Today I have another doctor appointment, this time with my opthamologist (and I haven’t even filled y’all in on my meeting with the radiation oncologist). It seems like my life is full of appointments these days as my treatment team fills in my schedule for me each week. I have struggled through the lack of control, the feeling that my world is reeling, spinning into chaos. Today I called and scheduled my own appointment, and it felt good. What doesn’t feel good is why I had to call. My eyes are tearing and watering constantly, swollen eyelids, no eyelashes to help protect them, and they ache constantly.
It has been disruptive to not have my normal eyesight, to constantly be rubbing and wiping. I am slowly regaining my strength and starting to do more and more with my children… playing games, changing diapers, fixing breakfast. This morning I readied them for their day–a half day playing with friends, then home with me until Daddy gets home from CPAC. Yet it feels like there is something always there, some struggle, and I wonder when this will all end. When will there be a day when I just feel myself again?
The ache in my eyes is no match for the ache in my heart. I watch their little pattering feet fly out the door to play, and I long to run after them. My children are growing so quickly, and I don’t want to miss out. I realized today the ache comes from not being able to fully be a part of their lives and the lives of my friends. How I have longed to not just run after my children, but to run after my friends and enter into their lives. This morning it was as if a volcano erupted inside, and I grieve my losses again.
It is easy to lose sight of what’s really important when the night seems overwhelming. I place expectations on myself that because the chemo is over, the darkness should be lifting as well. Yet the struggle remains, and so I look to the one place that I can look… to the place where the ultimate struggle occurred. The Cross. Christ. Glory. Victory. And there I can see clearly who I am and what my future holds. There I see the eternal perspective. There will always be turbulence in my life, but that doesn’t mean my soul must be tossed about.
I read on a blog today this quote from John Calvin:
Wherever you cast your eyes, there is no spot in the universe wherein you cannot discern at least some sparks of glory.
My eyes may ache, but they still see. My heart can still find beauty. The oatmeal cookie fragrance wafting from a lit candle. The squeeze of pudgy arms around my neck. A lanky body leaning against me reading. The sound of Brian’s voice on the phone with it’s reassuring “I love you”. Unruly red hair surrounding delicious brown eyes snuggling in my lap. Pink cowboys boots on tiny feet. Sunshine and warmth. Cream cheese on bagels. Late night talks with Tiff. The smell of leather accompanying my open Bible. Perfect pens for journal writing. Mercies new every morning. Pattering feet that run back to me, to us, to home.
Eyes to see.
Thank you, Jesus.
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