Emilie didn't get to spend Christmas with her husband and two small children. She spent it worshipping at the throne of her Savior. Her last post is so full of peace that it made me cry. Opening my mail on Christmas day to find out that she was gone made me cry even harder on and off throughout the day.

I know on some levels it sounds foolish to grieve for someone I don't even "know" in "real life", but she was also a battler of sarcoma, a wife, a mother, a writer, a daughter of the king. I can also relate to her peace.

There were one or two very low points in my own treatment when between uncontrollable cardiac arrhythmia and a zeroed out immune system when it looked like my body just might not make it through the consequences of chemo. I found myself amazed at how peaceful I felt, how ready I was to cut my ties to earth and fly home.

I know God doesn't make mistakes. I know he isn't capricious. I also know that I'm not "lucky", but that there's simply more for me to do here. That's why I spent Christmas with my babies, and Emilie didn't. Unfortunately, all that knowledge doesn't do away with the knowledge that it just have easily been my family preparing for my funeral today.

"Surviving" cancer is a the stickiest of wickets. One goes through treatment, often at high physical, social and emotional toll, and then is simply told to "go out and live your life".

But life is never the same. Survivor's guilt is a real feeling, as unproductive as it may be.

So is creeping resentment when joyous friends, family,and medical workers declare one "cured". How can one feel "cured" when, for many of us (including me), daily side effects persist and a relentless follow up schedule hangs over our heads? (Follow up that, at least in my case, could have it's own nasty side effect--more cancer!).

Don't get me wrong. I have no desire to die anytime soon. But I'm not sad for Emilie, just for her husband and family who will miss her so very much. She can breathe easy now. She's not in pain. She's free of the tubes she hated so very much and the cane that forced her to walk when she wanted so much to run.

Even as I type this, I realize that I'm rambling and may end up deleting this post at some point. Too morbid, right? Am I just wallowing in some perverse self-pity? Maybe, but reflecting on Emilie's life and death, has been a powerful thing for me.

My first realization was that, sometimes, it's a harder thing to resolve to live than to die. Life is uncertain and often chaotic (I should know after the past few years). For those of us who have heard the voice of the Shepherd, death is just a gateway to the ultimate certainty--an eternity with Him. Both however, boil down to obedience and submission to God's will for my life. (How is it that so much of Christianity can be boiled down to the stanza "Trust and obey"??).

My second realization was this. Despite all worldly circumstances that would tell me otherwise, I AM blessed beyond measure. I received a casual phone call from a friend the other day, and as I hung up, I reflected on our relationship with this couple and was struck by just how much I love them both...and that while our relationship with them is particularly close, I can also say how loved I have felt by so many in my life. Emilie had her husband share this quote with us after her death. It's not scripture, but it speaks deeply to the heart.

"And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth."
— Raymond Carver


Father, as the new year dawns, help me resolve not to live or to die, but to simply be obedient to Your will, to love You more, to make others feel "beloved on the earth" as I am. Thank you for loving me with an everlasting love, for calling me and making me your own.