I’m over halfway. Around 10 more. After that, 6 weeks of waiting for inflammation to go down before scans can begin. What’s next you ask? No idea. That’s how time is managed and calculated in my life these days. Lengths of treatments. Countdowns until scan days. Days between doctor visits. (Tick tock…tick tock…tick tock…)Its all encompassing. As much as I’m grateful for treatment, it gets old. That’s me just being honest. It’s not lost on me that I’m privileged and live in a first world country where I CAN receive treatment and have the hope of getting better. I think about that every time I stroll into the cushy oncology building.  Or sit in the radiation waiting room. (Today it was for 1 hour…for the love…)I would be remiss too if I didn’t acknowledge how tirelessly my husband works so I can stay home and school the kids and how, under God’s gracious provision, his job allows us access to pretty good insurance. We’re at this point about 13,000 dollars in out of pocket(cha-ching!)…..someones making money SOMEWHERE. It’s definitely not us! It’s overwhelming. Cancer, I mean. The very weight of all of it feels like at any moment I will be crushed to a pulp beneath it. Like when you accidentally step on a raspberry on your kitchen floor. Have you done that? Pick any berry, really. Ewww. Gag. Gross. Toss. That’s what cancer feels like to me. A squished raspberry. But amazingly, a gift and what often feels like a curse, life goes on. It doesn’t pause so I have the bandwidth to handle it in addition to all the rest of life that still needs to happen. You have to just pick up the burden and keep going- trudging-along. People get married. People die. People have babies. People give their life to Jesus. People fall away. Kids still need to be schooled and carted off to practices and friends houses. Friends have disagreements and hurt each other and need shepherding. Or I need shepherding!!! LOL Adam goes out of town and comes back home. Dogs still puke on the floor.(so gross, don’t be jealous) Dishes still need to be washed. Laundry doesn’t EVER cease…(for a SECOND I see the bottom of the hamper before one of my kids takes off their clothes and it’s lost forever)and yet my life has stopped. Paused. My lens through which I see life on this side of heaven forever altered. The perspective irrevocably shifted. There’s no time to stop and process, at least not right away. When there is a quiet moment to actually FEEL the heaviness, the tears begin to fall. (Queue ugly cry..)I feel nauseous as I feel the loneliness knowing no-one really understands this solo walk.(Can you hear Celine Dion singing “All By Myself” ??) My depression, always lurking in the shadows, jumps in at the sign of my weakness and vulnerability and the enemy is always lurking to steal the peace. It’s like  my 90 pound Labrador begging at the dinner table(shameless). Breakfast. Lunch. Whatever. He doesn’t even notice WHAT falls to the ground …it could be poisonous…combustible…he just devours it, like he has been deprived of food for MONTHS. (In reality, this dog eats his feelings just like me and could use to lose a few….10….he’s coddled and spoiled…he eats all day..) That’s how I feel depression is. Always waiting. Always ready. Taking whatever it can get it’s discouraging tentacles around. It’s been the most perplexing thing to feel like your faith is both anemic and stronger than ever. So weird, right? I have never been this weak physically or emotionally yet my dependance on Him has never been greater. I’ve have never struggled MORE to find quiet structured time(outside of my Bible time with my kids)with Jesus yet He occupies every moment. Dependance and weakness hand in hand. My weakness so unavoidable, means the presence of my Savior holding my hand, walking me through the loneliness, is undeniable.  

 I’m often asked which is worse, chemo infusions or chemo pills and radiation everyday. I’m never really sure how to answer that. I used to call chemo infusions my “dead weeks”. I was absolutely positively useless. A lump with a heartbeat taking up space on my bed. Sentenced to see life go by in slow motion with the inability to participate in it. A silent observer. Helpless to intervene and join in. The week after chemo treatment, I usually felt pretty ok! Decent. Mediocre. I wasn’t waiting to the MINUTE I could take my nausea pill again in hopes it would allow the abrasive need to throw up to fade into the background of life. This is different. While the nausea isn’t nearly as bad, I’ve traded it for other junk. I’m exhausted. Depleted of all energy. Walking 20 minutes wears me out. Tears always simmering right below the surface. All the time. Ready to boil over. I VAGUELY remember what it feels like after a workout, it’s been a hot minute(measured accurately in years), but it feels similar after walking up some stairs. As a do-er and a please-er, this is devastating. This is life changing! GULP. I’m just a shell of who I once was in terms of my capabilities and I have had to learn to not allow my worth to be measured in what I can do because I just no longer CAN. And my Jesus maintains I’m worthy. Clinging white knuckled to that truth. Radiation now is the main cause of pain and discomfort. I’ll leave you to imagine how being zapped where I’M BEING zapped could cause a multitude of issues. It’s not amazing. It’s frustrating and uncomfortable. To have to get half naked in front of strangers everyday isn’t the best. But you know, sprinkled in between all of the hard are those moments. The icing. My favorite part of ANY cake. (Corner piece anyone???? The balloons and flowers are my favorite!!!)The moments to point to Jesus with my radiology therapist. Last week when I’m lying on the table, weary and close to tears, and Meghan Trainor’s song comes on “All about the Bass” (are you kidding me???)and I can’t help but laugh out loud at the irony. The friendships that I just didn’t see coming that have nourished my heart and reminded me of God’s faithfulness and goodness as He gives these precious sisters and brothers to lift my hanging head, the time with my children on our bed(our communal meeting place these days) where we laugh and play games because I’m too tired to sit up at the table, and my precious Adam. My strength and my anchor. Reminding me I’m STILL beautiful(despite being 45 pounds heavier), still his bride, and that we are in this TOGETHER. Sigh….reminders of His mercy and His grace. Always present.Always waiting for us to admit we don’t have it all together. 

I am the vine; and you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you ca do nothing.  John 15:5

Yes, this verse. As my kids and I have walked through John this year through BSF, this verse always seems to remain in the forefront. All I can do is remain in Him. I have nothing else to offer. I’m a bunch of sagging, wrinkly, heavy hanging grapes and He is sustaining me. Providing for me. Loving me. FORGIVING me. There is nothing else to do but remain. As I long for life to return to “normal”, the truth is it never will be the same. Cancer will always be a part of my story now. So my prayer is that I can, ironically, STAY in this place of absolute dependance on Him….

His strength BEGINS at the end of OURS. This world tells us to be strong, do it all, actually have it DONE YESTERDAY! AND do your friends stuff too!!! And your families!!! AND, please make time make it look amazing and effortless! (How? Just….how?) But you can’t. I can’t. It’s unattainable and but a vapor. In my inability to do ANYTHING, Jesus reminds me that’s kinda the point. Right? Let Him take over. Follow His leading. Ask Him to carry you/me when you just can’t. So, weary traveler, let’s rest in the goodness of Jesus together. This song is a balm to my heart these days…

Come you weary heart now to Jesus

Come you anxious soul now and see

There is perfect love and comfort in your tears

Rest here in your wondrous peace

Oh the goodness, the goodness of Jesus

Satisfied, He is all that I need

May it be, come what may, that I rest all my days

In the goodness of Jesus

Come find what this world cannot offer

Come and find your joy here complete

Taste the living water, never thirst again

Rest here in His wondrous peace

Come and find your hope now in Jesus

He is all He said He would be

Grace is overflowing from the Saviour’s hearts

Rest here in His wondrous peace

(The Goodness of Jesus by CityAlight)

So, the invitation is there. You don’t have to have cancer to find fullness in Him but MAN it sure strips away things pretty fast!