Support Group: Miracles
Last night I hurried to our HD support group meeting. I thought I would be late - and I was by just a few minutes - but I am so glad I did not let my schedule interfere with attending.
New friends were there last night. They are delightful people who are still reeling from the diagnosis of HD. Introductions all around included sharing our diagnosis stories. Although most of us can tell these stories now with a measure of pragmatism, the memory of that moment is fresh in our minds and always will be.
As we talked through options for sharing news with friends and family, and the implications as far as insurance and financial planning, the subject of miracles came up. We all hope for the miracle of a cure, for the technology and the medicine to come up with a way to stop this disease. As I thought about our meeting last night, I begin to examine what I believe about miracles.
Most of the time, a miracle is considered something that happens beyond the scope of the known world, and the way things work in general. The word "miracle" immediately brings to my mind the scripture accounts of the healing of the lepers, raising the dead - Jarius' daughter, Lazarus - or Jesus walking on the water to meet the disciples on their boat.
However being healed of a disease, or being raised from the dead are not the only miracles I can see. Every day that we are given is a miracle. When that day also includes the knowledge of a life-limiting illness, the miracle is all the more amazing. Without exception, those attending our support group are determined to live life to the fullest. We all do what we can to keep active, or to support the one we love.
I have known people whose cure from a disease is indeed a miracle, whose stories give me hope. I have known people whose death from that same type of disease gave me strength. Miracles are interesting things. They come in all forms. Miracles in delivery rooms and on death beds. Miracles in nursing homes and in a hospice house. Miracles in a graveyard. The miracle of an empty tomb.
Miracles were shared last night in our support group. Refusing to dwell on what we cannot change. Realizing we are not in control. Accepting our mortality as a part of the human condition, and letting that knowledge make us better people. Gathering to share our sorrows, bear each other's burdens, and share in each other's joys. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death and fearing no evil.
New friends were there last night. They are delightful people who are still reeling from the diagnosis of HD. Introductions all around included sharing our diagnosis stories. Although most of us can tell these stories now with a measure of pragmatism, the memory of that moment is fresh in our minds and always will be.
As we talked through options for sharing news with friends and family, and the implications as far as insurance and financial planning, the subject of miracles came up. We all hope for the miracle of a cure, for the technology and the medicine to come up with a way to stop this disease. As I thought about our meeting last night, I begin to examine what I believe about miracles.
Most of the time, a miracle is considered something that happens beyond the scope of the known world, and the way things work in general. The word "miracle" immediately brings to my mind the scripture accounts of the healing of the lepers, raising the dead - Jarius' daughter, Lazarus - or Jesus walking on the water to meet the disciples on their boat.
However being healed of a disease, or being raised from the dead are not the only miracles I can see. Every day that we are given is a miracle. When that day also includes the knowledge of a life-limiting illness, the miracle is all the more amazing. Without exception, those attending our support group are determined to live life to the fullest. We all do what we can to keep active, or to support the one we love.
I have known people whose cure from a disease is indeed a miracle, whose stories give me hope. I have known people whose death from that same type of disease gave me strength. Miracles are interesting things. They come in all forms. Miracles in delivery rooms and on death beds. Miracles in nursing homes and in a hospice house. Miracles in a graveyard. The miracle of an empty tomb.
Miracles were shared last night in our support group. Refusing to dwell on what we cannot change. Realizing we are not in control. Accepting our mortality as a part of the human condition, and letting that knowledge make us better people. Gathering to share our sorrows, bear each other's burdens, and share in each other's joys. Walking through the valley of the shadow of death and fearing no evil.
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