God and the Lesson of Symmetric Equality

There has to be a lesson in this. 

This has been a constant refrain running through my head for the past two months.  It wasn’t a mantra; it came unbidden and ran on like a record stuck in a groove.  But even in the depths of despair when it was spoken more like a pleading question than a statement, it has been there. 

Your life can change at any time.  Suffering is a part of reality.  Illness doesn’t care what you have been through or how old you are.  These are lessons, but they are not THE lesson. 

When you are in the cave you will never find the lesson.   You will spend your time looking for the REASON, the thing you did that caused all of this badness to happen.   Or predicting the future – a future where the badness has gotten worse and your entire life is the cave.  Over the past two months, I have made frequent visits to the cave.  But not all of my time has been spent there.     

There is this.  A and I are lying in bed, the way we have spent much of her time in the hospital.  Her arms snake around my neck, her head rests on my chest, and she falls asleep.  I realize that she has never held me in exactly this way and feel that in this moment, she KNOWS.  That I love her.  That I would do anything to keep her safe.  I would trade this moment in return for her good health, but that choice isn’t mine.  So I let it wash over me – the knowledge that we have crossed a threshold and there is no turning back.  And I fall asleep too.    

There is this.  A package arrives to the hospital, sent by a group of Sue’s touchstone friends.   It contains a seemingly random assortment of gifts – a bracelet, a stuffed animal, a plant, a Magic 8 Ball.  A loves them all, but is particularly drawn to the oversized whoopee cushion.  Soon one of A’s favorite nursing assistants is helping to facilitate a game where A leads someone in to sit on the hidden cushion and they feign embarrassment as the room explodes in the sounds of farting and laughter.  I realize that this moment is made possible not only by A’s spirit, but also by everyone’s willingness to play along.  And A is smiling – a true, deep smile the like of which I haven’t seen in days.     

There is this.  A young woman comes into our room to sit with the patient on the other side, and A seems inexplicably energized.  “Hey, where are you from?” she asks.  “I’m from Africa.” The woman replies with a grin.  From that moment, A doesn’t want to leave her side, this young woman from Ghana whose name is Janice.  So we all play together – A, Janice, our roommate and I.  And if only for this brief moment where our lives are intertwined, I love Janice.  For her beautiful, warm smile.  For being from Africa.  And for understanding that these both mattered to my daughter.   

And there is this.  We are home, and A asks if we can eat dinner as a family. Soon we are all around the worn wooden table.  Me.  The woman who is my model and inspiration for how to love.  The boy who is far on to being a better man that I can ever hope to be.  And the little girl who has revealed herself as the missing piece we didn’t know was missing.  There is no talk of illness, or hospitals, or symptoms.  Just laughing and teasing and eating.  Just us.  And that is more than enough.      

They say that God is love, and I have never had difficulty in believing it. I don’t understand suffering, and the suffering of my child has pushed my faith to the edge.   But even this suffering doesn’t give lie to the truth that life is full of unexplained, overwhelming beauty.  A God that is love is the only kind of God that makes any sense to me.  But even this isn’t the lesson.   I think the lesson is found by speaking the statement in reverse. 

Love is God.  It heals, it soothes, it pulls you from the darkness and makes you new.   I can search for reason and make predictions, though neither is likely to bring comfort to anyone. Or I can Love.  I can look for Love.  I can be open to receiving Love.  Most importantly, I can create Love.  And people do, every day.  They give in to laughter, forge the bonds of kindred spirits, and revel in the simple, unique beauty of others.  They throw their arms around each other and communicate in words spoken and unspoken.  You matter.  You are beautiful.  And I would do anything to keep you safe.   Because somewhere along the way we crossed over the threshold into Love.  And there is no turning back.      

Love is God.  And Love can be everywhere, if we choose to create it.  This is the lesson.  The only question that remains is if I can not only learn it, but also live it.