Finding Meaning

This season, Advent, is so loaded with meaning that we have to be deaf, blind, and comatose to miss it; and yet we do. The busy attempt to create perfect moments for our children and our friends can plug the channel through which we might receive insights that could transform our ordinary moments into luminous encounters with transcendent God. He came here to die and rise again, He stayed here in the person of the Holy Spirit, and He will come here again in a burst of unending delight. There's mystery there, and hope, and meaning.

During this in-between time, our best orientation is to line up with God's purposes. That seems axiomatic. Yet, I find that my natural orientation is slanted towards me, what I want, what feels good, even what makes me look good. I like Annie Dillard's aspiration: "the suppression of self-consciousness, and a certain precise tilt of the will, so that the will becomes transparent and hollow, a channel for the work" (from Teaching a Stone to Talk).

Yesterday my daughter called for help with a recipe. After we hung up, I thought, "I can't die! My kids still need me!" Silly, I suppose, but not to them or me. Then I thought of a young woman who had asked my advice about pumpkin pie at the grocery store a day earlier. Bless her heart, no one ever taught her the first thing about cooking, and she doesn't even have a cookbook. Afterwards I wished I'd invited her to my house so we could bake that pie together. (This paragraph wasn't intended to be profound; don't wear yourself out looking for meaning here.)

My college roommate (1958-59) included a personal note in her Christmas card. I love her. Most people avoid the topic of death, as if some magic in speaking the word can make it happen or not happen. She referred to her mother's death and reflected on the sad fact that so many people came to the funeral whom her mother hadn't seen for years, including her own brother. "She would have loved to spend time with them. So, one advantage of your situation, family, friends, associates that care about you, have enjoyed knowing you and all have been able to tell you how much they care and value you. Too few of us get that opportunity." So right! She went on to say that her prayer is that I'll beat this and hang around at least long enough so we can be old and wrinkled together at our college reunion. She is fun and wise. One year and ten days ago I didn't know I had cancer. Yet my remaining days were already counted out--as they still are. Maybe many, maybe few, God knows. So why don't we all just live as though we have a terminal disease (which we do), dissolving regrets by vigorous peacemaking? Okay, end of sermon!

Some of my itches are turning into raw sores. Maybe I'm scratching at night. I guess my skin has become fragile. It seems like many kemo effects show up for awhile and then fade away. Think how disabled I'd be by now if all of them had continued to worsen! God is so kind, and I know your prayers make such a difference.

Love,
Carol