Some day I hope I can find more humor in the day-to-day. It came to me more naturally before 11/20, and now it’s a lot harder. In this week off, I have gotten a lot more family time, which tends to be an avenue for laughter. One experience being with my three boys in the pool Saturday. Jonathan was throwing a plastic ball to Caleb, but missed and amazingly hit me straight on the top of the head while I was doing my water-running. I have no idea what it looked like, but it was a one in a million shot. Titus saw the entire thing and burst into that best kind of belly laughter coming from a four-year-old. There’s nothing like it. No filter, pure hilariousness. It took him at least three minutes to stop.

Today I’m feeling more emotions at the surface. Respite is ending tonight. I’ll be getting ready to move back in with Mom for the undetermined future. This week has been such a gift. I love it, and my heart feels like it’s being wrenched out of my body again. It breaks when I think about leaving my family. I miss giving Titus kisses in the morning, and “eating his neck” just to hear him giggle. He’s been clinging to me a lot while I’ve been home. Greg snagged tickets to Kung Fu Panda 4 Saturday afternoon, and Titus skipped his seat and snuggled right in next to me and used me as a pillow for two hours. That’s when it started to hurt. Grace and Caleb have been so responsible, taking ownership of the cat and their schoolwork and helping their little brother. Each time I see them, I see so much growth. They tell me they are sad when I leave, and it’s harder for them to verbalize it. Jonathan is more contemplative, and he internalizes a lot of his questions. Then when we spend time together, they come out. He and Caleb ask the most about Grandma’s treatment. He plays well with Titus and is his buddy through the day, reading books to him, and is the one Titus asks to snuggle with the most. He’s my caring, aware-of-people’s-feelings one.

I see so many ways they’ve grown without me there. It’s been encouraging to see, that even while my heart breaks missing them, they are maturing and doing well overall. A good reminder for me that while they need me as their mother, they are also getting their needs met through other means. They’re learning. They’re developing in their character. They are getting the chance to step up. The double-edged sword of grief. Good coming out of bad.

I love my family. I love them very much. It is one of the hardest things to drive away, not knowing when I will get to see them again. We don’t have an end date on the calendar with cancer. We have benchmarks, but no idea when they will happen. Right now, the goal is to get to the end of treatment (currently April 23), then Mom needs time to rebuild her strength. So I leave my family to care for my mother in what feels like the fight of her life.

Something hit me on Easter Sunday, involving family and some other things. I got to play in our Easter worship band, something I love doing and didn’t think I would have the capacity for this year, but thanks to Mom’s friend, I did. Many people just opened their arms and welcomed me back. Some shared the load by hugging me, feeling some of the pain with me. Some asked where I’ve been. The tears started coming when one of my pastors came up to the piano, put his arm around my shoulder and asked, “Would it help if I do a Costco run for you? I can even bring it to Issaquah.” Until that point, I had seen our church family as mainly ones who can support Greg, because he’s closer to them than I am, and he’s single parenting and working and overwhelmed daily. That simple ask helped me see how isolated I have felt in Issaquah, and how I didn’t need to be isolated. I can still ask for help. Another sweet friend offered to drive up just to visit sometime with her new baby. I was reminded that day that I’m not alone. I’m not forgotten. There are people who want to help take care of me, too.

My highlight of the day came while playing one of the songs in our set. We were a group of people, gathered together, many worshiping Jesus, and in that moment, I felt this awareness of being with family. It was a glimpse into the eternal. It was a moment where the curtain was drawn back, and I saw a preview of what’s to come. I saw that this is what we’re waiting for. Some day, the entire family of God will be together, spanning time and nation, praising Jesus. No more will we be distracted or weighed down by other things. No more will we suffer. In particular, no more will we think marriage, sex, relationships, family, career, accomplishments, image, money, or anything else is ultimate. No more will our hearts play this tug-of-war. What we rehearsed on Sunday was a small picture of the reality coming. It hit me hard.

You see, while I love my family dearly, they’re only temporary. They’re not the real deal. They’re a picture of what God’s family is and will be. While I love marriage and sex, they’re also temporary. They’re a picture of the real deal, the relationship between Jesus and his church. While I love relationships, people aren’t the ones whose approval I need most. I could keep going, but perhaps that’s redundant. Tim Keller says that one of the things suffering does is reveal our idols. If we’re responsive to the fire, I believe suffering can be the tool which burns them away. This is one of the kindnesses I’ve seen in my current fire. God has shown me that nothing I have and could cling to will give me total satisfaction. He’s shown me that nothing is “safe”. Husband, kids, house, job, situation, relationships, church, health, mental clarity, anything, could be gone in an instant. Like Job experienced, it could be here one day and gone the next. The LORD gives, and the LORD takes away. We entered with nothing, we leave with nothing. All these things are gifts, but not the ultimate gift. Is my heart’s desire truly Jesus? Is it really him I want, more than what he can give me? If God strips away everything but I still have him, is that enough for me?

That’s how suffering reveals our heart’s deepest desires. I’ve seen ways I have wanted other things more than God. I’ve wanted comfort. I’ve wanted certain people in my life. I’ve wanted stability. All more than I’ve wanted God himself. And thanks to suffering, I see that now. I didn’t before, when things were “going well”. Now this pain brings me face to face with the stark reality that all these things, while lovely in their place, can never satisfy my soul, and were never meant to. They are the gift, not the Giver. And it’s God’s kindness to me to point that out, even when it hurts like hell. Because when I worship these other things, it keeps me from the very best. I only need to remember how many things we do for our children as their parents are for the kids’ good, yet it feels terrible at the moment to the child, who doesn’t and can’t understand. We’re like that, too.

So with God’s help, I will enjoy my family as long as I have them, but worship the Giver of my family. Not because he gave me my family, but because he is worthy of it. And whenever he sees fit to take these temporary blessings away, I will grieve deeply, and hopefully be able to say what Job did. “The LORD gives, and the LORD takes away. Blessed be the name of the LORD.”

The last thing I want to say about that moment in our worship set was the impression God gave me of family. The family of God is where it’s happening. We need to love and pour into our earthly families, absolutely. Yet getting together with the family of God reminded me that they are it. Brothers & sisters, mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews. They’re all there! They are the permanent, forever family. Without detracting from the biological one, those in God’s family gets to start living like it now. Loving each other, treating each other as family, and supporting each other the way Jesus has done for us. Sometimes we Christians can miss it in either direction: ignoring the family at home or placing them above all others. As I err on the side of idolizing them, I’m learning that just like everything else, my husband & kids are a gift to enjoy, and I must hold them open-handed.

Sunday at church I was walking up to take communion, and the tears came. Unplanned, unexpected. They just come when they come. My friend Kim was serving, and I managed to tell her that this was the first time I had been able to take communion in awhile, and I didn’t realize until that moment how much I had missed it, and how I would miss it as I’m preparing to go back to Mom. She hugged me while I cried, and cried with me. I miss walking up to take communion with my family, even if it’s people I have never met, rehearsing that Jesus’ body was broken and blood was shed on our behalf so we could become part of God’s family. There’s a kinship, something eternally deep we share in that moment, and it’s very powerful. Today changed communion for me, deepened it in a way comfortable living has not.

I miss my sisters and brothers, my mothers and fathers, the sweet little children. I miss my family. I couldn’t do this apart from you all holding me up. Thank you for loving us and helping us.

So here is my family picture from Easter Sunday.