“Ian I’m pretty sure I don’t want you to ever die. Can you just live forever?”
“I don’t think that’s God’s plan for me.”
“then can I still be special to you in heaven?”
“you’re my best friend on earth so you’ll be my best friend in heaven.”
As we fell asleep last night, a thunderstorm crept outside our window. Watching the curtains play in the breeze, I thought about heaven and how Ian will have his new body then. There is a lot about our final home that I don’t know. But I remember asking Steve if we would be special to him in heaven. Even though we will be swallowed up in Christ in what is too magnificent for our words to describe now, I still want to be with Ian, and Steve, and our families.
I can’t wait to love Ian with a perfect love in heaven. We will be married to Christ but I think we will still have a whole lot of fun together. I like to think that the special love God has given us here is just an itsy bitsy reflection of the incredible love we will have for each other in heaven.
we had just settled down on our blanket, heads propped, under the perfectly sized tree next to our driveway. The sky was carefully cast in smooth blue and white and every few seconds, a little brown bird would swoop overhead. And then a few geese. A larger flock of sparrows. We hear birds like this every night but are usually under the cover of our porch – we rarely see to who we can attribute the sounds.
But tonight, with stomaches full and skin adequately chlorinated from our earlier swim, we just lay and watched them.
“look at the birds of the air” Matthew 6:26
It came to mind, gently, knowing that tomorrow means another appointment, hoping that it doesn’t tell us of cancer. I wasn’t feeling anxious about it, I don’t think. Sad, but not anxious. So sweetly though the birds comforted us, as they carried on their way.
after a day of packing up boxes and tubs, we had a small group of friends over as a last party at our rental house. our good friends mike and jocelyn ordered these lanterns as a tribute to our wedding and first two years of marriage spent at this house. my family surprised us at our wedding by buying dozens of the lanterns that we all set off, followed by great fireworks. it was only appropriate to have them at this party.
we have many, many, many good memories here and are sad to leave. but hopeful that the work God will do through our book will have eternal impact, which makes this a very small cost. we will keep working on packing over the next few weeks and be moved before the end of the month.
thankful for family, and friends, even when we look weird and awkward.
after a somewhat stressful weekend, learning about the melanoma and dealing with unexpected flooding in our area, we had a great surprise treat. our roommate who moved out just one month ago was driving through the area on her way back from a weekend trip and was easily convinced that afternoon to stop in and spend the night with us, like the old days. it was simply wonderful. a great sister to us. i wish tonight was last night again.
we also got to skype with bethi and kbob and hang out with these little ones.
once I said it, I realized it’s a question I would have hoped to not ever ask Ian. Ian’s dermatologist called to say that his biopsy from his mole looks to be melanoma. It took a few extra people to review it and confirm. He has recommended us to a doctor in Pittsburgh who will take additional samples to confirm it is cancerous and then check the nearest lymph nodes.
Ian asked for prayer that he would be ok and that the doctors and nurses would have wisdom. I’ll add the prayer that this would be an isolated incident.
tonight is the night for drafting our book proposal. with a cold drink and a perfect summer night breeze on the patio, i’m getting ready to dig into this scary and hopeful journey. we are submitting to a few publishers who have shown interest in our story and praying, praying, praying for wisdom with each new step. we feel that God may be bringing us into a significant season of change and growth in our lives, and this feels like the first move toward that. please pray for us, that we may be vessels.
i know that comparisons lead to nothing for me. and probably anyone. if i look at another marriage that seems healthy, healthier than mine, it leads to discontentment. if i look at a marriage or life situation that seems harder than ours, it can lead to pride. either way, i’m doomed in comparison.
and when it comes to marriage, it seems like we’re all so totally different. what ian and i struggle with is different than our brother and sister. some marriages have relational harmony what seems like all the time and others are wrought with conflict. the more i talk to girlfriends, the more i learn that God has an array of ways that he prunes and pursues us in marriage. for some, it may be through prosperity – which can do scary things to our hearts. for others, their marriage is a constant battle through conflict, differing personalities, unmet expectations and loss of romantic feelings.
but it seems, in our tiny little experience of marriage so far, that those marriage, that spend their lives battling, battling and battling, are simply so beautiful. because when those marriages last, through what the world wouldn’t, it is like a megaphone to the world of God’s design. when those covenants are kept, the rewards in heaven must be great.
constantly and rhythmically, there is loss. an unending current that ripples through all of us, every one of us. across houses and hospitals and huts is the screech of loss and desperation. what makes some of us happy is exactly what makes another sad, triggering memories of days that went by too fast.
so as we watched the fireworks that mean summer and warmth to so many, they shot like bullets through her, each burst a memory of a little life, a short life, a lost life. there were children shrieking with laughter around us but i could only think of her, who wanted them to just hurry up and finish, because they weren’t happy anymore.
these are the losses that we won’t ever forget. and not to live in despair but to live like our own “man of sorrows.” for me, it may be as simple as a Tom Petty song on the radio that ian used to sing to me or it’s when our three year old nephew tells us that his daddy’s dad is already in heaven. to someone else who has lost there are triggers everywhere, and they are sharp and they sting.
i don’t want us to forget that somewhere, someone is empty. and we feel that depth of loss with them and for them and through them. we share in the losses of others, because we share in the death of Christ for us.
