A-Waiting

As I mentioned in my last post, this fall has been hot. Hotter-than-summer hot. I have been waiting and waiting for fall to come. It has been in the 90s and 100s at our house, every day.

This year is hotter than past years, that is certain (I think--right? I haven't been in Santa Barbara for fall since 2012). When we first moved here, fall came with cool and rain and meant the end of fire season. Now, we have fire season all the year 'round.

Last Thursday morning we woke up to a 6 am text from emergency services. There was a wildfire burning in the hills behind our house. We walked outside and could see the huge plumes of flame cresting the ridge in the darkness.

We started packing, quietly, before the kids got up--not wanting to worry them. Two of them are old enough to remember the night in 2008 when we spent about fifteen minutes grabbing children and (the most random) things and heading to the Westmont gym for shelter, the burning embers raining down on us as we went.

Thursday, we knew that a repeat was unlikely; but nerves jangled as everyone remembered. And while we sat under evacuation warning and ready to go, I was still reticent to pack everything because it's work to get ready and it's work to unpack again.

(Note: experienced packing in evacuating can be revealing: for example, I should maybe never buy any clothes but grays and the blue-green spectrum). 

We spent some time watching the smoke, and took a field trip to watch the helicopters basing out of a field at Westmont. That was very cool, even when it kicked up a wave of dust and leaves that hit us like a wall.

The day was surreal. There was no immediate crisis and so normal life continued, with all of its rhythms and responsibilities. I drove carpool. The college held classes. Yet all the while there was an awareness that if the wind turned and picked up, --as forecast--all sense of normal could go flying out the window in a hurry.

I wanted to resist being hysterical or paranoid. Yet, those of us who experienced that devastating fire no longer have the luxury of just assuming that everything will be fine. For a visual, here is a video of our own street from that night, to give an idea of what we knew was possible. And so we quietly braced ourselves.


I spent the day going back and forth between searching the internet and the horizon for news of the fire, and trying to live the normal things I was called to do. Laundry. Piano lessons. Somewhere in the midst (I was walking to the mailbox) I realized how well the morning represented how I am living right now in terms of the cancer.

In this case the crisis is past; but I no longer have the luxury of just assuming that everything is going to be fine. I already felt that way in May, when I first found the lump. I know that lumps can be anything, and perhaps most often are something else-- cat-scratch disease, for example.

But I had experienced that it was plausible that it could mean what everyone dreads, the same way we know the wind can whip an inferno our way.

We find ourself in a season of waiting right now, not unlike the waiting on the wind we did on Thursday morning. This time we are waiting on the next round of scans. As with the fire, I am unwilling to panic and yet there it is, just beyond the ridge. And as with the fire, I have absolutely no control over how things will go. What is coming? I am grappling with what it means to live into the normal while still...waiting. One wants to be prepared, and yet not waste time preparing for what may never come. That seems to me a fine and important line.

I wish I had a tidy little summary for the way forward, but I don't. I imagine it involves looking ahead and preparing for the things that are inevitable and promised. I am certain it means looking for hope where true Hope is to be found. In the meantime there are many moving parts and moving people, and we are not waiting alone. Thursday I had a friend text with an offer of welcome, even though we had not yet been evacuated. Just in case. And last June a friend came to Los Angeles to go with me to appointments--and brought her toothbrush. Just in case. It turns out I needed her to stay.

And so as I figure out how to prepare (and how not to prepare), I have these many examples of how God has provided for me and for us. And that is a comfort as we wait.


To follow my SarcomaSummer2015 playlist, I built a new one for this season: A.waiting Fall. Here it is in case you want to groove and dance and sing along with me. I'm a little embarrassed at how familiar Nutmeg already is with all of these. "Motorcycle Drive By" is one of her favorites.

On Thursday, the winds stayed low. The emergency response was swift and thorough.  No evacuation was necessary, no houses burned. But all day and into the night we waited. And in the morning, we gave thanks.