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.

 

 

Right in the middle of the doctor's office....

I hate going to visit Galen's oncologist.

Everyone's nice, but it's depressing.  We are all there because something is wrong. The silence is stifling. It suffocates me. 

This is usually the time I pull out my iphone and open up the humor section of Pinterest. Ah, yes, a little laughter.

I read something on Pinterest that made me laugh.  Okay, I read a LOT of things on Pinterest that make me laugh.  But this one in particular got me going pretty good.  So good that I might have cackled.  That's Galen's term for  immature inability to have the slightest bit of compassion at another's expense... it might even be the kind of sneaky laugh that you're mother might smack you for because you laughed when somebody fell down the steps.  Or those really stupid memes that you snicker at because you're secretly giving an amen to its' message. 

Right? Someone out there, please agree with me.

And right now I'm really into the toddler tantrum humor.  Love "pinning" those stories!  Maybe you can understand, you've heard those stories, where the parent wants to throw away the finger nail clippings and the two year old loses it?  It was too funny.  Those are the stories I giggle uncontrollably at. 

I cackle. 

 

Anyway, I laugh, because I can relate.  Benaiah has done similar things which are too lengthy to put into words here.  But it's caught me so off guard, that I laughed.  Seriously, you are going to cry over throwing away toe nail clippings?!  The dog won't move and that's what puts you over the edge?? You dropped your Grover car on the floor and your day is ruined??

After I have wiped my "tears of joy" away,  that's when it hits me.  Right there in the middle of that stupid doctor's office.

I'm the same way. 

I am this child. 

No, I don't cry because my parents won't buy me the "Chucky" movie.  But it gets me thinking. I may not understand the travesty behind not being allowed to lick the dog, but I do understand the injustice of my 28 year old husband getting cancer.  Or my parents getting a divorce.  Or the loss of a baby. Or.....

You fill in the blank.

 

Whoa.  Too deep too fast? This is the way in which my mind has always worked.  Able to be teleported through the highs and lows of life all by a single light bulb moment.

 

And I begin to wonder, is this how I act towards God?  Let me clarify, this isn't a perfect analogy and I'm not God.  I may laugh at the toddler who hoards the toe nail clippings, who cries because he's not allowed to eat dog poop,  but God doesn't laugh at my struggles, fears or misunderstandings.  From the viewpoint of this child, not being able to hold all his Elmo train cars in his two little arms is just heartbreaking.  It's worth crying out and calling out, "Mommy".   Why?  I don't know exactly.  But I bet there is some sort of fear he senses, something he just doesn't get, some sort of injustice being played out right before his little eyes.  And I'm no longer making light of this situation, but instead my heart is flooded with compassion.

 

I have fears.

I have things I don't understand.

I see injustice happen right before my eyes.

 

But I also understand the illogical thinking behind keeping your brother's toe nail clippings.

 

And there I am, left to merge these two very different viewpoints.  My mind wages war trying to make sense of "it all".  For a toddler, I get these same feelings, I understand the confusion, I get the fear, but as a parent I see the irrational, illogical and, even at times, comical thinking.  That's reason number 489,487,908 why I wouldn't make a good god.  God doesn't laugh at our struggles, even if we don't understand them.  His compassion is so great, and so many times, I can feel Him say, "Kelli, I know you don't understand.  Just trust me.  I know this hurts.  Put your faith in Me.  I know you are angry.  It's okay, I'll hold you.   I know this isn't what you want.  Let me provide you peace."

 

Hebrews 4:15-16 says it this way, "For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin. Therefore, let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need."  Thankful for a promise like that. I have someone who understands my sufferings, my confusion and my frustrations. 

 

When I try to look at my situation through God's eyes, I tend to trust Him just a little bit more. However, the child in me is left wondering what this elusive, indefinable bigger picture looks like.  Can I be honest?  There are times I want to take a look.  I want to see.  I want God to give me understanding.  I tell God if you'd just show me, I'd trust you.  Really I would. But I hear Jesus' words say,  "blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." (John 20:29b).

 

And I like that verse, but I don't.  Something about waiting.  Something about having peace when I don't understand.  I don't like not understanding.  I don't like not knowing.  I don't like it.  And because I don't like it, it hurts my feelings. Maybe that's why I cry out, "God, God!  Why? Just why?"

 

So, God, what's the blessing for not being able to see and yet believing in Your plan? In Your "bigger picture"? 

 

It's peace.  It's hope.

 

It's a peace in the midst of my trials.

 

And it's hope of an eternity with Jesus.  Not hope as in a "I wish/let me cross my fingers".  It's a hope as an "I know and can't wait".

 

It's knowing there is an eternity where there won't be suffering.

No pain.

And no more tears.

(Revelation 21:4)

 

And this world is too painful to live without that kind of hope.  Amen?  And that hope only comes in one way, from one person.  My heart has never ached for heaven like it has until recently.  The day we got "that" phone call my heart just ached.  Please, don't misunderstand me, I am very thankful for the life God has given me.  I love so many tangible things and people I am blessed to call family and friends.  I have days that are filled with cup overflowing joy and knee slapping laughter.  But I rejoice that there is more than this life, which is also tainted with suffering and sometimes nights filled with tears.  I am thankful that after this life, there will be one where there won't be any cancer diagnosis, there won't be any hunger, and no more struggles to survive.

 

What is this life if this world was all we had? 

 

Thankful it doesn't have to be if we choose to follow Jesus.

 

 

Our next appointment

This Wednesday, Galen has his first appointment with his oncologist since starting his chemo treatment.  For the past 5 weeks, Galen's been taking his treatment and getting weekly blood draws.  It's allowed us time to just get away from the fire hydrant of information that we have been forced to swallow and just take information in as we've been able to.  I have found some accredited websites that are specific to Galen's rare cancer and I have been able to educate myself about research, his actual condition and responses to his treatment.  We are just now at the point, knowing what most of his side effects are, that we can look into some ways to alleviate them.  We are looking into diet changes and specific nutritional guidelines that may help the treatment behave better.

 

We already know from talking to the lab techs that his WBC is back in the normal range and his uric acid levels are also back to normal.  This is absolutely wonderful news, knowing his treatment is working.  However, it's only the first step in a LONG process to move towards any type of remission.  Once again, according to his oncologist, there is no current science to support taking Galen off his treatment ever, despite remission.  But we remain in prayer, believing otherwise and believing in complete healing.

 

So, I don't know what the doctor is going to want to talk about with us on Wednesday.  But we figure he is going to go over the results of his blood draws that we already know about.  I would just like some good news because I just really hate going there.

 

If you want to pray for us, here are some specific ways:

 

1.  Now that Galen's WBC is normal, we want it to stay that way.

2.  Pray that there will be no positive presence of the Philadelphia chromosome.  This is a long, long process.  So long that there are different "stages" of clearance.  For example, they'd say, "less than 35% of Galen's cells test positive for the Philadelphia chromosome".  So, we'd like to see a decrease and for it to eventually to be undetectable.  It will require a lot of tests along the way.   After this, there are still other things we need to pray for, but this is just the next step in regards to healing for Galen..

3.  We can get in quickly on Wednesday, the past two times, we've had to sit in the waiting room for an hour and a half.  We hate waiting... see my post about that ;)

4.  We can ask the right questions.  We are still learning and we are no experts, but we'd like wisdom and discernment to be asking proactive questions.

5.  That Galen's body wouldn't become resistant to the medication or develop a mutation that could prove harmful.

 

6.  God would continue to strengthen us as individuals and our marriage.  No, our marriage isn't in crisis, but cancer is a trial,  We don't want to be too proud to admit we could always use the extra prayers for us as this disease is challenging the both of us as individuals.

 

We continue to be humbled by all the prayers of support and words of encouragement.  We know there are more people than we realize thinking and praying for us.  We don't take that lightly or for granted.  God continues to guard our minds and grant us peace, we continue to be thankful for His provision.  Thanks to so many of you!  God is teaching both of us about Himself and about ourselves.  We are grateful for this time, which although is very trying, as it is building our faith and refining who we are.

 

We have so much to be thankful for!

Sick of waiting

Do you ever get sick of waiting?

 

I do. 

 

It's why I purposefully skip over saying patience as a fruit of the Spirit.  Usually, it goes like this... Lord, help me to bear love, joy, peace, _______________ (patience belongs there) kindness, goodness, gentleness and self-control.  As for patience, just give it to me please.  Not opportunities to become patient.  As I once heard a woman say, "ain't nobody got time for dat!"

 

You probably think I'm talking about cancer here.  And while yes, I'm sick of that situation and we are doing a lot of "hurry up and wait" with tests and Galen's chemo, God has granted us peace.  But like so many of you, we have a life to live in between the next test or appointment with the oncologist.  We have a little boy about to turn two, we have bills to pay, we have appointments to schedule, we have classes to go to, we have responsibilities to fulfill, we, like you, have a life to live.

 

While I want this cancer to go away, we have peace and rest.  But we are seemingly discovering just what our new normal is and back to life we go.  Back to paying bills and dreaming dreams. And while these dreams or wants haven't been disclosed in this blog, it gets exhausting to be asked to wait again.   Wait again, Lord?  No doubt, I find myself grateful for the peace I have in the midst of having to wait on whatever this leukemia means for our family.  But I'm just being honest, it's taking up the majority of my faith tank.  And so when I have other areas where God is saying not yet, or just wait I want to lose it. I want to scream.  I want to say, "No, Lord".   I don't have the patience to wait.  I just need you God to say yes to something.  And I need you to say yes to something I've asked for, please, because all this waiting is tiring and it's wearisome and it starts to feel really lonely.  

 

But sooner than I can finish typing these very words, I'm reminded how God has answered prayers before they were even prayed.  We didn't even have to pray about Galen's treatment being covered before we found out that it would be 100% covered.  It's at that moment, I hear my little Boaz cooing at me and as I look over, he's already looking in my direction beaming with his huge smile.  This reminds me how I don't have to worry about his weight or his health despite the fact he was a premie.

 

If this reveals anything to me, it's this: I am so human.  And I'm selfish.  And there are places in my heart that are ugly and self-seeking.  There are parts of me that refuse to be thankful. There are parts of me that are skeptical.  There are places in my being that question what God is holding out on me. There are parts of me that take my eyes off Jesus because of the allure of other "things". And there are parts of me that God still needs to refine. I hate myself for having these feelings of ingratitude. I hate the way discontentment leaves me feeling.

 

I have heard the phrase, "comparison is the great thief of joy".  And then I think about an enemy who relentlessly pursues to "steal, kill and destroy" (John 10:10) my joy, my life, my peace and my praise to God.  And if he could just get me to stop my adoration of God, that's exactly where he wants me to be. I know myself well and when I start writing out invitations to the "pity party hosted by Kelli" it is in that moment I realize I have taken my eyes off Jesus.  Yesterday in church, I struggled to worship because how can I sing when my heart isn't fully praising Jesus? I want my worship to be genuine.  And then "Forever" by Kari Jobe begins to play.  And her lyrics grip my soul and shake me from the inside out.

 

The moon and stars they wept

 The morning sun was dead

 The Savior of the world was fallen

 His body on the cross

 His blood poured out for us

 The weight of every curse was broken

 

One final breath He gave

 As Heaven looked away

 The Son of God was laid in darkness

 A battle in the grave

 The war on death was waged

 The power of hell forever broken

 

The ground began to shake

 The stone was rolled away

 His perfect love could not be overcome

 Now death where is your sting

 Our resurrected King has rendered you defeated

 

Forever, He is glorified

 Forever, He is lifted high

 Forever, He is risen

 He is alive

 He is alive

 

And as the words pour into my ears, my heart begins to soften and I find my eyes being lifted back to Jesus. I couldn't wipe the tears away fast enough as they streamed down my face. It's when my gaze is set upon Jesus that I find peace, that I stop looking around me, that I stop believing the lie that God is holding out on me. And maybe I can praise God through my husband's cancer, but can I praise Him through the rest of my life? 

 

And I feel challenged and opposed and I realize that the enemy is like a roaring lion, looking to devour me (1 Peter 5:8).  And if he can't get me stop praising Jesus in the midst of cancer, he won't give up and he will look for other ways for me to cast my gaze off of my Lord.  I hear the serpent say, if God really loved you, He wouldn't make you wait, He wouldn't ask you to trust Him in this, too.  And the enemy is so good at deceiving me and attempting to lure me away and to question the love my God has for me.

 

But as I recognize this struggle, this lie, I press back into Jesus. Humbly acknowledging He still has a lot of work to do in me.

 

I have mentioned in other posts that sometimes I like to define what a blessing is and what it isn't.  So many times I like to ask God to bless me in this way and only accepting an answer to my request as a blessing.  I am so good at telling God what to do.  I am so eager to let Him know just what would really bless me.  And I'm reminded of the verse in Isaiah that says, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD." (55:8). 

 

Help me, Jesus to keep my eyes on you.