The last leaf of a long Fall

WARNING: This blog post is very personal. As I write, I am not even sure I can post it on the WordPress blog.

Fall is a transitional season, transitioning from the green of spring to the shades of summer to the brown decay, leading to winter in preparation for the next green season. Spring and Fall are my two favorite seasons. I love the daily changes occurring in nature and in the dispositions of the people around me. Summers are sultry and lazy. Winters are damp and cozy.

This “long Fall” began in February of 2017 when my wife, Jan, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was the second most brutal day of my life. Suddenly, our exciting retirement future of adventures was ravaged.  We staggered. We tried to find something to hang on to for stabilization. Every reachable handhold we had ever used in past “life-quakes” seemed to be suddenly rickety and/or wobbly.

I can’t say our faith in God was insufficient, but in those first few days, it was insufficient in its volume to drown out the sudden burst of gloom enveloping our “Pilgrim’s Progress.”  We knew the “Winter” was near for Jan’s life and for our life together. I have seen a lot of bad endings in my life, both mine and other people who were connected to me. I do not go see movies that do not have happy endings.

It wasn’t that the ending of our lives together was ending in one of us dying; that is, the “till death shall part you” expected normal. My problem was that it seemed to be ending too soon, at the start of our golden retirement years. Jan had not yet retired, an event we were both looking forward to. Jan had prepared us financially to have a retirement only slightly modified downward from the lifestyle we were accustomed to. The heart of our retirement dream was not in the “stuff” or the “doing.” Retirement was to be a long season of not having any reason to be out of reach of each other’s presence. It was to be a perpetual joy of just being together.

For the first few weeks following the first day of our “Fall,” we talked a lot and began planning for the distant, shadowy inevitable. We brought our family and friends in on our journey. We also went to a lawyer and got all the necessary paperwork completed and in order. Then, we began to fight back.

Jan had always been a warrior, a formidable foe. I can testify I didn’t like getting into a tussle with her. She did not always win, but her opponents knew they had been in a battle and respected her.

For seven years, I was her armor bearer, and she was my champion. Together, we marched in triumph into the insidious face of her invader. She never flinched, and she never cried foul. She cried. I cried. We cried. And we kept marching, I at her side.

We quickly came to two realities. First, our “Fall” would eventually turn to the “Winter.” Second, a prayer we were taught by Jesus became our battle cry. It’s what we call the Lord’s Prayer. Here is the portion that inspired and comforted us:

Our Father who is in heaven,

Your kingdom come

Your will be done

On earth, it is just as it is in heaven.

Each word was vital to Jan’s conquering our foe. Additionally, each word is vital to my adaptation to a new “normal.”

This battle with cancer was not happening to us; it was happening through us. God’s Kingdom, His rule, was happening right before our eyes, in the palm of our hands. We were, and I continue to be, participating in the greatest show on earth, the Creator reclaiming His Creation.

Early on Monday morning, May 6th, the last leaf of “Fall” fell. It was an awful experience, but it was also an awe-filled experience. I felt the insidious presence of evil, but I also felt the radiation of God’s glory. This beginning of “Winter” will be hard. But more importantly, I am filled with the sureness of a coming “Spring!”

He who gave me a wonderful life with Jan will continue to fill my life with wonder.

I am sure of this, that he who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6 CSB

Pho to – A beach tree leaf caught in the morning sun by a spiderweb.