I can't sleep; hope's been on my mind. We had a beautiful night of worship at my church tonight: Joel and a choir of women, a young mother still in the throes of grief and one of our home-grown favorites sharing the real reason for hope in a crazy, mixed-up, broken world.
I saw it on the faces of women, young and old looking for some hope to keep them afloat.  
Pancreatic cancer has been on my mind as well; our 5k/walk to fund research is this Saturday, the 21st. I looked back at my journal to see the details of that date 2 years ago. Seldom do I do that; maybe I needed to revisit to remind me why I continue this fight for a cure. Funny how memories can point us forward. 
We were in the palliative care unit at MD Anderson, Rob's last in-patient stay there.  It was a difficult two weeks of both emotional and physical pain.  Rob's body was shutting down, we were not going to be present at Matthew's birth, our Galveston visit was but one more unmet wish.  We were grieving hard and staring at despair. I began listing one gratitude after another. 
One of the entries read: Sounds of Dave Ray singing Hope in the middle of the night. Hope, Jesus, a flicker of light in our nightmare.  I remember it well, a song written in honor of a beautiful newborn girl. Raw, honest music carried me through the dark that night and many more to follow.

So hold me through the hurting, Jesus

Walk me through the fire, Savior

When everything is lost and broken

I'll be holding on to hope.

Hope revisited. Hope found. Hope still holding on to me.

To hear Dave and Jess Ray's music, go to youtube or facebook

Funny how plans change. I'd planned a daily post to promote PurpleStride Houston 2015. I will still add a few until the run/walk, but my heart just isn't into the creative push right now. 

Yesterday, I lost another friend to pancreatic cancer. Vickie went to my church. Three years ago, we were briefly introduced and a year later, I discovered she was praying for my Rob as he fought his cancer battle. It wasn't until she called to tell me that she, too, had been diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreas cancer that I really came to know her.  A beautiful, brave, talented, compassionate woman in her prime. We talked about symptoms and treatments as well as living while dying. But mostly, we talked about family, especially her new grand child. I truly fell in love with Vickie's beautiful soul.

This evening, I once again realize the profound loss caused by this dreadful disease. Pancreatic cancer robs families of so much! I've lost too many friends, including the love of my life. 

It's a solemn battle to wage hope, to find an early screening tool, to eventually find a cure, but we must address the need for research and funding.  

Will you wage hope with Team Rob & Friends  by simply wearing purple this Friday on World Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Day?  Post a photo on social media, honoring a survivor or one who fiercely fought this disease. Purchase a specially marked purple Pentel pen in November to help raise funds for research. 

And, most importantly, may I ask you to pray this month for courageous patients, their families and their amazing doctors?  

“Your most profound and intimate experiences of worship will likely be in your darkest days – when your heart is broken, when you feel abandoned, when your out of options, when the pain is great – and you turn to God alone.”  Rick Warren
I'm in the final countdown until I lose my precious family, a place I hoped I'd never visit again. I'm learning firsthand worship under trial all over again.   My heart hurts something fierce, I feel abandoned, and I don't desire to worship in the least little bit. But I choose to...
Oh, it's not pretty. It looks more like closing my eyes and reciting: You are good, You will never leave me, You are faithful (mixed with a few desperate why's.) I search for even a few things to offer weak gratitude.  There are no polished hymns or beautiful acts of service, but, instead, an out-stretched hand, reaching for His tight-fisted grip.
Profound...intimate? Can one describe complete, fetal-position dependency in such terms? 



  

I sit in the balcony most Sundays. This vantage point affords me a wonderful picture of our diverse congregation worshipping together. Today was no different, however, this morning I received a double portion of blessing. There it was, Rob's ski jacket, draped over the shoulders of a beautiful woman.  Can you imagine my surprise when I saw it?  In the midst of my grief, I forgot I had donated several of his winter coats to our church. Yes, my eyes filled with bittersweet tears, but I wish I could put into words how right it felt to see her wearing something of his.
There we were, all gathered to study from Romans 12, yet, God added his own private lesson, just for me, from the fourth chapter of Acts. 

All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had. Acts 4:32 NIV

A photo of Rob and his good friend, David, finds its way onto my newsfeed. He shares it and several friends comment; I smile through the sadness.  My fear that Rob will be forgotten is staved for a little longer.
I, too, fear I'll begin to forget bit by bit. 
I need my memories...as I move on, please remain near for I need somewhere to hang all this love.

 Beth Moore writes some of the most encouraging  commentary in Stepping Up: A Journey Through the Psalms of Ascent.

Christ is both Alpha and Omega.

When our lives are immersed in Him, every ending, everything we believe to the death of us is instead

a hand-engraved invitation to a new beginning.

God is so much better than He has to be.

The kinds of things God chooses to do in our lives that are "immeasurably more than we ask or imagine" (Eph. 3:20, NIV) are not out of obligation.

 They gush from unbridled affection.

As I continue to struggle with loss and loneliness, I will trust Him with both beginning and end...

It's October! Can you believe it? Fall has always been my favorite season; it's now bittersweet. This was the season of watching the leaves fall from our big oak while we counted days until our final goodbye. What kept our joy? Gratitude! Counting the gifts God had given us. We recorded them on scrapbook paper and hung them on the walls to keep us focused on God's goodness, even in suffering. For years, I've kept a gratitude journal, but this year I decided to get a little more creative with my thanksgiving. 

My Gratitude Tree

I bought this metal tree several years ago at Tuesday Morning.  I cut and distressed paper leaves from inexpensive manilla paper. I know I have a lot more free time than most of you; thankfully most teacher supply stores sell die cut leaves that save time! A simple branch in a mason jar works great as well. I can't think of a better way to teach children to count their blessings. How do you record your gratitude—journal, phone app, photos?

Gratitude tree on the palliative care floor at MD Anderson photo credit: Lindsay Webdell