Updates, Labs, and 'Roid Rage...

Oh, those days where I know that I KNOW I'm running off at the mouth....I feel like those days should come with an automatic plunger for my face.

I totally feel sorry for this kid--you know that had to leave a mark!

That being said, last week, I got really sick...I made it through worship, but by the time it was done, I made it back home and went straight to bed UNTIL TUESDAY. I couldn't exactly pinpoint what was wrong; I've been feeling really run-down, my throat has hurt, and I was having such a heaviness in my chest that I kinda figured I had bronchitis, so I finally went to my Nurse Practitioner.
I've been under a lot of stress over the past few months (yeah, I guess cancer can do that). I've gained a lot of weight; my marriage is feeling "unsteady"; and my job has been busier than ever. Everything is weighing very heavily right now, and I feel like my walk with God is definitely suffering.
I've had NO energy, and I'm exhausted. The next friend of mine that puts their vacation pictures of a beach or a cruise ship on Facebook, I swear, I'm gonna barf. :)
All of that being said, it appears that I've simply caught a nasty virus, so they put me on Prednisone (a steroid) to ease the lung strain. Breathing--hey, it's important!
In the midst of that, my labs for February came back, and showed that nope, my thyroid meds STILL AREN'T REGULATED. Are you kidding me?!?!? IT'S BEEN 7 MONTHS!!!!!  COME ON, ALREADY!
Every time they mess with these meds, I gain weight, my anxiety levels go through the roof, and I pretty much feel like my brain is going to explode...It's incredibly difficult to function in this constant state of flux, and it wearies me, not to mention what it does to my family. I'm on my second endocrinologist, and I already feel like I want to knock the resident out. It's not him--it's me. It seems endocrinology is a branch of medicine that I hate. :) Unfortunately, it's something I'll have to deal with for the rest of my life...SO CAN WE GET THESE MEDS FIGURED OUT?!?!?
That being said, they've added Synthroid back in the mix (let's hope it's not enough to make my hair fall out again), plus the Armour Thyroid that I'm on...with all of this, I've decided to make the leap to a full does of the Wellbutrin (150mg) instead of the 75mg I was on.
So....steroids, new thyroid meds, and increased Wellbutrin.
I'm AMAZED at how much I can get done with this kind of energy, LOL. Of course, it also means I'm having difficulty sleeping....Once I'm off of the steroids, things should level out. I'll repeat labs toward the end of April (hey, I'm at 8-week intervals instead of 6-week intervals!), and at the end of July, we'll repeat my PET scan, most likely after a round of something called "Thyrogen," that I have yet to Google.
That being said, back to being sick: Emotionally, knowing that I have cancer in the lymph nodes of my neck is bothersome. Even though I know thyroid cancer is very slow-growing, non-aggressive, and non-life-threatening, being sick has made the nodes in my neck very swollen, which freaks me out...even though I know it's fine. After my next round of PET scans, depending on the node size, they're probably going to remove all of the lymph nodes in my neck. I need to take the time to educate myself on the consequences of that, but I haven't done research at this point, because I think it will be mentally burdensome. I feel like this virus-bug-thing is on it's way out; my nebulizer is a HUGE help, and I'm looking forward to some super-awesome weekend plans with my 3rd-grade bestie. :)
(That's a lot of commas...)
I'm hoping this med change will be the last for a while...I'm hoping I can learn to accept my body in this shape, and stop beating myself up for the weight I've gained (feeling bad just makes me eat more, I swear)...I'm hoping my marriage can catch a break where my health issues stop causing us so much stress, and stop affecting our communication/emotions/life in general....

The brightest spot of all has been, in a word, Jericho. He's funnier than ever; he's smart, he's bright, and yesterday, he learned his first Bible verse (Gen. 1:1). He's officially potty-trained (only took us 7 months), and he's brave. He announces himself when he walks into a room (sorry, Bread Co.), and he makes my heart explode in the best of ways...My husband is an amazing father to that little boy, and the two of them are bonding heavily over Legos right now (UGH. LEGOS.).

He knows his full name, his numbers, can count to 10 in Spanish, and is beginning to put his letters together to try to spell words (thank you, PBS!). We are beginning to discuss schools, and I'm trying to not be completely overwhelmed at the choices in education...(yeah, right!)...Praying for wisdom is an hourly thing in parenthood!!

The steroids I've been on have made me chatty and slightly-more unfiltered than normal, so my apologies if this is a TMI post...The truth is, I've been very sad lately...Up until this weekend, I'd say it's been since before Christmas that I can remember feeling "right," and it's been....well, sad. Nothing seems right, and I've felt like my joy got sucked out. All of the meds are now adjusted; I've always felt like when things are off chemically, it affects every facet, from the spiritual to the physical to the spiritual. I'm not really feeling like myself just yet, and probably won't until I'm off of the steroids; once the course is done, I think we may have our med combo figured out.

If this blog feels like it just goes in one big, static-ish circle, you're right--it's a rambly mess.
But that's kind of my life right now.
It's more good than bad, but it's a disorganized basket that's taking much longer than I have the patience for, to sort out...
Thank God He has some sort of a plan...knowing that, having faith in His abilities to make this ball of yarn into some kind of a tapestry, is a driving force for me. My life makes no sense...the things we've been through, as a family? In our marriage? None of it makes sense.
Jesus makes sense.
So, in this mess, I trust Him, and I discipline myself to find the joy in the best AND in the worst (and believe me, we've been through worse). These are not our darkest days, by ANY means...they're just frustrating days, but we're moving forward.
We keep walking, together, knowing that He will work all of this out for good, because we love Him. 

Random....

My heart aches tonight, and it has, all day.
I read a letter that I wrote to my daughter last year, as it was published this morning in a collection. Even reading my own words, even when they're as optimistic as they could possibly be, hurts.
I will never be whole, no matter what I try.
Is that how it is to be?
I watched a 30-second video of her in the NICU; I have yet to watch it without feeling the air sucked out of my lungs, even as I am surrounded by beautiful pictures of my beautiful son...
It will be 10 years this October.
My heart hurts, even as I remind myself of the hope I have in Jesus.
It still hurts.
Usually, I'm much more loquacious in my blogs; perhaps in my breviy this evening, the point is made even louder:
It hurts.
I miss her.
My friends with little girls the same age...I can't even begin to disguise my envy and my curiosity...
It hurts.

You Are My Happy.

Last night, there was a dance party at my house. There was a full-on, booty-shaking, jump-up-&-downing, arm-waving, bass-thumping rave in my living room, and it was fantastic.

Did you know that I have a three-year old now?

Three years ago, the second-hardest year in my life had just begun. “It was the best of times; it was the [almost] worst of times,” and it was a tremendous, tumultuous torrent of faith, fear, post-partum psychosis, and sleepless nights.

It was everything I wanted, everything I was terrified of, and everything I needed.

It still is.

Parenthood has drawn more out of my husband and I than we ever thought possible. It has pushed us physically, mentally, and spiritually to our brink, and it has made us more thankful for life, for each other, for Jesus, for breathing, than we have ever known. Parenthood makes you speak in superlatives on a minute-by-minute basis. Everything is amazing. Everything is awful. Everything is incredible. Everything is terrible.

Parenthood leaves no room for middle ground.

Parenthood-post-loss leaves no room for sleep.

It leaves no room to allow the mind to relax (for the first year) because you are constantly fighting the “what-ifs” that want to run rampant in your postpartum-crazy life. YOU CAN’T LET THEM. They’ll take over, and you’ll find yourself in mental hysterics that only Wellbutrin and Jesus can fix. You can’t let it in, not even for a second. It gradually gets better, but I know my first 6 months after JD was born were so mentally difficult. You’re afraid to celebrate the moments, because you alone understand how quickly they can be taken away.

It’s a feeling that permeates your soul for years.

Last night was a great example: There we were: David and I, jumping around like 2 insane, sugared-up rhythmless Michelin Men around the living room. Jericho, meanwhile, was getting a first-class lesson in how to shake his rear, which resulted in him looking like a tiny, underwear-clad Derek Zoolander. He couldn’t figure out how to “shake” his rear, so he’d stop, stick out a hip, and rock a Blue Steel pose like nobody’s business. Too bad he’s gonna be short, because he can pose like Karlie Kloss! LOL—I kid. Anyways, we were dancing like fools to “Happy,” and while we were in that moment, I wanted to be deliriously happy…

 But I couldn’t let myself…

Because the last time embraced a moment and allowed myself to be deliriously happy (and blogged about it), the next day I found out I had cancer and could possibly, permanently lose my voice (I didn’t).

It took so much for me, that last time, to have the courage to say “I am deliriously happy.” It took a lot, and then THAT happened. And the time before that, when I held my daughter and thought, “I am deliriously happy,” we lost her…that kind of paradigm shift has consequences. I thought I had healed from that, but I guess not.

So now, when I find myself wanting to say that I am “deliriously happy,” I can’t.

I can’t do it.

Not yet.

I’m not mad at God.  I’m hurt, but I’m not mad…I’m questioning…I’m curious…I trust that He has a plan…I know He loves me…but I’m confused.

And I’m afraid to fall…

More than that, I’m afraid the ground will come out from under me, and there I’ll be, flat on my back like a broken mess, yet again…I’m not ready to be broken again, so soon, and I guess I feel like that goes hand-in-hand with happiness, like I can’t have one without the other?

Last night, I WAS deliriously happy.  There, I said it. But it was so cautious…I told my husband I was afraid to feel it, afraid to accept that yes, this is happening: This is a happy moment, with no pressure, no bad news, no judgment, no fighting, and no bill. THIS IS A HAPPY MOMENT, CASSIDY. LOVE IT.

Why is that so hard for me to embrace?

My son makes me stop and hold him…I grab him up, I feel his arms wrap around my neck, and he squeezes for all he’s worth. I breathe in his hair and kiss his forehead. I celebrate every single hug, because I know some day he won’t think it’s cool to hug Mommy anymore. I get all of the hugs I can get, not just because he is mine, but because every hug reassures my faith that happiness IS ALLOWED. We can BE HAPPY in this life, even though the world tells us it’s impossible. 

He says, “Are you happy, Mommy?” “Yes, baby, I’m happy. You are my happy.” He has no idea of the ledge he has pulled me off of, nor will he ever know, because that is too much pressure for anyone (ask David, Senior Ledge Puller). When the questions outsize the answers, my boys are my reminder that Jesus is the Answer, and He carries us all…

I am happy. I really am. And someday (soon, I’m sure) I will allow myself to throw my head back and laugh, and be as carefree as I used to be—as carefree as my beautiful son is—and I will re-embrace the joy that can only be found in dropping the baggage brought on by fear and disappointment. Someday, carefree will come easily to me.

Until then, I will watch it be a lifestyle for my son, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that he stays in that carefree lifestyle as long as possible…

Even if that means looking like a spastic Michelin Man in my living room.

Just an Update...

I am overdue for a catch-up on this thing. It’s been over a month, and what a month it has been…

Halfway through the month of December, I had to stop my thyroid replacement medications (TRH) in order to prepare for the scheduled radiation tracer/whole body scan that was scheduled at Siteman on 1/8/16. You have to stop your meds for 2 weeks, because the meds suppress your Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH) and your thyroglobulin levels (cancer/tumor markers), and your labs need to reflect your true levels. I’ve said before that thyroid cancer will not kill you (it’s true—it’s slow-growing, totally not aggressive—usually—and is easy to treat. You just remove the thyroid and do a simple round of radiation). Nope—the cancer won’t kill you. Getting the thyroid medications regulated, however, just might, as it can make you lose your damn mind. Once you’ve got it regulated, then you’re cooking with peanut oil…but it takes a really long time to do that, and it can change out of nowhere (weight gain/loss, solar flare, mercury in retrograde, etc…I’m kidding. Sort of.). So, we think we have my dosage sort of regulated…maybe…

That being said, I’ve fired my treating endocrinologist, because either she or her staff failed to communicate the correct dosage of my TRH to my pharmacy, and I wound up borderline-suicidal in a church parking lot, while my poor husband contemplating having my @$$ locked in the funny farm. It was a disaster. I transferred care to the Center for Advanced Medicine at Barnes (since all of my other doctors are at Siteman/CAM), and had my first appointment with the new doc this week. We’ll see how it goes; he seemed nice enough, but basically said I'm condemned to utter fatness for the next 6 months, and to stop beating myself up over it. I say "whatevs" to the skinny man...blah.

Anyways, back to December: I had to go off of the meds for almost 3 weeks. I had no idea what I was in for. The hormones your thyroid produces (and that the synthetic TRH tries to duplicate) affect Every. Single. Cell. of your body (http://www.bastyr.edu/news/health-tips/2012/04/what-your-thyroid-and-what-does-it-do).  Every one of them. When you have your thyroid unceremoniously removed (without notice or true explanation), or when you stop your TRH, your cells FREAK THE HECK OUT and you go into a horrific tailspin of exhaustion/psychosis/stupidity that is truly unprecedented. No one can prepare you or your family for the trainwreck you will become; you get super-emotional, you start gaining weight like a manatee (#15 in 2 weeks!!!), you can’t stay warm, and you don’t have enough sense to adequately explain what is happening to you, so your family just thinks you’re being a giant douchebag.You forget things, you have (-) energy, and your brain function declines into something resembling Silly Putty.

It sucks.

That was my Christmas.

And then the floods came. 

JD and I were staying at my parents’ house, which was supposed to be a time of rest for me. However, their basement flooded, and they had to unpleasant task of keeping the water at bay. JD had to be corralled into the largest room of their house, and I had to chase him more than I physically could…and THEN the highways closed, so David couldn’t come get us until New Year’s Eve. We were all exhausted, JD was out of his routine (and acting out), and my “break” wound up being incredibly stressful for ALL of us. Honestly, it was just a total comedy of errors that was further complicated by nature…I’m grateful to my family for letting us stay with them, and for as much help as they were able to give with JD when I wasn’t able to manage him at times during the day…but it was definitely difficult.  By the time we were finally back home, my bed never felt so good (and I really didn’t want to crawl out).  I still had to go back to work for 1 week without my thyroid meds; by the time the week ended, I was only able to work a half-day before coming home and sleeping it off for a few hours. BRUTAL.

On Friday, 1/8, David and I headed to Barnes for my baseline scan (I’d had a radioactive tracer two days before). The scan took about 90 minutes, and afterwards, we headed to Siteman to get the interpretation. I already had my lab results, so I knew my tumor markers were up, and that my cancer was back. I was totally prepared to deal with that—you take a dose of radiation, you start your thyroid meds back up the next day, and all is well for 6 months. Except….

That didn’t happen.

My scan was negative.

According to the Radiation Oncologist, because my labs show that I have cancer, but my scan can’t find it. They believe the cancer cells are now “smart” cells, and no longer uptake the tracer radiation/treating radiation, so the next move is to have a PET scan at the end of this month. I really don’t like that idea; to me, PET scans tell you a lot of stuff that you don’t necessarily WANT to know…I realize that I’m being ridiculous about it, but in my gut, that’s one test that I’ve never been a fan of. It’s the equivalent of someone asking you, “How are you?” and instead of you answering with “Fine, and you?” you instead word-vomit on them with everything they ever wanted to know about you, your day, your ancestry, and your Instagram of what you had for breakfast. It’s too much information, and more about myself than I really want to know.

I told you I was being ridiculous about it.  It really is the best kind of scan for what I’m dealing with (which is NOTHING. Slow-moving, non-aggressive cancer that really should be called something else.). It’s just super-invasive to me, and something I’m not looking forward to.

I’m disappointed, kind of scared, frustrated at the lack of time/money, time off of work. Driving to-and-from Barnes is an exercise in anxiety-management for me, dragging my family into this for care of myself and/or my son is a pain, blah, blah, blah, blah…It’s stupid. I’m totally not cool with what’s going on right now. I’m resigned to it, but I’m not cool with it. My biggest frustration is the nagging question of “why” that I’m struggling NOT to ask God, but I find myself asking in the wee hours…Like, why are we dealing with this (after all we’ve been through, do we not have enough “credit” to get a “pass” of some sort?!?”)? Why can’t we just hit our “Easy” button? Do we get an “Easy” button? Did we piss God off some way, that He’s hitting that “smite” button? Are we cursed? People must think we’re cursed at this point…or just, like, really, really bad sinners, that we’re dealing with this kind of judgement on our lives…

I am ridiculous.

As soon as these questions flash through my brain, I smack them down. They’re gnats from the enemy, annoyances that attempt to embed in my heart and my brain, to take down my spiritual life. I see them for what they are, and I try not to give those thoughts the time of day. They only lead to pain in my heart, and they’re ultimately pointless. I want His will, and I want to lean on Him. I want my husband and family to lean on Him. I trust Him, even when I’m not seeing Him clearly, which I’m not right now.

He knows what He’s doing, even when I feel ultimately perplexed. This is a season, and it will all be clear at some point. He lets me know through random things that He’s here, and He’s listening; that He has a point, and that He loves me ferociously. That’s what I can focus on. A lot of people are going through a LOT worse, a lot harder, and I really have nothing to whine about. It’s the aggravation more than the physical issues that I’m struggling with; I know SO many people that are dealing with BOTH, and my heart goes out to them. They are far more deserving of prayers, meals, hugs, etc., than David & I are, because we are not dealing with a severe issue here.  My TRH is regulated, and as long as I stay on it, I’m good. I’m back on it now, so my life is fine, even with the PET scan looming at the end of this month.

We’re good. We’re fine; JD is getting back into the swing of things, and after a week of being a Tiny Tyrant, he looks like he grew 3” and has finally calmed down. We are well, we will continue to be well, and we are thankful for the health care providers that are in communication and are managing my issues.

That’s my update…Now, if only I could nap….a lot…

"Storyteller...."

I am a born storyteller.
I don't say that in an arrogant way; it's just part of who I am, and how I live. I'm from such a colorful family that I think I came into being a storyteller in the most organic way possible. We're just a fun, crazy, vibrant bunch of people that live in superlatives. I can't tell you about anyone in my family in a simple, short way. We're all too complex...but then again, isn't everyone?
I married another bright, colorful, emphatic person (although people don't always see that in David, trust me when I say that he's funnier than all of us. You just have to wait a little bit...) from a hilarious family. We're all as they say, the "salt of the earth." We're honest (to a fault), ornery, ferociously loyal, and just...well, we're just US. You can't survive in that kind of family without learning to relay your experiences to others (if anything, just for the moral support, LOL!), and in doing so, you have to learn to fully describe/justify/embrace the crazy, so you become (in the best of ways) a STORYTELLER.

I love songs that talk about the stories of our lives. I fell in love with a song called "Happily Ever After" by He Is We a few years ago; the lyrics caught in my head, and I find myself humming them in various moments:

"We all have a story to tell. Oh, happily ever after, wouldn't you know, wouldn't you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who'd like to know, I'd like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?"

Everyone has a story to tell...and sometimes, all we want to know is the final answer.  Do we end up happy?

That's the greatest thing about knowing Jesus: Yes. Yes, we end up happy, and we end up happier than anything we could have ever realized on this earth. That's the assurance we have, and I've had to embrace that assurance just to keep breathing, more times than I could tell. No matter how this life ends, we have that hope, and I can tell you, it is more than a figment of my imagination. Heaven is real; Jesus is real, and His salvation is tangible. I've felt Him embrace the most broken of hearts...I have no doubts in His existence, and I have no doubts in what His love can do for your life (end mini-sermon :))

Someone posted on Facebook today, and asked what the greatest thing we've learned in 2015 was. My first reaction was, "Well, honey, the year's not over yet!" I've learned that no matter how much I want something to be over and done with, it's not over until the clock strikes midnight on 12/31. Frankly, I'm DONE with this year. It's been a difficult year, but it certainly hasn't been my hardest. It's just been confusing and frustrating, but far from heartbreaking. I answered the post and said three things: 

1. I've learned about brokenness in new ways (that word, "cancer" will do that to you, even when it's an easily-treatable one. It still hurts.).
2. I've learned about motivation (knowing that you have a toddler to take care of, will motivate you when you think your strength is gone).
3. I've learned a whole, new definition to the term "teamwork" (I am terrible about telling my husband what a team we make...how helpful he can be...how shrewish I can be, about things like socks on the floor, when he's come home and taken over caring for a Tiny Tornado because I'm too exhausted to move. Knowing he's coming home, and that my little family is complete, is a joy to me every single day. I love that man, and I wouldn't have picked anyone else. Also, my mom and dad have stepped up more times than I can count, in helping us through this year...I can't imagine life without them).

There's a lot more I could say, that I've learned...I've learned about different ways to have fun, I've strengthened some relationships, and ended others. I've embraced changes and fought changes, and just...changed, hopefully, for the better. I've let go of a few wishes and allowed "pause" to affect my dreams. My dreams have changed, and I can feel even now changes coming to the desires of my heart...Things I never thought I wanted are knocking on my heart's door, and I don't know how it's going to play out, but I know if it's of God, He will work it all out. There are mysteries to come, and changes to come, and I know 2015 has been a year of preparation in some ways...although I don't necessarily know for what.  

I went to a birthday party yesterday for my Aunt Mary. A lot of people never realized that my mom was adopted into the family, years and years ago, and that she and my Aunt are actually step-sisters (mom's adopted dad married Mary's mom, Henrietta. Henrietta was the only Grandma I ever knew, and I miss her a great deal). Aunt Mary is so much like my Grandma; from her colorful personality, her constant joy, and her endless travels, she resembles Grandma as much in spirit as she does in body. Now, mind you, in my eyes, my Grandma was a saint. For me to say someone reminds me of Grandma is the highest compliment I can give, and in my lifetime, I've only said that about two people: Mom, and Aunt Mary. That should put it in perspective.

There were pictures everywhere from Mary's life, with her kids; we hadn't all got together in years, and I couldn't believe the changes in all of us; we all grew up! My cousin Jonathan had a full beard! AND KIDS!!!!! And I have kids! What happened to us?!?!?!?  Meanwhile, Aunt Mary pretty much looks the same, minus the beautiful, white hair.  It was wonderful, to see everyone gather and show love for such a wonderful person...such a beautiful story, and such a vibrant soul. I love my Aunt Mary and all of my cousins, and to all be together in one room just evoked the spirit of my Grandma in the very best way. It was pretty rad, truth (photo of Mary and the Grandkids from Cousin Judy!)

That being said, my Mama made an UH-MAZING cake, and she did it the only way she knows how: BIG. Four separate layer cakes, frosted and piped in homemade buttercream:

It was gorgeous, tasted awesome...and crashed to the floor.

Those top two tiers? The made-from-scratch carrot cake and the red velvet cake? Yeah--they crashed right where Mom is standing in this picture, shortly after Mary got to blow her candles out. The entire room gave a collective "OOOOOOOHHHH!;" I went running to clean up, and Mom? Mom just charged in, cut up the surviving cakes, kept smiling, and looked fabulous. No tears, no swearing, and no throwing of sharp objects.

I'm impressed, to say the least. 

When I say that I'm a natural-born Storyteller, things like this explain why: My mom used the experience of a destroyed cake to talk about how God makes messes into miracles. She used the experience to give Him glory, even in the middle of what could have been a total disaster. She was able to laugh, when anyone else would have fallen through the floor in embarrassment. She lived her faith, even in that small of a thing...this is the example that God gave me. This is what I have in my life, to point me toward Him.

How could I not have a story to tell?

We laughed through it; we have QUITE a memory of the party and of the day (so many laughs!); and we were definitely tired by the end of it all (except for my pickle-thieving toddler--he was wired. Cake.).  But more than that, I have a new point of reference for the year. My whole year kind of feels like a cake that crashed to the floor, in a lot of ways. It's been a really tough year for me, physically, but more than anything, spiritually, in ways I haven't really discussed. I feel like I've put so much effort into "life," but in a lot of ways, it's a bit of a smashed cake. 

We're gonna laugh about it, though. 

We're going to look at the bright spots: My son, and his ever-changing personality...his discoveries....the adventures of life with a toddler.  My husband, and the ways he's expanded into doing things he didn't realize he could do, both at home and on the job. My parents, and the ways they've been absolute rocks through the storm.

We're going to laugh about not only the "smashed cake" of the year; we're going to laugh at the work that went into it, and the love, and the heart...we're going to focus on the ties that bind us to each other on this journey, and we're going to embrace the good, the bad, and the hilariously broken.

We're going to tell the story together, of 2015, and we're going to love every page.

After all--we all know how it ends. He loves us....smashed cake, and all.

"Storyteller"
Morgan Harper Nichols

On a Sunday evening I'm looking back
Over all the years and where I've been.
Looking at old photographs, I'm remembering
You were right there and You have been ever since.
With every page that turns I see Your faithfulness.
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
There were some nights that felt like
They would last forever.
But You kept me breathing.
You were with me right then.
And all that You have done for me,
I could never hold it in.
So here's to me telling this story over and over again.
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell
You hold the broken
You hear my every cry, every cry
My eyes are open
I know that it is well, it is well
[x2]
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell
For years and years and years I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell

Find Me in the Waiting...

Find me in the waiting….              

So, here I am…waiting.

Lots of people are waiting for something right now. I have a friend who’s waiting for travel visas to China, so she can pick up the special-needs child her family is adopting. The process is agonizingly-slow, and she’s READY TO GO…The nervous anticipation she’s posting on Facebook is palpable. I find myself curling my toes and bouncing my knees when I read her posts, because I’m So. Darn. Impatient, on her behalf.

God moves on His own timetable.

Darn it.

So we wait….

My sister is waiting for something right now…a chapter to close. She knows it’s coming, but she doesn’t know when, and every week or so, I’ll text her and ask, “Do you have a date, yet?” We’re trying to plan out the holidays, but it’s nearly impossible, without definite information.

Time is dragging.

And so, we wait…..

I am waiting.

I am waiting to find out what the swelling in my neck means. I am waiting to find out why an ultrasound was needed…and then a CT scan, after the results from the ultrasound looked less-than-ideal.  Having your doctor call you and say, “We need you at the imaging center right away; how soon can you get there?” is scary…You gather your things, leave your office, make arrangements for your son, and you drive (mostly within the limits)…You get there, and the staff remembers you, and gives you “the look.”

You say, “Don’t feel sorry for me! Let’s get this over with!” and you call your pastor, because even if neither of you know what’s going on, there’s something beautiful in hearing him say, “Let’s pray.” It’s good to know people that mean it, when they say they’re praying.

I didn’t make the imaging center wait; I hauled myself there in record time…But they are making ME wait, and I know it’s not their fault…

But let’s get it over with.

Rip the damn band-aid off, and tell me what’s happening in this mutinous body of mine.

I am waiting.

I am praying.

And I know He’s there now, and He’s already there at the end, and He already knows the results, and He isn’t scared, at all…

This weekend, David & I had an extended date that was already planned. We had a friend who watched JD; David had done their family photos a few weeks ago, so they kindly agreed to take care of The Loinfruit. They love him so much, and I know he was happy to see them. We went to The Original SpringsHotel and Mineral Spa in Okawville, IL (highly recommended), and did a simple spa admission. The mineral baths are heavenly; there’s a dry sauna and a pool, and if you want to pay extra for a massage, they have wonderful massage therapists. We skipped that part, because I’m not a good candidate for massage right now.  The restaurant is AMAZING, and has the best fried chicken you’ve ever had (True Story!), so we stayed for lunch, and headed home…We laughed (a lot), and really didn’t talk too much about the Elephant in the Room.

We just hung out, two people that love each other fiercely, and who have been through so much worse…two people that couldn’t navigate this crazy life without one another holding on. He’s my soulmate, and I’d like to think that I’m his, as well. He’s my very best, dearest, most attractive friend, and he knows me better than anyone…We had fun, and as we drove back, I thought about our life together, and what an adventure we are always on…never a dull moment!

That evening, David did what was to me, the most important photo shoot he’s done since our children were born. He was asked to do an impromptu, informal photo shoot with a family where the patriarch is terminal. So far, I’ve been unable to look at the pictures, because from the two shots I’ve seen, the love this man has for his family, and they, for him, is so rich and so beautiful; my heart can’t handle it. This man loves Jesus, he’s raised a godly family that has had children of their own, and he knows where he’s going. That doesn’t make it easier to leave, or to say goodbye…Well, maybe it does, but it still hurts.

He doesn’t have an exact date, just a timeline…

So they wait.

They cling to each other; they make these the sweetest days…

And they wait.

My friend is waiting for travel passes and adoption papers…my sister is waiting for closure.  I am waiting for answers, and my other friend’s father is waiting for the end of the last chapter of a story he’s been writing for decades….

The waiting will break you, if you’re not grounded.

The waiting will take you to your knees…which is perhaps, the best place for all of us to be as we go through these processes. We find strength in ourselves, when we can answer our own questions. When we have definite dates, we begin the stress of preparation.

But in the waiting, everything is open-ended. Everything is up in the air, and we are on shaky ground…we are on rafts, in the middle of the rapids.

He is our Anchor.

Find Him in the waiting; cling to Him, and have stability in the ever-changing waters of uncertainty…

He is our Peace…He is our steady ground…

All of us that I mentioned in this post are waiting, praying, hoping, and seeking…and all of us know that He has His ways, and His timing…we all know He is not ignoring us, or pushing us away. Our Father loves His children.

So, we wait for Him to rescue us….even when that doesn’t look like what we think it should look like.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVd7Hh5WCyc