Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.

Yesterday morning I awoke to the sound of fresh cries from Ian's room.  I dragged myself from the covers and climbed in beside his perfectly warm body.  I stroked his hair as he whispered a fear that I couldn't answer with any sure promise.  "I was looking for you and your were gone.  I couldn't find you and I needed you."  How desperately I wanted to tell him that I would never leave him.  Soon my tears matched his and I prayed for the first time of a hundred that day to make me better.  I know that none of us have a promise of tomorrow but all the evidence points to the quick unraveling of my human body.
The news at the oncologist was dim.  My hopes for a healing surgery hinge on a miracle.   I suppose all our futures hinge on the miracle of His freely offered grace, my limited future just has photographic evidence.  I wish I could promise my children that I'll always be here for them but I know it's a promise I can't keep.  In some ways I can see how God uses that fear to force my face up against the glass and appreciate the precious pieces of my life.  I breathe deeper each bedtime with a little and a book cuddled up in my lap.  The I love yous come quicker and the hugs are a little bit longer.  I know the reasons to show up for battle.  Bottles of pills, constipation, vomiting, diarrhea, weight loss, food sensitivity, exhaustion, all threaten to rob me of my joy.   But I am going to fight for every name I've been given; wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend.

These are the faces that propel me forward and allow me to lean in to the good and terrible of this journey.  I'm trading in flimsy new years resolutions for the unwavering promises of my savior.   For promises that He is right here alongside me with the gift of life in exchange for surrender.