A Bit of Wonderful Normal

I offer you the words of a guest writer today, my gifted younger brother Jonathan. Last summer his beautiful wife Bridget was diagnosed with cancer. Surgery removed what we hope and pray were all of the deadly cells, and during the past several months she has been undergoing exhausting rounds of chemotherapy as a follow-up precaution. She is battling hard and, I believe, beating this disease. But needless to say, this terrifying ordeal has taken its toll on their young family...physically, mentally, and emotionally. They are blessed with a five-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Mary Maeve, who is the sweetest little girl you could ever hope to meet and a tremendous source of light to them during these troubled times.

Yesterday Jon sent the following reflection to me, and I asked him if I could share it here. Even if you do not know my brother and his family, I think you will be touched by his thoughts. It's a message of hope and survival and a powerful reminder to celebrate the precious little moments we are given each day, something we all need to hear during these busy days of preparation for the coming of our Savior. I deeply appreciate your prayers for Bridget, Jonathan, and sweet Mary Maeve. They are such an inspiration to me.

Make today count. In the best of ways.


When I ran the Cleveland Marathon in 2000, it was difficult. And, obviously, with each passing mile the journey got tougher. Every few miles, however, there was a comfort station to bring water and much needed, if brief, comfort.

Today, Mary Maeve and I made 10 rolls of kolache. Sometimes we do it at Easter, but it always happens at Christmas; this year was going to be no different. There is so much joy in the process. Christmas music plays the whole time, I still recall so much about learning the recipe from Marnie [our beloved grandmother] over 10 years ago, and love telling Mary Maeve about what happened those two nights and other things about Marnie.

Mary Maeve helps more each year. This year, she sifted flour, separated egg yolks from whites and mixed the yeast/milk/vanilla/sugar/egg mixture with the flour and butter. Then she got mad when I tried, a second time, to show her how to roll the dough after spreading the filling; apparently, showing her once was enough. I can't remember the exact wording, but when I put my fingers near the edge of the dough again, she pushed them away and said something like, "Daddy, I know how to do it!" Amazingly, our5-year-old does. (It must be that Montessori education.)

We sampled a part of the almond batch and the raspberry batch before Maeve finally went to bed and fell asleep about halfway through prayers. Later, as I wrapped up and labelled each roll, I thanked God for a beautifully normal day. Sure, Bridget still needs to sleep longer than we'd like. And her headwrap is a constant reminder that life is changed forever. But it didn't bother me as much tonight.

God puts comfort stations exactly where we need them.