abundance, of a kind

Lillian, in all her silly, joyful glory

What a week.

Ups and downs, downs and ups…

Not so much on bicycle, though that, too.

It’s been a week packed with deep grief and moments of newness and joy.

Really, it all hinged on Wednesday. I had found out Tuesday that my dear friend Lillian, an older woman who has been a support and encourager to me for the last ten years, was dying from the cancer she’s been battling since I’ve known her. In our Paris apartment, I spent time praying alone and with Jonathan and Amélie on Wednesday for her and her family, even as we soothed a 5-year-old in the nasty throes of an ear infection. Don’t I know too well this battle for health, for the Kingdom come in our bodies as it is in heaven? And yet hardly feel victorious.

And then, because one must also live, I walked through a drizzly Montmartre with warm baguettes in hand up to celebrate my friend Clem (my original connection to Paris). He’s heading to Jordan for 6 months, and a good dozen of us gathered around a fire, cheese, wine, and dirty jokes in a centuries-old apartment to send him out. How I’ve missed these relaxed environments, rich with love and the chiding of friendly jokes!

Once the group dispersed, I headed out onto the cobbled passage leading to the street, looking forward to a walk through the cool, damp streets. But the night was not over; our friend Antoine was preparing to head out to a club on his scooter, and invited me to come along. Although it promised to be a late night, I couldn’t resist the promise of a night scooter-ride through the city. At a club on the east side of town, I met a rapper of African origin that a friend of ours knows, and for a long time, the two guys talked about language, music, and parenthood—the rapper had become a father the night before. The rapper left, the bar emptied out, and eventually we took off too, and scooted through what had become light rain, Paris at 1:30 AM.

The next evening, as I stretched after a jog, I found out that just about the time I traversed on scooter the night before, Lillian passed away in Los Angeles, surrounded by her family. By the time I went to bed, my very body felt laden with sorrow, and my eyes were half swollen closed.

There’s no sense to it all, no conclusion to draw. All I can think is that it’s life abundant—abundant in joy, abundant in sorrow.