This Race Can Be Won

If your child had a severe disorder so rare that only 11 people in the world have it, would you be able to find thankfulness in your heart this season?

If every morning when you woke up you couldn't predict which debilitating symptoms of a horrible disease would plague you that day, would you find joy enough in your heart to sing and smile?

I just returned from Be The Match, a public event for the collection of DNA samples to find a stem cell match for Kelsey and Karly Koch, two young sisters afflicted with a grave primary immune deficiency disease.

Here are my observations about thankfulness in the midst of a heart-wrenching situation:

The turnout for the event was amazing. As I instructed dozens of donors on the proper cheek-swabbing procedure, I was moved over and over by sincere, enthusiastic exclamations such as, "I hope I'm the one! I want to be the match!" I was so grateful to witness sacrificial love that prompted people to wait in line, donate funds and pray that they would indeed "be the one."

I stood next to Kelsey, 21, as she spoke with donors, smiling the whole time and expressing hope for a future and gratitude for those who had come to help her, even though she had awakened that morning feeling worse than you or I could probably imagine.

I observed my co-worker Christy, who poured so much energy into preparation for this day, buzzing around helping wherever she was needed. Christy was the force behind publicity, garnering donations from local businesses, communicating between the foundation and our church, coordinating, instructing and scheduling the volunteers, all because her heart was full of love and compassion for Karly and Kelsey.

I watched a loving father attend the event, helping where he could, while his wife was with Karly, 15, who is currently hospitalized at the National Institute of Health in Maryland, and I was thankful that the girls have such devoted parents and siblings.

Finally, how inspiring it was to read the following on Kelsey's blog recently:

"A song started playing in my head. God was singing to me the song Stay Strong:

You're in the moment now

When all that you've been blessed with

Is not enough

Here's where the ground gets loose

Here's where the devils call your bluff

Get up, there's further to go

Get up, there's more to be done

Get up, this witness is sure

Get up, this race can be won"

I'm grateful this season for all that is beautiful and good like bountiful harvests, health and other luxuries, but also for all that is beautiful and good in the midst of heartache and suffering. Thank you, Kelsey, for bringing thankfulness into a new light for all of us this year, especially me. This race can be won!

"Remembering Freedom And Who Died For It" (title by Star Press)

Recently during vacation, I awoke at 4:42 a.m. to a frightening mix of intermittent, deafening buzzing and pulsating, blinding light.

Panicked and confused, it took me a second to realize that the fire alarm was going off. As I headed toward the door just a few steps away, I couldn't find my daughter because of the strobe of the lights, so I called her name and turned to pull her out of her bed.

Because she was already up and moving, I banged my forehead against hers so hard I saw stars, which only heightened my discombobulation.



Once we were assembled outside on the lawn, I realized I was wearing a knee-length night shirt and felt a little exposed, although everyone else was in the same vulnerable situation. The irony is, being the worry-wart that I am, whenever I travel, I always sleep in exercise pants and a T-shirt just in case there is an emergency -- except this time. I've always known the moment would come, I just didn't think it would be this time.





I noticed that those assembled on the lawn were in the same boat: taken by surprise, feeling exposed, no credit cards, laptops or phones to distract us. We were a pitiful homogeneous bunch, waiting around for direction from someone in charge.

This unnerving experience along with the stories of recent celebrity deaths has prompted me to remember that inhaling one moment doesn't guarantee an exhalation. Even when medical knowledge gives us months to prepare for our exit, there is a definite moment when we are here, and then we simply aren't. It seems when anyone passes, we are all taken by surprise as I was during the hotel alarm. We do not seem to truly believe, as Hemingway said, that the bell will actually toll for us.

And when we move to the other side, no acquisitions or accolades we've garnered will mean anything as we stand empty handed, waiting for the next step from the one in charge.

As I watch the fireworks flash and fade this evening, remembering those who were alive one minute and gone the next so that I could live in a free country, I won't forget the one who died so that I can have freedom within, as well. And I won't forget that I have the same inevitable moment ahead of me: "In a flash, in the twinkling of an eye ... the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed." (1 Corinthians 15:52).