Peace

There are different times for everything.

There is a time to be joyful, and a time to be sad.
There is a time to laugh, and a time to cry.

This should be a time of darkness,
and similar situations have previously tormented my soul.
This time however, it's all different.

I feel neither fear nor despair, for there is light in the darkness.
There is peace and there is joy.
There is fulfillment in my heart,
and every time I get back from my mother's hospital room,
I feel overwhelmed with gratitude and hope.

I cannot really describe it -
it is not something I have done through my own power.
It is a gift, and I am so immensely grateful for it.

I know that there are many people out there
who look at my mother's situation and feel despair.
Many who think that we should be angry,
resentful and bitter towards God.
I do not feel any of those things.
My mother is at peace, she is full of hope,
and eagerly awaiting her promised gift.
Although we do not always get the promises that we want,
He always keeps the one he gives.

But no matter what happens in the future,
I do not believe that life can get any better than this.
I never expected my soul to feel such peace in such a dark hour,
but it does.

There is joy and there is happiness.
There is gratitude and there is love.
There is hope.

And all that in abundance.

We have all reason to grieve,
but there is no room left for that in our hearts.
How could my soul do anything but rejoice??

Ishtar

What really matters

After a very painful night with no sleep, my mother was finally brought to hospital early yesterday morning by ambulance. My sister and I joined her a few hours later and stayed until reception hours were over; having a very good time together.

I have decided to stay off work for some time, even though I need the money. As a volunteer for Eden, I have no salary and that is why I've been working as much as I can during my summer stay in Sweden. I should also have started looking for sponsors by now, but there hasn't been any time for that. Financial issues however are very low on my list of worries right now, because my heart's desire is to be there with her daily until my dad comes back from Niger, which is in about two weeks time. What does it matter if I don't get to go to Niger as early as I was hoping for or if I can't stay there for as long as I had planned? There are things in life that are more important than others, and there is a tremendous internal freedom in letting go of the so called "control".

One of the things I value about Niger is the fact that we are constantly reminded of our human shortcomings and don't take it upon ourselves to live the perfect life. In the Western world, we have all these possibilities and options (but not all of them - we are still mortal) and strive to achieve perfection, but what is "the perfect life" anyway? Few people in the Western world take the time to be with one another. A lot of the patients on my mother's ward are lonely and without visitors. There is so much despair in that part of the hospital, and cancer has ruined their lives.

It was a very weird day yesterday. At first, I cried, but I think it was mostly due to exhaustion, since I hadn't slept more than four hours. But then I was reminded of the steady song in my heart and my great expectations for the future. If nothing else, my prayer is that all the patients on my mother's ward will be able to share that heavenly peace of hers and to know that there is more to life than what meets the eye. I do not see any injustice in what is going on. I only feel immensely blessed that we can have such peace in a moment like this.

Take care you all!
Ishtar

Preparing for hospital

The hospital called today to say that they have finally managed to make room for her at the hospital. So tomorrow morning, the ambulance will arrive to pick her up at 06.30 am - if all goes well. My sister and I will follow in our car a little while later, and from then on, we'll just have to take things as they come.

I don't know what is going to happen in the future; when I will go to work again, when I will be home, when I will have time to blog. Those things are of lesser matter than being there for her during the two weeks that remain until my father comes back. In the mean time, I leave you with a family picture from my sister's dissertation on the June 20th, when the whole family was gathered in one of our rare complete family reunions. Will let you know of any development as soon as I can.

From left to right: Me, my Dutch sister-in-law, my Scandinavian brother, my Norwegian father, my Swedish mother and my multi-linguistic sister who is now the proud possessor of a PhD...

My sister and my mother, right after my mother's beautiful speech.

Greetings,
Ishtar

Trusting the impossible

My mother and I, Cyprus 1983

Once again, I don't exactly know what to say, but the difference between tonight and two posts ago is that this time, I'm not feeling down. Things have been looking very gloomy indeed and my mother is getting weaker by the day. Today, she could hardly walk and her body was aching everywhere. It seems that this cancer is living a life of its own, because this is not the forecast we were given eight weeks ago. Although I felt that old panic resurface when my mother talked about her immense headache and the possibility of the cancer having spread to her brain (she has been correct in her predictions so far, so there's little use in trying to tell oneself that the odds are against it and it would be far too early according to the doctor's predictions), I also felt a new kind of clear-sightedness take hold as my sister and I went for a walk and talked things through.

There is a battle going on, for someone is desperate to have her "out of the way". It wasn't enough to have her banned from Africa and sentence her to a life away from what she held so dearly - for that was the prospect after her heart failure evacuation in January 2005: Never to go back to Niger, West Africa.

Then her cancer was discovered. It was said to be a very aggressive one and the doctors talked about it returning within a few years. Not an if, but a when - that when however being in a few years' time. Four months after completed treatment however, it was already back, having spread throughout her skeleton and to her lungs. The good news then was that skeleton cancer is so slow, and that there wouldn't be much pain involved. Well, the doctors have been wrong there as well. This is a very speedy thing which is being fuelled for a reason far greater than I can understand.

Now, that pestering little voice I was talking about two posts ago has been proclaiming lately that her time is up and that from now on, everything we do for her is useless. She will never get to go home to Niger again and we might as well back up the project and leave. However, there is a different song singing in my heart. It doesn't say anything about the what, the when or the why, but it tells me to where to put my trust. It tells me to believe in the impossible, and to rejoice, even though times are hard. And I will.

Ishtar

Back to square one

I never thought that baring one's soul and facing one's worst fears could be so exhaustive, but it certainly is. Last time things got bad - when this whole journey started in January 2005 and my mom was evacuated from Niger - I reacted by going into shock when the whole thing was over and she had been flown home.

It wasn't something I chose to do: I just didn't dare to reach out and take hold of God's outreached hand, because I was so afraid of getting disappointed if he did not answer our prayers. But he did, many times over. When your loved one is hospitalized in the world's least developed country where they have so few resources you wonder if they can actually save any lives at all - you get to see every miracle for what it really is. I've always said that life in Niger is much more black & white than in Europe, and that's one of the reasons why I love it so.

Now we're back to square one however. Only difference now is that there is even less to hope for than last winter, as the cancer seen with human eyes is irretrievable.

And yet, I am full of hope. I know that it is not from my own strength, but a gift from above. I choose to put my trust in someone so much greater than us all, and he has responded. I know that the little girl inside of me cannot in any way rejoice over the fact that my mother is facing such a long and painful process with no human of hope of surviving, but I know that my God is a God of miracles, and I know that he will be with us all the way. Whatever the outcome, whether good or bad, I know that the day will come when it will all make sense and I will be able to see why it was for the best, even though I couldn't at the time.

My life is full of meaning and I do not regret it one minute, despite the costs. There is good and evil in my life. There is black and white. There is anguish and hope, faith and despair, but above all, there is love in abundance.

My mother and I (1981)

Love comes at a price, but that price is worth it. I love my mother to bits. I cannot fathom life without her and I don't think that I will ever experience the innocence of youth again. However, I am so blessed through all of this and my heart is singing a song of joy. Funny how it is always so much easier to take that leap of faith when you have nothing to lose and everything to win.

Ishtar

Heartbroken

I am heartbroken.

We were informed last night that my mother's cancer has returned, and what seemed to be a somewhat stable situation has been shredded to pieces in a fortnight.

Tears are flowing constantly, but I do not expect them to stop. I love my mother so much.

I lift my head high and seek the Lord, for He has promised me that he will be my strength. Day by day - hour by hour. I know that we never get more than we can master and so when the stakes are raised, His presence increases. Though I am crying, I know that everything will be ok. Not by my own strength, but by His.

I love my mother. I love her so much that my hearts breaks at the mere thought of losing her. I love her so much that I would want to hold her tight and never let her go.

I wouldn't want life any other way though. I wouldn't want it - with all its good - without all its bad. I know that the pain is a price to pay, but I would not have wanted to live without the love.

I have no answers today. I have no promises for the future. I do know however that the Lord is my rock and in Him, I will seek refuge and strength. I don't expect it to get any easier along the way, but I know that He will carry us. His promise to me last year was: "Come to me and I will carry you, day by day."

And so I will. Day by day, hour by hour. With my broken heart and all my fears.

Ishtar