The Christmas Door We All Need to Walk Through
MARISSA BONDURANT|GUEST “I’m so sorry, but your daughter has cancer.” She was only four years old. The tumor was found on a Wednesday afternoon, and by Friday morning she was being wheeled back for surgery. It was so sudden, traumatic, and terrifying. We kissed our daughter, pleaded with the nurses to not leave her side, and then watched as her bed was pushed through the swinging doors of the pediatric surgery hall. As the doors swung closed behind her, my knees buckled, and I crumpled against my husband. I hated those doors. They represented my lack of control, my fear for her wellbeing, and my inability to fix the problem of her cancer. How could God separate me from my baby? Why would He put her, and us, through this? A few months later, Christmas rolled around. The lights, the wreaths, the trees—all seemed so frivolous compared to what we were walking through. Out of necessity, we toned down our Christmas activities that year...