Since we have been married, which will be a half century (WOW!) the end of this year, it has been our tradition to bundle ourselves up, and our children when they came along, on Easter Sunday morning while it was still dark. We would brave the New England cold, and sometimes inclement weather, to gather by the Atlantic Ocean in Gloucester; climb Bradbury Mountain in Maine; stand in the sand at the ocean on Gray's Beach in Kingston, Massachusetts; or convene on the hill in the local cemetery in Chepachet, Rhode Island to watch the sun climb its way over the horizon and ignite the sky with the beauty of a sunrise. We have done that each year with a song like, "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" on our lips and the familiar story of the empty tomb bringing joy to our hearts.

Last month, as we celebrated the Risen Christ, the message in the music was wonderfully familiar and the message from the Word was powerfully the same, yet it was not until I began thinking again about the  significance of the events leading up to the cross and the days following Christ's sacrifice for me, that my heart was stirred anew.  I sensed the Holy Spirit taking what was old and familiar and that I had heard preached for so many years, and giving it a new, yet familiar message that I needed to hear in this season.  On that chilly morning, while the sky was yet dark, we stood up on the hill with a rough-hewn cross draped in white, a silent message of how very much Jesus loves me, standing before us, as the glow of the rising sun became bigger and brighter. Behind us, with an equally silent, yet powerful message, was the rubble remaining after our church building was consumed by fire one year ago. That rubble defines who I was before I met Jesus: without purpose; without life; without hope; broken and filthy. The cross before me testified to who I had become because of Jesus who gave up his life for me: with purpose and meaning; with life and a life worth living; with hope for today and tomorrow; holy and clean and forgiven.  The rising sun (or the risen Son) was another beautiful image of what is yet to come:  the hope of heaven; the promise of forever in his presence; the assurance of NO MORE CANCER; no more of any disease; no more tears; no more disappointment; no more sin; and being able to stand before Jesus whole and healed, and wholly his.

There is no one who is exempt from pain, disappointment, brokenness, or tears.  Without the hope of heaven and the faithful promises of a Savior who, because of love, gave us his all, I would not be able to endure this roller coaster ride. There have been no sudden drops on the tracks or faster-than-light speeds in the past few months and we are so very grateful for that. Our God has been great!  Living with multiple myeloma as John does, I sometimes feel a bit like Eeyore, Pooh's donkey friend, whose "claim to fame" is the dark cloud that often accompanies him. I would much rather emulate Tigger who is exuberant and joyful and has a bounce in his steps even when others do not. The cloud is of my own making and it appears when I lose sight of the cross or forget how much I am loved. It appears when I remember that multiple myeloma will get worse before it gets better and it will not go away. It appears when I wish John would become more active and stronger and that his memory would improve. It appears when his aches and pains seem to be more frequent and I wonder if they are cancer-related.  It appears when the rubble of the day creeps in and obscures my vision. As soon as my cloud begins to form, which seems to happen more frequently than I would like to admit, I can choose to, like Eeyore, be gloomy with my "glass half-empty" and my head hanging low; or I can lift my eyes to the cross and my hands to the risen Son and surrender to the One who has promised to always be with me, no matter what.  David, in Psalm 34, had the antidote for the forming clouds. "I will enthusiastically praise the Lord at all times; his praise will always be on my lips. My soul will boast in the Lord; let the afflicted (those under a cloud)  hear and rejoice. Glorify the Lord with me; let us lift up his name together. I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant..." I do not know what clouds you may be under, but we do know that we do not have to look far to see the clouds in our shattered world. What I do know is that I want to "enthusiastically praise the Lord at all times" even when it is hard and I want to be radiant and shine for him, even if a storm is brewing.`

We went to visit John's oncologist yesterday. He received a good report. His numbers are holding steady. His protein numbers with the myeloma are elevated, but they will continue to keep watch on that and will not treat it as long as  it continues to "smolder", which is the word they have been using to describe his cancer.  For all of that, we rejoice and "enthusiastically praise the Lord."  Our prayer, as we continue on this journey, is that we would be radiant and shine for Christ as He holds on to us and all of our tomorrows.

I cannot thank you enough for sharing in this journey with us and praying for us.  I will continue to stay in touch because you have become a precious part of our family.