along the way

When we were little, every Christmas my mom would let us help set up her Aunt Norma's nativity scene. Each figure was wrapped in sheets of yellowed newspaper, and once she had the large wooden stable perched on top of the piano, she would let us put each person and animal in their place, complete with an angel at the top and an orange light bulb inside, shining down on baby Jesus. 

 

I don't know where it all went when mom died. 

The wooden stable, the box of sacred ceramic pieces that had meant so much to her. Don't know where it all was all the years we lived in Haiti. Still don't know what happened to most of it. 

But when we unpacked ancient mystery boxes in a blur those first days of Mississippi, I found Aunt Norma's wisemen, the camels, the sheep and the shepherds that I hadn't touched in twenty years. 

I don't know where the Mary and Jospeh are, nor the stable and manger. Don't know where Jesus got to,  or where the angels flew, but the wisemen and shepherds are waiting tonight on top of mom's piano, and I can hear her voice every single time I remind a little finger not to touch Aunt Norma's camels, gathered around the candle...waiting expectantly for Jesus to show.

Five days into our time with Bill, Julie and the boys, my dad called in an attempt to ruin Christmas. 

An itchy spot on his head...routine biopsy...very rare, very aggressive...out of nowhere...cancer.

The last two weeks have been heavy beyond words.

Launched into scans, appointments, biopsies and conversations the past 10 days, today he, Cindy (so thankful he is not doing this on his own) and my mom's sister-nurse, Patty, met with the surgeon, oncologist and radiologist to set up a plan. 

He's back at the Cleveland Clinic, a road we went down countless times in 2003 to visit mom. Her battle with very rare, very aggressive, out of nowhere cancer was all fought and lost at Cleveland Clinic. 

Cancer cells already circulating throughout dad's body, they've decided to do a few rounds of chemo to attack them before a very challenging surgery on his head and skull.

They hope to start next week.  I am ever-thankful for your prayers. 

I never ever ever thought we'd be on this road again. I never thought I would ever be having these same explanations, these same conversations, these same nightmares, these same wordless prayers. 

I don't know how we're on this road again, or how to navigate it with four kids who love their Grumpa and a husband who considers Dad, Dad...how to be so far away from a sister and precious ones who love Grumpa, too...don't know how to be there or how to not be there...or how to protest a road we're suddenly rushing down, regardless. I don't know how to get off the floor most days this Christmas, all so fast.

I don't know where Jesus is, or where the angels went.  I've just got shepherds on the piano, staring upwards.  

If we're on this road again, I guess that He is, too.

We'll have to find Him along the way.