Before her final walk home, Kara Tippetts challenged me to spend my health well (and more importantly to show up) in her book The Hardest Peace. I took the call seriously, and Jesus put me right in the firing line this summer. To further live out Kara’s message, I was going to show my little corner of the world BIG LOVE. Despite watching my friends and family face Stage IV Cancer, End Stage Cardiac and Kidney Disease, and Life-Saving Surgery…I was going to insist our story is a good one.

I drove.

I cooked.

I cheered.

I cried.

I babysat.

I made enough cobbler to feed an army.

And I was certain I’d feel full of big love forever.

HOWEVER…I was mistaken. I had apparently added a dose of bravado to my ham and beans. My best friend’s Momma took her final walk home this week, and I was not filled with warm light. I did not sense a high-five from Jesus for my chowder-making skills.

I got a new label-maker, and I want to honestly label some things.

Instead, I felt deep, deep sorrow. The ugly kind. The kind where you wake up and forget for that first second that the world has changed, and then it hits you. BAM! Mrs. H. is gone. Her cancer is gone…but she is gone too. To heaven! And yet still…gone. My heart broke right in two for my friend. She was orphaned this week, and there is no buffering against a grief of that magnitude.

Before I could crawl back into bed and have a good cry, I received a call from my friend who survived the risky surgery. He was being discharged earlier than anticipated, and we planned for him to spend a few days in my nursing care before going home. Sure! I can nurse Matt back to health and attend a funeral while planning Sara’s birthday party.

As a matter of fact, my “perfect little plan” showed I had plenty of time to care for Matt, take him home while dropping off food to my Grandfather (who is now so weak his tongue is freezing up in the evenings? Don’t ask me…), and I can swing back to town in time to get the girls’ classroom assignments and make it to calling hours. My Pastor challenged our congregation to radically love thy neighbor this summer. I’ll show you RADICAL! I will ACE radical love.

Radical Love = Radical Amounts of Ham & Beans?

THIS was officially too many Ham & Beans.

But I failed to check the balance in my emotional bank account, nor did I take the time to notice that while caring for my Godson the prior week, he gifted me a head cold. “A grinding halt” was in the works, and while Greg saw it coming, I was too busy cooking every recipe on earth to look up at the train headed right for me. Big Love was about to turn to Big Suck. The Big Suck Train. All Aboard! Suckville ahead! Your ticket to Big Suck Mountain has been punched.

Tonight, with a glass of wine at my side, I can clearly see my tally of the last 9 days:

(1) My recent trip to care from my Godson meant I came face-to-face with his Autism Diagnosis. It was easier to pretend his challenges were smaller while he lived far away. My Mark has Autism. The real kind. I allowed myself to grieve my original “teach Jesus” plans, which caused my heart to see the gorgeous gifts God gave him. Still, I would trade my life’s fortune if it would make his path easier. I allowed my eyeballs to sweat just a little on the flight home.

My Mark flirted with me and ate my cooking. Oh, that precious boy. He’s got my number.

(2) After 72 hours of caring for my friend, I realized he was in no shape to return home. I am a nurse, and I am trained to act. I therefore returned him to the care of professionals for physical rehab, feeling as if I’d robbed the independence of an American Soldier who has endured quite enough for one lifetime. I cried all the way home.

(3) After a glorious summer with my beautiful niece, the time came to say goodbye. Her parents have this “THING” about her getting an “EDUCATION”, and going to her “FIRST DAY OF 5th GRADE”. Losers. I cried all the way home.

(4) I gave both of my daughters my cold, meaning Sara started her 10th birthday in a steam shower having a croup attack. Sick kids on their birthdays. Need I say more? We both cried in our home.

This cat is loyal in a crisis. Mischievous. Rabble-rouser. But so very loyal.

(5) I attended the funeral of a woman whose smile could light up a coliseum. I hugged her daughters whom I love to the ends of the earth, knowing I am utterly helpless to ease their suffering. I cried all the way home.

I came home from the funeral and picked up The Hardest Peace, and then kicked myself at how quickly I forgot its main message: we are to embrace our seasons of brokenness. There is a time for all things, including broken hearts and grieving. There is a time for the grinding halt, and the big suck.

Kara Tippetts was certain God’s story for us is good, and we know really good stories have plot twists, celebrations, friendships, family, love, laughter, tears, and loss. This story is so amazing, it has chapters I can only feel my way through! But if I want epic, I think I’m going to have to dare to live out a story that will change me. Some of that change might look a lot like suck.

I am daring to believe this grief has a purpose. I am going on faith here, because everything inside of me hurts, but I am going to timidly postulate there is beauty inside this suffering. Not now. Now I feel like someone hit the brakes, and I’m standing still in a blinding storm. But maybe later, we’ll see why this chapter unfolded as it did. Should I catch a glimpse of this possible beauty, I’ll take a picture of it and share it with you.

In the meantime, while I not-so-quietly wrestle with my sadness, I send you wishes for Godspeed. For all of us, Godspeed my friends.