Keeping Vigil

vig·il

   [vij-uhl] 

noun

1.

wakefulness maintained for any reason during the normal hours for sleeping.

2.

a watch or a period of watchful attention maintained at night or at other times: The nurse kept her vigil at the bedside ofthe dying man.

3.

a period of wakefulness from inability to sleep.

It seems it has been awhile since my last update, since the celebration of the first of what I hope to be many more "clean scans." Thanks for your ideas about how I might now approach my remaining chemo treatments (5 more!) Vacations, celebrations, songs and poetry are dreams now swimming in my head. Today, I thought I could share how one of those suggestions has transformed my dreaded Thursdays into times of beauty. 

Two different friends in two different spaces and places suggested to me the idea of "praying the hours". I was unfamiliar with this ancient concept and after studying it some the past few weeks, I have found myself appreciative and enriched by the heritage of saints, brothers and sisters that have shared in it. 

To explain, briefly and imperfectly, praying the hours is a way to recognize the sacredness in the hours of the day. It's a way to maintain a posture of worship. Sounds good, right?!? If aware, we can appreciate and mimic the progression of a sleepy-sunrise stumbling towards the midday sun. We can take a moment to pause in the middle of our work day and reconnect with our Creator. A deep sigh and sunset on our drive home slows us into evening, as we fall gracefully into an embrace of darkness, sleep, and silence....anticipating the sunrise of the next day. God's way of building worship into the simple experience of our day has been overwhelming me. 

The hour I've found myself most relating to is actually the hour dedicated for those who awake in the middle of the night. It's the hour of those who can't sleep. It's the hour for those who suffer. This is the hour of vigil, traditionally prayed in the middle of the night or early in the morning, meant to embrace the darkness, to stand firm in the silence with those who have lost the strength to stand.

Macrina Wiederkehr in Seven Sacred Pauses: Living mindfully through the hours of the day speaks this way of night vigils: 

"Rising from sleep in the heart of the night, I keep vigil with eternal questions....Holding vigil with the Guardian of Life, whose eye shines down upon all who live in terror of the night, I become quiet. In the middle of the night I hold hands with trust and surrender to the One who sees without a light....Like Jesus, keeping watch the night before he died, I keep watch with those who wait alone...I keep vigil with those whose tired hearts have lost hope. In the middle of the night I pray for those who sleep and those who cannot sleep. I pray for those with fearful hearts, for those whose courage is waning. I pray for those who lost vision of what could be. When I rise in the middle of the night, my prayer is simply one of waiting in silence, waiting in darkness, listening with love." (pg 29-31)

I may be drawn to this hour of meditation because those pesky hives and hot flashes keep waking me up every two hours. Being someone who typically enjoys uninterrupted sleep, these past few months have been...unusual. Anxiety-driven prayers for more sleep, wide-eyed staring at the ceiling for hours, and flip-flopping around the bed have proven unhelpful, so I changed my perception of these night awakenings. They are no longer annoyances but invitations. I'm no longer being inconvenienced, rather, invited to worship. Helplessness morphs into purpose as I take up arms with Jesus in the darkness, keeping vigil with Him, for those who also sit in darkness but feel like they are there all alone. No one should feel alone. 

Even though this started as a night-time prayer ritual, the flavor of these prayers has followed me into the day, especially on those chemo Thursdays where I find myself surrounded by people embracing suffering. I see some purpose in my chemo treatments because I now know I am fighting for them. 

Oh, but don't feel sorry for them. These friends of mine are warriors, too. Most are much more brave than myself. I want to tell them this. I want to shake their arms and look into their eyes and tell them how very brave they are, for driving to that chemo office again and again. I want them to see how humbled I am by their cancer scars, their years of uncertainty and fighting to survive for.....well, for kids or pets or just because they know nothing else but to fight. I want them to know they are seen, that their battles matter, that they are never alone. Their stories give me courage to walk into another treatment with my bag full of prayer shawls, crackers, cucumber-mint water, and earbuds. Their faces remind me of an unsettling reality: there is a battle with a long, dark night ahead, and I'm going to take the night watch. Well, not just me. The sweetest part of these vigils is the face of Jesus, who never stops standing vigil for us all. I'm just privileged to join him for whatever short time my weak flesh can stand to keep watch.

I thought maybe this idea would relate to more than just cancer survivors. I thought others who find themselves awake in the middle of the night with a crying baby, or working the night shift, or unable to quiet their mind from the worries of the day might find comfort in joining the vigil. There is purpose in the night. The darkness doesn't need to be scary, just find those of us keeping our light on in it. Most importantly, find the One whose heart is a constant vigil for you.

#6 Not punching him,
just excited to fight cancer.

#7 was a birthday celebration
with Hannah and Laura! 

Yum Yum knows how I feel after these Thursdays.