Happy Winter Solstice! It's December 21st, a day to cozy up by the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate, finding contentment in the dark as we feel grateful for the light. While the darkest day of the year here in the northern hemisphere, I feel comfort in knowing that from here the days will gradually grow brighter.
Over the past couple of weeks I've struggled to feel inner peace and contentment. All of the anniversaries have hit harder than I anticipated. Joining Eli at his robotics competition on December 13th, I kept thinking about how I couldn't be there last year because Annika was in surgery having her heart replaced. I wondered what it was like for him in 2024, fiddling with robots like the world was normal, even as his little sister was being kept alive by a heart-lung machine. This year was so different as she came to support Eli (his robot won!), literally running laps around the school when she got bored.
I had a similar experience yesterday when I went to pick up a prescription at Primary Children's. It was a Saturday morning and I could see two families gathered around tables in the lobby. I could sense that the emotions were tense at one of the tables where the mother was absent-mindedly fidgeting with her necklace, her mind lost in deep thought. I instantly recalled the December Saturday where we waited for Annika's heart at that same table in that same lobby. Stranded in a strange space where we'd been booted from our room on the floor but without a room in the ICU, we gathered there and waited and paced and prayed. I wanted to hug that Mom and tell her that everything will be okay. But in truth, how can we know? If you step back and look with a long-enough lens, everything will indeed be okay. But here and now, there is sorrow and struggle aplenty.
For Annika's December 14th "heartiversary" we collected rocks from the foothills and decorated them with colorful pictures and messages. It's not a lot, but we wanted to share the love of her donor and their family in some small way. I hope the rocks make someone happy. Collecting and painting them has been therapeutic in its own way. In fact, yesterday I gathered more stones so that we can continue the tradition in remembrance all year round.
Each time I light a candle I think of Annika's donor. This time of year, our home has been FULL of candles. I acquired a new Advent wreath for our family, and my favorite time of day is in the evening when I light the candles, turn on the Christmas tree, dim the lights, and just take a moment to reflect.
There is so very much to think about. I reflect on the joy I felt the morning after Brooklyn came home when we all gathered at the dining room table and there were no empty chairs. My eyes filled with tears as our family finally felt complete and whole. My heart overflowed with joy, even as it remembered and held space for so many other families who are mourning empty chairs this Christmas season. Hearts are miraculous organs; those four little chambers hold love and light and life and loss all at the same time,
Faith carries me through these times. I am grateful for the assurance that we can be reunited after this life, and in heaven there will be no empty chairs nor broken hearts. This season I am reflecting more fervently on Jesus Christ as my Savior and Redeemer. In Away in a Manger we sing, "Be near me, Lord Jesus." But in The Chosen, it is Jesus who pleads with his disciples as he enters the Garden of Gethsemane: "Be Near Me." Be near me, O Kara, I ask you to stay close by me forever, and love me, I pray. "And my free spirit cried, I will."
More than anything else, I believe Jesus wants us to come to him and accept his gift, as so beautifully encouraged in this year's Christmas devotional. This language "accept" feels particularly poignant in the context of transplant. When someone is listed for transplant, they may "receive an offer" of an organ. The transplant team then evaluates the heart to determine if it is a good match, considering size, health of the heart, health of the individual, risk factors, age, blood type, antibodies, etc. If the match seems favorable, the team will "accept," but it's challenging for all those stars to align. We know that Annika's transplant team turned down multiple offers before accepting her current heart. It's a good match, but like any transplant, it's not perfect.
Jesus Christ's offering is perfect. His heart is without flaw, and he has already died so that we may live. Will we accept his gift? He is the Light of the World, bringing hope in the very darkest of seasons. The rock of salvation, he is ever present with his arms outstretched to comfort us in the moments when we are scared or discouraged or anxious or alone. He wants us to look unto him and live. But when I pray "Be near me, Lord Jesus," it is I who must rise and draw close.
1 comment:
A very reflective and thoughtful post Kara. You were able to write much of what I have been feeling about Annika's heartiversary, Brooklyn's return, etc.
In a much less profound, but still significant, and related way, I leaned heavily on my Savior, my most reliable friend --a lot-- last night as I struggled through a night at the U. of U. Wake / Sleep Center in Sugarhouse. "They" thought "putting me to bed" at 9:00 p.m. with 15 wires attached to my head, many more wires on my torso and legs, in a strange medical facility, in a lonely strange bed, without nearby power for my phone, or a pee bottle, or a TV, would result in good sleep study results. I was not allowed to wear my CPAP or take sleeping pills either.
I tried hard to remain calm, composed, and compliant. I could feel panic approaching several times; I wanted desperately to stop the whole procedure, pull off my wires, get dressed, and drive home. Instead, I prayed mightily for peace of mind and an ability to complete my sleep study with acceptable, accurate data. I recited the Lord's Prayer, poems, hymns, and many other favorite scriptures, etc. repeatedly in my mind. My mind kept returning to my difficult 2024 nights in the UNMC ... somehow my most reliable friend helped me through that ordeal. Then, and again last night, I tried to humble myself and rely on the James 4:8 promise, "Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to you." Long story short ... It was still a long, difficult, disjointed night, but I persevered, and did finally produce particularly relevant sleep data from 12:45 through 5:05 am according to the technician. He said it was sufficient data for the ordered sleep study, and I gratefully accepted his suggestion to unwire and leave at about 5:30 am ... Gratefully, all is well that ends well.
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