In the daily battle with cancer one can imagine the countless direction discouragement can come from in one simple day. I am blessed with people who remind me of grace, goodness, what is to come. My reminderers- I have many. Carl comes nearly every day and points me to Jesus. He is reading through Psalm 119 with me. Some days the encouragement is easily found while other days leave us looking for the deeper story of redemption in anguish.
A few days ago, I arrived at the hospital to see Kara and then realized I hadn’t asked her room number. I got on the elevator, thought I remembered what floor she was on the last time, and then pushed that number.
The doors opened and I stepped off. Everything looked different.
This isn’t oncology, is it?
No. The nurse at the desk replied. It’s hospice.
I used to function from this place: grieve and go. When I would meet a new limitation in myself I would wince at the loss of a strength, but then I would simply fight to move on with living as best as I could.
Now I’m weakening to such a greater degree, this passive attitude is becoming more difficult. I simply have little to call strength anymore. I’m seeing the quickening of my fading and I’m left frayed. I want to pretend at strength, but I simply have none left to pretend with to the outside world. I’m a gifted napper and pill taker: my remaining strengths.
Home- the land of my people. Home- the place my story rests. Home- where all my favorite kisses are awaiting me. Home- the glorious place I am safe.
