A Spring of Joy

Recently, the boys have been asked to be ring-bearers in our friends’ wedding. Mr. Drew and Miss Emily are two of their favorite people; however, the thought of this new and exciting adventure has my boys in a very wishy-washy state. Their first reaction (in front of Ems, I might add) was to flatly refuse. After my initial embarrassment, Ems and I laughed and spent lunchtime telling the boys what an adventure it would be. To no avail. They did NOT want to be in a wedding. I think my boys have acquired my fear of risk taking. Sigh.

The other day we had chinese food, and of course with chinese food comes fortune cookies. Normally I think they are kind of silly, but if you know my kids this may make you wonder…

Asher’s Fortune:

Micah’s Fortune:

This morning at breakfast, Asher asked me to read the prayer of the day. I have a little calendar that I flip every morning. Today it was Isaiah 43:2

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
And through the rivers,
They shall not overflow you.
When you walk through the fire,
You shall not be burned,
Nor shall the flame scorch you.

I read that out loud and Asher sat quietly for a moment. Then he said,

In the book of Job, three friends show up to Job’s agonized side to offer their well-intended advice. Only their advice missed the mark. When he was hurting, when he needed support and encouragement, his friends showed up with good intentions, but instead disheartened Job even more. They brought confusion in with the pain. Then comes Elihu. He brought insight and kindness. He encouraged Job by showing Him how God was growing him, refining him, teaching him, and sanctifying him. It helped Job see who he was before God. And it brought God glory.

Today has been a weird roller-coaster for me. I have obsessed over my dry, brittle, breaking fingernails, lamenting the loss of each one in a strange sort of way. It frustrates me, the little ways that chemo has destroyed my body. Then I read the story of a woman who will never stop having chemo. She can pull her nails out of her fingertips because they are so decayed. I cringe at the thought. She is four years older than me and she is dying. She has no idea how long the chemo will keep her alive. Talk about some perspective. They say it takes 8 weeks for the more minor side effects of chemo to stop. This woman will never feel that freedom. I can bear broken nails and minor nausea for a few more weeks.

Sitting in the cancer center lobby this morning in-between appointments, I watched a couple emerge from the treatment hallways. He was carrying a black bag from the Women’s Health Focus overflowing with information leaflets. I recognized that bag. I once carried that same one. They clung to each other not wanting to be without the touch of the other, and I realized that they were newly diagnosed. She wore the same shell-shocked face that I am sure people read all over mine six months ago as I numbly moved from appointment to appointment. His bushy black beard hid much of his face, but the pain in his eyes was evident. His hand gripped hers, signaling faithfulness. “I’m here.” They sat close, shoulders touching, whispering softly. An occasional smile, a stream of words, a steady sigh. I was watching grief, and it was all too familiar. I almost broke down. She and I exchanged quiet, “hellos”, and I longed to go to her, to tell her she could do this; she could walk this road; she could beat this thing, this ugliness that had shipwrecked her life.

The coughs wracked her tiny body tearing me from my slumber. Rasping cries as I tiptoe through the darkness to her room. Frantic arms stretching over her crib as she desperately reaches. I grasp her into the quietness of my embrace and she stills. In the dim glow of her nightlight I gaze at her features. This delicate beauty. Long eyelashes curling around closed lids. Little nose breathing steadily. Exquisite mouth whispering a hoarse, “wock, wock,” whenever the gentle swaying ceases. Pudgy cheek nestled into my arm. Folded hands clasped as if in prayer tucked under her chin. I see my hand next to hers, long fingers, thin and frail. She is part of me. Part of Brian. This beautiful molding fashioned by God. I am amazed. I wrap her in soft fleece as I place her in her bed. Gentle kisses and a hushed, “Love, love.” She is one of many gifts. My heart overflows.

Yesterday was long and hard, physically and emotionally. I am weary today, but I am enjoying an afternoon snuggled in my delicious new RED bed linens. How I love red!

I wanted to give y’all an update on my status and progress. I went in yesterday morning for my radiation appointment. It consisted of 2 hours in freezing cold rooms undergoing x-rays, CT-scans, and markings for my radiation treatments. The markings process is tedious, because I couldn’t move for the entire length of time they were measuring and drawing all over me. Try not moving when the room temperature is 0 degrees and you’re biting your lips so hard they’re bleeding because you’re trying not to shiver or let your teeth chatter. Okay, so I exaggerate. A bit.

The past week has felt like a whirlwind for me. We left early Tuesday morning for our trip to NOVA, and I had a wonderful two days with Kelly & Scott, delighting in their children, sharing heart-to-heart talks with Kelly, napping on their couch, laughing at Scott’s stories, and snuggling with their kitty. I am so thankful that I was able to experience a piece of Brian’s world when he is away from us. My heart struggled being far from my children, especially when I called Mom and discovered that my poor Audrey is sick, but it was so good to be with Bri for a few days. I will never tire of laughing, talking, sharing, crying and living life with that man!