Cancerversary

Today is exactly a year and a half after the blessed day my surgeon told the nurse to pull that miserable naso-gastric tube from my nose and send me home from the hospital. It's a sweet memory I'm happy to relive. And haven't these 18 months been full of life? (I discovered a new blog by the daughter of a woman with advanced ovarian cancer. Her mother celebrates "cancerversaries.")

But now I must tell you something sad. Our precious baby bluebirds--still scrawny and featherless--vanished from their house. Just like the earlier clutch. No evidence of a struggle, not a drop of blood or a speck of down left on the nest. Maybe a snake? Several years ago, our neighbor looked out her back window and saw a long black snake with its head in the hole of her bluebird house. We never see snakes in our yard, but I can't think of any other way the birds could have vanished without a trace. The parents hung around for a mournful day or two, but now we don't see them any more. This actually happened last week, but it was a day when I was so low from the chemo that I couldn't find the heart to write about the birds. It's hard to accept death that happens before life ever had a chance. Prophets, poets, and philosophers have tried to make sense of it; I can't. But I don't like it!

Centuries ago, the prophet Habakkuk complained to God about the violence, sin, misery, injustice, and exploitation he saw all around him. He demanded to know God's purpose, and then he said (in chapter 2, verse 1), "I will climb up into my watchtower now and wait to see what the Lord will say to me and how he will answer my complaint." Wow! His questions were not idle complaints; he really wanted answers. God did answer, but not at the level of Habakkuk's questions. After rebuking the proud people who trust in themselves, God said, "the righteous will live by their faith." Note: not by "do-gooding" but by trusting.

So Habakkuk spent some time reflecting on the splendor and power of God. "I see God, the Holy One, moving across the deserts from Edom and Mount Paran. His brilliant splendor fills the heavens, and the earth is filled with his praise. What a wonderful God he is. Rays of brilliant light flash from his hands. He rejoices in his awesome power" (chapter 3, verses 3-4). Then he ends his little book with one of my favorite prayers:

"Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vine; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation. The Sovereign Lord is my strength! He will make me as surefooted as a deer and bring me safely over the mountains." I wish I were a fiddler, because the text says this prayer is to be accompanied by stringed instruments. I can still make it my prayer every time my mind wants to grapple with dying birds or dying soldiers, chemo-fatigue, hopeless politics, or what-if-i-dont-get-well.

Interesting point about figs. Our trees never do have visible blossoms, but oh, the figs! This year the Easter freeze set them back so badly that the only way these tiny figs will ever ripen is if we get a late frost. I hope.

Love,
Carol