It always seems that the most challenging times in life also yield the most beauty. I think it is because during the dark times, the light shines brighter. The stark contrast between light and dark is most visible when the dark is very, very dark. I am reminded of a stormy fall day, when bright yellow leaves contrast against a black sky. Or of a cloudy sunset when all is dark, but a single ray of sunshine pouring through the one opening in the clouds.
One of our daughters was diagnosed with a vascular illness three weeks ago. She has been hospitalized four times so far with complications of the illness. Last weekend, we were on our way home from the third admission. The roads were icy, and visiblity was minimal from a February snowstorm. We were driving down a slippery hill when the front wheel of our vehicle flew off. My husband calmly and skillfully guided us into a snowy ditch, where we landed unscathed. We arrived safely at home and the vehicle was towed away.
The next day was Valentines day. Our family was systematically dropping to the stomach flu. We attempted a super fancy Valentines day dinner anyway, because we needed some family time after all of the mishaps of life. (There wasn't even a chance of a romantic couples getaway). About three fourths of the way through dinner, one of our other daughters projectile vomited, hitting every one of our eight dinner plates. Our third daughter vomited all through the night. One of our teenage sons woke up Monday morning, vomiting, blacking out, hitting his head on the door, and vomiting again all over my bed. Our two year old woke up from a nap covered in poop, while our other teenage son hid in his room. At this point, I couldn't even keep up. I was throwing towels on piles of bodily fluids all throughout my house.
During the vomit fest, our daughter suddenly developed severe complications of her vascular illness. The doctor wanted to see her immediately, so I left the piles of vomit, loaded her in the vehicle, and went to the doctors office. Her condition was serious, so the doctor advised me to drive her directly to the children's hospital, two hours from home. I immediately followed doctors orders, leaving my husband home with five children, and no vehicle. After a three night hospitalization, we were finally being discharged. As I was signing discharge instructions, my husband had one of the other girls at the doctor's office back home. She was diagnosed with the same vascular illness. It is not contagious, and it seems there are only two documented cases of siblings developing it at the same time. And now our family is a living medical anomaly.
Seriously.
I couldn't make it up if I tried.
Once upon a time, a wise woman was faced with cancer for the second time in her life. When asked if she ever thought "why me?", she replied "why NOT me?" (another story, for another time). Her words resounded with every beat of my heart during these past three weeks. Her words have given me a tendency to run into the darkness with my arms wide open. I just can't help myself.
I heard those words in the lyrics of a song a while back. "Carry your candle, run into the darkness." And I thought, why would you do that? Who RUNS into the darkness? But now I know; to embrace the darkness, is to have the opportunity to really see the light. Without the dark, dark, spaces, our world is a muted shade of grey. The beauty of the yellow autumn leaves is most evident against the black sky. Only through clouds, can you see those single, beautiful rays of sun.
So tonight, when our weeks have been so very dark, the light is so very bright. My two year old's mischievous grin, spending hours braiding two of my girl's hair, watching my ten year old daughter do flips, just looking at the faces of my teenage sons and how they've changed since I saw them four days ago. And now, sitting in bed, next to my husband, writing, while he watches a movie. The ordinary is extraordinary.
I sit here and absorb my light, I bask in it, and I let it renew me. Communion with my loves. It is precious. And I know that it will not last. So as I drink in the light, I am preparing myself to run into the darkness again.
One of our daughters was diagnosed with a vascular illness three weeks ago. She has been hospitalized four times so far with complications of the illness. Last weekend, we were on our way home from the third admission. The roads were icy, and visiblity was minimal from a February snowstorm. We were driving down a slippery hill when the front wheel of our vehicle flew off. My husband calmly and skillfully guided us into a snowy ditch, where we landed unscathed. We arrived safely at home and the vehicle was towed away.
The next day was Valentines day. Our family was systematically dropping to the stomach flu. We attempted a super fancy Valentines day dinner anyway, because we needed some family time after all of the mishaps of life. (There wasn't even a chance of a romantic couples getaway). About three fourths of the way through dinner, one of our other daughters projectile vomited, hitting every one of our eight dinner plates. Our third daughter vomited all through the night. One of our teenage sons woke up Monday morning, vomiting, blacking out, hitting his head on the door, and vomiting again all over my bed. Our two year old woke up from a nap covered in poop, while our other teenage son hid in his room. At this point, I couldn't even keep up. I was throwing towels on piles of bodily fluids all throughout my house.
During the vomit fest, our daughter suddenly developed severe complications of her vascular illness. The doctor wanted to see her immediately, so I left the piles of vomit, loaded her in the vehicle, and went to the doctors office. Her condition was serious, so the doctor advised me to drive her directly to the children's hospital, two hours from home. I immediately followed doctors orders, leaving my husband home with five children, and no vehicle. After a three night hospitalization, we were finally being discharged. As I was signing discharge instructions, my husband had one of the other girls at the doctor's office back home. She was diagnosed with the same vascular illness. It is not contagious, and it seems there are only two documented cases of siblings developing it at the same time. And now our family is a living medical anomaly.
Seriously.
I couldn't make it up if I tried.
Once upon a time, a wise woman was faced with cancer for the second time in her life. When asked if she ever thought "why me?", she replied "why NOT me?" (another story, for another time). Her words resounded with every beat of my heart during these past three weeks. Her words have given me a tendency to run into the darkness with my arms wide open. I just can't help myself.
I heard those words in the lyrics of a song a while back. "Carry your candle, run into the darkness." And I thought, why would you do that? Who RUNS into the darkness? But now I know; to embrace the darkness, is to have the opportunity to really see the light. Without the dark, dark, spaces, our world is a muted shade of grey. The beauty of the yellow autumn leaves is most evident against the black sky. Only through clouds, can you see those single, beautiful rays of sun.
So tonight, when our weeks have been so very dark, the light is so very bright. My two year old's mischievous grin, spending hours braiding two of my girl's hair, watching my ten year old daughter do flips, just looking at the faces of my teenage sons and how they've changed since I saw them four days ago. And now, sitting in bed, next to my husband, writing, while he watches a movie. The ordinary is extraordinary.
I sit here and absorb my light, I bask in it, and I let it renew me. Communion with my loves. It is precious. And I know that it will not last. So as I drink in the light, I am preparing myself to run into the darkness again.
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