Dancing in the Glitter

For those of you who know the Blum Family on a day-to-day life level, you have most likely discovered that we are notorious for a few things:

One, we have a nonsensical obsession with games. Not just simple ordinary household games to be purchased at Wal-Mart such as Monopoly or Uno. No, those are much too conventional for the Blums. We prefer to play the most random, unheard-of games—Alhambra, Hand and Foot, and Ra to name a few— the type of game that requires more time to explain to guests than it does to actually play.

Two, when planning to move houses or go on vacation, our decision is influenced on whether there is a Starbucks within a five mile radius. In fact, we tend to weigh the value of things in Starbucks purchases. Should I really buy this desperately needed winter jacket? Its $45.50--that’s equivalent to 11 lattes! If you don’t believe me, just walk into the office of Gladys Blum, my dear grandma (Granzy), the benefactor of our coffee penchant. Without exception, her trash bin will be overflowing not with the typical workplace commodities of unnecessary papers and junk mail, but with that famous green logo stamped on empty grande cups. In fact, she is probably reading this post now while drinking her daily latte J.

And three, we have an unrealistic concept of time where “fashionably late” in our minds is “on- time” and “considerably late” is only “five minutes late.” I apologize for this habit, though I can assure we have no intention of disrespect. While I believe there has been gradual improvement in this area as a family unit, there is always a firmly engrained nerve in our minds navigating Procrastination’s cortex that whispers, “You are a Blum; this is how it has always been.”

Perhaps this helps to explain the utter postponement of this entry. Even as I fidget in my customary cushion upon the sofa with every intention to write, I couldn’t help but procrastinate in the midst of the fascinating distractions—cleaning out the dirt from under my fingernails, dusting between the crevices of the computer keys, and clicking on a random magazine article flashing in the sidebar of my browser. The title—10 Uses for Wood Ashes: Get fired up about putting that pile of soot to work. Ironically, this is exactly what my mind needed to focus as I am now “fired up” to put my brain’s jumbled pile of thoughts to work. Thank you, World, for your patienceJ.

Indeed much life has happened since February. Mama completed chemotherapy at the end of March. Radiation began soon after—a seven week period of daily hospital visits. Looking back on this time, Mama characterized her radiation treatment not only as bearable but blessed. Apart from the occasional muscle and joint aches, the common side effect of excruciating mouth sores that was evident during chemotherapy was nonexistent for radiation. Mama quickly adjusted to the rhythms of this new stage of the journey, organizing grocery shopping, group Bible Study commitments, and volunteer opportunities around her trips to the hospital. Yet, in her mind, I don’t think she considered these treatments radiation appointments but rather friend appointments. After seven months of hospital visits, some of Mama’s most consistent camaraderie was with the staff of doctors and nurses at Evergreen.

Life continued as it always had for Mama—full of relationships and laughter, board games and lattes. She should be the next hallmark for Breast Cancer with the motto: when there are blues with your boobs there is plenty more to amuse! For instance, after her first radiation appointment I was extra sensitive, expecting to hear horror stories of little light lasers piercing through tender tissue. Instead, I was quite unprepared when Mama eagerly grabbed my hands after walking through the door, rushed me into the privacy of her room, and without warning lifted her shirt while repeating in a teenager-like manner, “I got my first tattoo! I got my first tattoo!” Sure enough, there were three small “X”s tattooed on her breast to ensure exact precision with the radiation. Laughter uncontrollable pained my abs as I reveled in the adorable pride oozing forth from Mama’s eyes at the fact that she had a tattoo!

Mama’s nine month cancer journey finally culminated Thursday, June 13^th 2013. And just as life unapologetically surged regardless of Mama’s diagnosis, the days continued full speed afterwards as well. Each of us privately sensed the swelling waves of relief and thanksgiving for the ended season of cancer. But time was too unforgiving to allow us to soak in the celebration of Mama’s victory.

Two days later Mama boarded a plane bound for Ohio to enjoy one last Father’s Day with Grandpa Dick, whose health was declining daily. She returned on the 19^th, and the following morning we left early for Sisters, Oregon to celebrate the marriage of Kaitlyn, my beautiful cousin, and her husband. While away at Sisters, we received the dreadfully expected news that Grandma Lake, Granzy’s mother, passed away. Mama decided to stay with Granzy in Salem for the week to help with the funeral preparations. We all returned to Oregon five days later, June 28^th, for the funeral. The next Tuesday, four days later, Mama and Daddy flew to Lakefort, Idaho for the graveside burial. Two weeks later, Mama began her new job working as the facilities coordinator at Eastridge Church. And the following week, July 27^th, we received the news we had hoped would be ever delayed—Grandpa Dick, Mama’s father, also passed away. After a pre-planned family getaway to the San Juan Islands for the weekend, Mama, along with Daddy, immediately boarded a redeye flight bound for Ohio to attend her daddy’s funeral.  She returned August 4^th and the next weekend our family left for a desperately needed five-day vacation to Lake Chelan, Washington. Daddy left for China September 16^th through the 26^th and then after the following weekend Mama and Daddy enjoyed a romantic getaway in Mexico from September 30^th through October 12^th.

The summer was a blur of activity—rich family celebration contiguous with the sorrow of Death’s loss. And yet I couldn’t help but wonder, WHY? Why must Victory’s shout be echoed shortly after with Mourning’s grief? Why must Mama conquer the hardship of surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation only to discover the impending adversity of planning two funerals? What was the underlying divine orchestration of it all? Though I do not pretend to know this answer in full, I have been awed nonetheless by the ecstasy of His goodness as I view this past summer from the rear-view mirror.  

His goodness was buried deep into every wrinkled finger of Grandma Lake’s praying hands—hands folded in loving intercession for her every child, grandchild, great grandchild, and great-great grandchild each morning, year after year after year. Hands folded for Mama. At least 9,825 precious petitions postmarked with Mama’s name floated heavenward from the well-worn lips of this 98-year-old saint. Such consistency stretches beyond the land of conviction to a realm where faith is simultaneous with sight.

And for some reason beyond explanation, this reminds me of the wood ash article I previously mentioned as one of the culprits for my procrastination. Amidst the list of functionalities for wood ash, the last use, number 10, begged for my fascination: A paste of ash and water makes a dandy nontoxic metal polisher to shine silver.  And isn’t this what prayer offers to the unassuming? Prayer does not cause our healing, but—much like ash and water—it shines the tarnished lens of our eyes to better gaze at the reality of our pre-purchased healing secured in Calvary’s permanence.  Though Grandma Lake’s vision was weakened by time, perhaps she saw the clearest reality of Mama’s healing long enough to see the manifestation of His answer. And I wonder, maybe the quality of life is determined by one’s choice to see either the ashes or the heavenly glitter. Grandma saw the glitter.

Yet, perhaps this wisdom belongs not only to the rarest of the elderly but to the purest of the childlike. This certainly is the case for Little James, a seven year old boy with Down syndrome. Every night after decking his flannel pajamas, James wiggled his body into the warmth of the covers. His daddy began praying in short phrases as Little James repeated the words, focusing the best as a little boy could before the dreaded bedtime. Simple, brief prayers beautifully prolonged as Little James stressed every word that his daddy uttered. And each night this routine came to an end as Little James repeated, “And Jesus, please bless Aunt Mary Kay.”  Though this precious boy is different from the majority, perhaps his altered DNA allows him to escape the trap of humanity—rushing. He is no servant of time. And maybe in his saturation of now his faith becomes his sight. Thank you, Little James.  

Oh, and the passing of Grandpa Dick, Mama’s daddy; what can be said about this? Death is never a welcomed guest. We were not created for the finality of lifelessness. And this is just the reason we are able to celebrate in the face of humanity’s greatest enemy. Because, Death, you have no sting! You are only as real as an allusion is permitted to be. As Grandpa breathed his final breaths on this side of earth, he simultaneously experienced the first rich aromas of paradise. From life to greater life. From glory to glory. Indeed there was sorrow in missing Grandpa’s presence. But we tend to unite in our shared grief.  And for the first time in twelve years the Young Family joined hand-in-hand in a family circle—circled around the feasting table celebrating Mama’s cancer victory, circled around the grave mourning Grandpa’s passing. United as one chapter concluded for Mama and Grandpa, and another chapter of greater life began.

And so the journey continues, like the unending circle of a bracelet. When Mama was first diagnosed with breast cancer, a darling woman from the Church gave her an elegant silver bracelet. It was a piece of jewelry that had known many other wrists of women who also battled breast cancer. It served as a legacy to pass on, a tangible memoir of His Faithfulness to heal, a promise of greater life to come. Mama had the honor of continuing the bracelet’s journey through the mire of chemotherapy and radiation. And now, the bracelet has a new owner. In a quiet corner of serenity Mama gazed deeply into the tear-filled eyes of Lynna, a Virginian pastor’s wife who was recently diagnosed. Mama’s eyes of truest compassion seemed to communicate more than words could offer, eyes whispering tenderly, “I understand.” And then, after 10 months of resting upon Mama’s skin, the bracelet left her wrist once and for all and now resides as the signet of hope on Lynna where its journey continues.

Indeed, life is a journey. And the Christmas and New Year’s season naturally urges for the reflection of the past year’s journey. It was a year of laughter over board games and tears soothed with lattes, of overwhelming heartbreak and ecstatic joy, of exhausting struggle and peaceful ease, of despairing grief and sublime celebration. Of life and greater life! And Our Smiling Papa was there in the midst of the valley’s pit and the mountain’s peak paving a trail of glitter for our every step.

As this blog comes to an end, happiness and sadness waltz with my emotions. What a delight to share this period of time with you, our family and friends. Thank you so much for the abundant support you offered to Mama and our family. It was such a beautiful journey to watch and experience, part of me desires to halt time and just saturate in the goodness of this past year. This is yet another reason I delayed this post. This blog has been my garden of Gethsemane for vulnerability with bloodstained tears, my corner of freedom for raw emotions to leak words. But, still, the journey endures to the next glorious glory and that is too enticing to resist. For me, this blog will live on as an altar where His faithfulness is forever encapsulated.  A hidden cyberspace nook that echoes to my future children “Look how good our God has been to us!”

And as for Mama—the woman of this legacy, the embodiment of celebration, the beam of His laughter—you can always find her on that desired path…dancing in the glitter.