We are gaining daylight by noticeable moments each day.  Valentine’s Day marks the turning point of winter in Alaska. Winter’s parting gift of light could not be more welcome, more treasured even than roses and chocolate.

This year that gift has special significance. Yesterday a friend learned that her cancer is inoperable. The chemo isn’t working.

In the past months that she has battled breast cancer, her friends and family have been lifting her up in thought and prayer. We all knew this might be the outcome of her journey. Yet we all held out hope for a drug that would rid her body of this pestilence; for healing; for a miracle.

Now she has been told to enjoy whatever days that are left to her.

All of our days are numbered, of course. It’s just that some of us are given notice. My friend has learned ahead of time, the approximate time she has left in this world. Her notice has called us all up short. We are forced to stop pretending that the moments, hours, and days of our lives are endless. They are not.

It was hard to concentrate after hearing the news. Hard to fathom what some people are asked to bear in this life. So, I took the dogs for a walk. As always, it is the open air, the mountains, the movement of body that helps to clear the mind and still the soul.

Sunshine beamed down on the icy trail. Water trickled underneath the melting snow. Even though the calendar says it is still deep winter, the birds sang songs suggestive of springtime. Pussy willows popped from their buds, teased out by the warm weather. Too soon, I warned them.

Covered by fine, newborn hair, pussy willows are nothing if not harbingers of hope.  They reminded me of a book I read a couple of years ago, One Thousand Gifts, by Anne VosKamp.  As a little girl, VosKamp witnessed the death of her younger sister and that seminal event resulted in a decades-long battle with depression and anxiety. A friend challenged her to begin keeping a gratitude journal and to write, over the course of one year, one thousand things for which she was thankful. The exercise changed her life.

She went from asking questions about “Why is there suffering in the world?” to being on the lookout for unexpected gifts. And once she opened her eyes to them, she found blessing upon blessing. Grace upon grace.  The result was a genuine outpouring of gratitude and joy. She moved from living in a place of darkness into living in a place of Light.

I think about this as I walk the dogs, the sun shining on white snow. The question of why my friend must walk this road is beyond answering. When sadness threatens to engulf the light, the best we can do is to look for the gift of this day, this moment, this particular in-take of breath.

So for the month of February, I resolve to find a gift in each day and to somehow capture it. Maybe a photo. Maybe a word or two. But in these finite 28 days, I will look for a Valentine in each one. And with each small treasure found – a pussy willow in bloom, bubbles frozen in ice, dogs romping in snow – I offer it as a gift and a prayer for my friend and all those who suffer from cancer.

May each of our numbered days be filled with love and light.