Just Breathe

Breathing.

I take it for granted.  Just the every day normal breathing.  Take a breath in, let it out.

 

After mom's diagnosis, I don't think I took a deep breath for weeks.

The nightmare panic of pancreatic cancer does that to you.  I would hazard a guess that mom didn't do much deep breathing either.

Which is perhaps why we took a mis-step or two coming out of the gate. Several months in, one second opinion and a deep breath later we settled in to the journey.   This time on the course that was right for mom.

How I wish someone could have taken us by the hand right after mom's biopsy and spoke calm into the chaos.  Encouraged us to take our time.  Allowed us the freedom to mourn and grieve and rail at the unfairness of it all.  Reminded us to breath. 

We reacted to the diagnosis from a paralyzing place of fear.  And it nearly broke us...

For Fear is fierce.  It Tightens the body.  Shuts down the logic.  Closes off the air.

Somewhere in the dark in those early months of the cancer journey, I stumbled upon a beautiful post written by Ann Voskamp.

It simply spoke to the brokenness in me and brought me to the feet of a Holy God in mercy.

Ann wrote not for the cancer warrior, but for the laboring, of which I find myself chief.  This cancer was a burden, a labor, not of love but of deep pain and sorrow. 

And she shared these words from Rabbi Lawrence Kushner:

"The letters of the name of God in Hebrew...are frequently pronounced Yahweh.  But in truth they are inutterable...

This word ...YHWY... is the sound of breathing.

The holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator, is the sound of your own breathing.  That these letters are unpronounceable is no accident.  Just as it is no accident that they are also the root letters of the Hebrew verb 'to be'... God's name is name of Being itself."

The truth sunk deep.

When the words wouldn't come.  And the thoughts are trapped in a wild jumble of grief...

It is the sound of my own breathing that calls His name.   

 A small breath, a sigh really, escaped.   And I dared to quiet my heart and lean into Him.  Finally breathing deep and letting the fear run out and the peace drift in like a balm.

Our very breath an "unceasing invitation for Him to come."

Every day of this journey it has been a constant battle to breath deep.  To let go of the fear and allow ourselves to wrap arms of love around mom.  Calling on the Giver of Grace to hold us together in this place, for this time.

It didn't change the cancer, but it changed us.

And that has made all the difference in our journey...