I don’t like to cook. Maybe that’s because I’ve had to do so much of it with a large family. Moms do what they have to do, though, and I’ve been thankful that those at our table have been content with simple “three-pile” meals (meat, starch, veggie).

While growing up, I had no interest in watching Mom prepare meals and was irritated when she asked me to help. The truth is, I don’t think she liked to cook either. She loved having guests and was a champion at the people-part of hostessing but usually forgot the rolls in the oven and often used ingredients well past their expiration dates. I’m sure I picked up on her negative cooking vibe and ever after have viewed meal prep as a never-ending chore.

Being the wife of someone with a rapidly growing cancer has taken my usual chore list, cut it into pieces and thrown those pieces into the wind. Although I can keep medical appointments straight, I fail to pre-heat the oven. I can remember which pills should be given when, but forget the grocery list when I go to the store.

But during the last month, all food-confusion has been replaced with order. Better than that, we are eating like royalty. I haven’t had to cook for four weeks, because relatives, friends and neighbors have been doing it for me. Its spaghetti one night, cranberry chicken the next and bar-b-qued meatballs after that. The kitchen counter looks like a bakery laden with lemon bars, apple crisp, fudge and chocolate chip cookies.

Linnea has spear-headed the cooking, or should I say the re-heating, in our little kitchen, starting each morning with her happy question, “What should we have for dinner tonight?” As she asks, she’s looking into a freezer/refrigerator jam-packed with food made by women in other kitchens. It reminds me of the biblical children of Israel who entered the Promised Land in awe of God’s delightful description:

“The houses will be richly stocked with goods you did not produce. You will draw water from cisterns you did not dig, and you will eat from vineyards and olive trees you did not plant.” (Deuteronomy 6:11)

That perfectly describes our family during these days of fabulous eating! Our kitchen is “richly stocked” with food we “did not produce.” Although it’s humbling to accept edible gifts  in such ongoing volume, this blessing has freed me up to sit with Nate. As I get whiffs of pot roast or honey ham floating from the kitchen, my heart sings, and the words “Dinner’s ready!” are the lyrics to that song.

Nate isn’t eating much these days, but what he does eat is nourishing, home-made goodness, thanks to our food angels. Many of the cooks have told me they’ve packed their food with prayers and longings for God’s supernatural touch on our situation. Their cooking and giving is a marvel to me. And we are literally gobbling up God’s blessings.

“O taste and see that the Lord is good. How blessed is the [person] who takes refuge in him! O fear the Lord, you his saints, for to those who fear him there is no want.” (Psalm 34:8-9)

And to those of you who’ve baked, boiled and brought these consumable gifts, here’s what the Lord thinks of you:

“To do good and share, forget not, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.” (Hebrews 13:16)

God is well pleased with you, and so are we! THANK YOU!

Less than one month ago, we didn’t know a thing about pancreatic cancer, and we certainly didn’t know it would come crashing into our family like it has. But today as I walk through our cottage, I see a hospital bed and bedside table, a cane, a wheelchair, a shower seat with hand-held shower arm, a “lift” chair to help a person get up, a giant bag of pill bottles, rubber gloves, a urinal and, being delivered tomorrow, a triple-purpose commode seat. And most shocking of all, leaning against Nate’s chair, is a thick, navy notebook full of pages that says “Hospice Home Care.” Unbelievable.

Today we got acquainted with two new Hospice ladies, one a social worker and the other a nurse. The social worker began her process of getting to know our family by asking many questions. When she finished, she offered their massage service to Nate, who hesitated. His entire trunk from chin to legs is sensitive to the touch, coupled with his fear that if touched too hard, it will hurt. Every organ is affected by the cancer, and the thought of being pressed by a masseuse was about as appealing as climbing into a boxing ring.

Since Nate was too tired to explain, I described what was going on inside his body, stumbling for a succinct reason why he wouldn’t want a massage. Linnea interrupted and said, “Mom, just say ‘no’. You’re allowed.”

Her comment was a relief. I’m learning that Hospice is all about making our loved ones comfortable, not just Nate but the whole crowd of us. Before the social worker finished, she was offering me the massage service. I looked at Linnea who said, “Say yes!”

Today’s nurse gave Nate a physical exam, and his blood pressure was good, 122 over 85. He’s stopped losing weight, although I think it’s because he’s holding fluid in his abdomen. Having become bone-thin, he suddenly has a bulging stomach that feels like a giant water balloon. The rest of him is getting leaner and leaner.

One leg and foot are also filling with fluid and when asked, Nate acknowledged it did hurt. I told the nurse he never complained, and this was a perfect example. His sock gripped too tightly and made an indented circle of constriction where the elastic gripped. “Can we cut them?” the nurse asked, and I disappeared to find a scissors.

While Nate watched with a frown, I cut a 4” line down the front of his sock so it could slide on without being too tight. “Let’s cut the other one, too, so he’ll have a matched pair,” I said, trying to ease Nate’s fears.

The nurse also ordered a different mattress for the hospital bed, one that would “undulate” while he slept, to keep his skin happy. (I am jealous over that mattress.) The bed motor is purring, a fan is humming, tiny green lights are flashing and the whole place has all the conveniences of a hospital. But we are at home. The greatest blessing of today is recognizing that.

Our family hope is that we can keep Nate at home with all of us in these peaceful, familiar surroundings for the duration. To hear children laughing, to smell stew in the oven, to see the glory of colored leaves out the windows and to hold hands with the ones you love most are the delights of these days. But we’ve long since given up trying to control our uncontrollable circumstances. If God wants to pluck Nate from this cottage and put him in a hospital, he’ll do it for a good reason. And whatever God does, we are behind him.

“The Lord’s plans stand firm forever; his intentions can never be
 shaken.” (Psalm 33:11)