My heart aches today. I’ve cried today more than I haven’t cried.

I’ve cried for my sweet friend Sara. For me. For us. For all of us lucky enough to have sat under her light.

And what a light Sara has been in my life, my family’s life. Hers is a bright light. And while shining bright light is something lots of people do from time to time, Sara’s light is different than most. It’s unassuming. And unselfish. And never hurts your eyes. Sara’s light is gracious. And kind. And thoughtful. And I believe from God.

But Sara is sick. Like really sick.

I’ve only known Sara sick. Her disease is a weird complicated one, and it has a weird name. Over time the disease slowly fuses a person’s spine together. And sometimes it affects other joints, bones, etc. It’s awful. And Sara has a form of the disease that has moved quickly, much more quickly than anybody expected.

For three years she’s lived inside her tiny apartment in Iowa. Did I mention she can’t go outside?

She can’t.
Go.
Out-
side.

WHY? Again, it’s complicated. But you can read about it here.

Sara and I talked about her disease often. On Skype. The phone. She was frank about it. Sometimes while telling me a story or while listening to me gab about something silly or meaningful, a sharp shooting pain would dart through Sara’s body and she’d lunge forward and scream out. And then she’d apologize for screaming. It didn’t matter how many times we told her to stop apologizing, she never did.

The pain was hard to see. How often do you get to see pain? I did. When I talked to Sara.

A year or so ago, the pain started getting worse. And she started having long periods of time when she struggled to breathe.

She’d run out of breath.
She’d lunge forward in pain.
Gasp for some air.
Then keep right on talking like that’s what everybody did.

Sara is sick.
But she is joyful.
Sara is sick.
But her Midwestern Catholic roots taught her find joy in sorrow. To find JOY in life’s hardships.
Sara is sick.
But her smile is more bright, more hope-filled than any smile you’ve ever witnessed.
Sara is sick.
But she wants to know how you’re doing.
Sara is sick.
But she’ll send you a DM to say she’s praying for you. For ME. For my family. For kids to get sponsored.

But Sara is sick.

Hospice is caring for her. We didn’t expect this. Not THIS soon. But they are managing her pain. Keeping her comfortable. Making whatever time she has left as comfortable as possible.

But Sara is still concerned for those who are concerned for her. She wants to make sure all of her family and friends know that she’s okay. She’s ready. She’s ready for the pain to stop. She’s ready to be able to breathe deep breaths again. She’s ready. She wants you to know that.

Sara and I became friends three years ago shortly after Elias was born. Sara read my friend Angie’s blog, and during Jessica’s labor, Sara clicked over to my blog and followed the birth of Elias.

A month or so later Jessica talked with Sara on the phone. And her light shined on us. And it’s shined on our lives ever since.

Jessica, Elias, and Adeline got to meet Sara in August.

But I’m sad. I want to be joyful. But my wife is losing a best friend. And while I can see all of the reasons to be filled with joy, I’m also sad.

She and Sara talked today. Maybe for the last time. Maybe not. But they talked. And they laughed. And they cried. And then their conversation ended too soon. Why? Because Sara’s priest showed up to give her last rights…

And Sara’s ready.

But I’m not ready. I don’t want her to go. Yes, I believe I’ll see her again someday. But I would rather talk to her on Skype tomorrow. Not wait.

….breathe….

I know this blog attracts readers from a variety of backgrounds. I know that some of you believe in God and some of you don’t. Some of you believe in prayer. And some of you don’t. And I love and value each of you. Please know that. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

But right now. In honor of my friend Sara. Would you consider taking a moment for her and do whatever it is that you do on Sara’s behalf? If you believe in God, believe in the biggest God possible. Pray that God will sustain her. That God will comfort her. Comfort us. If you don’t believe in God, take a moment and think about Sara. You might not agree with her faith, but there’s so many things about Sara that you would love. I assure you of that. And if you’re Buddhist, do what Buddhists do during times of loss. Just consider doing something. To love on Sara…

Let’s not debate today. We’ll debate again. But not today.

Today is for Sara. Cuz she’s going home soon.

And because my heart aches. Because I’m losing a dear friend. A friend who has changed my life. A friend who has made me a better person. That’s why. My heart aches. At the bottom of my gut, it aches. And tears are just below the surface. I feel them.

Will joy come in the morning?

Sara says it will. Some morning soon… joy will come.

I believe that, Sara. I choose to believe that.

But for now. I will cry. And pray. And be grateful that Sara’s light shines on me.

 

UPDATE:  I thought I’d share this. One of the things that Sara and I share is a love for Amy Grant… we’ve often shared Amy stories when we chatted… So I went to iTunes and gifted her Amy’s version of “Softly & Tenderly”… and I reached out to Amy to see if she might offer one of her fans some words… and not surprising, she did…

Sara, Matthew reached out to me today and I wanted to let you know that I am praying for you and to thank you for letting my music be part of the soundtrack of your life. I trust that someday we will understand the full glory of God’s plan and the reasons He chose you for this particular journey. Keep your eyes on Him and know that I am honored to be your sister in Christ. I’ll see you on the other side. xo Amy

That made my day…

Oh, how my heart aches (a blog post) is a post from: Jesus Needs New PR