Toughest road yet but ...

As we move slowly towards the end of the chemicals in Cindi's body (and apparently towards the end of the world or the Mayan Calendar) this has been the toughest road yet but there is a huge shining light at the end of it. Cindi has been extremely tired this last round and going through deep soreness and pain. The "TAXOL" has gone deep into her body and accumulated over the last 8 weeks so this is what she is pressing through...with courage and endurance. The high of the last treatment is now over and the race is not quite done. They say that it is the last few kilometres of the marathons that are the hardest - that the first 20 or 30 kilometres were simply a warmup to the final legs of the journey. This appears true for Cindi's race. She still has her viral infection in her mouth and will continue to take her meds for that, hoping that it will clear up and go away. Mushy food is still the name of the game for now and perhaps we will puree the turkey.

We have celebrated good times with our family and last Saturday did some family photos for Grandma with the grandkids and great grandkids. Fun with those and then a hearty few bowls of early winter chili - perfect. Today is day 4 after the chemo. Christmas will be day 10. New Years will be day 17 and by then we hope for some normal days again and better feelings physically. All in His hands. Was asked a few days ago to think about what my sweet spot is at work. What an interesting question. Considering that question has left me realizing how tired and done this journey has left me. Maybe it will require some time holding Cindi's hand and walking the trails with her and the dogs before any clear answers appear. She is my priority and my sweet spot right now and it has been somewhat bittersweet watching her press through it all. However, this too shall pass and i am so proud of her.

This is the final post before the end of the world. :) Should we make it to the 22nd - we'll continue to share along the way and perhaps will have some bright and cheery stories. May each of you have an amazing Christmas and a wonderful celebration of His birthday. May you each be moved deeply and have a sense of how much you and I are loved. Here is a story we used last week in Sunday School to point to the essence of Christmas at a heart level. ENJOY!

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. 

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas--oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it: overspending; the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma; the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. 

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. 

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. 

It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. 

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." 

Mike loved kids-- all kids-- and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. 

That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition-- one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. 

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. 

The story doesn't end there. 

You see, we lost Mike last year due to sickness. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. 

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. 

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.