Season of Blessing (35 page)
Sylvia's chemo treatment
on the first day of Augustâalmost a full year after her diagnosisâleft her bed-ridden for three days. When she finally felt like emerging back into the world, Harry urged her to go to a cancer support group someone had started in their church. She had avoided it before, thinking it was a self-indulgent pity party.
But her first meeting surprised her. It wasn't a pity party or a place of sadness or despair. Instead, she met survivors of cancer, those in the throes of it like herself, family members and loved ones of those who had died.
They smiled and laughed and shared Scripture. And they shared strategies for coping with the various treatments and the fears plaguing them. By the end of the night, she had a little more energy to her step as she headed back home.
At the end of the week, Sylvia sat on the floor in the classroom as ten little Down's Syndrome children sat around her, two of them in wheelchairs, two propped in chairs, and the rest sitting on the floor with their legs crossed. They seemed glad to see her after she had missed several days.
They each brought their wordless book to the group, anticipating having her lead them through it again. Her hands trembled, and she felt so weak that the walk down the hall had forced her to stop and rest, but she was glad to be here. She picked up the wordless book and opened to the first page.
“What color is this, boys and girls?”
“Yewwo,” Bo cried out.
Tory laughed and patted his head. “Very good, Bo.”
“And can anybody tell me what the yellow stands for?”
“Heben,” one of the children in the wheelchair muttered.
“That's right,” Sylvia said. “You're so smart. It's heaven, because in heaven there are streets of gold. And the best part about heaven is that somebody we know and love very much lives there. Does anybody know who?”
“Dod,” one of the children cried out.
“God. That's right,” she said, “and the Bible tells us that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life. Raise your hand if you believe in him.”
Every one of them lifted their hands, and Sylvia laughed.
“Now tell me about Jesus. Who is he preparing a place for in heaven?”
“Me,” one of the children cried out.
Sylvia clapped her hands with delight, and winked at Tory. The teacher who sat across the room working on the next project for the day laughed as well.
“But God is holy and perfect,” Sylvia said. “And he can't allow anything into heaven that isn't perfect. So there's one thing that can never be in heaven. Can any of you think what that thing might be?”
The children got quiet. No one seemed to know the answer until she turned the next page. “What color is this?”
“Bwak,” Bo cried out.
“Very good,” she said. “And what does black represent?”
Bo raised his hand again, not wanting to be overlooked. “Bo, tell me what the black represents.”
“My hawt,” he said.
Tory turned her stricken eyes to the boy, then met Sylvia's eyes. It was working, she seemed to say. He was really getting it.
“That's right, Bo. Our hearts. They all have sin, right? We all do bad things sometimes. Everybody. Big or little, young or old. No matter where you live or who you are, you've done something bad at some point in your life. And we know that God punishes sin, doesn't he? He punishes all the bad things we do. But we don't have to be punished, do we?”
“No!” One of the children bound to a wheelchair spoke out, and Sylvia caught her breath. He rarely spoke at all, but lately she had watched him following along in his book. She turned the page.
“What color is this page?”
“Wed,” someone cried out.
“That's right. And what does the red remind us of?”
“Deezus,” Bo said.
“Yes, Jesus!” The energy was returning to Sylvia's limbs, lifting her spirits, reviving her body. “Because God sent Jesus to be born as a little baby and to live a perfect life. He never did anything bad, did he? But he took our punishment, so we wouldn't have to.” She held up the cross they had made last week out of Popsicle sticks. “What is this?”
“Cwoss!” someone yelled out.
“Yes. Jesus died on a cross, to take our punishment. Isn't that right?” The children all nodded.
“And so now the heart that's in us that's black and bad can be replaced, can't it? We can have a new heart.” She turned the page to the white page.
“The white reminds us of a clean heart, doesn't it? And how can you have a clean heart? You can ask God to take your black, dirty heart away, and give you a new heart.”
The children hung onto every word, nodding their heads and looking down at the white page in their own books. She turned the page.
“And what color is this, Bo?”
“Gween,” he said, proud of himself and grinning at all the kids around him.
“That's right,” she said. “And green stands for things that grow, and when you have Jesus in your heart, you want to become more like him. Isn't that right?”
Bo nodded his head like he'd written the book himself.
“And so we pray, and we talk to God, and we read the Bible, and we tell others about Jesus, and we get our mommies and daddies to take us to church. Right? And whenever we do something bad, we can tell God we're sorry.”
The children clapped their hands in pure delight, and for a moment, Sylvia forgot her cancer and the pain in her side and back, and her thinning hair, and the next treatment that would send her to bed. She forgot about her fears and her questions and her death. Because here, in this room, there was so much more.
Tory gestured excitedly as she drove Sylvia home. “I never dreamed these kids could learn colors this young,” she said. “But you've not only taught them the colors, you've taught them the whole gospel messageâ¦and they understand it. That's just a miracle.”
“Well, God's in the business of miracles,” Sylvia said.
Tory looked at Sylvia, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I hope I can be like you, Sylvia. That I'll never underestimate the fruit I can bear in any situation.”
“You will bear fruit, Tory. You will.”
Exhausted, Sylvia lay her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, certain she would sleep all the way home.
Two days after
Sylvia's next chemo treatment, Tory took Hannah over, hoping the baby would cheer Sylvia up and get her mind off of her illness. Harry greeted her at the door and led her down the hall.
Tory stepped into Sylvia's room. The lamp was on, but darkness still hung on. Sylvia lay in bed, a skinny heap of bones. Her skin was a pallid color, somewhere between death and life, and the hair that had begun to grow back had fallen out again.
“Sylvia,” Tory said softly, “do you feel like visiting with Hannah and me?”
Sylvia opened her eyes and squinted up. Tory could see by the look on her face that she nursed a headache, among other things. She thought of leaving, but Sylvia rose up.
“Give me that baby.”
Hannah smiled and kicked her feet as Tory laid her next to Sylvia on the bed.
But the child didn't want to lie still. Instead, she rolled over and raised up on her hands and knees.
Sylvia gasped. “Is she crawling?”
Tory smiled. “Just about. That's what I wanted you to see.”
“Put her on the floor,” Sylvia said. “Let me see what she can do.”
Tory set her on the floor and coaxed her to crawl. Hannah laughed and rocked back and forth on her hands and knees. “While she's been in the nursery without me, she's developed this awareness of the kids around her. And she's started trying to do what they do.”
Sylvia forced herself to sit up, but Tory wondered if that was wise. She looked as if she might collapse if the air conditioner blew too hard.
“Crawl for Miss Sylvia.” Sylvia clapped her hands. “Come on, sweetie. Let's see you do it.”
Instead of crawling, Hannah grabbed the bedspread, and started to pull up.
Sylvia reached for her, and the child stretched up. “Tory!” she said. “She's going to stand up.”
“No way,” Tory said. “She can't stand.”
“Watch.” Sylvia took the child's little fists, and pulled her up carefully, until her dimpled little legs locked beneath her.
Tory squealed and began to clap, and Hannah looked over at her, surprised. Sylvia picked her up like an Olympic star, cheering and clapping.
Tory started to cry. “Sylvia, she stood up. She stood up!”
“She sure did,” Sylvia said. “Who would have thought this little thing could make me feel better?” She set Hannah on her lap, and made the baby clap her own hands.
“Do you know what this means, Sylvia? She'll walk someday. She'll walk on her own two feet, and her legs will hold her up, probably without a brace. Don't you think so? Don't you think she'll walk?”
“I know she will.” She set her back down, hoping she would do it again. Tory helped the child pull back up as Sylvia lay back and watched.
When the child did it one more time, they both cheered, and Hannah laughed and brought her own fat little hands together.
Tory knew better than to stay much longer. Sylvia was waning.
“Well, I'd better get her home before she forgets how to do it,” Tory said.
Sylvia smiled. “Thank you for bringing her over, Tory. What a gift.”
“And who knew she was going to give it to you? Now if she'll only do it for Daddy. When I tell Spencer and Brittany, they probably won't leave her alone for the rest of the night. They'll insist on having her walking by morning.”
“Don't ever underestimate her.” Sylvia reached out for a hug, and Tory bent down.
“I love you,” Tory said. “You get better, okay? Call if you need me.”
“I'll be as good as new in a couple of days.”
“Good,” she said. “Because our class is having their school program, and I don't want you to miss it.”
Sylvia's face brightened. “I'll be there,” she said. “Nothing could stop me.”
