Thursday, December 23, 2010


The other night, after I vented about how sick we've all been, I went and read some articles from the True Woman 2010 Conference, and something in one of them pretty much knocked me over . . .

"Girls, the other day I met a gal who lives in my neighborhood. I didn’t know her, but one of our young moms came and picked me up and said, 'I can’t do this by myself. You’re going to have to go with me.' She had heard about this gal. Her name is Lynn. Lynn was diagnosed about two months ago with pancreatic cancer. She’s a young mother. She has a four-year-old and a seven-year-old. She has stage four pancreatic cancer. She does not have long to live.

So we went and just dropped in on Lynn and asked her if there was anything we could do for her, how we could pray for her. Do you know what she said? She said, 'I just never thought that I wouldn’t have any more time with my kids.'

Don’t blink because the days in which we live are precious. On the days when it’s hard, remember that none of us are guaranteed “X” number of days. We’re in transition as moms from the moment we bring that newborn home. Some of those changes we long for—we can’t wait for them to walk, or we can’t wait for them to talk, or to quit nursing, or to be able to buckle their own car seat."

I have been longing for and looking forward to some of these transitions since the day Lyndon was born, but the thought that I might not be around to see them has never even crossed my mind. This week, I longed for him to be old enough to find the toilet, or at least the sink, when he threw up, to be able to climb the stairs safely so I wouldn't have to stand behind him all the time, to take one long nap instead of two little ones, to go back to sleep in the middle of the night without crying for ten minutes, to stop being afraid of the vacuum cleaner and people blowing their noses, the list goes on.

And then I thought about not being around to see these moments. Depressing, I know, but, in many ways, realistic. God could choose any moment to take me home (or to take Lyndon home, for that matter), and I should try to live every day aware of that fact, because it's the truth. Then, even if I am allowed to watch him grow up and grow old, I will have savored the time. I can thank God for giving me every day that I had with him (and with Adrian, too, but I've been struggling much more with mothering than with um... wife-ing-- why is it that there's no verb form of that word-- lately).

So, no matter how much Lyndon gets sick this winter, no matter how many tantrums he throws or how many times I have to tell him 'no touch', no matter what he puts in his mouth or what comes out of his, ahem, other end, I will cherish every moment God gives me with my baby boy. I will love him fiercely but never forget that God loves him (and me!) with the kind of everlasting love that I can only dream of. He has good plans for the two of us, no matter how many days we get together.

1 comment:

InDeeds said...

It does feel morbid sometimes to think "Enjoy this because it might not last"....but that kind of perspective really is helpful. On hard days I try and remember that if Phoebe were suddenly not here anymore, I would miss both her smiles and her tears. It makes the tears (and screams and midnight feedings and vomits and diapers) seem more precious somehow.
Thanks for the thought provoking post!