December

Decembers lately have had a patterns for me. And I’m not sure it’s one that I like.

In December 2007, my uncle got really sick. Shortly after the new year, we found out it was colon cancer, with a tumor roughly the size of a softball. Three feet of intestine later, he is cancer-free. But Christmas Eves will always come with memories of seeing him pass out from pain.

The following year, a man from our church was diagnosed with brain cancer. He’d had tumors two decades before, but they were back with a vengeance. The likelihood of him being around for the following Christmas was slim. He beat the odds, but in the spring of 2009, he went Home, leaving behind his wife and four sons and one granddaughter.

That same year, in 2008, I was diagnosed with lupus. I found out about this man’s cancer about a week before I found out what was going on in my body, and I am ever thankful to God for framing my illness with his. It was a great reminder that though my life will be forever changed, it won’t be shortened by any great amount. Still, that Christmas was surrounded by doctor’s appointments and blood draws.

This year, I was talking with my uncle, the one mentioned above, just a few days before Christmas. He told me that he had just received some news about another friend of ours. He and his wife have been on our teams forever. He and my uncle, with a handful of other guys, play disc golf almost every week. Apparently, for the last year or so, this guy has been experiencing weakness in his hands and stuff. Last week, it was named: ALS. Wow.

I don’t know why this is weighing on my so much. Whether is several Decembers of diagnoses or the thought that another dear member of my extended family is facing pain, illness, and impending death. Or maybe it’s the thought of this vibrant, energetic man laying in a bed, unable to move and fully aware of what’s going on, while his wife of who knows how many years sits beside him.

Two things give me hope in this. First, he is going on some experimental drug that should slow the progression of the disease. He’ll have more time with his kids and grandkids and wife. Second, and way more important, that he knows Christ. He’ll have a new body in heaven, where he will be reunited with all those he loves and love him.

But for now, I will keep praying.