I Want a Pillar

I recently read about the Israelites fleeing the Egyptians and how the Lord not only provided for them along the way, but how He inexplicably led them. There was no question in anyone’s mind about which direction they should be going, or who they should be following. God gave them a massive pillar of smoke to follow during the day, and when the sun set and the sky turned dark, God gave them a breathtaking fiery pillar to follow in the night. God didn’t just direct them during the day, He continued to faithfully direct them during the night. It’s so easy to get turned around in the dark, don’t you think?!

I can only imagine what a sight that was to behold. Can you imagine?! That fiery pillar had to strike fear in a few of the Israelites… a massive, commanding, and hot column of fire! On the other hand, it had to be calming because they knew that it was from God Himself, and He was on their side, helping them.

It was a stressful time in our lives. Besides the regular cancer tests and screenings, and untold worries that go hand-in-hand in with those situations, there were major life uncertainties, and ministry stresses that seemed heavier than ever before. There was the stress of just having had a second child get married, the youngest child getting ready to graduate from high school and leave home, the transition to empty-nesters, etc. There was just a lot going on. It seemed that life consisted of going from one major stress factor to another and we didn’t know what direction to look, forget which direction to travel! We didn’t even know what to pray for!! It’s one of those time where you just bow your head and ask the Lord to intercede for you because you just don’t know where to begin or what to say, or what to ask for!

I read about the pillars that morning and found myself saying aloud to my husband, “I want a pillar!” He just gave me a quizzical look. He’s used to me saying really strange things that have no bearing on anything ever since chemotherapy back in 2013-2014! 🙂 But in all seriousness, just think about it… the Israelites had no question as to what to do… just follow the pillar. They didn’t have any questions about which direction to take… just follow the pillar. They didn’t have any questions about when to stop and rest… just follow the pillar through the night. They didn’t have to even think! They just took their belongings and followed.

If there was ever a time in my life where I’ve felt like I needed direction, it was these past few months. Once you have cancer, there is always an unspoken fear that hides beneath the surface, because everyone knows that it can return when you least expect it. So, even after you’ve prayed about it and have peace about it, there’s something underneath the surface lying there in wait. Add to that the immeasurable stresses during this time in our lives, that due to privacy I won’t go into detail on. It was a scary time for us; it felt like our feet were being pulled out from underneath us and there was no place to land. And because gravity always wins, we knew we were going to land even though we couldn’t see where that would be. And that landing was going to be a really hard landing. It was a small circle of friends who were involved in this aspect of our lives and they all knew, yet no one spoke of it… could we even recover from this landing? It wasn’t just my husband and I that were concerned. And there was a lot more on the line than we had ever experienced before. Stress just doesn’t seem to highlight how terrifying things were… and it wasn’t due to cancer like it has been in times past.

I just wanted a pillar. I just wanted God to give us a pillar that we could follow. Where we didn’t have to make decisions. Where we didn’t have to be scared because we knew it was God Himself right there in front of us, beside us, and behind us, protecting us. That there would be a way out, and that He would bring us to safety.

Now, …DON’T LAUGH!!! I mulled over the idea all morning. I was nearly giving myself an ulcer over worrying about these situations in our lives and how a pillar would make life SOOOOOO much easier! I mean, come on… you would have to agree, wouldn’t you?! When in doubt… just follow the pillar. 🙂 Simple, right? I had a bit of a plea and “talk-quietly-to God-in-your-head-moments” that day and on our way home from church we noticed something. It was sunny all around us; a bright sunshiny day with a brilliant blue sky. Yet our vehicle was dark. It was as if we had darkened windows… all over the vehicle. It was just darker and the ground surrounding our vehicle was darker. And then my husband pointed out the really cool cloud that was directly above us. The wind was blowing and the cloud was moving right along with us, so for 2 miles down the dirt road, we had a cloud’s shadow following us. Now, you and I both know that it wasn’t a pillar from God like the Israelites experienced. I had read about the pillars that morning, had talked about them with my family, and we were noticing various things throughout the day that reminded us of pillars… some funny, some serious; this cloud being one of them.

And that brings me to this… it’s only because I was reading about the pillars that I even noticed the cloud following our vehicle down the dirt road. I wouldn’t have paid much attention to it otherwise. I certainly wouldn’t have come to the comparison of the pillars in the Israelite’s days! Our “pillar” isn’t going to be a column of smoke or fire. Our “pillar” is reading the God’s Word. When the Israelites questioned where to go next… they just followed the pillar. God gives us direction in the Bible. When the Israelites questioned their safety, they just looked at the pillar and were reminded that God was with them. We have the Bible where God gives promise after promise that He is with us and will never leave us. The pillars gave them calm in the midst of the storm, it gave them peace when they were being chased down to be killed, it gave them light when all was dark, it reminded them of how powerful God really was. The Bible does all of that for us! But you won’t be reminded of those promises, or be reassured and given peace and comfort if you aren’t reading it. Be in the Word every day and He will direct you. Just do the next right thing. You don’t have to have your life mapped out; you just have to be willing to obey and follow the Lord. And… you have to talk to Him! Make your requests known unto God. He WANTS us to talk to Him! The Lord wants a personal relationship with you. The pillar led the crowd; thousands of people. The Bible is so much more personal. And that’s what I love about it. It’s about growing MY relationship with HIM!

So, today when you find yourself looking around for that unseen pillar, just pick-up your Bible and pray.

I Want to Touch His Garment

We sat down in one of the same old exam rooms just as we had done hundreds of times before, with our first encounter happening many years prior. I had the paint schemes memorized. I knew the patterns of the cloth on the chairs. The carpet was the same, and the computer monitors on the desk were the same as the first day I had been there.

In fact, it was the same oncologist, with his same nurse. It was the same test that I had had done countless times prior to now.

After my first fight with cancer and the grueling treatments that all but did me in, I confided in my husband that if I were to be faced with that choice again, I’m not sure that I could go through it. But, we agreed that that was a conversation for if we ever had to cross that bridge again. The chemo had been so devastating that we all prayed that I would never have to endure it again!

My friendly, familiar oncologist entered the room that day, with a pair of his well-known, wildly colored socks peeking out, and started the same as he always did. The socks were purposeful in that they always got a smile from the patient! But… he veered from normality when he rolled his chair up to the monitors instead of positioning himself in front of my husband and myself. My husband clued in before I did. He knew something was wrong right away. The doctor opened a file on the computer, and as he scrolled through the 3D pictures, it all looked normal to me. Then he pointed it out… a mass. A mass that didn’t belong and that wasn’t there in my last scan. ANOTHER GROWTH! My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. Surely this couldn’t be happening again! I just wanted to run out of that room screaming, “Nooooooooo!” as loud as I could. Like that would help anybody!

My doctor has always been so calm and practical. He explained that the mass was fast-growing and it was located in between my heart and my lung. He had already consulted with a team of 5-6 other specialists and they all agreed… don’t take the time and risk to biopsy it. Just get it out as soon as possible. It didn’t matter if it was cancerous or not at this point.

In all reality, we didn’t know if the mass was cancerous or not. None of us had a very good feeling about it though. As my doctor left us that day he said, “Now, you let me do the worrying about this, okay? Let’s get some answers first.” I love my oncologist.

The surgery date arrived and I found myself in familiar territory… again. Pre-op. Getting all gussied up in those hideous hospital gowns, and hooked up to IVs. Due to the proximity of the mass to my heart, the doctors told me that once in the operating room they would be putting a secondary line into my neck … just in case. I guess it helped them monitor my heart during surgery… or something. And then they put the bed rails up, removed the locks on the bed’s wheels, and two nurses started to move me towards the double doors, leaving my dearest husband behind me. But, with a quick pause they allowed me one more good-bye kiss. I didn’t know when I would see him again.

The surgery went well. Since I have trouble controlling pain on a good day, and since the surgery was going to be in the chest cavity, my doctors approved an epidural to numb the surgery site…and everything below it too. This made life coming out of sedation so much easier! My neck, on the other hand, was bandaged up where the central line had been and the gauze alone felt like it was 4” thick and wrapped around my neck like a brace. Don’t get me wrong; there was still pain! But it was survivable. Surgeons had to enter through my side since my back had so much scar tissue and damage from when they removed ribs and my first tumor a few years earlier. Now, while we waited for me to heal and recover, the mass was being sent off to the lab to be analyzed.

“Don’t worry!”

“A lot of masses come back benign.”

“Well, you don’t KNOW that it’s cancer.”

“Don’t borrow worries.”

All things I heard. All things you shouldn’t say to a cancer survivor who has just had another mass removed. But that’s another topic…

And then the day came. Back to the familiar waiting room, exam room, hallways, chairs, walls, bathrooms, and the familiar smells of the hand soap. It was a different kind of “wait” that day. Normally, we would casually sit in our chairs, entertaining ourselves with games on our phones, or by responding to emails, and various other activities whilst discussing our next stops. That day was different. I sat on the edge of my chair, rocking slightly, tapping my toe, my arms wrapped around myself, all the while talking myself out of panicking. I dreaded chemo. I wasn’t sure how we could go down that road again. The last time this happened we were still a part of a ministry team that could help shoulder the work load for both my husband as well as myself. This time was different. Our ministry consists of just us. No backups. No co-workers. No one asking how they could help. That ministry team was gone and our ministry would come to a grinding halt, with important deadlines being missed because there was no bookkeeper still processing taxes and payroll. BUT… we didn’t know what the mass consisted of, so why jump the gun? Right?!

I thought it was good news, initially! The mass was definitely cancerous. It had grown so quickly and had become large enough that in order for the surgeons to get even minimal margins, they had to remove part of my left lung and part of the pericardium (the sac around the heart.) And it was Synovial Sarcoma this time, not Ewing’s… which, apparently, is a bit unique. Then my oncologist gave me the news, “This particular type of cancer does not respond to any kind of chemotherapy, so chemo is off the table as an option.” I wanted to do a dance! Hallelujah!! No chemotherapy!!

It took just a minute or two for the realization to hit me, and my premature rejoicing turned to immediate despair. Surgeons had gotten the very barest of minimal margins. (Margins means that in order to feel confident that they have gotten all of the cancer, surgeons remove normal tissue all around the tumor as well. Then they’ll test that normal tissue for cancerous cells as well. Margins also help the surgeons not spread the disease by cutting too close or into the tumor.) Due to my tumor’s location, the surgeons couldn’t remove the normal margins that they would expect with a tumor this size. And chemo wouldn’t stop this cancer even if we tried. My radiation oncologists didn’t want to attempt treating the area with radiation because they were certain that they would damage the heart. Yet… what else could we do?! There was no other treatment! I remember the feeling in that room that day. I sat next to the counter and sink area in the exam room, wanting to cry out in desperation. After all I had been through. After a year of fighting and months of recovery, and months more of testing, and this was it? This was the end? The cancer could easily be there; it only takes one cell. And there was nothing I could do to fight it??! All of a sudden I was filled with regret. I would have been relieved to hear them say that there was a new chemo they could try! Such a vast difference than a mere few days earlier!

In the end, oncologists devised an ingenious way to treat the area with radiation, doing their best to help me. “After all, we all know that these sarcomas come back… it’s just a matter of time,” commented the lead radiation oncologist. The treatment method is an entirely different journal entry!

Today I am NED. No evidence of disease detected! Praise the Lord!!

All of these valleys, journeys, trials, fears. All of the aftermath. All of the stresses and anxieties that go hand in hand with life during and after cancer. All of the long-term pain and managing it. All of life’s new challenges and limits. It seems there is always something new to overcome. … and I find myself wondering that if I could wish for one thing, what would it be? If you had only one wish, what would it be? To be free from pain? To be guaranteed that you are cancer-free? To never have to go to a hospital again?

I find myself thinking back to the miracles of the Bible; Jesus healing the blind man, feeding the 5,000 with a young boy’s lunch, raising Lazarus from the dead, making the lame to walk, and so many more. And I keep coming back to the woman, among the throngs of people surrounding Jesus, knowing that if she could just touch His garment that she would be healed. Oh, if I could touch the hem of my dear Savior’s garment! What a day that would be! Things far beyond my cancer issues would be fixed like thyroid, eye sight, arthritis, and metabolism! I could feel young again! Oh, to just touch His garment…

What if that woman had been convinced by friends, “try it and see what happens!” Or dared? Or what if it was a test to see if Jesus was real? No, it wasn’t Jesus’ garment that healed that woman that day. Neither was it the act of touching Jesus’ garment that healed her. It was her faith. “

We all know that that isn’t going to happen; my Savior isn’t going to appear and I’m not going to have the chance to touch His garment. But, I can still have faith. And, Jesus will still be there, just as He was back in 2013 when I was first diagnosed, or in 2017 when I had surgery again, or when I couldn’t get out of bed on my own, etc. My Lord has been so faithful. I might not choose chemo. I might not be given that option. I might not be able to touch His garment, but I have faith. I have faith that whatever lies ahead, He will guide us just as He has so many times before.

Miserably Oblivious

I woke up that morning feeling miserable from the very get-go. I was hot. I was cold. I was clammy. I was anxious. And my back, sides, and ribs hurt like they hadn’t hurt in months. The nerve pain was back along with the muscle spasms, and my side hurt like I had come out of surgery. I took my morning doseage of meds and thought to myself that in about 20-30 minutes I would feel better.

After lying back down for 30 mins I began my morning like I always do… getting dressed and slumping in defiant rejection at the “desk” to work through a seemingly unending task list, and then a couple of hours later I would venture out into public, ready to document the official work day with pictures galore! I’m good at avoiding office work when I have to! 😉

After just getting dressed I was winded. My heart was racing, I was perspiring again, and felt amazingly like passing out. Again! What was wrong with me?! I was weak, again! So I sat down to give myself time to recover from my last endeavor! And when I caught my breath I started off to tackle another task with all of my cunning abilities. 😂 At least I never exaggerate…

Maybe I’d feel better with some fresh air. I shakily stepped out into the sunshine, and was quickly reminded that I don’t do well in the heat. Struggling just to stay upright, I grabbed ahold of the railing and it was a small, soft voice in me that whispered, “You should pray for your kids.” Well, of course, I should pray for my kids! What mother wouldn’t?!

I stepped inside and the thought kept crossing my mind, “Pray for your kids!” I don’t remember what all I did over the course of the next few minutes but the next thought that crossed my mind was, “When was the last time that you KNELT DOWN ON YOUR KNEES and prayed for your kids?!” Well, now that was embarrassing. Like knelt on the ground?!!? Surely the Lord knew that I had trouble with that… physically!

The hot flashes continued. The shakiness, weakness, and anxiousness grew. What was wrong with me?! I had not felt this awful since coming home from the hospital after those horrific chemotherapy treatments. I would go to bed and stay put for days. I couldn’t go to bed. I kept thinking about kneeling.

I tried to sit down and do office work. I only managed to open a few pieces of mail. I tried to tidy up but found myself falling into the nearest chair. When WAS the last time I knelt in prayer? Surely God could see what a miserable day I was having! Surely He didn’t expect anything magnificent from me that day?! But, the voice was right. I needed to pray for my kids. And I knew that somehow it wouldn’t be right without kneeling before my Heavenly Father who had shown me so much grace through perilous times, and has been so overwhelmingly patient with me!

Have you tried kneeling on a hard linoleum floor when you feel faint?! I wouldn’t really call it “kneeling.” More like “lean on the bed and slump down to the floor until you’re no longer on your feet” type motion! I’m sure it would’ve made a great video!

Romans 8:26 says “Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” I didn’t know what to pray for so I prayed for each of the kids, and hoped that the Spirit was making intercession on my behalf because my mumblings probably wouldn’t have made sense on a good day!

I managed to get back up on my feet, and although I still felt miserable physically, the anxiousness has passed knowing that I had listened to that small voice I heard earlier.

My daughter-in-love texted me that evening. They were safe. Their home, family, and belongings were safe, but a mere two blocks away was devastation. Tornadoes had torn through their town and many were left without homes and businesses.

God can send us reminders. God can still speak to the soul, prick at your conscience. Will you heed His voice? I know if wasn’t this mamma’s lame little feeble prayer that saved my kids; it was the Lord, unheeding whether I had prayed or not. But it was a bit unnerving when I look back on that day… what it took to get me down on my knees before a holy God. I’m so ashamed. And in the end, I’m tearfully grateful for God showing me His mercy, grace, tenderness, and patience. Again.

Do Not Flinch!

This was my Facebook post five years ago today…

Somedays I wake up & hear the drs words as clear as anything ringing in my ears again, “I’m sorry but you have cancer.” In my reading today I was also reminded that I am the clay & He is the potter. “It seems sometimes that the clay will be ruined in the molding, but the purpose of the Potter is the object of the molding; do not flinch, do not resist, but pray.” Dear Lord, help me not to resist or flinch on this journey!!!

I was reminded that just because my journey has changed, it doesn’t mean that my Lord is done molding me. I’m grateful that I don’t have to endure chemo right now. I’m thankful that the radiation is over… for now. I’m ecstatic that I’m not preparing for another surgery! But I don’t want to take anything for granted. The cancer cloud will forever hand above my head. I know full well that the disease can return in the blink of an eye, and God could so easily change my life’s course again.

So, today, I want to praise the Lord for all that He has done in my life, for the impossible mountains He helped us climb, for the sheer cliffs that He saved us from, for the discouraging hopelessness that He comforted us through, for His care, His loving embrace, and for His unending grace and patience. God IS good. ALL the time!

The Red Stool

A little girl was 3 1/2 yrs old when her mom & dad split up. She didn’t understand; she only knew that she was going to live with her grandma along with her mom & siblings on a very cold, lonely, miserable winter day.

Her mom had been upset and abrupt with her, and she felt so alone. Her dad wasn’t home anymore; he could always make her feel better. There were so many tears & emotions, and there was a solemn, cold feeling that she had not experienced before.

The big farmhouse kitchen was all set, ready for the noon meal, while grandma tried to console her momma. Her momma’s crying scared her. No one knew what to say. Her little sister was screaming and her older brother stood silently in the corner with a solemn stare. It’s as if her and her siblings were invisible, but silently crying out for comfort.

And that’s when grandma noticed. She noticed the scared little girl trying to hide behind a stool. She leaned over and kindly asked her bewildered little granddaughter if she liked that red stool, and when she whispered, “Yes”, grandma asked if she would like to have that red stool to keep for her very own! Wow! Grandma helped her up on the stool, and assured her that this red stool belonged only to her, not anyone else. And that red stool became almost a life raft for her. No matter what changed in their lives, no matter who might leave her or let her down, she always had her red stool that she could cling to. And her grandma kept her word throughout the years, offering her her red stool at every meal without fail. It took a kind grandma to recognize that a small child was filled with fear and gave her something that offered stability in a time of so much uncertainty.

That red stool is long gone, but there are some sweet, forever memories that are etched in that little girl’s heart and mind forever. Today we, that little girl’s grown children, want to give that red stool back to her. Only this time instead of it being a life raft for her, it’s a reminder that God is good and gracious. He won’t leave us, regardless of the circumstances. Today that little girl has walked many paths over the years. Now she is the center and foundation of many more lives; those of her husband, her children. And her grandchildren. She has offered a stability to those around her in times of uncertainty for them. The tides have changed. Happy 50th anniversary, Mom & Dad!

I Survived

I found this journal entry; written on the day I left the hospital after what we prayed would be my last chemo treatment. Just brings back soooo many memories as if it were just yesterday! There’s probably no point in me posting this, right? Wrong! It’s a good reminder to me… of so many things! God’s graciousness. His comfort. His peace. It reminds me to be thankful for all of those little things like being able to get out of bed or walk to the bathroom; to be thankful that I’m no longer so weak that I have to wear Depends.My life got so humiliating! It reminds me to be thankful for friends and family. I’ve lost so many dear friends to cancer, leaving grieving families behind. And my heart aches for them, and at the same time wondering why God chose to leave me? So much has changed in the last 2-4 years. God brought us through it all. My latest cancer in 2017 was synovial sarcoma. It doesn’t respond to chemo; otherwise, I would have been going through more chemo this last year. That will bring you back to reality. Really quickly! So, read this journal entry and think back about what all God has brought you through in your life. Then take some time to thank Him. I don’t think we do that enough… just say “Thank-you!” And hug your family and friends. You never know when God might call them home.

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I’m out of the hospital and on my way to get my LAST (hopefully LAST EVERRRR) Neulasta shot. You know, the one that makes your bones go into overdrive in order to make your bone marrow go into high gear … in order to… so that… & all that jazz. It hurts. That’s all that really matters, right?

We spent last night at a brand new hotel as sort of an attempt at celebrating; they gave a decent LLU discount, which was nice! But, as is usual, I forgot how rough those first few days are. I was trying not to lie on my left or right sides; the right side messes with the port and IV lines, the left just pulls those IV lines too far. Then I’d remember … I didn’t have any of those lines attached anymore & I’d do my best to take advantage of every square inch available. It’s my wifely duty.

And then I’d wake up crying. Don’t ask me why. It’s an art I’ve perfected; being scared to death and crying. Whenever. Wherever. For no particular reason. Last night I had a reason though; I was scared. I had nightmares. I couldn’t move. I wasn’t completely aware of where I was, & I felt sick. Unbelievably sick. Then my dear husband came to my rescue… again. Seems he’s been doing a lot of that lately! It was a rough night but far more relaxing than any night you could spend in the hospital!!!! Larry set his alarm so he could give me meds around the clock; waking up after several hours of no meds right after chemo can be rather disturbing. Trust me. 😉 And so, we both begin our day exhausted… but forever grateful that this is …the last!!

Rounding the Corner. It Would be Different This Time.

Two weeks ago I found myself back on the 9300 unit of the Loma Linda University and Medical Center. Three days earlier I received a call from my husband, who had been sitting in the emergency room all day with my daughter, saying that his doctors wanted to admit him to the hospital for observation. His liver was failing for no apparent reason. Other than his recent knee surgery, he only gets sick once every six years “whether he needs to or not”, as he would cheerfully exclaim!

My brain and emotions were in turmoil. My husband is never sick! It’s always been me. He’s always the one taking care of me, helping me get around when my back would go into spasms, giving me my daily doses of meds so I don’t forget or take too many, cooking meals when I have trouble standing, holding me upright when my legs are weak, and helping me in to the vehicle when that first step seems insurmountably high! Now the tables had turned. It was my turn to sit with him in the hospital. It was my turn to make that 4-hr round trip to take him his phone charger, toiletries, extra clothes, and pickup some decent food for him. It was my turn to endure the incredibly uncomfortable bedside seats. It was my turn to ask questions. It was my turn to worry. Yet be strong. It was my turn to put on a brave face for the kids and assure them that everything would be okay because none of this was a surprise to Him.

Stepping aside for just a moment, let me backtrack and give you a little bit of history. My husband runs a non-profit organization that leads work crews for non-profit camps, working on whatever projects they need. Traditionally, the first two weeks in January are some of the busiest weeks. This year was no different. Ordering supplies, making sure to stay within budget, shopping around for the best deal, guaranteeing that supplies are on the ground in preparation for the crews, organizing everything with the camp, assigning workers to different projects, assigning crew leaders, ensuring that quality standards are met at all the various sites and projects, leading meetings, answering a barrage of legitimate questions, and on, and on, and on. And to top everything off, I had another CT scan coming up with another appointment scheduled with my oncologist. The last CT scan that I had had showed a new tumor in between my heart and my lung.

I knew he wasn’t feeling well. His coloring was off, looking kind of pale. He’s normally so tan, with a naturally darker skin pigmentation so it’s harder to tell when he’s pale. He hides it well! But by mid-week he had a definite yellow hue, there was no question about it. The whites of his eyes were a bright yellow. He was itchy, nauseous, and tired. I hadn’t seen him so sick since… well, ever, really! We decided where he should go, he made arrangements to hand-off the crews to various crew leaders and made sure there were enough supplies to last throughout the rest of the week, and my daughter started the long drive to take her daddy to see doctors that would accept our health insurance.

Long story short, he was admitted to the hospital for liver failure and the only open bed was… (wait for it…!) …on the cancer unit. The same unit where I spent weeks for heavy doses of chemotherapy. The same unit where I would curl up in the bed, lying on my side so as to not mess up the IV lines, and whimper in pain. The same unit where I had roommates who were literally dying and cried when my husband would pray with them. The same unit where I clearly remember pleading with the Lord to please make it stop. The same unit where nurses gave me “the red devil” intravenously. The same unit where I couldn’t go to the bathroom by myself and where I threw-up in bed. The same unit where I hallucinated, seeing people that weren’t really there and talking nonsense.

I told myself that I would be fine. I had to be fine. I had to be strong. We rode the same elevator I had ridden so many times before, carrying the same weekend bag I had carried innumerable times prior. We pressed that same number 9 button and stepped off onto that same carpeted landing. Nothing had changed over the years. We rounded that same corner, and walked down that same unbearably long hallway (that, for anyone else, probably was only a few feet!), turned the corner to the medical oncology wing and came to those same double doors with those same “Please be quiet” signs posted at eye level.

Everything was fine. I had my three grown children with me. I wasn’t the patient this time. It would be different. Wouldn’t it?

Those doors opened and a flood of memories, scents, and noises came rushing back as if it were replaying my story just four short years ago. But I could overcome! I walked around the nursing station, found my husband’s room, and proceeded through the doors until we came to the first bed and discovered a familiar, smiling face that I had been missing for what seemed like weeks. We were also met with the very familiar sounds of football! My dearest husband was keeping himself entertained by watching football! I should’ve known!

Hugs were exchanged, I got the most recent update on my husband’s health, and we all somehow managed to find a place to sit, though I will admit that that was a difficult feat in a room that’s shared with another patient and all kinds of equipment, wheelchairs, computers, IV stands, and chemo pumps. The bedside table became a stool as did the overnight bag! My poor husband was doing his best to be content in his situation, though his coloring was no better and we discovered that his unsoothable itching was a result of his jaundice. The boys watched a motorcycle race with their dad and I stood up to stretch. I thought if I took a few steps that it would help alleviate my back pain.

If I would have just continued sitting there I might have been fine. But standing up I saw the bathroom door and I was transported back four and five years ago where getting to the bathroom was just misery. I saw the whiteboard where nurses would write the date, their names, and sometimes a short, uplifting message for the day. Again, it was like a time machine. I went back to when I was the patient and staring at that white board was sometimes the only thing I could do. I could smell the soap, I could feel the IV and the needle in my port, I could feel the pressure of the IV lines on my port, I could feel the needles of the second IV in my arm, I could feel the tape and the bruises. I could smell the saline when it hit my blood stream, I could feel the injections in my abdomen, I could feel the nausea, and smell the plasticy and sanitary pink bucket that they would leave on my bed to throw-up in. I remembered the socks, the leg contraptions they would place on my legs when I was bed-ridden. I remembered all the pain and suffering and … all of a sudden it was hard to breathe.

I tried pacing to try and catch my breath. My heart was racing. I tried plugging my nose so I couldn’t smell. I put lotion on my hands and placed my finger under my nose so all I could hopefully smell would be my girly-smelling hand lotion. I tried standing in the corner so I wouldn’t see anything that might take me back to those horribly trying days. And I prayed. Hard! I didn’t want to cry! I was stronger than that… or, at least, I wanted to be! I pinched my lip. I pinched my arm. I bit my cheek. Anything to stop the memories and the tears in a vain attempt to regain control. But the tears kept coming. And the shaking started.

And that’s about the time when my family started to notice that something was wrong. That’s when my daughter quietly pointed out that Mom was having a hard time. That’s when my son offered to drive me back to the hotel and that’s when my husband got out of his hospital bed to comfort me. ME! The not-sick-one! How was this even happening to me?!!? I hit a new low. My KIDS were having to take care of ME! My sick husband was pulling me close to him, praying for ME! I was quickly losing this battle so I leaned on his chest and cried uncontrollably. It’s not supposed to be like this! I was so scared. And mad. Infuriated with myself. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t the patient! I wasn’t hooked up to any IV lines, the nurses remembered me and were excited to see me again. And I was having an official, full-blown meltdown!

That night ended by going back to the hotel room, (that, by the way, the Lord so graciously & generously provided) curling up in a comfy bed, lying my throbbing head on a soft pillow, closing my swollen eyes, shutting out the world, and falling into a deep and restful sleep. God knew I needed rest.

The next day we went back to that same hospital. The same room. And I prayed that somehow the Lord would give me strength. I wanted to be with my husband. The same struggles were there but He answered my prayer so bountifully that day; not only did I not cry, but doctors decided to discharge my husband that afternoon. We were all able to come home that day!

Our plans for those few weeks certainly didn’t include any of the above. But they were God’s plans and through it all God so graciously reminded me of a few things:

1. We don’t have to be the one that “keeps it together” in hard times. God is there to take control if we’ll just let Him. I thought that I had to control it, and I failed miserably.

2. It’s okay to have a “meltdown.” It’s a good reminder that we’re just human. We can’t control everything. And that God is the ultimate comforter. I didn’t have my husband beside me that night in the hotel room; the worries and memories were overwhelming, yet God allowed me a sweet, restful night.

3. Life is scary. Life is short. We need to trust Him, and we need to use what time we have here to glorify Him. Live for Him. Impact eternity.

4. God’s in control. He’s always in control! We can’t see the big picture because we don’t need to. But God can see the big picture, and He’ll guide us through life’s maze. And some sweet day, my life’s maze will be over and my dear, sweet Heavenly Father will be there to greet me. And I’ll be able to take His hand only this time He’ll guide me to Heaven because on October 16, 1981 I knelt and prayed for Him to forgive me and save me from Hell.

5. It will be worth it all. All of life’s trials and sorrows are painful to maneuver through right now. But some sweet day it will be worth it all when we see Jesus! Keep that song in your heart today.

God is Good

I’ve completed my radiation treatments! I feel normal! I get up in the morning and begin my day just like anyone else. After crawling out of bed and scuffling into the bathroom, I manage to drag myself into the kitchen to get something to drink or eat. Then I head back to my bedroom to crawl under my warm covers to drink my tea or eat my yogurt, or whatever my hands have found. It’s when I get back to the bedroom that I start to notice anomalies… I’m short of breath. How did that happen? I haven’t done anything! My aching back has now become supremely painful and the shooting pain in my ribs has jolted me out of any bleary-eyed state I may have been in earlier. But, I make it back under my covers, with pillows propped precariously to try to support the various areas of most discomfort. My feet are starting to thaw with the warmth of the bedding, but I find myself gasping for air and wincing in pain. I must not have the pillows arranged properly. Maybe the back discomfort is just my imagination … it will go away eventually, right?!

No, the back pain doesn’t go away, although a tender back rub from my husband will often calm down the spasming, knotted muscles. No, the shortness of breath doesn’t get better, due in part, I suspect, to the surgeon’s removing part of my left lung. Some days, weeks, or months, my husband isn’t home and I have to continue on without him.
But every morning the pain and discomfort remind me that I cannot make it through my day without God. Those aren’t new or profound words. They’re words we hear all the time. They’re words that we might flippantly remind ourselves of occasionally. But how good is God when He reminds me every morning that I can’t possibly survive another day without His help? 
I’m so thankful that He patiently reminds me and doesn’t give me the responsibility of remembering! Because we all know how well I remember things…! 😂

Scars. The Untold Story.

My surgery incision sites can’t be seen if you were to just look over at me. I have to work pretty hard and use a mirror in order to see some of them! Sometimes I’m glad I can’t see the scars; it’s a scary reminder of what was there and what can so easily come back. On the other hand, I can see some of the scars if I just look. I can feel the pain or numbness left behind from the surgeries. Either way, I have scars from this life that I could never have predicted. There have been valleys that my family and I have gone through but there have also been mountaintops that we’ve navigated. Regardless of the emotions and where we were on our journey, they are all memorable and they’ve all shaped me into who I am today.

Sometimes the scars scare me… quite literally, and I find myself crying or shaking. Sometimes the scars create an inexplicable feeling of gratitude; the Lord has allowed me to live and guided us on a journey I never could have survived on my own.

The scars remind me that I am nothing. We are totally dependent on Him.

The scars remind me that God’s plans are best because He can see the full picture; I can’t.

The scars remind me that no matter how hard and tedious we plan the day, or the next month, or the next five years of our life, that our lives can change in an instant.

The scars remind me of death. It’s inevitable for each and every one of us. No one is immune.

The scars remind me of Christ’s crucifixion; He took my sins and died in my place so that I could accept the gift of salvation.

The scars remind me of what Christ endured for us… you and me! The pain.

The scars remind me of life; the life that I had, the life that I hoped to have, the life that I’m living now, the breath that I took this morning. We so often take such a miraculous thing for granted! How is it that such a technologically advanced item like the human body isn’t a marvel for the whole world to behold in awe? How did we get so used to accepting such wonders and finite detail as “routine?!”

The scars remind me of childhood. Remember falling down and skinning your knee? Remember when your mom would ease the pain and fix it? Moms are gifted that way; taking the pain away and making us feel comforted.

My scars remind me that other people have scars too and they’re not always of a physical nature. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t experiencing (or have experienced) pain or fighting through a valley. I was reminded of doubting Thomas in John… refusing to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead, saying he would have to see the actual wounds and scars before he would accept it. Why are we the same way with others? Unless we can see that you are physically sick, we won’t sympathize with struggles that person might be in the midst of? They may have been through terrifying, forever scarring valleys, yet we may not have seen the struggle firsthand so we expect them to continue on in life as if it were all one big mountaintop and are quick to judge if they falter. Sometimes I wish we could see people’s hearts!

My scars tell stories. They make me step back and think. They make me pause. What makes you pause? What makes you marvel at the little miracles that we see every day? What makes you stop and thank the Lord for your mother? What makes you seriously question your plans, or gives you the ability to trust Him and His plans for you?

I have scars… not something that everyone has. But God has used those scars in my life. What is He using in your life? Let Him use those “scars.” Let Him remind you, teach you, guide and comfort you. Just look. We just have to take the time to actually LOOK at the scars. It’s okay to be afraid or scared because there’s a Heavenly Father willing and ready to help and comfort you. It’s okay to be thankful and praise Him for what He’s done. It’s okay to step back and be in awe of what He has created and provided. It’s okay to enjoy life and remember to take nothing for granted.

Look at your scars today. What’s God trying to tell you?

“Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing. And Thomas answered and said unto him, My Lord and my God. Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” John 20:27-29

Instead, Wait

Waiting. It’s become the story of my life. Waiting and waiting some more. 

• I waited for the doctor to tell me the diagnosis. 
• I waited until after he said “cancer” to cry. 
• I waited for a hospital bed. 
• I waited for the nightly treatments. 
• I waited to go back home to see my kids. 
• I waited while my husband took care of me before we could go to an appointment. 
• I waited for tests to come back clear.
• I waited for my oncologist to open the scan results on his computer. 
• I waited to hear “it’s back.” 
• I waited for it to strike. 
• I waited for the surgery day. 
• I waited for the epidural. 
• I waited to see my husband. 
• I waited for the medications. 

You get the idea, right?!? My life used to be the same as everyone else’s. I used to get up in the morning and live my life; go to work, help the kids, cook, do laundry, etc. And, if we were lucky, I might be able to prepare for a family vacation. We’d carefully plan months ahead of time so that we weren’t being unfair to employers and co-workers, so that family could plan accordingly, and our family had something to look forward too! 

Cancer changes all of that. You can’t plan. You’re left hanging. Waiting to hear test results before you can decide if you can go on vacation. You wait to see how well/poorly the treatments go before you can decide if you’re well enough to go to work. You wait to see if you can pay the bills that month because the savings account has been cleared out paying medical bills and treatment costs. We’ve experienced so many disappointments in our lives since cancer. It’s become a family joke… don’t plan a family vacation cuz cancer is going to come back! It took away our highly anticipated 8-week sabbatical that we had been preparing for for well over a year. It took away a week long family reunion, it took away precious time I had with my children. It took away some very rare, carefree moments that I was so desperately looking forward to. 

As I sat in bed, wondering when the pain would subside, wondering if life would ever have those carefree moments again and if we would ever have the luxury of planning again, I came to the realization that I was waiting … yet again! But this time 

• instead of waiting for my medications, I was waiting for my daughter to come home! 
• Instead of waiting for my husband to care for me, I was waiting for him to return to the couch to sit beside me and hold my hand. 
• Instead of waiting for the doctor’s office to call, I was waiting for a text from my sister. 
• Instead of waiting for sleep to close my eyelids, I was waiting for my son to come home for a visit! 
• Instead of waiting for the doctor to give me a dreaded treatment plan, I was waiting for him to tell me that surgery was successful. 
• Instead of waiting for my kids had to leave again, I was waiting for when they’d come home next. 
• Instead of waiting for the day when my husband had to leave for work, I waited for the day when he’d return. 

Life with cancer has been difficult during the best of times. Even when things look clear you’re waiting for it to rise up and strike again, and then you spend precious time trying to mend the emotions and get yourself back on track. It is hard on the family members; the stress of not knowing, the worry of knowing, the anxiety of the questions left unanswered. We can’t plan definitely for tomorrow; we can only temporarily think plans through. Only God holds the future. Instead, we can wait. 

Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD. -Psalms 27:14 

Our soul waiteth for the LORD: he is our help and our shield. -Psalms 33:20 

Rest in the LORD, and wait patiently for him… -Psalms 37:7