An honest prayer.

It's been quiet around here for awhile.  I wish I could say the time has been relaxing and revitalizing, but as I reflect, I fear it's been more of a time where I have been in hiding. Instead of writing about some new peril of wisdom I've obtained, I find myself in a cave, just hiding.

Galen & I have really tried to pare back our schedule because we've been too busy.  We've reduced our hobbies, yet increased the quality time as a unit of four. In so many ways, I've secretly sought to make our time as an escape, or as a getaway from staying organized and responsibilities. I have wanted desperately to get away.

                                               

                                    From bills.

            From cancer.

                                                                        From appointments.

                                                                                                From life.

 

From our new reality.

 

I've wanted a reprieve.

I just want to feel free.

 

It's been tough this year.  Maybe you can relate, too. A cancer diagnosis and almost losing a child aren't pre-qualifiers either.  Life can beat a person up pretty easily these days. But in my effort to get away from life, in my attempt to take a break, I've made a wrong turn.  Somewhere along the way, I lied to myself.  I told myself that I could eat whatever I want because I deserved it.  I could choose easy because I deserve easy.  But in my effort to make my life easy, I found that it's tasteless, dull and I am completely numb. the words of Solomon could've been my own, " All that my eyes desired I did not refuse them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart was pleased because of all my labor and this was my reward for all my labor. Thus I considered all my activities which my hands had done and the labor which I had exerted, and behold all was vanity and striving after wind and there was no profit under the sun" (Ecclesiastes 2:10-11).

 

When you are treading life's waters, it can get tiresome. As you start your head and shoulders above the waters surface, treading with rhythm.   But after a few waves, you slowly forget the pulse of life.  Instead of enjoying your time, your gasping for air, forgetting to breathe in and out, asking when you can catch your breath.   Before you know it the storm has passed, but you are found to no longer be treading water.  Finding yourself flat on your back and simply gliding a top the water. Looking like a jellyfish, it requires little effort to lie upon the water, and perhaps find yourself afraid to tread the waters again because you just have no fight left in you.  You have forgotten just how to tread the water.

 

And that's where I find myself.

 

I'm a jellyfish.  Between that thin layer that divides water and air is the place I am aimlessly floating, drifting without direction, while the waters of life casually brush my face without causing any harm, however, preventing me from living life fully. The water entraps me, only releasing enough of my body to gather the oxygen required to sustain my life. I feel trapped.  If I move, what will happen? The water feels stagnant as if I'm in a pond with no life giving source of fresh water.  Not only am I stuck, but I am slowly sinking.  I'm quietly drowning and no one knows it. I barely recongize it myself.

 

I've been discontent with my current state, however, I've lacked the gumption to do anything about it.  I have no desire to ripple the waters, dear God, I am done.  I'm weary, God.  I am tired.

 

But I continue to think I can fix this situation myself.  Yes, I'll be more motivated tomorrow.  Tomorrow it will be different, tomorrow I'll pull myself up and I'll get going again.  And before I can utter those words again, I see the evidence of my failure.  Perhaps I overindulged yet again or chose to watch TV instead of spend time in God's word.

 

I am a failure.

God, all I wanted was to be a woman of faith and prayer and I'm sitting here slowly dying.  I wanted to make you proud and all I'm doing is surviving.

 

God you made me to thrive and I'm barely making it. I've been sidelined and quite frankly, every time I think about change I fail.

 

Every Sunday I'm reminded of just how stuck I am.   Walking in to church has felt more like a routine and ritual then a desire to spend time worshipping my Jesus. Recently, the song by HIllsong United has touched my deadened nerve endings. 

 

Just read these lyrics.

 

I'm wide awake, drawing close, stirred by grace
And all my heart is yours
All fear removed, I breathe you in, I lean into
Your love, oh your love

Your love so deep, Is washing over me
Your face is all I seek, you are my everything
Jesus Christ, You are my one desire
Lord hear my only cry, to know you all my life

 

(Listen to it here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffr0pGkXPJg)

 

It's at that moment, I feel emotion for the first time in a long time.  My deadened soul is revived and I do feel Jesus breathe into me.  Tears stream down my face in that dark room.  Tears that are more of a desperate plea than anything else. 

 

Jesus, I'm stuck, I don't even know how to clean myself up for you. I know I can't and that's the point of following you, you give me underserved grace. I've tried and I've failed.  Nothing satisfies me like you do and Lord I need you to break my out.   Lord, I haven't just taken one step backward, but it feels like I've fallen completely down the hill.  As these thoughts flood my heart, I feel God's grace pierce my soul.

 

He grips my heart, and without a hint of condemnation I hear whispers in my heart, "Kelli, I know.  Kelli, I love you.  Kelli, let me help you.  I want to help you."

 

And the tears continue to stream down my face. I'm experiencing grace unlimited. A shower pours from heaven and as I lift my face, I feel swept up in the underserved favor of my God.  It's moments like these I cannot describe the mercifulness that washes over my weary soul.  I find myself regaining strength because I'm drawing from the Rock.

 

And I feel again.

The numbness goes away.

 

I am reminded when I am in the presence of my Savior, worshipping Him, breathing a life of gratitude, spending time in my BIble, that is when I experience life and fullness.

 

And I don't know where I went wrong, but I know somewhere along the way I made the choice that this place could offer my soul rest instead of trusting in the one who created it.

 

So Lord, you know where I am.  Take me, make me and renew me.  I am desperate for you. 

 

Rescue me, Jesus.  You are the only one who can. And I'm trusting You will.

Let me tell you what I deserve.

Double stuff Oreos have had every reason to fear me this year. Until 2014,  I never would have said I was a stress eater, but the evidence is clear.  And I am looking at another insurance bill on the table and wonder how in the world are we still paying bills? "Our $$$$ deductible has got to have been met by now" I mutter under my breath.  At that moment I head for the kitchen and I feel the stress in my back build, the first sign of another tension headache coming.   Galen walks in the kitchen and says, "what happened here?"  "Must've been an animal or something or... I don't know what happened" half joking, half hoping Galen is too distracted and just drops the subject.  But the package lays there empty, crumbs scattered as a testament to their existence once.  An entire package of these indulgent cookies have been divulged by yours truly in two days time.

 

Actually, the hours that lay between the start and finish was less than 24. 

"It was me.  I did it"  I confess.  As if our two year old would be able to crawl up on the counter and get them himself.  Please, it takes him 20 minutes to eat a cookie. We both know it was me.  I write this being fully transparent, laughing, but also feeling guilty.

Admitting to this is like I am showing you the number on my scale.

 

Sigh. The worst part was, the Oreos were still in the Meijer bag I purchased them in.

 

In all fairness, it was a few days after we brought Boaz home from the ER.  And I begin to think  this year, if any, I have had every reason to consume a package of Oreos, or have no boundaries when it comes to food all without the judgment of others.  Amen? Because I deserve this don't I?  Don't I deserve some sort of temporal comfort?  Shouldn't I be able to enjoy the processed, sugar infused foods my country so easily specializes in without implication? Somehow this should offset the reality of Galen's cancer, its physical effects and its financial discomfort on my life.

Why should I deny myself this pacifier of pain, even if but for a moment I can forget the financial stress? To take a timeout from the constant battle of contentment?  To break from the war of what if's that wage against my mind?  Not only do I deserve this package of cookies, I should be able to consume each chocolate delight without any sort of ramification or judgment by any person and especially by my scale. 

 

"Uh oh, Mommy" and it's back to life and within an hour, Benaiah has had two accidents in his underwear.  But I must lay Bo down for a nap because his eyes hint at the sleepiness he feels.  In his bassinet he lays peacefully, I shut the door quietly behind, hearing the ticking of his sleeping monitors (yes, plural) and head to Benaiah's room to get him cleaned up and changed. Just as I step out of the room Bo starts screaming.

I want to scream.

For the love, can't SOMETHING be easy this year?

And like lava from a volcano, it all unleashes, unexpectedly and angrily. My mind is eager to list my complaints.

And at the top of my list is the fact my identity has been stolen. 

I'm not Kelli wife, mother, friend anymore.   I am Kelli, Chief Financial Officer of Rasler Inc.  I'm Kelli, Director of Operations.  I'm Kelli, Lead Researcher in "strange and unusual cancers in males who also happen to have a 5 month old baby who refuses to sleep during the night and two year old boys who are wanting to be potty trained".

 
I'm tired of having to keep track of Galen's PCR, FSH and WBC numbers and his doctor's appointments.
I'm tired of waiting for test results, more data collecting and phone calls.
I'm tired of making sure we are paying all our health insurance bills or just that they are being covered at all.
I'm tired of making sure our health insurance stays honest and we don't overpay.

I'm tired of Bo not sleeping through the night.

I'm just tired.

I just really want something to be easy. Something.  Anything. I just really want the rest of my life to go the way I want because very few things are going how I think they should right now.  And that last bit of self-pity is enough to send me to the kitchen to polish off something else. 

Because it's easy. And I deserve it.

I'm ignoring the fact my baby has woken up and Benaiah still needs changed as an effort to regroup. I look out the kitchen window and see the muffler to Galen's truck has fallen off.
 
For the.....

I.

Just.
Can't.
Even.
Handle.
It.

There goes another 6 Oreos.

I go clean up Benaiah and I soothe Boaz back to sleep. And the guilt sets in.  I consumed that food in an effort to pacify my stress.  Perhaps for a few seconds, I escaped my reality. But I walk away feeling guilty, knowing that food, drink or cookies don't bring me lasting comfort.

Knowing that it was all a trap.

Benaiah is cleaned up and quietly playing with his Elmo choo-choo and then I wonder.  What did Eden's forbidden fruit taste like? I bet it's the same stuff that's used in these Oreos. I walk away feeling empty.  Guilty.  Ashamed.  I knew better, but somehow I was hoping this time around it'd be different.  It wasn't.

And I finally see it.  I think I deserve everything.

In spite of all we are going through this year, I have battled a lot of fear and anxiety, but haven't been as mindful to how pride also can be bred in our tender situation.  How it's seeds are so easily sown in stressed soil.  And I am gripped by my latest realization...

I'm using my circumstances to justify my pride.

And it's disgusts me.

And just like eating food unnecessarily, I find my complaining to not bring my satisfaction either.

There are people in this world who have suffered much greater than I.

I even know how to solve my problem, but I'd rather food satisfy me than the One who calls himself the bread of life.

 

I bet I sound a lot like the Israelites on the way to the Promised Land who when were walking in the desert had nothing to eat.
Mind you this isn't a nice comparison, by the way.
Moses prayed and the Lord provided manna (bread from heaven that the Israelites literally called it "what is it?") and quail for them to eat every day.    

The Israelites complained. 

And complained. 
And complained. 
And then they grumbled.

They actually told God that it was better for them to be back in Egypt (where they seemed to have forgotten about the oppressive slavery they lived under).  I think you are treading on dangerous territory when you are telling God that what He is providing for you isn't good enough, especially when it's funneled out of an ungrateful heart. 

The Lord provided the Israelites with manna and quail every day.  No Israelite could save enough for the next day.  It would rot.  (Unless it was Saturday, God allowed that they would be able to gather enough for two days as so not to break the Sabbath).

Every day, God's rescued people had to wait for Him to provide their daily needs.  They couldn't stock up.  Every day they had to have a hunger in their belly. And every day God provided for them, satisfying their hunger, and building their faith.  And I bet when they ate their manna, they didn't feel guilty afterwards. 

And it reminds me of a verse in Proverbs, "There are two things, Lord, I want you to do for me before I die: Make me absolutely honest and don't let me be too poor or too rich.  Give me just what I need.  If I have too much to eat, I might forget about you; if I don't have enough, I might steal and disgrace your name" (7-9).

Yep.  There you have it. Lord, give me just what I need.  And help my cravings to be for You, knowing it's Your Word that satisfies my soul.  I experience it every time I do my devotions. Unlike my stress eating, every single time I walk away with spending time in Your Word or in prayer, I have NEVER once regretted it. 

Ever.

Instead I have found peace, passion and a sense of direction.  In fact, my favorite time of the week is when I spend an hour in prayer at our church.  That hour alone transforms me.  It calms me.  It does what no food, wine, Facebook, or TV show can do. It satisfies the inner parts of my soul because I have been in communication with my Creator.

So I look at my life and I have every reason to be grateful.  God has been with us through this entire year.  He has prepared our hearts, taken care of our finances, and allowed for necessary time off.  He has held me when all I could do was cry. Time and again, He has proven Himself trustworthy.

And on top of that, He is just good.

I feel good and resolved in my life. I call about the insurance bill that started this whole fiasco because it wasn't itemized only to find out it was a refund credited to our account. It wasn't a bill.

Counting today's sunshine as a blessing, I walk out to get today's mail.  In our box that morning was an anonymous gift that was the exact amount needed to cover one of our monthly expenses. 

A gift no one knew was needed, except God.

I walk back to my house, salty tears streaming over my lips.
I am humbled.

I really know not what I deserve.

When fear has a hold of me

My eyes are heavy again today.  Last night was rough, for no other reason than the simple fact Bo's sleep alarm went off 5 different times. That alarm, which pierces the drums of your ears, is capable of also being a dagger that pierces your heart.  Each time the alarm was set off, I woke up from a dead slumber, confused and terrified. "NO!  Not again, not this time" my mind screamed.  Bo ended up sleeping next to me in his bassinet and with each alarm sound, my arm darting out and reaching quickly for his chest. Up.  Down.   He was breathing every time, however, just a lot lighter. 

Sigh. I roll over.

False alarm.  But not a false fear.

Wow, it all comes back.

The images. 
The thoughts. 
The day. 
The pain. 

And the fear.

And knowing how divine the timing was last time I found Bo, I don't hesitate to rush to his aide.  But  this instance with the unfriendly accompaniment of a searing pain. 

The "what if" pain.

The questions begin and my heart is still racing.  Thanks, Jesus, he's okay.  But I'm tired and as I my hand rests on my little Boaz Graham's chest I see again what I saw nearly two weeks ago....

And I discern the fear that wishes to entrap me is near.  It's prowling and I hear its roars.  It circles my mind and tries to take residence in my heart.  I can feel the seeds of fear trying to plant themselves in my DNA of my soul.   Trying to find a place that it can nurture and grow. A heart that has recently experienced such searing pain and a mind that has seen life gone seems to be a fertile place for those horrors to germinate.  A heart that still is tenderly enduring the fact the love of my life, my high school sweetheart, has cancer. 

 

I hear its sneers, "Go ahead and rest.  See what happens when you aren't looking".

 Out of sheer exhaustion, I am able to fall back asleep every time. And this morning, Galen asks me how I slept.

 

"Not well."  Reaching for the medicine cabinet.  My head is throbbing.  It's a "lack of sleep" headache.  I have had one too many of those lately.   Galen reaches around, not saying anything more, and just hugs me. 

He knows. 

We make it to church this morning, but not after the usual running around, eating breakfast on the way, putting deodorant on IN the van, yelling at each other for not being prepared, stressed about this next week, wondering when we'll have time for this and for that. And we drop the boys off to their respective places of care and walk into our space of worship.  Got our seats, put down our Bibles and the leaders come out full force this morning with their worship playlist.

They came ready to usher in God's presence. A God who is ready to battle my fears.

It's a tune I quickly recognize and time evaporates and my soul quiets. My eyes fill with salted water.  I feel the room darken, yet my burden lighten and I am swept away to a restful place.

"Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul
Worship His holy name
Sing like never before
O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name"

I can't even utter the words without streams of tears flowing from my eyes.  

"The sun comes up, it's a new day dawning
It's time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass, and whatever lies before me
Let me be singing when the evening comes"

 I raise my hands in agreement.  It's a new day, God, give me the peace to sing your song again.

"You're rich in love, and You're slow to anger
Your name is great, and Your heart is kind
For all Your goodness I will keep on singing
Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find"

As the song plays on, and I sing from memory,  I think about the time when we lost our first baby to a miscarriage.  And I remember being unexpectedly pregnant with Benaiah a year later. I recall being so afraid that my fear stole my joy and took the breath out of me.  Fear had me contained in a corner.  I refused to exude joy for the fear of experiencing that painful loss, again.  Out of desperation, I told God He could have me, but all I could give Him was my clinched fists.  That's all I had to offer.  I was angry.  I was hurt.  My heart was so sensitive to pain. I didn't want to face my fear, but as life was already growing in me, I had to.  And I as I gave God what I had, I felt Him say, "okay, I can work with this".

And I smile.  Because as vividly as I remember that day of surrender, I also recall the day Benaiah was born and I cried.  I wept.  Restoration had come to my heart.   It was closure for me.  It was peace.

That was a day my faith grew and it is a day that I bank on to get through the high waters of today.  The waves called cancer and uncertainty.

Fear is meant to rob you.  To steal your joy.  And I ponder how many times have I given fear the opportunity to do it?  To take my joy? How many times do I continue to feed my fears?  How many times do I continue to walk down the what if road?  How often I choose to sit and dine with thoughts that include losing my husband all too soon?  As long as I continue to feed my fears, they will always remain in my life.

I remember John 10:10, a verse that has been so readily on my mind this year, " The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." And as long as your fear keeps you paralyzed, it doesn't have to make your greatest trepidation come true.  And that's the purpose of fear.  To make you believe that life cannot be better.  To rob you of peace.  To constantly cause you to worry.   To never let you rest.  To try and back you in a corner and make you surrender your joy.  To suffocate you and to take your life. 

All these thoughts come to the forefront of my mind at the same moment these emotions are pouring over my lips and I can barely sing the words of this song.  I am so overcome with emotion and truth.  I felt I was literally crying out my fears before God. Not in a verbal way, but in a spiritual sense that only God can understand. And in the midst of worshipping, God steadied my heart. I felt the reinforcements in my heart go up.

"And I have come to give you life to the full"... And at this moment, I feel full.  I didn't ask for it.  But I am engulfed in it.  And it's no longer the fear that is taking me hostage, but it is the peace that is choking out my fear, my worries, and my anxieties.  Yes, my fear is depleting in the presence of my Almighty God and I feel tranquility.  Peace.  I can breathe.  I can feel the thief return my joy to me.  This stillness is forcing my fears to relinquish it's hold on me.  I can feel God plucking those seeds of terror right out of my heart.

My burden is lifting.

And I feel free.  

And I am reminded my Jesus is absolutely worth trusting.

And in the presence of Jesus, my fears don't stand a chance.

 

Amen.

 

I quit.

It's cumbersome sometimes.  It's 10:57 at night and I'm beyond exhausted.  It's been a tough week.  And as I go to lay my head down, my head races and my heart is heavy.  It's become my all to familiar cue that my soul needs to wrestle. And so here I am, battling my mind and wrestling with my spirit.

 If you have talked to me in the last week, you've probably heard me say the words, "I quit.  I quit .....2014."  And it's mostly said in jest, but there's more truth behind those words that I'd like to admit.

 

I have not been this drained emotionally in a long time. Really if ever.  As I relive last Tuesday in my mind by re-telling the story and having my own flashbacks, I have become keenly aware of so many things.  When I found Bo as I did, I just reacted.  I didn't know I had seconds, SECONDS, to save him.  I just gave him CPR and called 911.  How I thank God for giving me the clarity of mind to use the knowledge I had already learned. It wasn't until we were in the ER and the doctors and nurses left, the lights were dimmed and Bo was already hooked up to a monitor, that I just knelt over his little 15 pound body and I sobbed.  I kissed my boy and I wept with bitter emotion and yet with a thankful heart.  I have only cried like that 3 other times in my life.  In every instance, it was always about my kids.

 

The other day, I was talking to a friend and she asked, "What was it that you asked God to make you this year?"  "A woman of faith and prayer"  I uttered. almost regretfully.

 

That request seems to haunt me now.

 

It makes me wonder the day I verbalized that earnest prayer, that deep desire, what did the heavenlies look like?  My mind is spinning.  Not that God caused all these events to happen in my life, but He certainly allowed them to come.  Was He just waiting for me to say those requests?  Whatever was unleashed the day I apparently gave permission for God to build my faith and cause me to be more on my knees and flat on my face than ever before in prayer. Did God issue an edict "Angels, it's operation woman of prayer and faith! Go!"  I mean really?

 

My baby came prematurely.
Our vehicle totaled by snapping a telephone pole in half. 
My husband has cancer.
My baby almost died.

I'm tired.

And I'm weary.
And it's only June. 

Every part of me gives up.  God I didn't really mean it.  I was just kidding. White flag is waving. I surrender.  It's too personal, Jesus.  Just, I'm done.   I can't do it.  I don't wanna keep going. I don't have it in me.  God, don't make me a woman of prayer.  God, make me a woman of comfort, and a woman who doesn't have problems.  That sounds easier right now.

And just as I have typed those words, I hear the whispers of God on my heart, "So, Kelli, let me carry you now".  And I think about how we came home late Wednesday night from the hospital and it was time to put our little Boaz to bed.  We laid him in his bassinet and I wept.  This is the place I saw my son lifeless.  This is the place I saw what I cannot unsee. 

 

And so Galen and I prayed.  "Lord, you are the Prince of Peace and we pray believing you want us to live in peace and not have an ungodly fear; we pray that you would restore that peace to our home.  You are not a god of chaos, but a God of order.  We ask that you come into our home, ridding it of all fear.  Lord we take our thoughts captive, we confine our fears and we submit them to you and Lord and we choose to make them obedient to Your will. "

 

I remember this prayer and my faith is strengthened and my spirit is resolved.  I was able to sleep in perfect peace that night and every night since.

My God is not a genie.  He is so much bigger than that.  He doesn't promise we won't have hardships.  He doesn't promise to change our circumstances. But He promises never to leave us, nor forsake us. He says when we are weary and burdened, he will give us rest.  He promises to make beautiful things out of our ashes. I need those guarantees.  And I have seen God, over and over and over again, make good on these promises.

This year, I have walked through what I consider to be the valley of the shadow of death. I have faced some of my greatest fears. It is dark, it is scary, and it's unpredictable. And I'm not even sure that it's over, but...

He carries me.  Jesus, it is He who sustains me.  He holds me.  He comforts me.  He is my Rock.  He is my Peace.  He is my firm foundation when the waves come crashing down. And they have and they still are.  But He is everything to me.   And Jesus, absolutely, 100% is worth believing and trusting in. And I won't stop now.

And my spirit is choosing to proclaim and request again what I did earlier this year, battle scars and all, eyes filled to the brim with tears, Lord, make me a woman of faith and make me a woman of prayer.   I just want my life to bring you honor, God. 

Can I really say God is good?

I've got a good husband.  After Bo and I arrived at the hospital and we got settled, he brought the computer for me.  He said after today he thought I may need to write and to process my thoughts.  He was right.  He knows me well.

 

Today was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. And words CAN describe how horrifying it was.

 

But I don't even know how to reason or really what to say about what happened.  Hundreds of emotions are engulfing me and only being silenced as I watch my son's chest carefully rise and fall. I'm sitting here in a hospital bed, my face resting on his crib rails,  looking at my infant son who is hooked up to all sorts of monitors. Checking to make sure he doesn't miss his next breath.

 

And I feel numb.  And it feels surreal.  How did I get here?

 

And I don't just mean physically, I mean emotionally.

 

May 5th I went back to school.  I had always planned on going back so I could work at least 120 days and then get another year of experience.  A month with two kids under two while managing my husband's new cancer diagnosis was going to be challenging, but I determined, not impossible.

 

Well, it was tough, but I continued to press on thinking just about having a restful, uneventful and relaxing summer. It's *almost* funny to say that out loud now. Honestly, while at school I felt I was going from one hour to the next. Nothing went wrong, and school was fine, it was just an adjustment.  I just needed to get done with school so I could find my rhythm again.  I needed to "uncomplicate" my life so I could find time to do devotions again.  If I could just make it to summer break, then life could have some harmonious tunes yet again.

 

And two weeks after school is out and I'm still waiting for life to slow down.  And I just want life to get back to normal.  But really?  What is normal for me?  This year, 2014, has been all but typical.

 

Premature baby.

Totaled vehicle.

Cancer diagnosis.

 

I know I put Bo down for his nap and when I came in to check on him, he turned his face downward.  But other than that I don't know how to reason what happened.  I spent most of the day today, just crying.  I teared up as he began to breathe again in those critical moments.  I cried as the EMT's arrived at my house and I sobbed while we waited in the emergency room.  My puffy eyes are proof of the torment and RELIEF  my soul went through yesterday.  But after all these tears, I just don't know how to put into words any sort of reasoning.

 

It's hard for me to say tonight at this moment that God is good.  And it's not because He's not. 

 

I feel like I cheapen God when I say it.

 

He spared my son's life, He guided me to Bo's room at just the right time, He helped me breathe a breath of life into my son's seemingly lifeless body.  And for that I have a gratitude so deep.    But in the meantime, my insides were paralyzed with a fear that only a parent can feel.  As I found Bo, blue, limp and his eyes were glazed over, I felt my heart come outside of my body and dissolve in front of me.  I screamed, "no, no, no, no, no, Lord Jesus, please, no! If you didn't take him in our car accident, why would you take him now?!"

 

And I know my God is good.  But I can't make sense of any of this.  Saying it feels that my belief in His goodness is contingent on my son living.    I also feel it does a great deal of hurt to those who I know who have lost children.  For those few moments of pain I felt when Bo didn't breathe, I can only imagine the immense and intense pain these parents felt days, weeks, months and years after the death of their child.  What about the kids who haven't been spared? Is God still good then?  It's unfair for me to answer that question.  And so I won't. Maybe it makes me seem less "Christian" to even ask.

 

And quite frankly, maybe that's not what He's asking me to do or say right now. More than anything this reminds how close to Jesus I need to be.  I need Him when life is good. And I need Him when life hits me.  And this year, life has taken a few heavy swings at my family. What a terrible reminder that I need to be in the Word daily.  I need to be in prayer daily.   Maybe right now all I need to say is thank you Lord.  I don't understand why You spared my son, why You nudged me to check on him, but I am so thankful to You did.  My words fail me.  There are no words good enough to express my gratitude, Lord, and so I can only shed tears of thankfulness and forever be grateful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your time of testing is over

Sometimes I have a hard time discerning God's voice. And sometimes God gives me a phrase, a word, a thought or as I put it in teacher terms, a writing prompt, that I need to wrestle with and work through.  This is why I write.

 

And right now it would be one of those times.  Thursday's appointment at the University of Chicago was none like we've experienced.  It was impressive to talk to so many doctors and nurses that were specifically trained in Galen's cancer.  I wasn't talking to textbook trained doctors (nothing wrong with that by the way), or doctor's who learn second hand, but physicians who work in the laboratory themselves doing research.  It was unreal.

 

Anyway, our appointment went so well, and I'll spare you the loads of details, but I walked away feeling like God said, "your time of testing is over". And as quickly as I felt that, it went away.  And I've been wrestling ever since.

 

Galen still has cancer.

He will still remain under close supervision.

He still needs another bone marrow biopsy.

He still...

He still isn't healed.

 

But there was some unexplainable closure.

A weight was lifted.

Our proverbial flight had finally risen above the turbulent thunderstorm which is how our takeoff started.

 

Galen and I didn't talk a lot the whole way home.  We both felt that leaving that appointment, something was over. What?  That I don't know.  As we left the University of Chicago, something in my soul closed.

 

But after our consultation and appointment, Galen and I decided we no longer needed to be at Chicago.  It was great that we went, but there was nothing so unique about Galen's situation that warranted us to continue there.  It was decided by us, and agreed on by Dr. Larson, that our local oncologist is more than capable of overseeing Galen's care.  The way Galen is responding to treatment shows promise for the best possible outcome, outside of a miraculous cure.  In 18-24 months, they predict Galen's cancer could be reduced to 99.95%.  That last .05% is where they don't have enough research to fully understand why 50% of people will relapse, and 50% experience what you'd say, cured.  We got the best possible news though.  Galen is responding incredibly well to his treatment.  It seems unfair to call what we've gone through cancer because it's only signs have shown up on CBC reports And that's why we have every reason to be thankful.  They have been able to locate the source of Galen's cancer through research done over several decades ago.  They pinpointed it's root in his DNA and then they figured out a successful way to prohibit the cancer from continuing to grow by the treatment of a prescription.   We have been blessed to not have experienced the weightiness of the physical toll cancer can wage on your body.  It hasn't been smooth sailing, but to call what we've gone through cancer doesn't seem fair.  Anyway, to get Galen to 99.95% disease free it will take a while to get there.

 

And for some weird reason, with all this information, that day I felt a release.  I felt I could breathe.  I felt like I could say, yes, okay.  Not that my faith rests in science or medicine, but for some reason I felt this season of "testing is finished".

 

But even as all these statistics floated around our minds, I felt I had reached the end of a chapter.  And as anything ends, it is an invitation to reflect.  For the remainder of the drive home, I found myself lost in my thoughts.  Glancing in the mirror, to see what I had learned. Did I pass the test, God?

 

I still don't know what I heard originally.  I just don't know.  Did God really tell me my time of testing is over?  Am I done fasting?  I had been praying about that last week, just really needing God to reassure me that He wanted me to continue to fast.   The last thing I want to do is to be disobedient or even worse... just break God's heart.  I know I disappoint Him anyway.    I know I make mistakes.  I fall short of God's holiness every single day. I certainly don't want to deliberately do it.

 

And I know God's grace covers me, but I just want to do the right thing. 

I just want to make Him proud. 

And I just don't know what making Him proud looks like right now.

 

 

Choices

I think about it everyday.

 

Like a lurking beast, it's always there.  Caged, yes, by the powerful treatments, but nonetheless....

 

There.

 

Because of its' presence, all our decisions have to consider the fact of "its'" presence.

 

We take off work.

We alter our meals.

We make appointments.

We consult experts.

We read.

We ask questions.

We pray.

 

Praying is just about the only thing that relieves my soul from the anxiety or worry of cancer. And I sit here, feeling full well the peace of God, but coming to a new realization.  It's a choice. I can choose God's peace or I can become a captive and live with fear and anxiety.

 

At home, at work and just about every place I am content.  However, I find myself so easily frustrated with the medical world.  It can be tangibly seen as we start our drive to the next appointment.  The office is the place where my frustrations reside.  I get frustrated because I have to make choices I don't want to.   Not one choice we've made has been easy.  The road is gray, bleak and full of complications.  It's not easy to discern the "right" treatment path. There is no correct answer. ONly a best guess or attempt. There is no cure. And even if there were, and Galen was cured, the shadow of its' tombstone still exists, reminding you what once what caged beast lived.

 

And I find this unacceptable.

I hate it.

I hate "this".

Cancer, just go away.

 

We wonder about expanding our family, God-willing, and will I be left to raise these children as a single mom at some point?  Will this treatment and care deplete our funds in a way we cannot support our family? Ugh.  Why do I keep going there? 

 

I know I keep saying it, but it's not a one and done deal.  I don't experience peace once and I'm "good to go" for the duration of this journey.  Every day is a choice.  Every moment.

 

And the battle wages *every*single* day in my mind.  Peace or fear.  Contentment or anxiety.  Gratitude or complaining. What will it be today? What will it be now?

 

I go to the doctor's office, often times, more aggravated than not and that's frequently the time I forget about my "choice".  Despite whatever went wrong (and it has), whatever didn't happen (and it hasn't) or whatever question remains unanswered (and void they linger), I have an option.  And the act of choosing peace seems so easily lost, derailed by all the medical jargon, time spent waiting and unchangeable circumstances.

 

Yes, I need to exercise wisdom.

Yes, I need to be educated about this disease.

Yes, I need to be proactive and an advocate.

 

But sometimes I need to stop thinking it's all on my shoulders, that it's all my responsibility or that we have complete control of the unknown. And sometimes I just need to trust God and silence the what if's.

 

My God is greater than this disease.

He can heal if He so chooses.

And His wisdom is far more supreme than the greatest amount of medical knowledge out there.

 

At some point, we will all make our exit off the grand stage of life.  It is a fact.  And realistically, Galen (or I or you) could get hit by a bus tomorrow and what will worry have brought to my life?

 

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

 

I cannot add a minute to my life by allowing worry into my life.  Only it will have robbed me of joy, peace and a heart of gratitude.   I have been keeping a journal of thanks recently.  A dear friend gifted me the book 1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp.  She challenges her readers to have a heart of gratitude in spite of your circumstances.

 

In spite of your 28 year old husband of having cancer.

 

 

And I wish I could insert some amazing spiritual wisdom here.  But I don't know what that is or what it looks like.   But I do think I can relate to Paul in the New Testament when he says this, "I have learned how to be content with whatever I have.  I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything.  I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little" (Philippians 4:11-12).  C.S. Lewis even said, "If you think of this world as a place intended simply for our happiness, you find it quite intolerable: think of it as a place of training and correction and its not so bad."

 

And I hear the theme so loudly ringing in my mind.  I need to learn.  My situation doesn't need to change. I do.  I need to learn to trust, to be joyful, to accept the peace I am given and be thankful.

 

So I will choose to trust, in spite of every thing I don't know.

I will choose peace, in spite of living out one of my greatest fears.

I will choose to be thankful, because God is good. 

 

He is so, so good.

Amen.

 

"It is well with my soul"  

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Refrain

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

Refrain

My sin—oh, the bliss of this glorious thought—
My sin—not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

Refrain

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

Refrain

But, Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!
Blessèd hope, blessèd rest of my soul!

Refrain

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so—it is well with my soul.