I don't understand my life at all. I don't get the big picture, or even the micro one.
But I think I need to become like, in Jesus' words, a child.
And not just any child but a teeny tiny one floating in amniotic fluid.
A baby in the womb doesn't feel jostled because it is in a watery cushion. They don't feel every bump in the road.
I need to be like an unborn child and be content to be in the cocoon of my maker's belly. That way, it doesn't matter if I do not know how things will turn out. Trusting God means letting things unfold and develop as a fetus does unquestioningly.
I don't recognize my life.
It has only been a little over a month that we have known about my husband's cancer, so sudden and devestating. One.
Anaplastic cancer, the very worst! And the man has barely had a headache in the last 37 years. Nothing has prepared me for his new vulnerability, or the monkey wrench in my plans.
I've never done anything medical, and now I have to learn how to give shots in the belly, and clean the inside of trachs.
Maybe my idea of a good time isn't suctioning up snot by the bucketful, but I've been thinking about the Good Samaritan who bound up a stranger's wounds, and not just any stranger, but someone from a group of people he wasn't supposed to even like! This is our template for love.
I am doing my darnest to help my husband live. He deserves it. There is so much courage going on in room 851. Battling fever. Not being able to speak. Not being able to swallow; needing a feeding tube. Pain. Pokes from IVs and shots. Wracking coughs. So much is out of my hands, but I can be foursquare in his corner. 100 % hopeful he will make it. Praying everyday...

I feel like I am on the Titanic, and all I can do is scurry around trying to obey orders while the ship takes on more and more water and cracks in two.
I suppose this is the exact same storm-tossed sort of circumstance in which Jesus felt comfortable enough to fall asleep, or decided to venture out upon the waves.
Where do all those sunken treasures come from, but shipwrecks. Today's tragedies are tomorrows treasures. It just doesn't feel like it right now because I am going down, down, down to Davy Jone's Locker.

Best part of yesterday- using the punchingbag in the gym. Pow. Take that. And that. And that!
Such ineffective punches the bag doesn't even move a micro inch.
I had a prizefighting grandpa who was lightweight army champ and boxed his way through Europe; wish I could channel him and he could teach me how to slug.
That same grandpa got mustard gassed in France in WWI and lost all but half of one lung. He could have taught my husband how to cope if Steve has to get surgery for lung cancer.
Brought the water bottle in the apt instead of leaving it in the car. Bam.
Went to one pharmacy window instead of the other a few feet away. Slam.
Put the trach bag next to my purse to take to the gym when I looked like he forgot it. Boom. Said he was going to the office, and I thought he meant the work office, but it was the apt. office Bang.
Went to the driveway in front of the apt. office to pick him up, but he was waiting at another exit . Knock out punch.
And I am down for the count.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2...wait a minute. It's a brand new day and time to go another round.
She staggers to her feet sleep deprived and wondering what new and exciting flub ups she will find herself unwittingly committing. And reminds herself that efficient would be nice, but factory made is very efficient while hand hewn is flawed and probably better. It's all just a value judgment anyway.
Tough times. Not his fault. Not mine. Just a bad situation and lots of tension putting our nerves on edge. If it wasn't for the cancer, it would be a comedy. Actually we love each other.

Mostly I tear up what I write after looking at it once or twice. However, my inner voice says: Write. Letters on a pg. is a conduit. Through them flow understanding and compassion. Flow love, warmth, wit, and laughter. Flow truth, insight, and the Oracle of Delphi. (the rest of that notebook pg. is censored- don't worry, it wouldn't mean much to anyone but me.)
New pg. New thoughts. Sort of gory though. It's about amputation beginning at the crown of my head and slicing downwards through my heart cutting me in two. (more censored stuff; lots more)
Okay, this seems mild enough. So mild I labeled it lame and dorky. But on second reading, it seems okay. And more positive than normal:
The breath of live involves in and out. In and out. Life isn't static, is often erratic. And you feel about to loose your moorings, and drift into the abyss. But the abyss isn't nothingness; it is somethingness. Where dreams congeal and gain a heartbeat. Where infants dwell before birthed live and squalling. Where fantasy and reality collide.

I had a thought provoking 30 second conversation with a friend when I mentioned in passing, "What do you think about all the millennium stuff?"
I don't know what I expected they would say, but I got a slight shock when they responded that it sounded like a fairytale. That was the extent of the conversation, so I don't know if they thought every scenario was too fanciful, or just a particular view like post millenialism was too much to swallow.
Actually in America people seem to fall into 2 camps; eschatology preoccupies their brain, or they blow off the idea. But I didn't think an Asian would be so left- brained and concrete.
I guess with all the problems it does seem like there will never be a "happily ever after"for planet earth.
And yet, once upon a time there was no universe, and now there is. So why can't the same hand that made everything fix it up, correcting every mistake so that things are the way they are supposed to be. Our God is up to the task.
But that does not let us off the hook. If we get caught up in the idea only God can make a difference, then we will walk by a lot of problems that are right within our sphere of influence instead of reaching out a hand like the good Samaritan. Our good intentions might flop, but we are obligated to try.

Woody Allen said something like, “I don’t mind death it’s dieing I’m afraid of.” Dieing does sound scary. No wonder the rapture theory sounds so appealing; you can skip the dieing part.
Sometimes my brushes with death were frightening; other times it happened too fast to be scared. Once I was electrocuted when a live current went through a gate and I grabbled onto the gate handle; if no one rescued me, it would have been a terrible way to go. When I was in intensive care after my first baby was born; I suppose I could have died but it felt a lot better than being electrocuted. A robber tried to steal something belonging to my husband, and I chased him through the desert by myself on foot; I didn’t stop to think it might be dangerous, but later learned he shot a police officer through the kneecap. In Jakarta, our car was surrounded and rocked from side to side during a huge riot; people were dying around us. Then in Yellowstone, a mother grizzly reared up on her hind legs when my daughter and I accidentally came upon her with a cub- we did everything wrong; screamed and ran. Worst of all was when my kids all got cerebral malaria, the variety of malaria that is 100% fatal without treatment. The anopheles mosquito bit my kids while we camping on a remote beach; it skipped over me, but I could have lost all of my children at once because they were sick for a whole month before the doctors figured out what was the matter with them…
We can’t control how we end up dieing, only how we live. I guess that’s why the bible doesn’t say much about death; it is not our concern for the moment. I watched the 300, and when the Spartans wanted to curse someone they said, “May you live forever.” Christians consider death as an enemy, and yet Christians should have at least the same fearlessness about death as the Spartans- not because we want glory on the battlefield, but because Jesus is waiting for us on the other side.

I am doing research on death for my theology paper,and I think that I am sort of morbid for choosing that topic. From the time I had to bury my pet turtle at age five, I was sort of curious about death and wondered about it. Mostly I am a bit scared of death even though I was a hospice worker and know that sometimes death is God's cure for what someone is going through.

Having said all that, I am not convinced we should dwell on death too much. Maybe it is good to have some pat answers about death so we can put the topic on a shelf and just know God is taking care of us now and always. I think it is a dangerous topic because it nurishes suicidal tendencies that maybe should be starved out.

And I also know people who are involved in spiritualism which I think is like drawing blood, then jumping into a shark tank. They are out of their league, and I don't think we are meant to peer into "the other side". I think people are like fish. Saltwater fish can't live in fresh water, and fresh water fish can't live in saltwater. The dead can't be here and the living can't be there, and we need to be content with that arrangement.