What Matters Most
musings on the mundane and magnificent from a Christian perspective
Two years ago, I stumbled across a medical report in my patient portal, one that I had never seen before. The medical report was titled “Tissue Exam,” and it was from my D & C procedure after I had a miscarriage in 2017.
With the startling realization of what I was about to read, I clicked on it. It hurt to read the heart-breaking contents but doing so delivered a little closure to that painful period in my life.
After I miscarried, I often wondered what became of the tissue that was extracted, whether it was donated to research or discarded, and if so, how. I still don’t know what became of it, and maybe it’s better that way, but now I know this: the size and color of the dead tissue that was once my living, loved baby.
“Received labeled “products of conception” is a vacuum container which is opened and shows small fragments of tan-brown tissue. The recovered tissue fragments measure 5 x 3 x 1.5 cm. The tissue fragments are entirely submitted in three cassettes.”
My one pregnancy, my only chance to be a mom whittled down to tissue fragments. And when the tissue disintegrated, so did my dream of motherhood.
Because I never got pregnant again. We consulted a fertility specialist who said I wasn’t a candidate for IVF using my own eggs. Our options were limited to donor eggs or donor embryos. And while those are certainly viable options for some, for us, it just didn’t feel right. Considering the expense involved and not having a guarantee of success, assisted reproduction was a closed door for us.
Adoption wasn’t an option, either. My husband was fine with us trying to get pregnant. More than fine, actually; he was excited! He wanted me to be a mom, and he wanted us to have a baby of our own. He was crushed when we lost the pregnancy. But he was nearing 50 then and already has a son of his own, so he didn’t think adoption was something we needed to pursue. And that was a decision I understood and accepted. It was a hard choice but the right choice.
And since pregnancy never happened again naturally, motherhood never happened for me. A long-held dream dissolved with my declining egg count.
I’ll never be the mother I always saw myself being. But I can be the stepmother I need to be now, the one I want to be faithfully. I can love the people I do have in my life. And I can care for all those whose life path intersects with mine – children at church, neighbors, the man with the sign on the street corner, friends, and family.
I have a lot of love to give.
And I can do just that. I can live a meaningful life despite the fact that my one pregnancy ended in tissue fragments. That tissue was scraped out of me; I didn’t feel it at the time, of course, because I was under anesthesia.
I‘ve been feeling it ever since, though.
I feel sadness at not being a mom, but I also feel peace. My heart bears the deep, wide wound of infertility – a scar I will carry for the rest of my life, but one that has healed.
And healing is a good feeling. Knowing that the death of dreams can never drown out the life inside me. Knowing that I can be broken-hearted yet remain whole. And knowing that no matter what happens, no matter how hard the hurt is, there is a greater reality. God’s love is bigger than the biggest hurt I face.
And that truth enables me to find healing and to keep going, even when dreams disappear and prayers go unanswered. I hold on to what matters most. I hold on to Him – to life eternal and love unfailing.
“Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,” says the Lord, who has compassion on you.
Isaiah 54:10 NIV
Bear with me. This post has a point, I assure you. The story I’m about to relate may not be the most light-hearted thing you read today, but this is me. This is real life – with all its craziness, all its ups and downs – and all its lessons learned.
In August 2014, after a radiation treatment for papillary thyroid cancer, I had a full-body scan to determine if the cancer had come back or spread to new areas. It does this by showing if the patient has any areas of abnormal iodine uptake from the radiation.
And in my case, I did. Among other things, my results showed “a focus of increased activity” on my lower left chest that “may be due to metastatic disease to a rib or other etiology.”
In October 2014, I had a PET/CT scan which showed no distant metastasis. The scan showed that my cancer had not spread to my ribs. (It had returned in my lymph nodes, but that’s another story.)
My understanding is that when cancer spreads to your bones, it’s usually incurable. You just treat the symptoms, manage the pain…and wait. Thankfully, the second scan clearly showed that I did not have cancer in my bones, but from August to October, I did not know that. For two months I lived with that “or.” Either that spot was due to cancer in my ribs or some other benign cause. Either I was dying, or I wasn’t.
Did I overreact? Absolutely.
Being a cancer patient can make you hypersensitive to things you wouldn’t otherwise notice. When you spend so much time thinking about what’s going on inside your body and discussing it with doctors, you end up having the body on the brain constantly.
And in the weeks leading up to that first scan, I had the feeling of a constant cramp in my lower left chest. (Looking back now, it was probably just from exercising the wrong way, but who knows? It literally could have been anything other than cancer.)
Perhaps the scan results wouldn’t have alarmed me so much if I didn’t have a symptom that matched up with the worst-case scenario. But annoyingly, I did. So, for two months, I waited, and I wondered.
I couldn’t stop the thoughts that inevitably came. I thought about telling my family and friends the news and telling them how much they mean to me. I thought about what my funeral would be like and what worship songs I would want played. I thought about what kind of legacy I’d be leaving at this age. And I thought about all the years that would be left unfinished.
I couldn’t help but think and feel these things in that interim of ignorance. I carried on as normal – went to work, did the dishes, and planned for each next day. But it was an eerie time. I didn’t know if my days were suddenly coming to an end due to an incurable cancer or if I was going to be just fine.
I am just fine. But those two months taught me a lesson I hope I’ll never forget. In those two months, I was reminded to set down the to-do list and pick up the phone. It was easier to not let little things turn into a big deal. I was quicker to give unconditional love. And I took greater pleasure in the simple everyday moments with the ones I love.
Why is it so hard to live with this mentality every day? Why is it so easy to get lost in the busyness and specifics of day-to-day life that we forget the big picture? We let details drive us and we forget about purpose, about what matters most.
We all live with the reality of certain death. Whenever it happens, however it happens, we all have an inevitable end. And though we don’t often think about it in the midst of day-to-day life – paying bills, running errands, clicking on the next show in our Netflix queue – we need to remember this. We need to remember that our time on Earth has an expiration date. And we need to let this breathe life into the time we have left, however long or short that is.
Living like you’re dying is not merely the cliché of going skydiving, or on a shopping spree, or devoting more time to hobbies and pursuing passions. It’s not just conquering your fears or doing what makes you happy. That’s part of it, but there’s so much more to it than that.
For me, it’s loving myself enough to say no to another brownie because too much sugar saps my energy, and I want to be alert and ready for everything in my day today. It’s opening my mouth to speak up in small group even though it would be easier just to sit and listen. It’s putting down the novel I’m currently devouring and picking up my laptop to blog because I want to do the work God has called me to do.
It’s being an active participant in life and not just a spectator. It’s choosing to take responsibility for my own life. And it’s leaning into life as God intends it – life lived in love and service to God and others. Because there’s so much more to life than another brownie or the number one show on Netflix.
God has so much more for us. And I don’t want to miss out on a single thing. I don’t want to waste any time in the short time I have. I don’t want the potential He’s placed in me to remain unfulfilled. In His strength, empowered by the Holy Spirit, I want to live “the life that is truly life.” (1 Timothy 6:19 NIV)
And that life is something that is available to us all – whether we are pre-teens or senior citizens, whether we’re in perfect health or have cancer in our ribs.
So, let’s go through the daily details – the mundane tasks, the larger responsibilities, everything we face – with the knowledge that each day is a precious gift. And let’s choose to live life to the fullest – each and every day we have left.
“So teach us to consider our mortality, so that we might live wisely.”
Psalms 90:12 NET
Have you seen it yet? The new Amazon TV series, The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power is finally here! And while not everyone in the world is a Tolkien fan (for some unknown reason), for those of us who are, this is a big deal. We are seeing depictions of places in Middle-earth that we never thought we’d see on screen.
Which got me thinking – of all the varied geography, of all the distinct realms, anywhere on the map of Middle-earth – which is my favorite? If the impossible was possible and I could live anywhere in Middle-earth, where would it be?
And, like the hobbit Sam, I’m afraid I’m torn in two. There are two places, each quite different from the other, that speak to me, two places I would be equally delighted to dwell in.
The Shire
I can think of nothing better than spending summer in the Shire. That’s probably when it’s at its best. Strawberries and cream. The fragrance of flowers filling the air. And all the rich fields and quiet lanes bathed in clean, warm sunlight. From Michel Delving to the Old Forest, from the North Farthing to Longbottom, I would want to see it all.
When I think of the Shire, I think of Bilbo’s poetic description. I think “of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that were.” I think of fertile fields lined with well-ordered hedgerows. And I picture a busy night in the Green Dragon, drinks and laughter flowing.
And I think of hobbits: simple folk, simple in the best sense. The kind you want as neighbors. Friendly folk who are quick to jest. Those who remain generous, steady, and content year after year. Because, when you’re surrounded by the beauty of the Shire, how can you not be content? When you know that each summer will be as rich as the last, when each harvest will be as bountiful as before, and winter is just a reminder that spring will come again.
And in the Shire alone, of all the places in Middle-earth, is a glimpse of Lothlorien, my other would-be home. For in the newly-scoured Shire, on the foundation of the old tree in the Party Field, a new tree took root. And not just any tree – a mallorn, with silver bark and golden flowers. An Elven gift for the blessed and beloved Shire.
Lothlorien
I’m not fluent in Elvish, sadly, but I believe the translation of Lothlorien is dream flower. According to Treebeard (and he would know), the old Elvish name for it was Laurelindorenan, or Land of the Valley of Singing Gold. I would love to look out of my window and see dream flowers in a valley of singing gold.
Whatever it’s called, to me, this is the one place in all of Middle-earth most like Aman, the Blessed Realm. Heaven on earth.
Sure, I’d like to see Gondolin, but I’m too claustrophobic to go through the mountain tunnel to get there. And I’d want to walk in the woods of Doriath and feel the power that protects that realm. But I would choose to live in Lothlorien – a land where elves reside and peace reigns. “On the land of Lorien no shadow lay.”
Or as Sam so aptly put it, it’s “like being at home and on a holiday at the same time.”
To look out upon Lorien is like seeing something both new and familiar. When Frodo first opened his eyes there, he saw colors he knew but they were fresh and alive. He was seeing what he had seen his whole life, but he was seeing it anew in the light of Lorien. “A light was upon it for which his language had no name.” I want to make my home in that light.
But not just anywhere in this enchanted land: one place in particular – the hill of Cerin Amroth, a place awash with memory and meaning. For here on a Midsummer’s Eve long ago, an elf maiden and a mortal man stood together, drawn together. And a choice was made, the shadow was rejected, and hope was renewed.
Hope. The land of Lothlorien is full of it. And I would want to bask in its golden glow. To lie down in a bed of elanor and niphredil, to gaze up at the star of Earendil through the mallorn trees, to breathe the mystical air. To do “little but eat and drink and rest, and walk among the trees.” And just like it was for the Company when they went there, that would be enough for me, too.
*******************
I may never be a resident of Middle-earth, but I can be a frequent visitor in the pages of these books I love so much. Works that speak of lost tales and far away places, of deeds of long ago, of a world that doesn’t exist but that you almost wish did.
And now I can go to Middle-earth onscreen also, thanks to Amazon. Will you tune in as well?
If so, I’ll see you there. I’ll meet you in Middle-earth, for a little while.
(All quotations from The Fellowship of the Ring, by J. R. R. Tolkien)
Lord, I give You:
- the amount of time I have today,
- the amount of things I have to do,
- and the amount of energy in my body.
Somehow, I’m not sure the math checks out, but I choose to trust You anyway. I choose to remember what You promised in Your Word:
“We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.”
2 Corinthians 4:7 NIV
I have an all-surpassing power in me. It surpasses weariness, temptation, struggles, limitations. It surpasses everything that would hinder me as I live in pursuit of God and His purposes for me.
This is a power nothing can diminish – not a global pandemic, not the actions and opinions of others, not my own faults and failings, not regrets of the past or unknowns in the future, not the circumstances I’m unable to change.
Certainly, nothing and no one can conquer the power of God at work in the lives of those who love Him. Nothing and no one. Because the source of the power is indisputable, all-knowing, ever present. And because He will never change, that power will always be available.
All we must do is tap in to it.
At the intersection of my human limitation and His supernatural ability, where my finite understanding meets His all-knowing, at the crossroad of seen and unseen is a choice. The choice to dwell on how I feel and what I see or to tap into the ever-flowing stream of God’s wisdom and strength.
So, I can be overwhelmed by my emotions or overflowing with His grace. I can let my circumstances define my mood, or I can process my circumstances and emotions in Him. I can remain depleted or come to Him to be refreshed.
The choice is entirely up to me.
So yes, the number of things on my to-do list may be more than the amount of time I have today. The amount of energy in my body may be nowhere close to what I wish it was. But I’m thankful for how God’s math checks out. He multiples grace and strength in us. His well of resources never runs dry. The daily stress of life, the major moments and the minutiae cannot subtract from the all-surpassing power in us.
“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.”
2 Corinthians 4:16 ESV
Is it just me? Hopefully, I’m not the only one talking about The Lord of the Rings these days! According to my Facebook feed and Google suggestions, I’m not. Because with Amazon’s new series, The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, it seems Middle-earth has gone mainstream. And I’m here for it. I’m here to momentarily press pause on my usual topics of choice in order to celebrate the works of my favorite author, J. R. R. Tolkien. (You can read Part 1 here.)
Much has been written about the magnificent mythology that is The Silmarillion, which was published after his death, and The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I could add many of my own thoughts, but what strikes me most about The Lord of the Rings, perhaps his most well-known book, is easy to miss at first glance. But it’s worth noting.
And it’s spelled out on the final two pages.
Tolkien could’ve ended the book with the hobbits saying goodbye on the shores of the sea, and with the Elves, Gandalf, and Frodo boarding the ship, which went out into the West and carried Frodo to new shores and undying lands. “And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.” (The Return of The King, J. R. R. Tolkien)
The bookends of the story are complete: Frodo’s dream in the house of Tom Bombadil and his entrance into the Blessed Realm – the dream he had at the beginning of the book now fulfilled at the end. So, the story could have ended here, and what an ending that would have been – poignant and pure.
But it didn’t, and this choice of an ending reveals much.
While Frodo and the others set sail, the remaining hobbits watched their departure, staring across the sea into the night. Long they remained there with heavy hearts until at last they turned for home. They took the long road slowly and silently, until Merry and Pippin turned off, singing as they went.
And Sam continued and “came back up the Hill, as day was ending once more. And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap. He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said.” (The Return of the King, J. R. R. Tolkien)
That is where the book ends – at home, with family, in warm firelight, enjoying what was undoubtedly a very good meal (hobbits are notorious foodies).
The whole story ends with Sam simply saying “I’m back.”
I’m back. And he eats dinner, he and Rosie put the kids to bed, and they all get up the next morning – another day in the Shire.
And the story goes on. So we see that it isn’t just about grand adventures, about the high and lofty deeds of the great. It’s about everything that comes after. It’s about the daily adventure of living life with the people you love in the place you call home.
Hence, the story doesn’t end with Frodo going to Valinor – it ends with Sam going to the Shire, going home, to light and love.
It all starts and ends in the Shire, the true bookends of the story. All the adventures they undertook, the battles they fought, the miles they traveled – they did it all to protect the ones back home; they did it so they could have a place to come home to. And they did it together.
Home, family, friendship – love. This is the heartbeat of The Lord of the Rings, the steady, pulsing rhythm that beats loud and clear across the pages.
What a beautiful sound it is.