A Spring of Joy

…breast cancer free.

That is a huge… no, wait, a HUGE milestone.

My chances of recurrence just dropped from 80% to about 15%.

Think I’ll rejoice a lot today.

And cry a lot today.

It’s a good day.

But then again I’ve learned a new perspective… that even when they’re unimaginably hard, every day still has some good to be found, because every day is full of His blessings. My gratitude journals and reminders of truth walked me through, and even on those days when it felt like it was too much to bear, because of the Dear One and the dear ones in my life I was able to choose joy daily, and even when I wasn’t always happy, there was always joy. (A lesson I learned from my freshly-turned five-year-old Asher even before this diagnosis.)

As my friend, Monica, recently quoted:

“Thankfully, joy is an all-season response to life. Even in the dark times, sorrow enlarges the capacity of the heart for joy. Like a diamond against black velvet, true spiritual joy shines brightest against the darkness of trials, tragedies and testing.” Richard Mayhue

Yes, it is a very good day.

Our gut instincts can be good… or they can be bad. I know, pretty deep stuff, huh?

Two years ago when I was undergoing biopsies and tests and scans to see if I had cancer, my gut told me, “There’s something there.” I just knew. And I was right. And I hated that I was right.

My gut instinct these past two weeks as I’ve been tested and scanned and waited for results was, “There’s nothing there.”

And I was right. And I can’t tell you how ecstatic I am that I was right.

Yes, my friends, the CT scan is clear! There is no cancer. There is nothing wrong with my liver or any other abdominal organs. When my oncologist came through the exam room door and said, “GREAT NEWS!” I almost passed out… truly, got lightheaded. The relief was overwhelming.

As for what’s wrong? She thinks it is inflammation remaining from all the lymph nodes that were taken from my side. Because of my lupus, I have had a hard time with the inflammation from that surgery healing, and scar tissue can be painful. She thinks there could be some scar tissue in there causing the pain. It’s a pain that I will have to learn to live with, but let me tell you, y’all, it’s a whole lot easier to live with that pain when I know it’s not potentially killing me.

We are thrilled. We are humbled. We are grateful. We are blessed. We are clinging.

Good news or bad. One thing never changes. God. He is still faithful. He is still good.

We are thankful for all of you here who have prayed and encouraged. I love this little bloggy world I’ve found… I love that I am emailing women I’ve never met, and finding amazing encouragement from you. I love that I am reconnecting with old friends and catching up.

Now… I am off to bed. Because two weeks of no sleep has caught up with me, and I think I’ll sleep pretty well tonight.

So. Well. Thank you.

I mean that.

There are days where I run to my hiding place under the safe cover of His wings. I haven’t had too many of those lately as life’s barrage wearies me. Instead I run and hide from Him, because when I am with Him I must face what is before me.

Honestly, I’d much rather hide from Him and not think about what lies ahead.

Another visit with the oncologist… anemia continues, results of chemo, radiation, lupus, radioactive iodine.

“Your body is just beat up.” he said to me, holding my 3-inch thick file in his hands.

As is my mind and my heart.

There is pain.

Unexplained. In my abdomen. My right side. The same side as…

I refuse to go there.

But I must.

Wednesday I face another CT Scan to see why there is pain.

And the fear and pain consume.

So I hide from it, and in hiding from it, I end up hiding from Him.

Then the night falls. I am awake all night with my thoughts and my fears.

And there is nowhere to hide from those.

Nowhere, except for in Him.

And He draws me close and shelters me.

Me. The one who hides from Him. The one who refuses to go there. The one afraid to face reality.

And I am hiding again.

Only this time it is in the One place that I find true rest from this chaotic, turbid mess that I have become.

I am scared, y’all, because I cannot face it again.

…is the day the nightmare began two years ago. The day I picked up the phone to hear, “Can you be at the doctor’s office at 12:45? He’d like to see you to discuss your biopsy results.” The day I looked at my doctor and knew what would come out of his mouth before I heard, “I wish there was a better way to tell you…” The day I found out I had breast cancer.

The day monsters became real.

August 10th is the day I clung to my Brian because I didn’t know if I could walk out on my own. The day I, who usually shy away from the center of attention, stood in the middle of a parking lot and wept not caring how many people passed by. The day I had to tell my mom over the phone that her baby had cancer and then head to another appointment.

August 10th is the day I listened to my surgeon give me all my options but heard nothing. The day we left the surgeon’s office together to find Guest Blogger Joe sitting on our car waiting to be with us. The day we stood in that parking lot and helped someone we didn’t know who had car problems. The day numbness became a way of life.

August 10th is the day of phone calls to friends and family, frantic and frenetic. The day of trying to shield a 5, 3, and 1 year old from a topsy-turvy world knowing it would all eventually crash in on them. The day of nausea and horror and fear that washed over in waves indescribable.

August 10th is the day I began sleeping with my Bible. The day of nightmares. The day of questions and confusion. The day this part of our journey began.

August 10th is the day I began to see God on a whole new level. The day my walk with Him changed, intensified. The day worship became real as I sang truth with my husband that night before bed. The day I learned not to take anything for granted and to live every moment.

August 10th is the day I will never forget.

But as crazy as it seems…

August 10th is a day for which I am truly grateful.