Good morning…
For the first time since the pandemic began, four out of five of us caught up face to face. Having met many years ago in our living room during a Friday morning Bible study, we call ourselves the “Fab Five friends.” Constantly connected, we love supporting our friend whose daughter, Audrey, has been fighting cancer off and on since she was five and half years old. Turning seventeen in June, Audrey took last year off from school to fight through extremely grueling treatment to help her body return to a state of cancer free. This week Audrey returns to school as a high school junior. Amazing. Just amazing.
A few days after our energizing lunch, one friend texted us a blog post written by Sean of the South: “Sean is talking about something Audrey can identify with. Xo all.”
“Wow,” I replied, after reading the touching post below. “This is so powerful and so very true. Crossing out the name Bryson and putting in Audrey, the truth of our experience together is described so profoundly. We are praying for sweet Audrey as she heads back to school. When she faces eyes that look away, uncaring comments under breath or a sense of being invisible to some who don’t know what to say, might she adopt the prayer of Jesus on his cross? “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” That prayer can bring God’s uncanny love into every interaction. May our constant prayers quietly buoy our sweet Audrey.”
******
The Fighting Kid by Sean Dietrich – August 5, 2022
Dear Bryson,
When we first heard you had cancer, you have no idea how many people began praying for you. Then again, you might have an idea. Either way, there were a lot of us.
We were praying night and day. Day and night. Every single morning at breakfast. Each dinner. You were in our hearts. You were in our minds. You worked your way into our souls.
That might sound a little creepy, but it’s true. You are a fighter.
And now you’re starting school. Your first day of seventh grade. And I am thrilled to hear it. Because, you see, when I first got your grandmother’s letter about how you were suffering from an aggressive cancer, I read her words and wept. Because at the time, you see, I was going through a very difficult period in my own life, physically.
The doctor wasn’t sure whether I had cancer or not. They wanted to check me out. Do a bunch of tests. It scared the Shinola out of me.
I am a wimp. A big baby. I am nothing compared to you, Bryson.
Because there you were. Showing me what real bravery looks like. You were facing the devil. Head on. You were fighting.
I found myself checking you out on Facebook a lot. I read all the updates, and comments people were writing to you. I read all the words of encouragement. All the prayers.
I saw pictures of you with your head shaved. Your face was puffy from the medication, and you looked pretty tired. But you were always smiling. I don’t know how.
You gave me strength, Bryson. Really. Just knowing what you endured, and all that you suffered, you imparted actual strength to me.
So when your grandmother wrote to me yesterday, asking me to give you some words of advice before you started the seventh grade, I chuckled. Because I felt the strong need to tell her, and you, that I am not qualified to give you advice.
I am a weak human being. My faith is weak. My mind is weak. I am plagued by doubt. And by the presence of my own ego. Advice? No sir. I have no words of wisdom.
It is you, Bryson, who should give me your words. It’s you who has inspired me to be braver. Bolder. More adventurous. More excited about life. More present. Less selfish.
You have shown me, and countless others, how to look upward, how to survive, how to hope, and how to live a rich, full life.
Therefore, please remember, as you start your first day of class, to be gentle with those of us who do not understand. Those of us who do not know what life is about the way you do.
You see, Bryson, you know much more than your peers ever will. It is a great burden you have been given. For they cannot possibly understand the stripes you have earned. They will never get it. You are at a different stage than the rest of us. You are in a different league, so to speak.
You see things the rest of us will never see. You know things I might never know.
So forgive us for our stupidity. We know not what we do. Forgive us for our insensitivities. Our foolhardiness. Our squabbling about idiotic, earthly things. Our preoccupation with headlines.
Show us how to love, and how to be. Teach us to confront that which we fear. Show us how to be kind. Be patient with us.
You are younger than me by many years. But you are my brother. And I will continue to learn from you, Bryson. For your life is the gift. It is the gift that was given to this world. A gift you’ve given to me and so many others.
Congratulations on being cancer free. I hope your seventh grade year is a good one.
******
“Thank you,” Audrey’s mom texted our Fab Five friends. “I read the email yesterday and I was left speechless. So many emotions. I have heard many childhood cancer survivors are left with physical and emotional scars going into adulthood. I am forever thankful God has wrapped Audrey with good people every step of the way.”
Friends love through all kinds of weather, and families stick together in all kinds of trouble (Proverbs 17:17, MSG).
…Sue…
