​    Advent is a time of hope. We hope for Jesus’ saving grace. We know that his birth was just the beginning, that during his life he experienced satisfaction but then suffered and died a horrific death. The fulfillment of hope doesn’t come until Easter with his resurrection to new life.
    It is the cycle of all human experience; we sometimes we forget the good parts that hope carries for us.
    The following post was written for my cottage by the sea blog. As Christians, we can read the Advent hope into it.
 
    Back home. Hiatus from posting as I catch up with all that’s going on here before we head to Lancaster on Saturday for Christmas. Tis the season to be grateful even among change and sadness.
      On Monday night my church went caroling to several of the people that I visit regularly; many young children and teenagers brought joy to the elderly who can’t get out anymore. ‘Shut-in’ may not be a PC term, but there’s some truth in it; for sure, however, they opened up their hearts and doors to those of us who can still get out and about.
     I had missed two weeks volunteering at Open Table, our local food pantry. I help on Tuesday, Senior Day. Many said they missed me and asked if I was okay. “Yes, I’m here today,” is all that I said, and then listened to their holiday stories. One woman admitted that the holidays weren’t joyful for her; two of her four adults sons had died of heart attacks during the year and the other two have heart conditions. Someone else admitted,  “Christmas isn’t Tra-la-la-la-la for everyone.”
      But there was also joy and gratitude. A food supplier had donated frozen ham, turkey breast, or roast beef, a marvelous choice for each guest. 

     This has been a busy week, full of joys and concerns: a family graduation celebration here at the house, a sad funeral at church, and preoccupation with my cousin Mark’s surgery.
     The joys were easy. Everything about my niece’s daughter’s graduation was delightful. Mark’s kidney transplant was a success, and although still in the hospital, he is now recovering with only a I.V. attached—but not being used.
      Concerns are always more of a challenge. When a 31 year old man dies, it is sad, even when the memorial service is uplifting and when love surrounds everyone. As Christians we believe that there is life after death, and in some way beyond understanding, Jesus will always be with us. We can gain some comfort in that, but Jesus also taught us about suffering, tears, and doubt,
      When sadness or tragedy bursts into our lives, it is hard to even remember that our faith is not one of joy or concern, but one of hope. As Christians we must embrace both joys and concerns as they appear, knowing they are necessary for us to rest in God’s peace. Hope makes that possible.

     Today, May 1, is a day of hope for my second cousin, Mark (age 55), who is having a kidney transplant.
       Please pray for him and his donor, and for Kyllee and the young boy who will be receiving the kidney that she is donating on May 2. 
 
       Here is what Mark wrote on Face Book
 
April 4, 2018: I already shared this on the kidney page, but thought I’d share here for people who aren’t connected to that.
We have a transplant date!
Well, two dates actually. Since we are not doing a direct donation (Kyllee to me) but rather a paired exchange (where we swap donors around so everybody gets the best match they can find), my surgery and Kyllee's won't be on the same day. My surgery will be on May 1, and hers will be May 2.
We are not told a whole lot about the rest of the exchange chain, but it must be at least 3 donor/recipient pairs. The kidney I will get will be coming from a 27 year old male who is doing his surgery at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. That's about an hour from here, so the kidney will be in transit only a short time, which is a good thing. So we're very excited to know that.
The real news, at least in my mind, is that Kyllee's recipient will be a 14 year old boy who will be at Cornell for his transplant. The fact that a kid will be able to benefit from this is really moving for me and for Kyllee.
In fact, the longer I've had to think about paired exchange donation, the more I'm convinced it's actually better for the world as a whole than direct donation. Obviously, if a direct donation works, then great. And I understand that some people feel more comfortable with knowing their recipient.
But it seems to me that, if the Kidney Registry is able to match us up with an uknown number of people in a chain, all in a couple of weeks, there must be a large number of mismatched donor/recipient pairs out there who are stuck, waiting only for someone to come along and start the chain that breaks them free. So I encourage everyone, the next time you know about someone who needs a kidney donor, to think about (and more importantly promote) the idea of paired exchange--of being the someone who becomes the key to saving several lives.
In our case, Kyllee was that someone, and now we know that at least one person in the chain is a young person with a long future yet to be decided, who now gets a shot at that future. To think about that kid (and all the other people in the chain and all their loved ones) who will be helped makes my struggles seem less like a burden and more like a gift. Though I could never donate a kidney for obvious reasons, the fact that I'm a part of this chain means that I get to feel at least a part of what that would be like.
So once again, thank you Kyllee for your generosity and selflessness. Thank you also to all our friends and family who have stood by us and encouraged us. And thank you universe for forcing me to reach out for help that is ultimately going to help others as well.
 
 
April 21, 2018 I went yesterday for pre-surgical testing and a meeting with the surgeon, and I thought I'd post a bit about what they're planning to do and what I can expect recovery-wise, for those who are interested. I don't expect I'll be doing a lot more posts on this page, seeing as I'll be getting my transplant done a week from Tuesday.
They are not only going to give me a new kidney, they are going to take the old ones out (this is not standard procedure). My kidneys are really big (imagine swallowing a couple of Nerf footballs) and riddled with cysts that sometimes burst and cause me a lot of pain. Getting rid of them will get rid of the gut that I have (I'm vain enough to admit it's troubled me for years that I look much fatter than I am), and will also eliminate problems with bursting cysts. It means I'll be able to return to bicycling once I'm recovered, which has been one of the most disappointing of the things I've had to give up in the last few years (and as a hidden bonus, they will wind up incidentally fixing my umbilical hernia in the process).
But of course this gain does not come without a cost. Because the old kidneys are so big, they're gonna open me up from the bottom of my sternum to just below my belly button, which is a much larger incision than they'd make for just a transplant, and they'll have to jostle more of my insides around. That means that instead of 3-5 days in the hospital I can expect 5-7 days. Not a huge amount longer, but let's face it--any time in the hospital is longer than you want. I'm hoping that because I'm healthy going in my hospital time will be more on the 5 day side, but there's no guarantee.
After I get home, recovery is much like if I'd only done the transplant: No heavy lifting for 4 weeks, no driving until I'm off pain medications, lots of pills, lots of return visits to the hospital for tests (like twice a week for the first couple of weeks, then once a week, then once a month, etc.). With luck, I'll be back to something approximating normal in a couple of months.
It's hard to believe this has all come together, and that we're about to go through yet another life-changing experience. We remain extremely thankful for the generosity of Kyllee, and for the caring of our friends and family. Thank you all so much.

    A few more thoughts about prayer to add to the following cottage-by-the-sea post. This pausing in the midst of reading sends me to a deep place with God, a place where God is present with nothing added. I go from reading and thus being ‘in my head’, to resting with God in my heart. Perhaps this, for me, is the essence of contemplative prayer.

     My Reading for Compassion project is taking on new titles: Reading for Humility, Reading for Gratitude, Reading as Prayer. How can I not feel compassion, humility, gratitude and prayerful when I read about the poverty and sexism in India or Appalachia?
     I am surprise, however, by how centered I feel while reading about these challenging life situations. Sometimes I pause to feel the presence of the Holy, the ineffable. In part, my gratitude is for the grace-filled life I have been given, but it is also for the hope lived out by the protagonists in the stories. That is what humbles me.
     To date I’m averaging a book every three days—I have given myself permission to read during the day. In some inexplicable way, I believe I am offering hope to a world fraught with anger, jealousy, bigotry, poverty, and mistrust.

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.
“We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,”
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
 
By Oliver Herford
 
As I  wrote for in cottage-by-the-sea blog, I have been sharing this poem for close to forty years. First with my kindergarten and first grade students, and then with the adults in my life. Lately it has been my Christmas card, primarily sent over the internet. For me, it is a poem of hope; my hope is that it is one of hope for you, too. It is truly ecumenical, speaking for all religions and spiritual languages.
     I want to add that I always share the poem with an accompanying picture of a cardinal, which speaks to Christian in a special way.
     According to www.reference.com, “The red cardinal bird holds special spiritual meaning for Christians as they symbolize everlasting vitality (the faith in the blood of Christ as the birds are red in color), Christmas (the birth of Christ) and are also considered a creative force (the red color equals vitality and creativity).

What do you say when your friend has lost her only living relative and feels so alone in the world? What do you say when your friend asks why God let all this happen to her? Most of us have some family; many of us more than we can keep track of. We can accept that life isn’t fair but that doesn’t always help how we feel.

    What do I say? I do my best to say nothing. I listen. I try to get in touch with her pain. It isn’t the time to bring up all good things. It isn’t the time for a theological discussion about whether God is in charge of what happens. It is the time to pray. When life is dark, less is more--less talk and more prayer will let in the light.

I remember Good Friday growing up. We had the day off from school and from 12 to 3 my UCC church held a vigil. Just watch. No music, no program, no words. Just sit and watch. I like to think that I remember staying for the entire time, but I’m not at all certain that I did. I like to think that my experience was very profound, but I’m not at all certain that it was.

After all, except for this Good Friday vigil, my church upbringing centered on Easter.

      Today I still can’t get my mind around what this day means. I’ve stopped trying to figure out the theology of it all, but this year I am aware that my heart is responding. The most I am able to say, or want to say, is that I’m feeling some holy embrace for all the suffering in the world.  Knowing Jesus suffered gives me hope.