small

I love Christmas ornaments. There’s something so thoroughly delightful about unwrapping each ornament, remembering where they came from and decorating the tree together as a family. It’s also kind of great to me how even the most random thing can be cute when it’s tiny and hung on a Christmas tree - a goose in a hat? a tiny truck? a marshmallow with a face? sure! Make it small and a bit sparkly, and hang it on up!

As I continue in the now familiar cycle of these chemo treatments, I have been thinking about the ways in which our world can feel small. And though it’s not in a cute and sparkly way, I have been trying to sit with the feelings and pieces that rise when finding myself in places that feel quite small and even wearying in these weeks.

Each treatment cycle starts with days that are less than desirable. Even when I am feeling a bit better than normal, they are at home, mostly on my own kind of days. My bed upstairs, the couch downstairs, and if I’m really feeling a burst of energy, maybe a bit of laundry folding or a few minutes working at the puzzle on the dining room table. The dog asks for walks I can’t muster the energy for (nor can I brave the cold at this point!), the house begs to be tidied all the time, and even reading my much-loved books takes a kind of focus and energy that are hard to stay at for too long.
They are pretty small days. And truthfully sometimes pretty tedious ones.

But I’ve been remembering another season of life that also felt small and close, and sometimes unending in its sameness. I was so thankful to be able to be home with all kiddos in their youngest years. I know that not everyone chooses to be a stay-at-home parent, and some don’t have the option at all, but it was a good fit for our family and there is so much about those years that I cherish and am grateful for.

And yet, there was also craziness. There were tears from everyone, probably most days, when the babes were wee. Many days felt very small, very unproductive, sometimes tedious, sometimes overwhelming, and often all of that in a wild mix in the span of a few hours.

But I learned so much in those days and years about choosing to believe in the value of things that happen in small ways. What a joy to watch these tiny humans grow slowly more and more into themselves. What a gift to be present to a hundred small and wondrous moments, right in the mix of the craziness and tears.

And so here again, in this slightly different but relatable season of small at home-ness, I feel the fresh invitation to stay with the small. To notice the mix of days that hold both so much that is hard, but so much that is good. To trust and hold onto the growth that is slow but steady as I now also become more of myself in these quiet days.

These musings pair in a lovely way with the season of Advent that we are slowly creeping our way through. In Advent, the season of waiting, anticipation, a growing darkness before the coming light, there is a needed and necessary room for us to notice again the many small ways God chose to come to us.
There are some loud large moments in the Christmas story for sure - long journeys, angelic choirs, dreams that compel speedy and probably somewhat frantic departures…
But there are also many, many quiet, close, just-meant-for-a-few, moments that speak to me of the gifts to be found in places that seem small in size, but are large in significance and promise.

Sit with me for a minute in the sacredness of these small spaces:
- a promise given to a small girl in the quiet prayer space of her own home…
- small moments of shared joy and delight between cousins as they celebrate and marvel at what God is growing within them…
- a small light in the sky that compels a journey and promises a new way that is coming at last…
- small moments of discovery and realization at what God is doing in their midst - Zechariah, Simeon, Anna… so many others
- a small baby - arriving in a small way, in a small place - ushering in perfect love for all, and the fullness of God’s kingdom come to earth

photo by Kelly Sikkema

Here we see how the small can be oh so very holy.
The small can be exactly what we need, and the very place that we are ready to receive everything that God wants to show us and pour out in our midst.

A small hope.
A small light.
A small step further into God’s heart and way for us.

These need not be despised. But they may be missed.
Lord, give us eyes to see the small but significant ways you’re coming for us again in this season.

Help us to turn down the noise, to release the weighty expectations we place on ourselves, to quiet the crashing loudness of Christmas, and settle our hearts in the solace of the small places.
To notice the small beauty around us, to extend a small kindness to someone you have placed right in our path, to lift our eyes and our hearts afresh to receive the gifts of light and life and joy that you scatter throughout our messy and glorious days.

Help us, Lord, to remember that the small spaces you invite us to, and the small offerings that we hold out to you with obedience and courage, are the very places where we will know your abundance, your promises fulfilled, your provision felt with every fibre of our beings.

There are so many words that K. J. Ramsey has written that go deep down into the small spaces of my own soul… and here she writes of the gift of the small when it is given to Jesus:

“Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?”
- John 6:8-9

Jesus,
you who saw abundance where your disciples saw lack:
help us bless what we can offer today.

Because every day we are invited to become like that kid
who showed up to listen but was not too proud to offer the little he had
to feed the crowd.

May our cracked yet open hands
find that abundance in the mystery you make when we show up with our little loaves and fish
and expect you to multiply grace.

Amen.

And then also a beautiful prayer of presence and promise that I want to hold close in this small season:

What is your only comfort to be courageous in life and in death?
That everywhere I go, I belong - body and soul, in all my days,
all my doubts, and even all my despair, and my coming death -
to you, my Saviour and my friend, Jesus Christ.

Lord Jesus, there is nothing in life and no manner of death that can separate me from your friendship.
Everywhere I go, you go with me. You are always glad to be with me.
Because you became like me, I can become like you…

You see me with such tenderness and attentiveness that not even a hair can fall from my head outside of your care.
Every detail of my body and soul belongs to you and is held with constant kindness in your heart.
There is no hour of my life that is lived outside of your care.
No part of me will ever be lost.

You are presently gathering up all the shattered pieces of me,
together with all the broken pieces of this earth, into a brilliant world that will never die.
Every moment of my story is but a movement in your hands to make all things whole.

Because I belong, your very Spirit lives within me, companioning me into courage even when I have none.
Everywhere I go, there you are.
Because I belong, I am being made ready and willing to give my life as a discovery of your presence,
to become a conduit of the joy that radiates from you.

Lord Jesus, you are my courage, my comfort, and my irrevocable crown.

-K. J. Ramsey The Book of Common Courage

And by way of a health update, here are a few small but significant gifts that we’re holding along the way:

- I will have an extra week of pause over Christmas break before returning to treatment in the new year; I am so, so looking forward to some bonus good days to celebrate and delight in through these weeks
- the CT scan that I had in November came back with a positive/neutral report - nothing has spread and the cancer is being contained as hoped - so we shall carry on and continue to monitor with regular checkins in the coming months
- in the new year, I have three more rounds of chemo before wrapping up this course; we will be looking forward to another break in February then where I’ll switch to just immunotherapy treatments for a chunk - those will be every 3 weeks and much more mild and manageable in terms of side effects. This feels like another gift to look forward too - a longer break of recovery and rest for my body, and I’m hoping days of feeling more fully like myself
- and friends, we continue to be so grateful for your prayers and love as we carry on through these days - thank you for holding us up and being with us in the midst. Never doubt, that here again, offerings that may seem small are significant and felt - we are so grateful and so very well held.

Blessings friends.
May you know both the small closeness and the glorious abundance of Jesus with you, this Christmas and always.
L xo