Hope is closer than you think

I have known dark Advents.

Sixteen years ago, I found myself in a PICU, hunched over my four-year-old son as nurses prepared to administer his first dose of chemotherapy. It was December, and less than 48 hours before that, I had been decorating a Christmas tree and making plans for the upcoming holidays. The poinsettias on the nursing station counter and the twinkling lights on the trees surrounding the hospital seemed like a cruel joke. My world was rocked, my heart was broken and I felt not a shred of joyful holiday anticipation. While I had felt life’s lows before, I believe that was my lowest.

I have known dark Advents.

I looked up when I heard heels clacking in the hallway and saw my friends Dick and Pat Edwards headed in our direction. I had known them for years – fellow Luther College alumni, surrogate parents, wonderful, supportive friends. Dick embraced my husband while Pat enveloped me in a strong hug. They were on their way to a holiday party, and I still remember the way Pat’s fur collar felt on my cheek and the whiff of her perfume as I held her tight. She handed me over to Dick, and before he hugged me, he looked into my eyes and said, “Hope, kiddo. You need to have hope. These people know what they’re doing.”

The next day, our oncologist updated us on our son’s progress. His parting advice was, “You need to be positive until we tell you not to be.”

The hospital room filled with gifts and notes. Visitors came and took the edge off our stress. Family and friends held vigil and prayed.

Three days later, our son was in remission. And, like a cleansing breath of fresh air, my dark world became lighter.

I remember someone telling me that one day I would be grateful for the cancer experience and I thought she was crazy. But many years later, I can tell you that giving up whatever semblance of control I thought I had over to hope and faith during that time in our lives changed me completely.

I have known dark Advents. And I don’t think it’s an accident that our cancer journey began during a season when we are asked to watch, wait and believe.

I know others who know dark Advents. They’re straining beneath life’s crushing load – illness, depression, disappointment, inadequacy, grief, despair, bitterness, anger, regret. Our world has become darker with acts of terror and violence, related fear and mistrust, hateful rhetoric and thoughtless blame.

Here’s what I know:

There is a light that no darkness can overcome, and it lives in all of us.

If your Advent is dark, there are people out there who are praying that your load is lightened. Seek and accept help from those who can help ease your burden.

If you are one of those praying and providing acts of strength, healing and kindness, know what an amazing and important gift that is. Someday, it will be your turn to be on the receiving end.

Our world needs hope and faith more than ever, and solutions to global problems are cruelly out of reach. But how we treat each other is entirely up to us. Peace and love start right here, right now.

I have known dark Advents. I have also witnessed light that is relentless. For both of them, I am grateful.

O rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.