A Spring of Joy

Glimpses of our world…

  • The Final Yes

    The weeks leading up to my surgery and following have been a drain on our family… on Brian’s and my marriage, on the children, on my parents. It is exhausting to be constantly fighting for survival–survival of us, of our hearts. Sometimes it seems survival of our very faith, even though I know that He Who began a good work will complete it…

    My sweet Bear has been struggling. Y’all, can I just interject how those dimples melt my heart? There is a sweetness to him that is achingly beautiful. He doesn’t talk much about things, but he feels deeply and fears greatly. Those fears turn physical for him, and almost every night we have found him coming to us or running to the bathroom with nausea and feeling as if he might throw up.

    Every time he does, he cries and begs us to pray for him, to ask God that he wouldn’t throw up because he hates it so much. That quavering voice and those tear-filled eyes are heart-breaking.

    One night last week my mom was with him during one of his episodes. He said to her as he shook and swayed, his little body clammy and weak, “Oh, Grandma, I hope God answers yes and not no to our prayer.”

    As heart-breaking as this all is for me, for him, for us to go through, I marvel at the wisdom of a 7-year-old boy. He knows. He gets it. God doesn’t just answer our prayer when we get what we want, when the yes comes.

    Even a no is an answer…

    God chose yes that night for Bear and has chosen yes subsequent nights, although Bear’s misery is obvious. And each time we thank him for His mercy that he would choose yes. But if the answer were no, we would thank him as well. We would thank Him for strength to get through it and for hearing our prayers even when we don’t like the answer.

    I have thought on this often as I have contemplated how God has chosen to spare me, to spare us the suffering of chemo, how once again He has seen fit to remove the cancer from my body. I have had many say, “Oh, praise God for answering prayer.”

    Honestly, y’all, while I know and understand the heart behind those utterances, I am always uncomfortable with that exclamation…

    God always… always answers prayer.

    He is no less good and no less loving and no less God when the answer is no.

    I have friends who are fighting for their lives in this cancer battle, whose cancers have spread, who have heard words from their doctors that terrify me. Do I dare look at them and say God has answered prayer for me but not for you? May it never be.

    I do not understand His ways. I do not understand why I have been given a yes and they have been given a no. I beg God for them, that they will still receive a yes… but for all of us, I pray for grace to accept His will no matter what that will may be. And I know that it is the glory of God to conceal a matter. (Proverbs 25:2)

    He is not unfaithful. He cannot be.

    And His final answer is and will be yes for us. I have been perusing the Psalms and Isaiah a lot this past week as I sit here on my couch, and I am struck by how many times God says, “I will…”

    I will.

    I will.

    I will.

    My final hour on this earth, whenever that may be is a final “I will.” I will bring you to glory… to no more pain, no more tears, no more sin, no more cancer. I will bring you to perfection, to ultimate peace and joy and love, to Christ., to HOME.

    His promises are true, and one day I will hear it…

    The final yes to all my prayers and longings…

    Until then, may I have the faith of a child, who asks God for anything and hopes for yeses and not noes, who accepts His will no matter what, and utters thanksgiving for either answer.

    “When life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate. And when life is bitter, say thank you and grow.” (~Shauna Niequist)

  • Two Weeks Out: Setbacks

    I want to write about Bella Girl being a flower girl this weekend and how lovely it all was. I want to write about how today is our two year anniversary for our house and how grateful we are. I want to write about how wonderful my parents are, staying with us and caring for us. I want to write about how blown away we are by all the love and cards and books and gifts and encouragement from you…

    But instead, y’all, I am writing to tell you of more setbacks.

    I’ve had increased pain, fever and some vomiting today. A very quick and vicious onset. The nurse paged my doctor who said it’s not uncommon for those kinds of symptoms to fluctuate off and on for a while for my kind of operation.
    If the pain, fever or vomiting increases, I’m to call in and they will decide what to do.

    Just begging for prayers… for continued mercy from God that these symptoms would dissipate and I would just get better.

    Ya’ll I just want to get better… I really thought I was. I want to spend the last three weeks of my summer with my children enjoying simple summer fun. (As a side note, he said it wasn’t an effect of being up and around for the wedding this weekend… it just happens sometimes with major surgery. Comes and goes like this.)

    Abraham called the place where he willingly offered his son to God, “the Lord will provide.”

    I am calling out this truth today.

    And begging for provision and patience. I long to be still in my Father’s Hand and since my Father’s hand holds it all, then mustn’t I be still in all things?

    And it will be said in that day, “Behold, this is our God for whom we have waited that He might save us. This is the LORD for whom we have waited; Let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation.” (Isaiah 25:9)

  • Sunday Morning Conviction

    “You’re glorifying something when you find it beautiful for what it is in itself. It’s beauty compels you to adore it, to have your imagination captured by it…And when it’s a person you find beautiful in that way, you want to serve them unconditionally. When you say, “I’ll serve, as long as I’m getting benefits from it,” that’s not actually serving people; it’s serving yourself through them. That’s not circling them, orbiting around them; it’s using them, getting them to orbit around you…

    To glorify others means to unconditionally serve them, not because we’re getting anything out of it, just because of our love and appreciation for who they truly are.

    The Father, the Son, and the Spirit are each centering on the others, adoring and serving them. And because the Father, Son and Spirit are giving glorifying love to one another, God is infinitely, profoundly happy…

    Self-centeredness makes everything else a means to an end. And that end, that nonnegotiable, is whatever I want and whatever I like, my interests over theirs… If everyone is saying, “No, you orbit around me!” what happens? Picture five people, ten people, a hundred people on a stage together, and every one of them wants to be the center. They all just stand there and say to the others, “You move around me.” And nobody gets anywhere; the dance becomes hazardous, if not impossible.

    The Trinity is utterly different. Instead of self-centeredness, the Father, the Son and the Spirit are characterized in their very essence by mutually self-giving love. No person in the Trinity insists that the others revolve around him; rather each of them voluntarily circles and orbits around the others.”

    (from Tim Keller’s King’s Cross)


    Lord Jesus, make me a woman of unconditional love for You, compelled to adore You for Who You are and may this only deepen my love for and service to others in such a way that You alone receive glory from my life.

  • Of Yesterdays and Todays and a God Who Will Not Change

    “We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.”
    (~C. S. Lewis)

    The sobs came uncontrolled last night as I pounded the couch with my fist. “I hate it.” I cried to Brian. “I hate cancer. HATE IT. I hate what it’s done to me, to us, to our children.”

    We had just decided to pull our kids from Vacation Bible School because there is sickness rampant throughout the group, and I can’t risk them getting sick and getting me sick. We were doing what’s best, but it didn’t feel best. It felt awful, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my children’s faces when we told them. The disappointment. The tears.

    Y’all, my children are amazing. They listened to Bri explain what was going on, and all of them hugged me and said they’d rather not go and risk me getting sick either.

    A. ma. zing. Their maturity blows me away. They have walked through the fire and have grown because of it.

    Later that night I called down to Brian who was still up. Something wasn’t right. And I spent the whole night thinking I was going absolutely insane because of a reaction to one of my medications. It was horrible. We finally fell asleep at 5:00 in the morning only for me to wake at 8:30 nauseated and unable to keep anything down. Fortunately, I had an appt. with my surgeon already, so we saw him later this morning. He reassured me the symptoms of the reaction should dissipate and I should feel better in the afternoon, which I have.

    He also said my incision looks great, and I am healing well. But just because things look good on the outside, I’m not to forget how much work was done on the inside. There’s still a lot of healing to do.

    I was able to rest this afternoon, and a sweet friend came and “Angie sat” with me while Mom ran some errands with the kids. When the phone rang, I picked it up, “Hi, Mom!”

    She was crying. She had been in a car accident with the kiddos and couldn’t get in touch with Brian, and she didn’t know what to do.

    There is a distress that I cannot even begin to describe that fell over me when I heard that tone in Mom’s voice. She and the children are uninjured, although our van is not. We are pretty sure it’s totaled.

    But we are okay. We are all okay. And that is what matters. None of the rest matters.

    We are so very, very thankful.

    But we are exhausted and overwhelmed and not sure where to go from here. And we know we cannot stop.

    That’s what I want to do. I want to stop and cry and weep and wail and scream and kick and I want to know when we will get a break.

    Then I drink in huge breaths of air and I say what I’ve always said. God is still good. He is still on the throne.

    Yesterday was a good day. Today was not.

    Yesterday God was a good God. Today He is still the same.

    And I cannot go anywhere else. I cannot trust anyone else. He is the only one to whom i can go.

    I’m not feeling safe tonight. I’m feeling scared and tired and overwhelmed and exhausted.

    And today is one of those days where going to God doesn’t feel safe.

    After all, as Mr. Tumnus says of Aslan is in The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe… “He is not a tame lion…”

    “No,” says Lucy, “But He is good.”

    So tonight I will cling to what I have always clung to… God is here. Emmanuel. God with us.

    And we are okay. We are all okay. We will be okay.

    And God is good. No matter what. Always and forever.

    ,

  • Home Again

    It has been a whirlwind of days even though the days have felt like forever.

    I came home on Sunday in the early afternoon, so today is my second full day at home. It is going well, and I am recovering. Pain is lessening. Incisions are healing. Appetite is slowly returning.

    The days are long and lonely. The kids are gone, so the house is quiet. This is so I will recoup faster, but sometimes I wonder if the chatter and noise of my dear ones won’t help me heal more.

    I am lonely for them. I long to be driving them to VBS and watching them run to their friends and laugh and play.

    I am tired of reading and watching movies and sleeping.

    I am doing what I must do to be better. I am told it will be 2 months until I return to normal routine and at least 3 months until full recovery.

    I am struggling with wanting to be better now, so that I don’t miss the rest of the summer sitting here midst my books and journals and notecards.

    All in due time… it will come… will you pray for patience for me?

  • Day 6: Chicken Broth and Ginger Ale

    Yesterday was a disappointing day. I woke up nauseated, and it took them a while to get that under control, which meant we went back to square one: ice chips every 8 hours.

    I’m swollen and sore and tired, but today the nausea is much better, and I am progressing to clear liquids. My breakfast today consisted of chicken broth and ginger ale. Breakfast of champions, y’all, breakfast of champions.

    Last night, my friend, Maretta, stayed the night with me while Bri had a guys night with some buddies. Good for him. Good for me. Although having Maretta here means a lot of laughing which is pretty painful on an abdominal incision. Well worth the pain, though. I’m so glad she was here.

    Now we are in a waiting game. As long as I can keep things down and keep the pain under control, I will hopefully be able to go home tonight or tomorrow, but we just don’t know. This hospital room is getting smaller by the day.

    I am ready to go home, but being well-taken care of here… so this post is neither entertaining nor exciting, but my foggy brain just doesn’t work too well.

    Thank you for the love and prayers. We are feeling them.

  • Day 4: Follow the White Rabbit

    Angie asked me to post a quick update to let you all know where we are today. Her’s would have been a captivating story, thrilling and entertaining you with the highlights of our week in the hospital and leaving you both laughing and crying at the end…

    But you get me.

    By all accounts surgery went very well on Monday, the Doc assured me that she “held still and didn’t try to help or anything.” We were expecting to get pathology results sometime after Wednesday afternoon, but in one of the many wonderful perks of a ‘small-town’ hospital they actually showed up Tuesday afternoon. Dr. B. brought the pathology summary to our room and dropped it in Angie’s lap, with the relevant bits highlighted.

    No lymph nodes. No spread.

    They caught this one early and took care of business. This made Tuesday a very good day, and we had some reason to hope that when we go see the Oncologist on August 10th she’d tell us that Chemotherapy wasn’t necessary.

    Wednesday morning our Oncologist dropped by the room. Dr. B had given her the good news, and rather than making us wait for 2 weeks while she was on vacation she came right up to tell her news– NO CHEMO.

    Wednesday was also a very good day.

    So today we are still in the hospital, but we know that from here out all Angie has to worry about is recovering from surgery. There won’t be any further treatment for her colon cancer. She adds another annual test to her bank of lifetime prevention, but she is once again to our knowledge completely cancer free.

    She is still in a good bit of pain, and the surgeon on-call who stopped in to see her this morning warned her that this is probably the worst day in that sense. It’s pretty clear at this point we have at least one more day in here. Yesterday she graduated from 1/2 cup of clear liquid every 8 hours to unrestricted clear liquids. That meant instead of subsisting entirely on ice chips she was brought chicken broth for breakfast, beef broth for lunch and vegetable broth for supper. Variety is, after all, the spice of life.

    Lunch today was particularly exciting- we found out she’s no longer on the clear liquid restriction. Pureed chicken noodle soup is every bit as gross looking as it sounds, incidentally) She is able to have coffee with cream and sugar now though, so all is not lost!

    One of the more entertaining parts about the week has been the effects of her pain meds. In addition to the self-administered morphine pump she’s been getting a range of other drugs, including narcotics for pain. She has been having lovely conversations with people who aren’t here, drifting in and out of sleep in the middle of conversations, having conversations with me in her head that she things are out loud…

    The other night when a friend asked her how the kids were doing, she started telling her about the trip we took to Saint Louis– 2 years ago.

    She’s been able to get plenty of rest and is really looking a lot better today. Reading is still very difficult for her, and she’s not able to concentrate well enough to type or write. That should improve as they wean her off some of the drugs. We are just incredibly thankful to be riding out the week knowing that this is chapter is closed, and not anticipating more treatment.

    Incredibly thankful.

    So, thank you all for your prayers, for the calls and visits and notes and comments, and hopefully the next post will be from your regularly scheduled host!

  • Surgery Update

    Angie should return to writing duty later this week when the narcotics have worn off, but as I wanted to make sure I passed along some of the news.

    Today went really well. I’ll leave most of the story telling to her, but if you know our history with IVs I’ll give you this- the nurse from IV therapy got her port hooked up in one stick. No drama, no second attempts, nobody cried. Yea!

    She was in surgery for about an hour, and spent about 2 1/2 in recovery. Longer than normal, they had trouble getting her pain under control before they were ready to send her up to her room. Our Doc said everything went smoothly, no surprises, and he seemed pleased with what they were able to do.

    One bit of great news is that she is allowed coffee, something we wasn’t sure she’d be able to have for a while. The bad news is that she’s only allowed about a 1/2 cup of fluid every 8 hours, and so far she hasn’t gotten further than sucking on ice chips. She has to pass a few simple tests in order to go home; drinking, taking pills, getting some kind of food down. We’ve been told to expect 3-5 days.

    As for the bigger questions, we hope to get the pathology results by Wednesday afternoon, which will start to fill in the picture of how far along this cancer was and what we are dealing with. We still won’t know any more about treatment until we meet with her Oncologist in August.

    We are blessed and humbled by the outpouring of support we’ve received from friends and family- including many of you. Thank you. We still covet your prayers for quick recovery and for our children as they wrestle through this.

  • Just A Few Little Details

    Tomorrow looms.

    My surgery is at 10:00. We will go into the hospital at 9:00. I will be in the hospital 3-5 days.

    I am scared. Questions constantly reel through my mind. I fear for my children, for Brian. I fear that they’ll find the cancer much worse than they think it is. It is all so big and scary. Dear Bear prayed tonight for me, “Dear Father, thank you for my Mommy. Please don’t let her die.” Y’all this is the fear that hovers over us… and my heart breaks for my dear little ones.

    We are leaning on the everlasting arms. Leaning hard.

    I really don’t know what to say… my brain is tired. So you’ll have to forgive a choppy, disjointed, post.

    I am weary, but I am oh so blessed.

    We spent the last few days just playing. Playing hard. We’ve gotten ice cream and listened to Jazz in the Park with our college students. We went to the Lawn Party (that’s a fair for those of you NOT from the south). A few of our college students joined us there, and we laughed and rode rides and introduced Bella to cotton candy and took pictures and ate funnel cake and laughed some more.

    Yesterday couldn’t have been more perfect. We drove to the DC Zoo for the day and met our college friend, Marni, and her family. We laughed and goofed off and ran through the misters over and over, and when I got tired and sore Marn pulled me in their little red wagon, and just because we wanted to, we spent a couple hours talking in bad British accents while our husbands shook their heads and pretended not to know us. It really was delightful… fanciful, even. They treated us to dinner and we toasted friendship over chilled wine and ordered scrumptious Italian while our littles ate pizza and talked, and I ached for the day to never end.

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    Except if I had stayed with our friends, we’d have never arrived home for me to find my sweet friend, Nat, sitting on our front porch. She drove 5 1/2 hours to spend the night with me and see me. She got groceries and vacuumed and then just waited for us to come home. Yes, I cried… I cried when I hugged her and I cried when she left this afternoon.

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    God has blessed me with such dear, heart friends. I was marveling at that today, how God has given my dearest friends to shape me, each fitting into a perfect spot in my life. Each one unique, but never failing me in their love… walking through the darkest days of my life with me and not expecting anything in return. It is so beautiful.

    But it’s more than just my closest friends.

    There is something so humbling about having so many love us and pray for us and help us and hurt with us.

    There is something about knowing others are hurting for us that makes the ache much deeper.

    But there is something oh so wonderful about it all, too. This love. And You. Each of you.

    I haven’t been able to respond to every person who’s emailed or Facebooked or written a note or called. But know my heart is overwhelmed and grateful, so very grateful.

    My heart is worn from it all… even the love.

    I often wonder if I will be able to hold any more. But then someone else comes along with a hug or a prayer or a note or an email, and I realize that’s one thing about the heart that amazes me. It can always grow bigger.

    Our hearts are huge.

    Thank you for loving us so well. For being Jesus to us.

    And now tomorrow looms.

    We covet your prayers, although I feel silly asking because I know so many of you already are.

    Bri will update Facebook and our blog throughout the day as he can. And I will pop in to say “hello” when I am able.

    Oh, and I found the keys and my glasses… *smile*

    Hold on to each moment, my friends, because what happens matters.

  • His Glory. Our Final Good.

    A few weeks ago my glasses broke. Split right down the middle, so I duct taped them back together because I must have them to drive. (Yes, I duct taped my glasses. Yes, Brian made fun of me. Yes, it was hilarious.)

    I bought new ones.

    I love my new glasses.

    I can’t find my new glasses.

    I have searched up and down and all around.

    You know what else I can’t find?

    The car keys.

    We’ve been using the spare van key for 2 days now.

    I forgot to pay our credit card bill. The one we pay in full on time every time.

    Oh, and I forgot the library books were due. 35 of them for 5 days.

    My life feels as discombobulated and rambling as this blog post does.

    And I still don’t know what to say when people ask how we are doing. I want to say, “Well, I can’t find anything. I’m uncharacteristically forgetting things…”

    I want to tell them WHAT we are doing… well, we’re busy getting this done or I’m trying to get to the bottom of to-do lists so everything is together for Brian and the children on Monday or we’re enjoying as many things on our summer list as we can.

    But how am I doing?

    I’m discouraged. I am tearing the house apart frantically looking for those keys and my glasses and lost library books, because I think that somehow if I find them and fix things then I will feel fixed inside, too.

    Ultimately, it’s about loss of control, because I was under the illusion that I had some control to begin with. I want to feel in control of something in my life, because I am getting ready to go be cut open so they can tell me what cancer has done to my body. They will tell me what I can or can’t eat for weeks, months. They will tell me if and what treatment will be and when it will start and when to be places and what to bring and what to wear.

    A friend asked Brian yesterday how we were doing. How I was doing specifically. Brian had to share with him my recent diagnosis, and he told him. “I’m done praying for you all. I am going to be kicking and screaming and throwing things for you all…” That’s how my prayers feel…

    Frenetic.

    Drunken. Like Hannah’s pray in the temple. Pouring out all bitterness of soul before the Lord.

    Begging God for mercy for us, for Brian, for our children. But not just for us. For others… new cancer diagnoses in the life of a friend… hurting hearts from painful broken relationships… tragedies striking leaving friends reeling in agony… Every day I hear something new. This doesn’t even touch the ones i am already aching with and for and begging for healing and strength and protection.

    Oh, for all of us. I pray.

    Mostly I pray to see Him, because this fallen world seems more fallen these days.

    I sing to Bella-girl at bedtime as I’m tucking her in.

    She is just sad and scared these days. We all are.

    But I remind her God is watching us… the angel of the Lord encamps round those who fear His name, to save them and deliver them from harm. Those lions roar with hunger, we lack for no good thing… We picture it together. A whole host of angels watching over us. And I sing…At all times I will bless Him, His praise will be in my mouth. My soul makes it boast in the Lord…”

    This is what we do. When it all feels hard and hopeless and out of control.

    We acknowledge that it is hard, that we are not in control, and that there is hope… there is always hope.

    “Nothing can reach us, from any source in earth or hell, no matter how evil, which God cannot turn to his own redemptive purpose. Let us be glad that the way is not a game of chance, a mere roll of dice which determines our fortune or calamity–it is a way appointed, and it is appointed for God’s eternal glory and our final good.” (~C. H. Spurgeon)

    His glory.

    Our final good.

    That is our hope.

    Even if I never find my glasses or my keys or get to the bottom of piles of files or make that photo book I want to make. Even if I die.

    There is hope.

    My final good.

    The Gospel doesn’t stop being true when life is hard.

    That which has carried me through life will carry me to safety, to Jesus, to final good.