Time to Dream

Over the summer I was at a gathering of friends where we were sharing our anxieties. One woman shared that she was afraid her cancer was back. She felt it. She knew it. She didn't look as anxious to me as she did tired.

I shared after her that I felt very foolish. Particularly sharing after her, because I was upset and anxious about professional concern-ones that I had a hand in making. There doesn't seem to be much worse to me than making oneself miserable. It is much more comforting to be able to blame another person, something outside of me.

The next day, both of us were admitted to the hospital. Her cancer was indeed back. My anxiety wasn't actually due to my profession as much as it was that I was quite ill. Had I not gone to the doctor's we might not have discovered it until too late.

But here, months later, I have recovered, while she is actively dying. 

I cannot say that we were ever real friends. She and I have shared a circle and therefore have been part of this extended family of friendship for some twenty years. For her to not be around leaves a void. A place that only she fills.

I really hate that there is "a time for everything" because there seems to be more grief and more discontent around lately. Even if it is not mine to grieve, the story of a patient who is facing the anniversary of the wreck that snatched half her family and left her crippled...it makes me cry out to God for her.

When is it enough? When will enough tears be cried? When will enough time pass? When will enough be lost? When?

I spoke last night on prayer and meditation, on how God's will for us is more spectacular than we can dream for ourselves. And I believe that. But I also know there are some who are simply too broken to dream, to even dare hope.

Bring on your best dreams, Father. We need it. We need you.