Dear You:

Thank you. What more can I say?

Sure, we’ve crossed paths a few times. But truth be told, I don’t know you all that well. We’re mere strangers in the daily reality called life. Heck, you’re nearly my neighbor, but for some reason, our paths primarily cross online, in this place, my blog.

When you approached and hugged me at the gas station that day, the day before we left for a week of radiation in the hospital, my heart was blessed. Thank you for your hug. Thank you for your warm welcome. Thank you for your sweet smile. Thank you for taking time to stop and see how things were going. Thank you for asking how I was handling it all. Thank you for being you, right then and there at the gas pump.

And then that afternoon, when the kids discovered a bag and your card on our front doorstep? Oh, man. What a sweet surprise that was. What a blessing and delight that was. Who does that anymore? Who delivers goodness straight to someone’s doorstep without seeking an ounce of recognition?

Your words. That card. I’ve read it many times already. It’s stored in my Bible to remind me that people do care, that people do love, that people do understand the quiet power of words, prayer, empathy and sympathy in times of need. I love how you wrote it all out, all your thoughts, all your feelings, all your questioning and wondering, all your wishing and praying for me and our entire family as we faced my husband’s eye cancer treatment. Thank you. Thank you for your words.

And that necklace, that powerful display of faith and beauty? Simultaneously broken and beautiful? That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Broken and beautiful. We’re all that way, yes? We’re shards of broken glass, our innermost places filled with painful experiences, haunting memories, things we wish never had to happen in the first place. But those broken pieces come together to create us, to form us, to make us into better, more compassionate people. We are broken. And we are beautiful. Yes. God intended it that way. So we are humbled. So we trust more in Him. So we surrender to His plans, His desire for our greater good. Cancer or no cancer.

That second surgery, the one where the gold bottle cap plaque filled with radiation was removed from my husband’s eye? I wore the necklace that day. I knew I needed the extra strength. For the unknown. For what was yet to come. For peace and comfort knowing I was broken, that my husband’s eye was broken, but our lives were still oh so beautiful.

“In surrender, God can use our burdens as an avenue for His grace.”

Surrender. Oh yes, girl. You got it. I have learned to surrender. I am not in control of this life. I do not have the power to heal my husband’s eye cancer, nor do I have the might to fabricate and maintain any sort of perfect life. The weight of the world is not on my shoulders. But surrender. Yes. Surrender. When I surrender, when we surrender, God steps in. His grace abounds. We need not work ourselves to death. We need not worry ourselves to death. We need not fear the worst possible outcome. We need to trust, hand it over to a higher authority. Surrender. Yes. Surrender.

You must know. This is the last thank you. I’ve been holding off on writing your thank you because words haven’t seemed adequate. I’ve been holding off because I wanted to wait until the time seemed right. I’ve been holding off because my thanks seem small compared to the grace and gratitude I felt upon receiving your beautiful gift.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.