From Sorrow to Praise

                                                                         

I saw you tonight on the track. The pink sky cast a golden haze across the black surface as my shoes hit again and again. I saw your blue eyes there between the night sky and my revere, intense like the ocean waves. You were intense, I remember, with a smile as I finish the first mile.

 You were my friend first because our youngest daughters were in the same Sunday school class. Your little girl was white blond with the same brilliantly blue eyes. My little Lydia had my brown eyes. They shared an affinity for Princesses. I learned that you had a passion for the Word of God and raising the four children God had given you. You loved a good bargain and had a green thumb. But more than anything you cared deeply and put your whole heart into everything you put your hand to.

 I marveled at the story of how you found out you were expecting your youngest. You laughed as you told me how you couldn't believe you were going to have another baby at the age of 40. I remember thinking I would not even dream of doing that. Time passed. Our little girls had birthday parties and started school. Our lives became busier with my work and the sport schedule of your kids. Each one of them so important to you.

 Then one day you came to see me. There were storms brewing in your eyes. The Oncologist had found cancer again. This time it had spread to other areas, the report wasn't good. I sat with you for a few hours as you told me about an alternate treatment you were trying. I listened unsure of what to say. I silently hoped that the new treatment would do what reports had said it had done for others. I wanted to believe as I prayed for God to heal you. Then we hugged, it was like saying Amen.

 Months flew by before I saw you again. Your oldest boy was in his Senior year. You were frustrated because you wanted him to do his very best. I don't think those blue eyes could see how amazing your kids were turning out. But I sat and listened and prayed. When I found out I was pregnant at 39, I thought of you instantly. By that time you had been struggling with the diagnosis for over two years. Your hair was cut short which made you even more beautiful. I whispered the news to you first at a luncheon held at the church. As others were talking about the most recent NFL game I was whispering my surprise to you. I will never forget how your eyes lit up and your face burst into a huge grin. I hugged your thinning frame as we shared that moment. You remembered your own story as I shared mine under whispering tones surrounded by people.

 Later that year I visited you at home. Hospice had come in to care for you. Even on your bad days you would gather your strength to talk and laugh and recount that crazy year you were expecting your little Olivia, now 10 years old. We laughed and prayed and sang and shared scripture. Even in the pain your blue eyes glistened with hope for the future. You had hoped to live to see her graduate from high school. Although you hated cancer you loved life and believed all the way to the end that Jesus would raise you up off the bed of sickness.

 The day before I went into the hospital to have the baby I came to visit you one last time. Your family greeted us as so many others had gathered. Pictures of your pretty smile flashed on the television screen. I could hear the quiet melody of Amazing Grace playing over head as family and friends gathered to comfort your husband and your four kids. I stopped to look at you resting in the casket. As I looked at the shell that remained of the strong vibrant woman I knew I thought cancer never won, you had rung every drop of life out of your days.

 Your handsome oldest son now in college stood tall as I whispered, “Michelle, he made it.You did so good.” As I spoke to your older daughter who had the same intense blue eyes I cheered for you again. Tears welled up for your third, my son's friend, as he looked lost standing in line with his siblings and grieving father. My heart hurt most for your little Olivia. The one you didn't expect to have, your surprise. It didn't seem right that she would have to grow up without this amazing woman to mother her.

 "Good bye," I whispered to you. I really whispered to an empty casket because the Michelle I knew was free from her body of sickness. The Michelle I knew was dancing on streets of gold and sitting at the feet of the ultimate bible teacher. The Michelle I knew was no longer fighting cancer. The Michelle I knew was finally free. The next day as I was in labor I couldn't stop thinking about you. I kept asking the Lord, Why? I never saw you waiver in your faith that God could do the impossible for you. You sang a song of healing all the way to your final breath.

 The hospital room was dark, the hour was 3:00 PM, when I started to praise. I didn't feel like praising God. He had just taken my dear friend home before I felt she was needed. The contractions were intense and the Pitocin given every half hour didn't seem to be working toward my induction, but in the midst of my pain and suffering I began to praise with this simple phrase, God you are good. Your blue eyes were glimmering in my mind's eye as I praised the God of heaven and earth again. God you are good. I gave the Lord all the sorrow for you and for me, I surrendered it there.

 God you are good.

 The nurse came into the room as I asked for an epidural. But before she could give me one my son was born. I named him Judah, which means Praise. Every time I look into his eyes I think of that first day, the day of his birth. The day my grief turned to praise.

 As I run the length of the track I hear your faith in the quiet breeze of this summer night. I remember you, Michelle, tonight through labored breaths and the burn of muscles moving toward the finish. I will never know why you were taken too soon, but I have learned from you. I am raising my little Judah surprise with joy for today, for this moment.

As I think of you I remember life is short, it is unpredictable. But I refuse to give into the fear of what tomorrow holds. My work out is over and I am drenched in the summer's humidity and again I am grateful for my old friend, the one with the beautiful blue eyes. And as the last of the sun sets behind the trees I whisper, Michelle, I will see you again.