Lion-Hearted

There was a moment when the lights went out, when death had claimed its victory; the King of love had given up His life – the darkest day in history – Ran Jackson/S. Gretzinger/P. Mattis/J. Riddle

We shall not flag nor fail…. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France. We shall fight on the seas and oceans. We shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our island – whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets. We shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender – Winston Churchill, June 4, 1940

Then I heard the roar of the Lion of Judah – Chris Tomlin, Ed Cash, & Wayne Jolley

The first day I met my father-in-law, he was reading A History of the English-Speaking Peoples by Winston Churchill.

It’s one of a four volume, centuries-spanning work recounting the history of how his people came to be, written by one of their most colourful characters, potent speakers, and pivotal prime ministers.  Written in poignant but at times mind-numbing phrases, getting through it takes significant amounts of interest, attention, and … commitment.

As I saw my soon-to-be father in law lay his book aside to greet me, I thought,  okay this might explain why his son spent forty minutes giving me a detailed recounting of how the ‘miracle at Dunkirk’ was the first – and perhaps most important – turning point of the second world war.

one very late night,

at the door to my dorm,

after dorm hours were over.

I had stood there patiently, of course, trying to listen and continue to be interested

because I mostly was, it was just late and I was tirrreeed and it seemed like a strange end to one of our early-in-the-relationship dates.

I didn’t know why he thought he should tell me this,

but as with all things,

David Meredith is nothing if not

 … committed.

Take his apple trees, for instance.

Sometime in the last month, our oldest wistfully said she thought it would be sweet if one day her kids could come to Grandma and Grandpa’s to pick apples.

To be clear: she is 19. This is many, many years from now.

Although I guess I had her at 25, so maybe not as many as I think, but anyways. I digress.

Her dad and I went for a walk on one of the few days early in April that both our girls were off on their own adventures, and he all of sudden starts telling me he’s found some apple trees to plant.

I nod along as he tells me, thinking this is a great idea and smiling at the image of littles – ONE DAY – skipping along, hearing Grandpa talk about how he planted the apple trees,

But he’s looking at me expectantly

And all of a sudden I realize

He wants to do this – now.

I look at him curiously. Um, is there something going on with our girls futures I don’t know about?

But, as it turns out, it takes – several – years to grow apple  trees, and April is really the only time he can plant these particular ones, and he knows a guy that’s getting him a deal, and – long story short –

Apparently we have to do this now.

I told him I wanted to think about it.

He agreed.

Have I mentioned I don’t do my best thinking under pressure?

See, over the next few days, every time there was opportunity to talk just the two of us, he would get this strange form of slightly agitation  and clear his throat awkwardly until I asked,

What?

-I’m, uh, just wondering if you’ve had time to think about the apple trees.

-No, I guess I haven’t.

And then would follow an even greater ‘pitch’ to why these particular ones at this particular time was the exact thing we should put ALL OUR ENERGY into

And after the fifth time

I can’t remember if I gave up or just thought it through and agreed with him, but I heard myself saying, okay, go ahead and get them, but I want a schematic of where they’ll go and what they’ll look like.

Then followed yet another five days of me looking at schematics and pointing out things that I thought were risky or not quite right until at last on the fifth day I marched out to the back yard and said,

-Here. Right here. Two trees. One on each side of the stairs, and we can cover the stairs with a small arbour and maybe add a railing to finally bring the stairs up to building code.

But since I signed off on the purchase and placement of these two new yard additions, every spare moment when theres a bit of silence I hear him take an excited breath in and

So, Lana –

-This is about the apple trees, isn’t it?

Without fail, it is.

I tell the girls, this is kind of what men are like. When they get into a thing, they really get into it. At least men like their dad.

The other night all four of us had nightmares, and when we woke and realized it happened to all of us, Noelle, who was about to go lead a Good Friday service for the kids she works with, got nervous.

Oh no, what happened in Dad’s nightmares?

Me: I guarantee they’re about the apple trees.

Her: No, mom, people don’t have nightmares about apple trees.

Me: Your dad does.

Her: No.

Me: Ask him.

Him: I really need to finish this apple tree project. Its eating me alive.

Me: (to her) See?

And while I’m – admittedly – making fun of it here, you all should know two things:

One, he gave me permission to –

And two – that same audacity that makes him single-minded about his goal, even in the face of much opposition,

I actually admire in my husband.

Because while audacity is a two-edged sword, the brave – the lion-hearted –

Are people I want to be more like.

See, most of my nightmares are about … weighty things. Things I’ve not yet processed. Things I’m afraid of. Griefs.

And sometimes, they’re about work.

People often tell me that my job must be the best job ever, and it is – but not for the reason they think.

They think its about joy and babies.

They think its one happy event after anoher.

They think all’s well that ends well – and doesn’t it almost always end well? –

there’s no need for stress or pain or uncertainty or grief,

And yet

I’ve yet to attend a birth that didn’t involve gaping stretches of alllll of those.

If not for the mom in labour, then for me.

And lately, the women I take care of are scrambling more and more to avoid all the things I see in every birth,

I think, most often, because they don’t think they’ll make it through.

But – that’s my job,

The making-it-through part.

When someone hears I work in maternity, I usually hear

–oh how lucky! You work with cute babies..

And I say, sure, but not really –

Because I’m a mommy nurse first and foremost.

(The hours maternity nurses spend cuddling cute babies are next to nil, if you can believe it)

And the thing about being a mommy nurse is that I usually meet them before they’re moms.

Before they have any framework of what to expect

or if they’ll make it

or if they’ll figure out how to care for a human

with next to no instructions.

So I tell people, I’m a labour nurse,

Because the majority of my hours are spent doing exactly that –

Walking with women through the worst pain of their lives – at least until now.

And after twenty years doing that, I’ve learned a few things about pain.

The thing I see the most?

Pain is far less painful

and far more manageable

when you just

let.

It.

Come.

It’s only when its fought, avoided, or defied, that pain truly harms us.

If we can’t work with it, or let it work in us,

We get stuck.

And often –

Sick.

And while it likely seems impossible to welcome pain, and while every woman and every labour is unique, there is one thing that holds true throughout them all:

The strongest indicator of healthy outcomes

for mom and babe

Is the presence of a trained,

experienced,

one-to-one labour nurse.

Because in the end, its not the pain that matters.

Its in what we do with it,

And who’s with us in it.

And since the only way out is through,

You and I would be wise to find some trained, experienced, compassionate people to walk with us through the worst of it.

In my experience,

the worst of it

is usually right before delivery.

That’s something I’ve had to tell myself a lot lately, and something I talked about with a friend this week, how

The greatest battle

The fiercest fight

The strongest pressure to give up

Always comes right before

The greatest victory.

A year ago, I switched chemo drugs.

The one I’d been taking for fifteen years last April had not yet brought me to remission, and my oncologist recommended a switch.

After much thought and prayer, we agreed.

I’ve written about the wrestle of that switch here.

Since then, the cancer gene level in my blood has dropped significantly.

From April to December, it went from

-2.93

The highest it had been in ten years, to

-3.79

The lowest it had been the last five.

And we’d not had a series of three, even four tests like that where it just

consistently

Kept

Coming

Down

Pretty much – ever.

So when I picked up the phone last week, awaiting results of the repeat test in March,

I didn’t expect to hear

That the cancer gene went back up

Between December and March.

I could feel people had been praying for me, because the news didn’t land with a devastating thud

As its been known to in the past,

Nor did it leave behind the mind-quaking fear

I’ve often let get the best of me these past sixteen years, three months, and twelve days.

Instead, I found myself thinking that

There must be some purpose left in this story yet

And the words that rattled around in my mind were

We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the seas and oceans,

We shall go on to the end….

Whatever that end might be.

See, in the twenty-five years between my now-husband’s detailing of the

miracle at Dunkirk

and my father-in-law’s first introducing me to the incredible speeches of the leader in charge of the Free World at the time of that miracle,

I’ve grown quite an affection for Winston Churchill.

The more I learn about him, the more I realize how flawed he was.

But only a man able to galvanize the English language and send it into battle (as his opponent Lord Halifax says in the Darkest Hour movie – see link above – following Churchill’s infamous June 4th speech to parliament on the occasion of the Dunkirk evacuation)

Could have led the free world

During those harrowing days of May and June, 1940,

When nearly 400, 000 British and French soldiers

Beaten back by the Blitzkrieg of the Third Reich’s military machine

from the securely-fortified Maginot Line on France’s eastern border

to the shores of the English Channel at the port of Dunkirk

In only just over three weeks –

Waiting now for rescue, not victory.

The only move left was retreat; the only win possible, evacuation.

But, as my husband is quick to point out – not all retreats are defeats.

Last week, when I got off the phone with my oncologist, who for the record is not actively worried, and neither are we, as we’ve seen these numbers go up and down and up and back down again

The better part of sixteen years,

-And lets not forget

I’m still here after sixteen years.

And that is not-at-all – nothing–

But when I got off the phone, I didn’t tell anyone what she’d told me.

I waited.

Part of me just couldn’t do all the explaining of what it meant.

Part of me couldn’t cope with the questions.

Part of me was just so. So. Tired.

And one of the things I was most tired of

was asking for prayer.

My youngest recently told me one of her most dreaded things in the world is having to ask for help.

I see it in her.

She gets angry sometimes, defensive; she rushes through things, because admitting she needs help just grates on her soul.

I guess she gets that from me.

I told a friend on Sunday, it feels really weird to keep asking for prayer about the same thing, year after year, knowing that I’m okay if it doesn’t get answered the way I would like, but still, wanting to ask – for healing, for freedom, for deliverance, for breakthrough.

I feel like a noob, I told her. Why does it take the support of my whole community, just to keep me alive?

But three days later-

Three. Days.

I had to ask for prayer.

The thing about this new drug – there’s hardly anyone in the province on it. I may even be one of the first, at least in my health authority, and at least with that pharmacy.

The pharmacy is often good at couriering me the drugs, but there’s always some hoops to jump through.

And this past year, every four weeks, until January, I had to get new drugs.

And every four weeks, I’d get my ducks in a row

and jump through their hoops,

And every four weeks there was a new, bizarre challenge.

At one point I said to David I literally feel like someone or something is trying to kill me.  

And once again, three days after the news the cancer gene had gone up, despite me getting my ducks in a row ten days early

(Since now we can get refills every three months, instead of four weeks – which is huge)

I was about to run out of doses

And still hadn’t heard a word from the pharmacy.

So – we asked our people to pray.

Ten minutes later – we had a profuse apology, an answer, and a personal commitment to courier them to us that day.

And while I don’t like being that dependent on all our people

Getting to see their reactions

to that swift answer to prayer

Made me feel a lot less like a noob.

As a few of them told me –

When they walk with us through it, they’re more invested in the outcome.

And I wonder if that’s part of what was behind the never-say-die attitude of the British people throughout the Blitz

and all those fearful months they

alone

Stood against certain evil.

Because

right before the Battle of Britain,

With 400,000 men’s lives on the line,

and the British Expeditionary Force pressed to the brink of extinction,

and while the enemy mercilessly and simultaneously bombed from above

and pressed from below

their backs literally pushed into the sea,

knowing they had no chance of challenging Hitler if they did not get at least a fraction of their army back,

Churchill called for an order of

all civilian ships

to assist in evacuating

as many soldiers as they could.

His goal?

35,000.

But the almost-one-thousand civilian ships that reported for duty –

For war –

Over the course of nine days,

Brought back 338,000 men.

See, they were invested now.

So when Nazi Germany started bombing their island home

And didn’t let up

For months –

They linked arms, hunkered down, and defiantly said –

No, we will not go quietly.

Or as Churchill told Parliament on June 4, 1940:

You can do your worst,

and we will do our best.

Friends –

Are you feeling pushed to the brink?

Bereft of all your resources?

Stumbling around, wondering what on earth this part of your story is for?

Then today, of all days –

Is for you.

Today, two thousand years ago,

The friends of the most anticipated Hero of all time

Were pushed to the brink too.

Many of them fled.

Wept.

Bereft of the One thing they felt sure about.

Separated from the One they trusted above all else.

Stumbling around, confused as to why their promised Deliverer didn’t storm the government and fix their circumstances.

Wondering what this part of their story was for.

What they couldn’t have possibly known

Was that this part of the story was where Darkness was broken forever.

And in a few short hours

They would hear the crack of an unmovable stone –

Moving.

And they would see

A flash of light breaking in,

A shroud of linen suddenly without anything to shroud.

And a voice –

Why do you look for the Living among the dead?

So let’s not forget, shall we, Friends?

That in our long, soul-wearying, seemingly endless Saturdays

Sunday is right around the corner.

And in a few short hours –

The One slain as a Lamb

Will rise as a Lion

Roaring.

And He invites us to join him.

Are you ready?

1, 2, 3 –

And