On Oxygen

As I've grown up and moved away, I've loved talking to my mom on the phone.

There is a sense of sharing and understanding that comes from an adult relationship with your parents. There is just always something so comforting about my mom's voice.

Since the summer, these phone calls have been marked with new background noise — the whirling of an oxygen machine.

My mom was diagnosed with a rare stage 4 cancer when I was 16, and I'm just lately unpacking how this marked my coming of age. She's the strongest woman in the world. As I'm writing this, she starts another round of chemo.

A few months ago, as we were all getting used to Mom's need for this new machine, I was talking to her on the phone and couldn't think past the inhale/exhale noise.

I felt like it was teasing me, crashing our conversation, threatening our fight for life. In the next moment, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper to me, “become friends with oxygen.”

Suddenly, what was once this unwanted, scary, annoying machine has become a friend to me. Supporting life, giving my mom what she needs.

I've been sitting with this for months. What does it mean to treasure our own breath? To not be ashamed of our needs? To pay attention to this subtle rhythm of life? To be friends with our breathing?

I think it boils down to this:

We are fragile. We are limited. We need things. But it doesn't take much – only this simple inhale and exhale.

Have you paid attention to it in awhile? Are you drinking deep? How are you filling your lungs?

All we need – our breath in and out. So simple, so missable.

Thank you, Jesus for sustaining us. Help me be a friend to the breath you give me.

C