Christmas Letter 2015

Well, the cards are in the mail, and that means it is time to give my year-end update to friends and family far and near. 2015 has been a year of blessing-- remission and disease-freedom, times with family and friends, job stability and health, teaching and learning.  And while we enjoy all these blessings, we cherish most that we have a loving and powerful God who directs all things for our good and His glory.  Life with Him is a constant adventure.

Here are some of the particulars we are thankful for:

Ben, Elsa, Ada (almost 4) and Carys (18 months): Ben continues to enjoy teaching at the Basis in Peoria, and this year his his first AP-level Latin class.  He has also enjoyed a great deal of coaching success with both his flag football team, who finished second in the state, and his newly formed debate team, who sent several teams to the outrounds of the state tournament.  Elsa works at home, caring for her precocious and adorable girls. Ada is entering her second year of pretending to be Wilbur the pig in her playtime, and has a mind that is always working. Carys is sweet and stubborn and loves to sing. They are all active in their church, North Valley Community Church.

Tim, Nikki, Emma (5) and Ezra (20 months):  Tim continues to work as an engineer at Ratheon in Tucson, and loves it.  Nikki cares for the kids, homeschooling Emma 3-days a week, and driving her to kindergarten at Veritas Academy of Tucson two days a week. Emma started school, got glasses, and is now reading. She loves to sing and be in charge. Ezra makes sure the house never gets too quiet, and smiles more than any child I have ever known. They also keep busy with their church, Rincon Mountain PCA, where Tim serves as a deacon.

Jack and Shirley, and Marilyn: All the folks have had a relatively healthy year. We are all feeling our age, of course.  And for some of us, that age is getting up there!  I hope I can be half as lively and capable as this group when I am 77, 74, and 89!  We have enjoyed several fun get-togethers, including Thanksgiving here in LA with Ben and family.

Us: We continue to be grateful for the years we have had together (35.5 now!) .  Our health is a sort of good news-bad news thing.  For Dave, the good news is that he is 23 years out of a cancer that should have killed him, but God spared him and healed him.  The bad news is that he is dealing with long-term treatment side-effects.  The good news for me is that I am three years breast cancer-free, and a year and a half in remission from my auto-immune disease.  The bad news is the immune-suppressants and infusions come with their own difficulties.  Dave continues to work (now for 30 years!) at Los Alamos National Laboratory in the radio-chemistry area. I like to say he helps keep the world safe for democracy. I am enjoying teaching locally, and online at The Harvey Center. And we both stay active at Bryce Avenue PCA, where Dave serves as an elder, and my latest endeavors include helping to manage the web site and the facebook page (those are jobs I can do from my bedroom, in my PJs!)

Highlights: This year we traveled to Florida, celebrated our church's 40th anniversary as a congregation, explored the Las Cruces and Southern New Mexico territory, saw family in Arizona and New Mexico, had our first-ever Cousins Camp with Emma and Ada, and went camping with Ben and family in the Flagstaff, AZ area, and enjoyed having them here for Thanksgiving.  We will head to Tucson to be with Tim and family for Christmas.  One of the great joys of our lives is to watch our children being good parents and productive people who love and serve God, and to enjoy the amazing blessing of our grandchildren!  Below are some more photos for you to enjoy.

Thank you: for keeping up with us here, and being part of our lives.  May you all experience the presence of the One who came to be among us, Immanuel, this season, and always!

 With the Greenwalds in Florida

 The Edwards come to visit, and become part of the family!

Ben and Elsa, Ada and Carys, summer

Nikki and Tim, Ezra and Emma, Spring

Jack and Shirley, Jeff and Marsha

Emma starts school

Cousins Camp

Cousins Camp

The grands get together on a cold December day in AZ.

Emma decorates Daddy's hair and beard.

Walking by faith and not by sight...

Last week was a week of blessing as well as a week of reminders of the curse.  I spent time with my dear brother and sister-in-law, and with dear friends who have served the Lord in the midst of great suffering and trial for many years.  We battled the rain of a century, and watched as God transformed the year from summer to fall yet again.  I struggled with increasing my meds, and have been reminded of God's amazing care.

Between us, Dave and I have three cancer fights and more behind us: stage 4 melanoma for Dave in multiple recurrences, and two stage 1 breast cancers for me, along with my current auto-immune disease in my eyes. People tell us that we have been an inspiration to them as they watch us depend on God, and I am glad that God has allowed that to happen.  But please, Gentle Reader, understand that this is only a manifestation of God's marvelous work.  In our weakness, His strength is made clear. What inspires people is what God has accomplished, and it it is amazing to us as well. God promises to work all things for good for those who love Him and are called according to his purpose.  And we see Him doing that in our lives.  But with C. S. Lewis, we must sometimes wonder, not whether what God plans is good, but how painful it will be.

I have been reminded this week that often the "good plan" that my heavenly Father has for my life is a painful thing, and that if I am to remain true to Christ, I have to hold on to the fact that walking by faith and not by sight is part of what Christ requires of His followers.  What looks painful and wearisome to me is actually producing good things in me, by God's grace.  He sees better than I do, and plans all things well. And I may not see it, or understand how it can be, but I can trust that it is, because I can trust Him.

As we both face a new week, Gentle Reader, may we do so in faith.



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A Mother's Day memory

21 years ago on Mother's Day, my family left after church to head for Houston.  Dave had stage 4 metastatic melanoma, had been given about 6 months to live, and was entering a clinical trial using experimental drugs at  M. D. Anderson.  We left not knowing if we would all come back home together or not.

But 21 years later, we know the marvels God accomplished: how He went before us, cared for us, raised up an army to care for and pray for us, cured Dave of an incurable cancer, grew my boys to manhood in the presence of their dad, and has allowed Dave to participate in two weddings and hold two grandchildren. He took us from baby Christians to believers who found their footing in Christ, who could praise Him for suffering, and who could stand when everything around them yelled, "Fall and get it over with!"   Having seen God do all of that, I cannot doubt that He has my good and His glory in mind in every trial I encounter.  Blessed be His name!

If you want to know more about this God, just ask.  I'd love to tell you!

Promises of substance

I am often asked by folks how Dave and I have made it through our years of physical trials: three cancers, 3 cancer recurrences, and two auto-immune diseases between us. I usually answer the same way: by depending on God and His promises.  We have found that, wonder of wonder, after years of saying we believed these promises and trusted the one who gave them, they are actually true things, and full of substance: the type of substance that is firm enough to stand on.  Let me give you a recent, real-life example.

I found myself in the exhausted place of a late Sunday evening, after all of the day's activities, and all the week's work, and I was weepy.  I lay next to my sweet husband, just crying. We had read both Spurgeon and Calvin together, and prayed together, and I was just done and done-in for the day.  That's always when Satan attacks, and the fear begins to creep in.  So I wept, and Dave began to sing some scripture songs to me.  These are songs that simply put scripture to music, and Dave and I have worked off-and-on over the past four or five years learning a variety of them to meditate on.  He sang verse after verse about depending on the Lord in times of fear, trusting in Him, His power to save, His love for us, His work of redemption.

Soon, I wasn't crying.  I was peaceful, and ready for sleep.  My sweet husband had reminded me of what I really needed to know, of what was true.  No matter what happens to me, Jesus died for me, and has a plan that He is fulfilling in and through me. It doesn't matter that I can't always see it, it is happening all the same. I am never alone. I am never powerless.  I am safe in the palm of my Lord's hand.

Those are the kind of substantive promises that make a firm place to stand amid the shifting sand of this life under the sun.

Isa 41:10 'Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help you...' 

Je 1:12 "...for I am watching to see that my word is fulfilled." 

Ro 8:32 He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all-how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? 

Phl 4:19 And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus. 

Ps 56:3-4 When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me? 

Mt 11:28-30 "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Health update: or my life as a pelican

This was a week for my 'three month visits": I saw the oncologist and the retina specialist.  If you are interested in the details, see below. Otherwise, the short version is that I am clear of cancer, still fighting birdshot, and checking on various and sundry other avenues to help me feel better.  In short, God is good. Thank you for your prayers!

I sometimes feel like this pelican I saw in Florida: all puffed up and not wanting to move. But as I focus on the blessings God provides, I can keep on waddling.  And sometimes I can actually soar above the waves. I am trying to focus on those soaring opportunities.

For the detail-inclined:

• No sign of cancer #2 at more than a year out (hurrah!), staying on the anastrozole, and having a base-line ultrasound of my chest wall so we can tell the scar tissue from anything else should that ever be necessary in the future.
• Confirmed with the rheumatologist that though my vitamin D levels are low, I should NOT supplement due to the likelihood that I have sarcoidosis (though it appears to be quiescent at the moment- also hurrah!). Vitamin D get processed strangely by sarcoid patients, and can lead to poisoning.  Let's definitely avoid that.
• Still tracking down whether to do an ACTH stim test to determine if I have adrenal insufficiency or not.  This is my oncologist's quest to address my fatigue issues.  We'll see what comes of it. 
• The birdshot has not, unfortunately, stopped making the blood vessels in my eyes "leaky".  So despite the higher dose of cellcept, we have no improvement.  As soon as I can lay my hands on some, I will add cyclosporine (Neoral) to my daily cellcept dose.  I would appreciate prayers that we would not see side effects from that, but would see the birdshot move to inactivity.  That is what we are looking for.  Our goal is to stop the leaking/retina damage and remain stable./  If we can do that and stay there for 1-2 years, then i get to wean off the drugs and see if I can stay there without them.
• I found out from the retina doc that there are a couple chemo-type drugs that are possibilities if the cellcept/cyclosporine cocktail doesn't do the trick before we have to move to some rather grizzly surgical options. (Particularly humira or remikade.) While I am praying not to have to go that route, I love that I have choices before the surgical one.  God is being very good to encourage me in this.
• When I get very disappointed or discouraged with all this, and with the way I feel  on all these drugs, my sweet husband reminds me that these drug side-effects are better than having cancer or going blind.  And he is right.  I am too ready to forget God's blessing to me.  If i had lived even 25 or 30 years ago, I likely would have been dead by now.  So God must still have a use for my waddling self here, and I delight in the blessings He brings my way every day.  one of those blessings is you, Gentle Reader!  I would love to hear from you any time!

It is not death to die

Last Friday, my friend Natasha Meyer-Turner entered the presence of her Savior and Lord.

I met Natasha some 20 years ago when she, as a 21 year-old, recently-graduated teacher, spent a year teaching in our church's Christian school. She was 10 or so years younger than me, and enjoyed my young children at the time. I saw her next when my son, Tim, started college at her alma mater, Calvin College, where she worked in admissions.  She developed breast cancer.  After a short time, it recurred, and I saw her to have a cup of tea when she came visiting in New Mexico. And then, just as I was finishing my radiation after my first breast cancer and while she was continuing to battle the disease, she braved a day of deluging rainfall on the morning of my son's wedding in Grand Rapids to pop in and visit for a few minutes.  It was a real joy to see her walking into the lounge at Calvin Seminary in her rubber boots and slicker, and to slip away to the chapel with her for a few minutes of talking.  We didn't talk about anything earth-shattering. We talked about getting up every day, and about learning how trustworthy Jesus is. She told me about her daughter, Zoe, and I told her about my boys and my new daughters-in-law. 

And other than that, there was the praying.  Dave and I have prayed together for Natasha and her family daily for years now, and I have remembered her often in-between.  We have kept in touch via her blog (see link above).  And I heard from her as well, from time to time, to say she was praying for me.

I will miss Natasha's caring, creative voice, speaking truth and beauty in this broken world.  As her blog said this morning,

“Don’t ever say that I lost my battle with cancer,” Tasha once said. And she didn’t. The gospel is true. The cancer is dead. Natasha lives. And we will see her again.

Until that time, dance in joy, my sister. I look forward to the day when we can dance together before the throne.

The pure love of God

I love getting Christmas cards and letters from friends and family.  I love the photos of the children of friends becoming adults, and grandchildren coming.  But one Christmas card this season brought me to tears. Dear friends from graduate school days sent a letter for the first time in a few years.  Those intervening years have brought cancer battles, loss of a beloved son, and many changes. I grieved for them with tears, and I rejoiced for them with tears.

The rejoicing was that as the mom battled cancer, and as they watched their son battle and lose his fight with cancer, they have seen God to be faithful.  What can sometimes break a family apart, instead is drawing them together.  What has crushed their spirits, is now renewing them day by day.  My friend said to me,

I once saw a quote, "Love of God is pure when joy and suffering inspire equal degree of gratitude." I try to keep this in my heart but sometimes it is very difficult."

That "difficult" is an understatement-- nigh on impossible in the midst of circumstances like they have faced.  But not only is the purity of our love for God shown as we rejoice in the midst of our trials as well as our joys; God's amazing and pure love for us is seen in the same way.  It is the purity of His love for us that sent His Son to be born and die for us. It is the purity of His love that sends us His Spirit to be our rest, our comfort, our clarity amidst the chaos suffering brings.  How blessed we are to follow Him.

 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.  And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
~1 Cor. 13: 12-13

Health Update: I'm almost one in a million...

The windings and turns of my recent health struggles have made it difficult to post updates here of late.  It has been difficult to know what to say as we have gone round and round about a diagnosis for what ails me and how to treat it.  And it has been difficult to find the time amid the myriad of appointments, tests, and travel.  But a little clarity is emerging slowly, so I can now give at least a partial update, and some specific prayer requests. I know many of you are faithful prayer warriors, Gentle Readers, because I see answers to those prayers, and God has been so very good to me in this process.

My breast cancer remains non-existent, praise God! I continue on the drug arimidex to keep my recurrence chances low.

My eyes have continued to be bothersome, and here we have made some progress. We have a firm diagnosis of a rare auto-immune disease called birdshot chorioretinapathy.  This is rare enough that I'm not really one in a million, but there are only about 4 cases in every million people. I will be starting immune-suppressant therapy this weekend, and hope to stop progression of the disease.  Left untreated, this always leads to blindness, but treatment with various drugs can often halt the disease's progress.  And I have found  an excellent physician and we have caught the disease very early. So my hopes are high that we can get this under control.

My continuing fatigue remains mysterious and discouraging.  I also have some funky blood work, and neither it nor the fatigue is explained by either the eye problem or the arimidex I am taking.  So my rheumatologist is continuing to monitor blood work, and the possibility of sarcoidosis is not yet off my table. But the Lord is holding me, and He gives me hope in Him, no matter what the crook in my lot is.  (And if you want to understand what I mean by the crook in your lot, or the bend in your path, and how we ought to respond to such things, listen to the excellent sermon by Rick Steele here.)

If you have not grown weary of praying for me, here are some specific prayer requests:

• Please pray that I would tolerate the immune-suppressant well, with few side effects, or that I would be able to bear what side effects I have.
• Please pray that the drug would be very effective in treating this disease.
• Please pray for the fatigue I feel to lift.  A friend who is also an autoimmune disease sufferer recently sent me this link which does a good job of describing the fatigue if you are interested in understand more about those of us who look fine but are fighting illness. (Thanks for the link, Becki! Dave and I now talk in "spoonfuls".)
• Please pray that my immune system would be restored, and that I would not continue down the path of constant illness.  And if God determines I need to travel that road, please pray that I would honor Him there, and figure out what it means to glorify and enjoy Him on that journey.

Thank you, Gentle Reader.  I am grateful for you!

Good news/Bad news

Today's good news for me: no sign of the hives, and a marked improvement in the congestion, still no sign of cancer, and small signs of continued recovery from 6 hard months.

Today's bad news for me: the steroids seem to be getting the better of me, interrupting my sleep, and making me a little shaky and scattered. The resulting stupid errors and mistakes this morning as I try to sew or work on teaching items are insanely irritating to me-- which may have something to do with the steroids as well.  But the emotional roller-coaster they cause is all I need to encourage my sin and blind me to the truth of God's providential care and love.  *Sigh*. Wretched man (or woman) that I am, who can save me from this body of death?

Today's bad news for us all: sin is alive and well.  It leads to more than selfishness, but to a broken world filled with broken people inhabiting broken bodies. That is bad news.

Today's good news for us all: Christ Jesus has conquered sin and death, and when he comes again for His own, these light and momentary afflictions will be as nothing compared to the huge weight of His glory which He will lavish upon us for eternity.That is good news, indeed!  As I remind myself, Gentle Readers, I thought I would remind you as well.

Relay accomplished

Last evening, Dave and I completed our first Survivor's Lap at the Relay for Life.  It has been a worthwhile experience, complete with quirky and amusing details, a few tears, and some excellent reflections.

We attended the Survivor's Dinner with my friend Carmen (who gave me the idea in the first place.)  Carmen told me that when she thought about all the relay people walking all night to raise funds for research and patient services, she figured the least she could do was to show up.  Indeed! In addition to being a great time to catch up with her, meet other cancer survivors in the community, and enjoy a good meal, we heard my our oncologist speak about what led him into the field of oncology, and share the experience he had with his father's death from cancer.  It helped me to get to know him better.

Following the dinner, we all donned our purple "Survivor" tee shirts, and little side-saches that said "Survivor!" (this is the closest I will ever come to being a beauty pageant contestant!) and queued up behind a couple of elderly bagpipers (and no, I am not kidding.)  Unfortunately, I forgot my camera, but the photo above is from last year's Relay, and will give you some idea.  About 50-60 or so of us, with about three people younger than Dave and me, lined up and began walking behind the bagpipers- all of us in various states of health from pretty healthy, to those using walkers, canes, or needing support from others.  The bagpipers begam playing as we walked the two blocks or so from the dinner to Ashley Pond.  They played almost in time with each other, and most of us could keep up pretty well with them.  The police stopped traffic for us.  People moved out of our way.  To be honest, I just felt weird at this point. While I am not a shy, retiring wall flower, this kind of attention is something I am decidedly uncomfortable with! Once we got to Ashley pond, the luminarias that are part of the remembrance of Relay surrounded the pond, and we walked around the pond with the luminarias on the water side and in the grass around us.  On the sidewalk there were some little puddles from watering the grass there, and the dear Survivor with a walker in front of us kept taking out the luminarias as she tried to miss the puddles.  We must have presented a rag-tag view to those who gathered and honored us with their applause and smiles. 

As I walked around the pond, and looked at those luminarias, most with names, dates of birth and death, messages of missing, I became profoundly grateful:  Grateful that Dave has lived to see his granddaughters.  Grateful that with three cancers between us, we are survivors. Grateful that with two cancers behind me, I have still not walked the tough roads of chemotherapy or metastatic disease. Grateful for God's constant care and provision.

Near the end of our trek around the pond, we saw our dear friends, the Baers.  They were smiling and applauding us, and it made me cry.  They, and so many others of you, Gentle Readers, have been such a support to us through this life.  Thank you! Between us, Dave and I raised almost $350.  But more than that, our hearts were lifted, and we were able to give back a little, somehow.  Thanks to each of you who helped us accomplish our first Relay!

Reaching for the relay goal

Well, despite the continuing struggle with hives, Lord willing, and if the creek don't rise, I hope to complete the survivor's lap at the Relay for Life tonight.  Dave has raised more than his goal-- many thanks to all who gave to that effort!  I am just over half-way to my $250 goal, but I am very thankful to all who have helped me make it that far.  And there is still time if you would like to help me hit that goal!  You can donate any amount at my page here. I'll let you know how it goes by posting an update next week.

Relay for Life

Well Gentle Reader, I am less than a week from my first Relay for Life event, and I am half-way to my fundraising goal.  Dave has exceeded his more modest goal already- and thanks to all of you who have made both of those things happen!

The Relay for Life funds many worthwhile causes, including hospitality houses where out-of-town patients and family can stay during treatment, and many support services for patients, such as wig and post-mastectomy items for women facing breast cancer treatment.  I am excited about helping!

Yesterday I stopped by a Relay booth to sign up for a survivor's dinner prior to the survivor's lap on Friday night.  The woman at the booth grabbed my hand, and said very sincerely, "Congratulations on surviving, and thank you for helping us encourage more survivors!"  It brought tears to my eyes. It really has been quite a year...

If you are interested in helping support this cause, you can donate to my efforts here.

2012 Relay For Life of Los Alamos Los Alamos County NM: Video Page - Remember | The American Cancer Society - 2012 Relay For Life of Los Alamos NM

As I participate in the Relay for Life, I am remembering those who lost their fight with cancer.  But even more than that, I am remembering those who have fought or are fighting their battles, and those who will fight it in the future.  I want them to have every tool possible to win their battles.

I am praying for you, my fellow warriors, and I honor your valiant fight: Shirley, Lynn, Gary, Natasha, Karina, Carmen, Julia, Linda, Bob, Valerie, Jen, Silvano. And I honor your families for standing beside you. 

  See the video below...

2012 Relay For Life of Los Alamos Los Alamos County NM: Video Page - Remember | The American Cancer Society - 2012 Relay For Life of Los Alamos NM

Relay for Life

Dave and I have decided to do something completely different (for us!) We are going to participate in this year's Relay for Life to benefit the American Cancer Society.  As survivors, we only need to walk one lap around Ashley Pond-- I think even I can do that, and it will be Dave's easiest race ever!  If you would like to join in this good cause with us, you can donate to my efforts here, and to Dave's here. It will be fun to see how this works out, and I'll update you all here when the event is over on June 16th. I don't want anyone to feel obligated to give to this, but if you feel so led, Gentle reader, please do so.

You may be wondering why I want to do this.  And I am not sure I know, except that I feel the urge to be in a crowd of other warriors who understand, and I want to give something back, however little, to folks who have given for my benefit. So we are giving it a try.  Come on along if you feel so inclined!

Health update

Part of the reason for last weekend's get-away (see some photos here) was to provide distraction for me as I anticipated my first round of check-ups post breast cancer #2.  I know rationally and spiritually that I should not have dreaded those appointments.  Yet, emotionally, I was dreading them.  As a dear friend said, "Well, you have gotten unexpected and very bad news at appointments like those-- there is something rational about that!" 

Despite my fears, God has given me a good week.  I had appointments with both my oncologist and my primary care.  Both think I am doing well, and that we can proceed with this cancer behind us.  What a blessing from the Lord!  I continue to deal with the fall-out of the battle. Some of the irritations include:

• hormone issues like hot flashes, sleep interruptions, and mood swings (maybe mood earthquakes would be a better description)
• joint and bone pain with the hormone therapy drug (arimidex) I'm taking taking
• lymphedema still in both arms, and still swelling in my abdomen

We will continue to manage these things, and with increased time, rest, and exercise, we hope to conquer or reduce them all. My energy is rebounding somewhat, though I long for more.

I feel that we have turned a corner in our road.  " was on the part of the road marked, "Caution: Cancer Zone Ahead" and now I've reached the "End of the Cancer Zone" sign.  Praise God!  For now, the battle is behind me, and that feels wonderful.  Now the rest of recovery lies ahead.

Thank you, Gentle Readers, for the part you have played in this.  Your prayers are precious things!   

Spiritually bi-polar

Last night I said to my dear husband, "Sometimes I think I am spiritually bi-polar."  He left in the morning with a wife discouraged and fearful about facing the normal challenges of the day, and returned to a wife encouraged, rejoicing, unable to stop smiling.  Now, I am definitely hormonally challenged right now, which exacerbates the situation.  But this morning I read this in Spurgeon:

It was but yesterday that I could read my title clear; today my evidences are bedimmed, and my hopes are clouded. Yesterday, I could climb to Pisgah’s top, and view the landscape o'er, and rejoice with confidence in my future inheritance; today, my spirit has no hopes, but many fears; no joys, but much distress. Is this part of God’s plan with me? Can this be the way in which God would bring me to heaven? Yes, it is even so.
 ~C. H. Spurgeon, Morning by Morning, May 22

So, I am not alone.  This is the Christian life: up and over the mountain, down the other side. Phew- that encourages me.  I have that part down! And God will use these ups and downs for my good and His glory.  What a blessed assurance that is!

Part of my encouragement came from time in His word, part from an excellent oncologist visit (all appears well, and I am heading where I need to without any sign of cancer, and with possible relief from some side-effects!) And this morning, I'm still smiling.  I hope you are too, Gentle Reader!

“O let my trembling soul be still,

And wait thy wise, thy holy will!

I cannot, Lord, thy purpose see,

Yet all is well since ruled by thee.”

Chasing after "normal"

Twenty years ago this month, we were heading to 4-H, which was our family's code-word for Hot, Horrible, Humid, Houston (no offense intended to the lovely folks who live in Houston!)  We were relocating for several months as Dave entered a clinical trial for stage 4 melanoma, and the circumstances may have colored our view of the place somewhat.

Many things were etched into my mind and heart over the next year of intense treatment for Dave: coming to grips with the possibility of losing my best and dearest earthly friend, being tired beyond belief, being all things to all people (helpmeet, single mother, maker of all decisions, and communicator and comforter for everyone.) But one of the themes of that year, and indeed the year or two following, was a strong desire to recapture what suddenly had become a tangible quality that had been previously unconsidered: I longed for everything to feel "normal". 

When everything is "normal", you don't even notice it.  it would be hard, if not impossible, to define.  But remove "normal" and its absence is deafening. I remember asking if I could please do the dishes or the laundry, because that brought back a fleeting sense of "normal". My goal in the beginning was to return to "normal". But the truth is that "normal" is a fleeting thing. It is like sand and moonbeam: it shifts every time you think you can grab onto it. It is like this world, full of feeling but not substance.

I spent a few years trying to chase down "normal" after Dave's treatment.  I thought going camping would return us to "normal", but it didn't.  And I mostly ruined a wonderful family trip to Hawaii because I expected to find "normal" there.  But when I couldn't retrieve normal anywhere, I realised it was gone.  At least that old normal was never going to happen again.  You see, you can't take a vacation from cancer.  It changes things forever.  You can't recapture life before a huge paradigm shift from the other side of the fault line. So all we can do with that chasing after the old "normal" is lay it at the foot of the cross, grieve its passing, be thankful for its former peace, and wait on the Lord.

God does, graciously and in His own time, gift us with "normal" again.  But it is a new "normal". The old has passed away, and everything is made new in Him.  So, I have given up chasing after normal, and ruining or missing the current moment in my hunt for what can never be again.  Instead, I am waiting on the Lord, and looking forward to the gift that one day I will rest in a new normal for eternity.  And I bet that one day, Gentle Reader, this side of eternity, I will look back on a day with a smile and a sigh, and think, "Wow-- what a normal day!"

How to be a friend to someone with cancer...

I was recently privy to a conversation about living with cancer: this from a friend of a cancer patient, discussing what she, as a close friend walking beside a stage 4 patient, needed.  One of the things she mentioned took me by surprise: that she needed someone outside of her friend with cancer to unload to about the stresses and griefs of walking beside that friend with cancer.  Having been somewhere in the middle of cancer for myself or my husband or my mom for the last 20 or so years, it had never occurred to me that there could be a need of those in the next circle out from the patient that I hadn't considered! It was good to know that I can be an indirect support for a cancer patient by supporting their friends.

And then the question came: what do cancer patients need from their friends?   I have been pondering this, and while I'm sure there are more answers to this question than the ones I'll list here, these are the ones that readily came to mind.  These are the ones that I'd want my friends to know.  If you have others, please post them in the comments. I'd love to hear them. Here are my top 10, in no particular order:

1. Pray for me.  Pray every day.  As you pray for me, God changes your heart towards me, and His Spirit gives you a tenderness for me that you could not otherwise experience.  Then, when you see me, I will know you love me, and that you are praying for me.  When Dave was sick, many people in a sister church in Albuquerque prayed fervently for him, though they had never met us.  We knew those people when we met them.  They couldn't hide their love for us, wrought by prayer.  So pray for my healing, but also pray because it will make your heart tender.
2. If you don't know what to say, not wanting to bring up the "C" word in case I am not thinking about it, don't worry.  I am always thinking about it on some level.  You can just give me a hug and say nothing, or you can go ahead and ask a question, or tell me you're praying for me.  Any of those things tell me you care. If your choice is between saying something that might be foolish and staying away so you don't have to decide, please say something foolish.  There is a sort of isolation that can happen when friends don't know what to say, and so they steer clear. That feels terrible. Don't steer clear of me.  It's OK if you don't know what to say.  Just keep being my friend.
3. Do avoid platitudes.  "God has a wonderful plan for your life" is perfectly true, but it rings empty.  It is the promises of God in His word that are substantive and bring encouragement.  So DO jot down scripture verses that you think might encourage me.  DO send me notes from time to time to let me know you are with me in the struggle. Those things will bring encouragement.
4. Also avoid horror stories.  You may have an aunt who died a grizzly death from the same kind of cancer I have, but please keep that to yourself.  If that is all you can think of when you see me, just hug me and smile at me.
5. We all have circles of friends- some are our closest confidants, and others are good friends, but more distant friends.  If you are in my closest circle of friends, be aggressive in keeping contact. You won't be forcing me into things to keep offering time together or phone calls.  I need to rally the troops around me. I need to be held accountable, encouraged, and connected.  If you are not in my closest circle of friends, offer contact, but don't be offended if I don't have the emotional energy or time to enter into a closer relationship with you at the moment.  Think about supporting those friends who were closer to me when the battle began, and are bearing the burden more fully with me. If you are a more distant friend, offer closer support, and allow me to decide without feeling dismissed.  I once offered to a distant friend whose husband was dying of cancer to be her prayer partner and sounding board.  She decided she needed that, and we walked that road together and became close friends. But sometimes, investing in newer friendships is just beyond the level of energy I posses.
6. Support my decisions, and be careful with offering alternatives.  If you read about some nutritional supplements, or alternate way of treating my disease, I will likely want to hear about it.  Send me an e-mail, or give me a web site to look at.  Then allow me to look at that information or ignore it as I would like.  I will appreciate your thought, but I am in the midst of the battle for my life, and already fully engaged with medical and/or alternative support to fight that battle.  More information can be helpful, but it can also be overload.  Respect my decisions, and allow me to decide what I what to know when, how I want to wage my war, and what resources I will use to do so. Support those decisions even if you disagree.
7. Tell me about your life with its joys and battles.  Just because my battle is more immediately life-threatening, does not mean I can't understand your struggles. I need to be connected to the world.  I can bring you a more long-term, eternal focus.  You can bring me the wonder and joys and struggles of life outside of hospitals and doctor's offices.
8. Understand that what I'm going through is changing everything.  It is changing my focus, my priorities, my outlook.  It is making it both necessary and painful to walk into church and know that these people I love and who love me are heart-broken because of me.  This disease is shaping not only me, but also my children, my family, and my friends just as God wants them to be shaped, but I am His instrument of pain in their lives.  It is also forcing the rubber to meet the road in terms of my faith.  Do the things I have always believed prove to be true in this place of testing? Are they enough to carry me where I must go? These all make me very vulnerable. Try to cut me some slack, give me the space to grieve what is lost, and learn to trust God in my new circumstances.
9. Do be willing to listen to my fears and let me talk honestly without hushing me by saying, "Don't talk like that!"  I need to speak things out loud sometimes, and if I choose to speak them to you, don't feel like you need to have an answer for me.  I am simply processing and speaking aloud those things that can be even more frightening if kept in the depths of my heart.  Listen. Hold my hand. There are often no "good answers" where I am, outside of God's sovereign hand leading and guiding, and sometimes I need to talk through things to find my way back to Him.
10. Don't feel like you have to always be brave and cheerful to bolster me.  Sometimes seeing your pain for me, or having you cry with me, is the medicine I need. I discovered a long time ago that if God is sovereign over all things, He is sovereign over tears as well-- both when they fall, and in front of whom they fall. So we can trust Him, even with our emotions.

I will end this already-too-lengthy post with a short song by Charlie Peacock that captures something important about times of grief and pain.  Below is the recording from the album Coram Deo, and the lyrics are below.

Now is the time for tears
Don’t speak
Save your words
There’s nothing you could say
To take this pain away
Don’t try so hard
You can just simply be
Cry with me don’t try to fix me friend
That’s how you’ll comfort me
Heavenly Father cover this child with mercy
You are my helper through this time of trial and pain
Silence the lips of the people with all of the answers
Gently show them now is the time
Now is the time
Now is the time for tears

Life with LE

I promised an upate a few ddays ago concerning the physical stuff, so for those of you interested, here is the scoop currently.

Lymphedema is a huge time-sink.  If you think of the lymph system as a plumbing system in your body, we think that both messing with my lymph nodes in my armpits and the total amount of surgery burden I had in doing basically two major surgeries at once, has clogged up that plumbing.  So I am spending most of my days with lymphedema, not-so-affectionately known as LE in lymphedema circles.  I am either learning about LE, treating LE, or being inconvenienced by LE, almost all day long.  Here are some of the things LE has added to my life:

• Daily manual lymph drainage (MLD- a series of massage/exercises that open the lymph system and help the fluid to move, (1-2 hours a day)
• Daily ecxercise that encourages lymph movement (1-2 hours a day) Some of this is my regular exercise.  Some specific exercises for LE have been added
• Daily compression wrapping of the left arm (fingers to pit) (15-25 minutes a day)
• Daily washing of compression bandaging (10 min, a day)
• Research and reading to learn as much as I can (I would hate to estimate the time spent on this over the last week-- but I hope that time will lessen as I learn more.)
• When I am wrapped, I need help with everything that takes two hands to do, or anything that requires me to hold a bent left arm, or touch my left hand to anything that requires it to bend.   For instance, I can't put deodorant under my right arm, put in my own earrings, or wash/lotion my own hands.

Add to that the hormonal changes of menopause, the side-effects of an aromatase inhibitor, and the brain fog  that comes with breast cancer, and I am in a sorry state some of the time.  But the other part of the time I am awed by God's grace.  I am encouraged by my sweet husband and friends and students, I am reminded of God's amazing love, and I am grateful that things are not worse. 

So if you run across me in the grocery store and I am cheerful and chatty, praise God for His gracious providence.  And if you run across me and I am a quivering, weeping mass because I couldn't get my jacket off and I am about to spontaneously combust right in the frozen food aisle, just help me get the jacket off, pat me on the shoulder with a smile, and praise God for His providence anyway.  I know all things work together for my good and His glory.  But that doesn't mean it isn't sometimes painful or annoying.

A spiritual update

In some other post, Gentle Reader, I will tell you the nitty-gritty of life with lymphedema. But for today, let me give you the spiritual update. I had thought that losing all my female parts would empty me, making me a fit vessel for Christ somehow.  I seemed to be just hitting my stride when the arms started to swell, and I slowly came to the realization that this wasn't temporary, nor trivial.  The physical stuff is inconvenient, but the spiritual shrapnel was worse.  I found myself disoriented, angry, frustrated, feeling tricked.  I wallowed.  But the catch of it is, wallowing is not all it's made out to be.  In the end I was no happier, and felt alienated from God. I ran across a description that fit me perfectly this morning:

My tongue has had a razor edge and my eyes have rolled haughty and my neck has been stiff and graceless and I have lived the filth ugly, an idolator, a glutton, and a grace thief who hasn't had time for the thanks.
~ Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts p.116

The most amazing thing is that in the midst of all my fruitless rebellion and self-focus, somehow beyond reasonableness, God continues not only to love me, but to send me tangible tokens of that love, And as thick-headed and hard-hearted as I am, even I, like that prodigal long ago, eventually get the point: you can choose to keep wallowing there in the filth, or you can live over here in His love. So, I again, and not for the last time, repent, and am grateful. There is no mire so thick, no pit so deep, that his love cannot reach me there. And He never tires of me.  How amazing is that?

Believer, come near the cross this morning, and humbly adore the King of glory as having once been brought far lower, in mental distress and inward anguish, than any one among us; and mark His fitness to become a faithful High Priest, who can be touched with a feeling of our infirmities. Especially let those of us whose sadness springs directly from the withdrawal of a present sense of our Father's love, enter into near and intimate communion with Jesus. Let us not give way to despair, since through this dark room the Master has passed before us. Our souls may sometimes long and faint, and thirst even to anguish, to behold the light of the Lord's countenance: at such times let us stay ourselves with the sweet fact of the sympathy of our great High Priest. Our drops of sorrow may well be forgotten in the ocean of His griefs; but how high ought our love to rise! Come in, O strong and deep love of Jesus, like the sea at the flood in spring tides, cover all my powers, drown all my sins, wash out all my cares, lift up my earth-bound soul, and float it right up to my Lord's feet, and there let me lie, a poor broken shell, washed up by His love, having no virtue or value; and only venturing to whisper to Him that if He will put His ear to me, He will hear within my heart faint echoes of the vast waves of His own love which have brought me where it is my delight to lie, even at His feet for ever.

~C. H. Spurgeon, Morning and Evening, Morning, April 12.