them. They turned on their lights and started getting out of the car—and
she threw it anyway. We were still wearing our disguises, so maybe she
figured we could make a run for it. The policemen asked us whether we
knew it was a misdemeanor to toilet-paper someone’s house. I looked at
them, put my arm around Carol, and said, “Officer, I’ve got diplomatic
immunity, and she’s got cancer. Go ahead and arrest us.”
The officers looked at each other and grinned. They understood what
was going on. They were compassionate and playful with Carol as we
stood in the street talking about what prison life would be like for her. I
told her she was going to love the food but hate the showers and
suggested they handcuff her before they took her to the Big House just to
make sure she didn’t commit any other high crimes that day. We waved
as the policemen drove away.
When our kids were young and had trouble sleeping, I would take the
tip of my finger and rub from between their eyebrows to the end of their
noses. It worked every time, and in a few minutes they’d be out cold.
Carol made it through autumn to Christmas, but just barely. I would go
over to her house for visits and rub Carol’s nose with my finger to help
her rest and escape the battle going on inside of her for a few moments.
We’d pray together and talk about Jesus and our neighbors. One day,
these same neighbors came to the back of her house and passed flowers
they’d grown in their gardens through her window and covered Carol’s
bed with them. Selfless love has the power to transform even the darkest
places into meadows.
When Carol had the strength, she would meet friends in her living
room. She’d point out the window with a weak finger to the trees across
the street with remnants of toilet paper still waving from the top branches
like the flags on a circus tent. She’d giggle and say, “I did that.”
Throughout the winter, each day became more difficult for Carol to find
energy. She slept uneasily and longer throughout the days and nights,
which started to blend together for her.
avery
(avery)
#1