April 21, 2011

Thoughts on Zombie Bug, Boys, and Cancer

After school today, a third grader invited me to listen to him read a book he wrote about Zombie Bug. This particular third grade happens to be ADORABLE! He's a very hyper, wiggly little boy who has a heart of gold. Anyway, with his missing front teeth and adorable little boy voice, he read his book about Zombie Bug and Zombie Bug's friend, The Best Person Ever, stopping to show the pictures. I loved every last minute of it. Then I got in the car and cried.

Last weekend my sister and I went over my cousin's house to play games. She has two sons ages eleven and seven. They are loud and hyper and kept jumping in front of the television while we played Scene It. But even when they were at their most obnoxious, I was jealous. I would love to have obnoxious.

This morning I found out that a childhood friend is dying from cancer. She was moved to hospice care today. Like me, she is twenty-five; incredibly young to be going through this. We have spent little to no time together since eighth grade, but I am praying desperately for a miracle for her. She is a single mom of a little boy in first grade who is a student at the school where I teach. Today at the back door, I said hello to him, and he grabbed my head and told me he was an alien eating my brains. My heart aches for him and for her. Cancer is an awful thing.

All these things are weighing on my heart together right now. Even now, I'm looking for a common thread between the three. I thought it was the preciousness of each little boy, and the fact that they make me want not only a child of my own, but a son. But I feel like there is something more here that God wants me to grasp. He is present in all of these situations; a toothless third grade boy excited that the middle school English teacher liked his book, two crazy little hooligans learning to play well with others and having fun doing so, and a precious little man who, despite the turmoil in his life, seems to exude a peace that can only come from God. All four boys are safe, and content, and seem to have no fear about the future. I wish that was something that I could grasp.

1 comment:

  1. Oh, Lorena. I wish we lived closer so I could just hug you. I am learning so much from what you share here about what it's like to walk in the shoes of those who are going through infertility. Thank you for being so willing to be transparent.





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