A Spring of Joy

She ran to my lap and crawled up, hands over her ears, “Don’t say cancer! Don’t tell me Mommy might have cancer again!”

And I was undone.

We shared with the children last night where we are in all of this. We were hoping to wait to give them a more certain diagnosis, but there is just too much going on and things moving so quickly that we knew they needed to know rather than wonder.

Brian shared the facts and then the truth. We don’t have certainty about whether this is cancer or not, but we do know what’s certain–God is with us.

It was hard. They were all clingy. Ash-man’s big brown eyes just gazed at me knowingly. I could read his thoughts, “This could be bad.” I mouthed, “I’m okay.” to him and he nodded, his hair falling over his eyes, his face no longer readable. He bent over our puppy and stroked him. Bear just hugged me with those Bear hugs that have literally knocked me on the floor before (I kid you not… ask Bear sometime about the time I fell on top of him because he hugged me so hard) and told us how scared he is.

Yes. Scared. We are all scared. I see it in Bri’s eyes, his efforts to care for us as usual, his offers of help, his lingering kisses.

We still have no results from the PET scan; however, we do know the biopsy will be tomorrow morning. (The doctor was planning this biopsy no matter what the scan showed.) After a phone call or two, and my doctor once again advocating for me, this will be under sedation, which I desperately need… It is a CT-guided needle biopsy. It will go in between the carotid and jugular, and now (thanks to one of the surgeons who go to our church encouraging me to ask for this) I don’t have to stress about holding perfectly still. God is showing His care for me over and over again.

And He is showing Himself through your care. We have been given a tremendous gift to have so many communities that surround us and care for us. The calls, the cards, the texts, the emails, the visits, the meals. Last night a dear friend brought by three pizzas from Papa John’s. He hugged us all and then went on his way. We curled into each other on the couch in front of a movie and were just together, holding hands, heads on shoulders.

This waiting mode is hard. We are in limbo… in the unknown…There are days where all I can pray is, “Lord, I need you. Lord, please let it not be cancer again. Lord, I believe, help my unbelief.” I am overwhelmed by your prayers for me. You give words to the cries I cannot pray.

Yes, we are overwhelmed. Y’all, I do not say this lightly. Thank you for your love, your care, your hearts for us, your prayers.