Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. (Arthur Ashe)
I can tell by the expression on a young friend’s face her news isn’t good. “No change in the tumors,” she says.
She reports no noticeable response to her chemotherapy regimen. She needs a miracle. Now. Something so dramatic it belongs in science fiction. An event the media could exploit. I want a cure that turns a staunch atheist into a street preacher. But I stay with the reality and look her in the eye.
I thank her for continuing to stand upright, giving what she has—sometimes more. I tell her about her innate goodness and hope she is able to recognize it, too. She shares an upbeat moment she had when she volunteered at vacation bible school.
“You’re the one who helped me,” a little boy said with enthusiasm. She had taken time with him on a project he had found difficult. I have no idea how well she felt that day. Nevertheless, she saw the beauty in the everyday, the glue-sticky-fingered mundane. I pray for that innate beauty to shrink her tumors. Eventually. Somehow. No matter how impossible that seems to be.
She does what she can…
Loss, I want to avoid it. That wish doesn’t come true, even in less serious matters. Today is the last day for a favorite aerobics instructor. She has found a full time job in her field. My good-byes are one of many.
Then I ask a member of the class how she is doing. She seems quieter than usual. Her brother-in-law has recently died. She is concerned for her husband as well. He was his only sibling.
Fortunately she is a hugger. I use my arms as comfort. They are the only tools I have. The woman’s brother-in-law will not return. But her smile tells me my arms are enough. For now.
This moment leads into the next as it plants possibilities into a limited, yet amazingly full existence.
terrypetersen 