Hello from UAB. Maggie remains in the hospital and will have the second attempt at endoscopic placement of a stent in her bile duct in the morning (or early afternoon). Interventional Radiology will be on standby to take over and place it if it appears to be too troublesome the other way. We’re praying for success tomorrow. Maggie’s bilirubin level continues to rise (now 11), and she is very yellow. She’s also tired and has very little appetite. Dr. Saleh has coordinated with GI and RI to choose the method which offers the best chance for relieve with the smallest chance of side effects/incidences. We are thankful for his oversight. If all goes well, we will return home Wednesday.

Mercy. The past few months I’ve been met at every turn by the presence and reality of mercy. In February, I took part in the Mercedes Half Marathon here in Birmingham. It seemed no mere coincidence that the name Mercedes means mercies. Perfect name for a hard race in a city destined to play a part in Maggie’s story. The race and the name set my mind to watch for mercy on the road.

Last night I finished a book, Hallelujah Anyway, by Anne Lamott. (Explanation: She is one of the most gifted writers to beautifully put paper and pen together. A unique voice. She is also a progressive christian with strong opinions in stark contrast to mine, but God has used her words to challenge and bless me. She would probably be surprised, as she is quite wary of evangelicals.) In the closing chapters, Anne shared the story of a young woman, a friend, who found healing from her own troubled mind and tendency to cut herself. The young woman discovered a small aquarium in a garage and decided to fill it with pond water and tadpoles. She patiently watched, batch after batch, the transformation – of tadpole to frog – and she experienced the transformation – of self-hatred to acceptance and forgiveness.

We find mercy when we provide it for the most vulnerable among us. The Hebrew word for mercy is womb. A warm aquarium for tadpoles; a safe place for new life; protection for the weak; time for grace to happen – in changes that happen between breaths or across years. Blessed are the merciful for they shall receive mercy. I don’t do mercy in order to receive it. I do it because I have received it. It has to be given away.

Thursday morning before Maggie and I left for the clinic, I ate breakfast at The Original Pancake House. Maggie wasn’t hungry, so she slept in. When I started to pay at the counter, a youngish woman was ahead of me. She was totally bald – a familiar look in the circles we move these days. She had her order to go and handed over a debit card. It was rejected. She started thumbing through her wallet for the one her husband had loaded with money. In her search, I didn’t see any green in her wallet. She apologized and said she had to look for the card in her car. I’m too slow, but this one didn’t get away. I pushed a $10 in her hand and told her I wanted to buy her breakfast. She was grateful – still embarrassed – but she got her breakfast. I hope she had the appetite to eat every bite. Chemo can rob that. Mercy is a hot meal.

Later that evening, Maggie and I returned to our hotel room following the procedure (THE procedure) – tired and hungry. She had been NPO all day by necessity. I had eaten little. We decided to order takeout from Newks – soup for her – a salad for me. I started to leave and asked her if she needed anything before I did. A blanket. I covered her then started for the door again when she stopped me. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

In the time to unfold a blanket, mercy was shown. I didn’t leave her. I was there.

I can’t let my brain take my heart any further – to ask what if. I’m thankful for the mercy of a warm blanket. A hot meal for someone else. A delayed meal for us. And another breath to receive or give mercy.