father home. The end for us here means a new celebration in heaven. I imagine that some of those dad knew here, some of those he made an impact on, may already be waiting in anticipation. It brings tears and a smile. As it should.

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Picture 1 is me and one-week-old baby Andrew. Isn't he amazing? He slept on my chest and when I started to sing lullabies he opened his eyes and moved his head around.

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Picture 2 is dad with his Ozzy Osbourne look, holding Cassie. The hat looks kind of like real hair; Cassie, who is only 2 1/2, loves to sit on grandpa's lap and snuggle. He says that brings him the most comfort of all.

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Picture 3 is dad and I at the IMAX to see Spiderman. Thanks to my sister Christi and my brother-in-laws for helping to make this happen!

quote for the day

"One need not be a servant to be able to serve."
-Victor Frankl

A bouncing new baby boy!

The Cross family has yet to bear a small baby, but this one takes the cake! Andrew Reed was born Friday afternoon, weighing 10 lbs. 6 ounces! Amazingly, the delivery went fine and my sister Julie is recovering at home now. Attached is a picture of dad holding Andrew.

He and mom traveled two hours on Friday to see the baby, and I’m so very glad they made it. Dad has declined quite steadily over the last four weeks. He uses a lift chair now exclusively and a wheelchair. Hospice was called in yesterday for in-home care.

Until this weekend, dad was not ready to accept his declining health. He was still hoping that he might regain some mobility. He is now seeing what we realized several weeks ago. It is time for him to be gracious with himself as he walks this journey into the arms of Jesus.

If you are praying, pray that hospice will be a help in making him comfortable. Pray that my mom will have a supernatural strength to deal with the situation. Pray that we will know if it would be wise to move both of them up to Grand Rapids to stay with me. And finally, pray that I will be quickly healed of the respiratory virus that I have had for a week now.

It’s impossible for me to explain how our heavenly Father is holding and directing us right now. He feels so very near, and indeed he is. (James 4:8)

Visit www.praybigbook.com

If you've ever wondered how to pray Scripture, how to pray more boldly, or how to pray for both little and big things, this is the book for you. Check out the web site and be sure to view the video for a laugh. This is a book I've been working on for several months, and it will release on July 1.

Plenty of free prayer resources on the web site, too. You'll especially like the free ecard that tells a friend "I Prayed for You Today."

Let me know what you think.

Oh, yes, and what do you think of this quote from CS Lewis:
"Your book bill ought to be your biggest extravagance." ~CS Lewis

Update on Dad's journey

We continue to covet your prayers. Dad has been growing progressively weaker over the last three weeks or so. We’ve made adjustments by getting him a lifeline button, having a nurse in a few times a week, etc.

Last night he had to go into the emergency room because the strength in his left leg had deteriorated so significantly. He is back home now, but it is now extremely difficult for him to get up from his chair. It may be time for us to consider hospice or to get some more help.

This is the verse I’ve prayed over our family for some time:
“You brought me into a spacious place; you rescued me because you delighted in me.” Psalm 18:19

Ironically, the spacious place dad is being led to comes through a journey of pain and progressive weakness. But I believe with all my heart that God’s preparing a place that will be spacious, vibrant, and perfect for dad.

Prayers that we would respond well as he takes this journey are appreciated. Especially for mom, with mother’s day coming this weekend. And his grandson’s birth is just a week away now. We will celebrate these moments with abandon, and then we will pray that God gives us the strength to graciously release him when the time comes.

Crazy, crazy

I'm all for spontaneity, but this week I'm craving a bit more routine.

We started a new Bible study on Sunday at my apartment, I had a yearly review at work, a visit to the amazing tulip festival in Holland, Michigan, two all-day meetings, summer clothes shopping, teaching water aerobics, blogging, a mother/daughter banquet, and a visit to Indiana. Next week I will return to a life of sanity and regular exercise.

Hey, y'all come back next week when I'll have more time to say something meaningful. Word up. (For some reason, all this chaos brings me back to the 80s.) Ha!

Quote for the day

“I am grateful that I started writing at a very early age, before I realized what a daring thing it is to do, to set down words on paper, to attempt to tell a story, create characters. We have to be braver than we think we can be, because God is constantly calling us to be more than we are, to see through plastic sham to living, breathing reality, and to break down our defenses of self-protection in order to be free to receive and give love.” ~Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

Guitar Heroes Rock!

OK, I've taken leave of my senses. Sunday night I was attending a barbeque with some church friends. When I heard of a strange video game called "Guitar Heroes" I found myself walking down into the basement...and into a whole new world. Really.

I didn't think I could fall for a cheap video game. But hey, we all have our quirks. I heard tell one of the 30-something guys from church is buying the game for "his 6-year-old." Yeah, right. We are forming a group for the guitar-hero addicted.

So here's the gist: you hold a pretend plastic guitar while watching the screen. It's very much like Dance Dance Revolution if you've ever encountered that. There are colored buttons that you push and then you "strum" a white plastic button. The key is to do this all in rhythm so you can be a guitar hero. You "play" through two dancing rockers on the screen. One of them even had purple tresses. Oh my.

I started slow, since I'm used to piano playing, but not guitar strumming. But once the beat took hold, I started moving a bit. And by the end of the 2nd song, my guitar was pointed upward and I was in a phrase...rocking out. You had to see it to believe it.

http://www.guitarherogame.com/gh2/

A note to all: I don't condone all the music lyrics used on this game. Be selective. And rock on! :)

Time at home

Dad was in the hospital from Thursday till Sunday. Now he's resting at home again, in his comfy tan recliner, glad to be living free from the constraints of being watched and prodded 24/7.

This weekend the cancer doctor told dad he can stop chemo and radiation at any time--these treatments will not help significantly to halt the cancer, and who wants to live with side effects indefinitely?

Dad will have one more chemo to see how it goes. Just two 1/2 weeks until his grandson arrives, so we're all anticipating how wonderful it will be to share this new life as a family.

It's no exaggeration to say that this part of the journey through Dad's cancer will be one of the most difficult. I pray we'll have the strength and wisdom to help him live graciously, with dignity and comfort, in the remaining time we have together.

This weekend, I reflected on the fact that I'm so very glad dad knows Jesus--not just casually, but as a friend, brother, and Savior. I'm so glad I know Jesus, too. It makes the pain somehow bearable, even though the pain is very real.

Stay tuned for a more light-hearted entry on my favorite new video game...guitar heroes. :)

I'll be back soon.

Living through Pain

After awhile, with cancer, it is hard to be cheerful. There are many blessings in our lives, to be sure, but constant, excruciating pain, not only wears on the patient--it wears on all who wish they could relieve it for him.

That said, thank you for your prayers. They are so very important, as the tumors on dad's neck area have grown, causing constant pain. They have doubled up the medication, and so he is more comfortable at present, but so tired he cannot function well.

Mom is tired as well--and we're so very grateful for prayers offered to strengthen, sustain, and comfort her during this time.

I will be heading down to their home on Saturday evening and returning Monday evening. Please pray that I will be able to help and comfort both of them during this time.

Here is a wonderful quote that one of my author's shared, following the tragedy in Virginia this week:

We are not alone, we are more than flesh and bone,
What is seen will pass away, what is not is going home…
I believe in the holy shores of uncreated light,
I believe there is power in the blood.
And all of the death that ever was if you set it next to life
I believe it barely fills a cup –
Cause I believe there’s power in the blood…
When you lay me down to die, you lay me down to live.
-by musician Andrew Peterson

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”
-Jesus

Return to Chemo

Thank you for the many prayers you have offered up, for dad, and for our whole family. He was extremely weak this last Easter Sunday, but he read in church, and fought through the pain to stand up, to smile, to show kindness to others.

Today he is feeling quite a bit better. And that is how it goes with cancer. You never know quite what to expect. Some days he experiences less pain, some days he experiences more. And so we take each day that we have been given as a gift. A gift that brings pain, but reminds us of everything we believe in. Reminds us that following Jesus is not about platitudes and empty promises. It is real, eternal hope.

Dad re-enters chemotherapy today, and we're hoping the treatments might lessen the pain of the bone cancer in his spine.

And if you wouldn't mind praying specifically, that he will not get an infection following the chemo that would land him back in the hospital. How very wonderful it would be for him to be able to stay at home.

Thank you for your love, support, and prayers.

Gratefully, Suzie