Keeping Vigil

Libby's younger daughter's birthday is coming up next week.  When I was up there in late October, Libby and I made a deal - that she would stick around for Onnika's birthday if at all possible.

Just a little over a month away at the time, it didn't seem like a stretch. But news from Minnesota tells me her cancer is growing quickly; Libby is already well out the door on her way home to see her God face to face.

The good news part is that the drugs are still working; she is in very little pain, even as her food and liquid intake drop to near zero. Pain relievers have come a long way since the days when I had to give Mom shots to try to control her pain; near the end, we had a hard time finding a less-painful spot to inject the drugs. No shots for Libby, thank Goodness. She now has difficulty swallowing pills, but they have been able to switch to a sub-lingual version of her drugs.  The liquids taste nasty, but work quickly and effectively, and don't cause her pain even as they work to ease it.

Here in Missouri, my heart has been keeping vigil. It feels like an overlay scene from the movies. I am here, grounded in the motions of my everyday life - work, exercise, getting ready for the holidays. But when I stop and look with my heart, I see a picture of Libby superimposed on whatever scene is in front of me. She is leaning back in her recliner, her body still. She is barely breathing; she is here, but not here. Her soul is almost done doing some last tidying up in its old home; she is ready to meet her Jesus.

It seems fitting for Advent. In Christian churches this season, songs are sung of waiting and watching for Emmanuel to come. I watch out the window as the days grow short - the day the year will turn is right around the corner.

Darkness has come, but it will not stay. Libby's body will die, but she firmly believes Jesus is waiting for her on the other side, along with Mom, Dad, Maria and all the others she loves who have gone before her to prepare the way.

We talked of this moment-to-come back in October, shortly before I left for home. She is not afraid, her cancer did not win. It will take her body, but it did not win the more important struggle for her soul. She did not give in to Satan's message of fear and despair. She has seen the darkness, and has chosen the light. She has lived all of the days, now all of hours, she has. After all, it's not as if her death is punishment for some real or imaginary misdeed. All of us who are alive will follow her one day.

Come, Lord Jesus, come.
Bring your light which banishes all darkness.
Come, to walk beside her. 
Come, and guide your daughter home.