from an article originally posted July 23, 2014...
I woke beside my love, enjoyed my coffee, reading, editing, then I saw the calendar. Today—2 years ago—the words were spoken, I have received the pathology and you do, in fact, have breast cancer. I heard very little after those words were spoken. She went on to outline our battle plan, to show me the images, to tell me what was to come, but all those words became a blur after she confirmed my cancer.
When something unexpected comes along in my life and disrupts my plans, I am quick to panic. Why this particular roadblock? Why now? How am I supposed to handle this? And what good could possibly come of this situation? My questions are rapid-fire.
But instead of reaching for faith, I often travel down the wrong fork in the road.
I often choose to doubt.
from an article originally posted July 21, 2014...
My heart has been stirred once again by a book I read before Jason asked me to be his. I read it so many years ago when I was filled with ideas of what love should be, imaginings of marriage, and wistful daydreams of love. I read the love story of Sheldon and Davy and grew deep expectations and hope for what my love story would one day become. Now, as I return to the story new nearly 20 years later, I see how I have known love like theirs in many ways, but in different ways. And as I read his words, I am often thinking of my own love for Jesus, my Jason, and my littles. The love story that Jesus has developed in me.
from an article originally posted July 20, 2014...
I have a dear friend and I often wake to her texts that remind me she’s praying for me. It’s a lovely way to wake. She often will follow up with a question of how I’m feeling, and that text often makes me a little sad. I want to lie, but she is a friend that wants to hear the truth.
You see, I want to feel good. I want to say I’m great. I want to not feel like I feel today. So yesterday I braved a challenge to my dear friend. I asked her to begin to ask me how I’m living. I asked her to ask me how I’m capturing joy, embracing each moment, living—even when I feel like death. And certainly check in on how I’m feeling. That is loving. So loving. But for a mama that has loved her health, it’s hard to embrace this as my new story.
There’s a pile in our house that I cannot control, no matter how much time I invest. Even when I get to the bottom of the pile, the next hour or day it fills up again. It sounds like a great metaphor for the idols in our hearts, but it’s actually the dreaded ironing pile. You see, in Germany, a dryer is not an everyday appliance. In the States, a dryer is as important and normal as a refrigerator, but here it’s the exception to the rule. So while I do have a dryer (thank goodness!), it’s not as powerful as in the States and I have to iron all my husband’s work shirts, pants, jeans, and all our dresses for us girls. I’m sure others have a bigger pile than mine so I won’t compare, but for me the ironing is one of the chores I have a hard time getting a grip on.
