Ah, the beauty of summer in West Michigan! I have soaked it in, day in and day out, as I walked along the shoreline or through the historic neighborhoods, up the dunes or down the forest trails.
I have walked through the cemetary that holds what remains of my mom and dad, inhaling the peace, feeling the coolness of the breezes and imagining it comes from my mother's sweet breath, my father's confident stride.
I have flown back to memories of my own childhood as I watched other kids running through sprinklers. I have recalled pushing my own babies in strollers as I greeted other young mothers on the path. "Morning." "Morning." I have giggled to myself as little yapper dogs forgot they were on leashes when they charged me. I have come home with sand in my shoes. Sore glutes. Another mosquito bite. A sunburned nose. And I have sighed. And I have smiled. Beautific. I know it's not a word. I don't care. That's Michigan to me.
With all this walking, I talked to God and listened for his voice, for his responses back to me. Often they came in the very elements I observed.
The Lord has led me 203,165 steps since Memorial Day, with 296,835 to go before Labor Day. He put Alice in my path this week.
I have known Alice for about a year and a half, and my life is richer for it. You would like her, I know you would. Though I can't say for sure, I have to believe she was a flower child in the '60s. Her skin is tanned year 'round, and a little leathered, from years of lollygagging on the beach. She wears bright clothing, funny hats, and sometimes even clown noses. The other day, she sported a tank dress with splatches of gold, orange, and pink. She wore light yellow pants underneath. A flimsy yellow scarf graced her neck. Her clothes swished when she walked. She looked as though she had been kissed by the sun, and I told her so. She just smiled.
On first or second, even third glance, you wouldn't know she had a care in the world. You would think she somehow escaped it all, had attained exemption from pain. Not so. Not by a long shot.
I remember last fall. Alice was raving about her two sons, Max and Mike. Grown now. One lived in Los Angeles and the other in Tucson with his wife and kids. I don't remember what she said either son did for a living, but I remember her remarking again and again what good, good men they were and what joy they brought her. Two or three days later, she received the news that Max had died in a horrific motorcycle accident. She learned about it at work and promptly collapsed. Her world spiraled, completely off its axis. She made plans to go out for the funeral and was gone for several days.
I remember talking to Alice again in December. She spoke of Max again, of her loss. And she beamed as she told about how the other associates at work had helped her through. Even greater, she spoke of the support, the love, she received from the elders she served. How they had cried with her, held her hand, asked how she was. They had lost children themselves. They knew of the hole in the heart, the longing, the emptiness that went along with it. They felt it even now.
I had a chance to talk with Alice again this week. This week would have been Max's birthday, July 5th I believe. Her son, Mike, had some news for her, but he didn't dare tell her on Max's birthday. He waited until the day after.
Mike had been coughing a lot lately. Hadn't felt right. Tightness in the chest. Feverish. Felt like he might have a sinus infection. The flu. But it wouldn't go away.
Mike is scheduled for surgery tomorrow. The doctors believe he has lymphoma.
The tears came again. "What have I done? Have I done something wrong to bring such things on my sons?" No, no, no, Alice. You have done nothing to bring these tragedies on. It doesn't seem fair. It doesn't seem right. And yet it is your reality.
We prayed together. Afterwards, I told her God's shoulders were big enough to handle our anger, our frustration, our uncertainty.
I now carry my friend's burden, hoping it somehow eases her load. I told Alice I would continue to pray, and I have. And I covet your prayers now. Her son's surgery will take place tomorrow at 11:30 a.m. Pacific time/8:30 a.m. Eastern time. Please pray that, no matter the news, no matter the outcome, the family will find the peace that passes all understanding. That they will find rest in Him. That He will reveal just a smidgen of His purpose in all this.
Enjoy your day. Enjoy this blog.
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