Growing Up Is Hard to Do

Well, I'm 32. Wow. For some reason that just sounds so dang grown up. Guess it's official.

And I'm discovering more every day that being a grown up comes with a lot of tough stuff.

I spent my 32nd birthday sitting by the phone waiting for updates on my grandmother who was back in the hospital a day after beginning treatment for a brain tumor. That evening we spent a couple hours in the hospital, pacing the hallways, watching Betsy run carefree through the corridors, oblivious to the suffering going on all around her. I envied her.

Grandma looked so sick, so old. I've rarely seen anyone look so much like they were dying. It made me feel sick...like a heavy, black, poisonous cloud had settled over me. That's one of the worst things about watching a loved one suffer. It colors everything... even the happiest, funniest moments are shadowed with sadness. I find myself looking at the early colors of fall in the trees and wondering if this is the last time Grandma will see the red maples and feel the crisp autumn air. I look at the sweet smile of my daughter and realize that she probably won't remember her great-grandmother whose name she bears.

And I find myself angry. I'm not one to get angry often. But this all seems so unfair and evil and horrid. Why does my sweet grandmother, who has lived her life so generously and lovingly, have to suffer something so insidious. There are no answers. And that makes me angry too.

And yet...

My daughter lifts her face to mine every day and puckers her little lips and kisses me with a face full of joy. She points to the sky and declares "moon" to the silver cresent hanging in the soft blue. She suddenly knows how to hold the phone to her ear and pretend to talk. She can say "fish." She is full of life and wonder and I can't help but smile, even in the shadow.

My husband holds me close. He smells of toothpaste and lotion and feels like home. He thinks I'm beautiful even in sweat pants and a ponytail. He wants to set up a weekly date night. He is in love with his little daughter and she feels safe and loved in his arms. I am blessed.

My parents wished me a happy birthday a dozen times, with apologetic smiles, wishing that it could have been a day of celebration instead of one of stress and sadness. The present Mom had ordered for me didn't come in time so she went and bought me something else so I'd have a present to open. They love me so much...tearing up whenever we have to part.

And so...growing up is hard to do. But there is joy in the midst of the sadness. There is sweet in the midst of the bitter. And there is hope that one day, as my Daddy said this weekend, we will arrive in that land where the shadows all flee and there will be no more tears, no more sickness, and no more goodbyes. Until then we hold on...to each other...to the Father of Grace...to the Comforter...to our Savior and Lover of our Souls.