From an article originally posted December 17, 2013…
I have grown a new love; actually, it’s a love I’ve had for a long, long time. Putting these words I’ve been given on paper has grown into a great love of my heart. Like a pastor who preaches over himself in the hopes of taking hold of a new truth of the gospel, writing is a place I write beyond myself. I write my hopes, my fears, my longings to take hold of truths. Some days I meet the expectation of love I write about, others days I fail extraordinarily and find myself in the glorious humble place of repentance.
I would say I write from my heart, but I’m no doctor; I’m pretty sure that’s a metaphor. It was a deep blow when breast cancer was found in my brain. Cancer in your brain is a blow on many levels, but particularly in this place of love where I meet y’all and myself each day. Frankly, anything hinky in your brain is never good, and that is why Jason found me curled up in a corner hiding and weeping when the news came. The days that followed offered treatment and hope, but the treatment came at cost. We have since seen my brain recover—it’s been astounding.
I am fond of the brain part of my body. I would be lying if I didn’t have secret hopes that each time cancer returns, it returns to something I don’t really need: appendix cancer, gallbladder cancer…do those even exist? But this brain…it creates these words, these thoughts, builds a community of truth, reminds people of Jesus and grace, and looking, looking, looking for God to show up. I want cancer to not be in that part of me. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever!
Jason and I struggle for peace. Stress sometimes feels like a choice, sometimes it doesn’t. We have these moments, these minutes, these gripping anxieties. Our eyes meet and we know the fears that are taking hold. Truly friends, they are moments. Your prayers are carrying us. Writing right now, I feel utterly peaceful. I’m not anxious for the upcoming test. I feel met in this cliff we feel like we are hanging off of today. I know peace. More peace than I knew last week. Last week there were moments I could not move. I felt paralyzed. There were hours I could not leave my bed. Not today. Today I’m ready to get going. Ready to go hunt for the grace in this day. Join me. There is much grace to eke out of this beautiful day.
Tomorrow I will be given happy medicine and put into another scary snort. I will vomit when they flush my IV as it reminds me of the awfulness of chemo. Jason will have another hard season of waiting before his silly, drugged wife will be returned to him. Then there will be the waiting. Waiting for the results that will mark our coming moments. We long for the giant exhale until the next round of tests, but we know whatever the outcome: we will be met, carried and loved in our story.
What is paralyzing you today? What loop of lies is on repeat in your mind and stealing your peace? What fears are crippling you from seeking truth in this day?