from an article originally posted December 3, 2014…
Oh, my heart. Oh, my sad and covetous and jealous heart. I have recently been in so many interviews, and I am often asked if I struggle feeling angry over the path we find ourselves walking. My answer is typically the same: I have fought to be broken instead of bitter and angry. It’s not a simple journey.
from an article originally posted December 2, 2014…
I am a rock star at packing the basket. I fill my basket with comforts: blanket, magazine, essential oil to help avoid the awful of my port being flushed, music, lotions. My nurse and I know this dance, we have danced this dance for a long time. She and I banter, we do what we have to do, and I’m callous about it all. Then as I turn to put my head down I see Jen is crying. She hates to see this dance. She hates to see me suffer. It’s good to be reminded of heart in the midst of doing the next thing. It’s good to see tenderness, brokenness when my own heart is callused to these ugly dance moves that I’m dancing to live. I simply do them. I have forgotten how sad they are. It was good to be reminded by the cherished and kept tears of my friend Jen.
rom an article originally posted November 10, 2014…
I have a short list of friends, these are the friends I feel I never for one second deserved. Friends that are so utterly given to grace and love I cannot feel anything but blessed by their love and friendship. If I’m honest my list isn’t actually all that short. It’s this long, endless list of people that choose grace, meet and extend love to others, and live from a place of tenderness. I am humbled to know so many. God must know my weak faith and constant need of reminding. God is gathering more and more of these people to my heart daily. These lovers of truth point me towards hope, remind me of goodness, and remember we all need to laugh. Yesterday I received two poems. One was written by my friend John, and another came from Emily Dickinson. Both, well, you’ll see. Both reminded me of goodness.
from an article originally posted October 27, 2014…
Waiting, waiting, I have been waiting to feel better. I keep looking around the corner of this disease to find the sunrise of normal to rise. Yesterday, I turned to Jason and asked him what it felt like to feel normal. I asked him what if felt like to not feel weak. I feel like I’m starting to forget. Instead of embracing the moment of feeling a bit better, I’m beginning to panic over the coming treatment. But I remember enough of normal living and loving to long, long, long for a day of normal. I plan normal days, dream of events where we are all present and strong. Not huge strong, but sweet walk-on-a-fall-day strong, sit-by-a-fire-with-a-book strong, laughter-through-tears strong. He turned to me and said, I forget normal too; I have a wife with cancer.
from an article originally posted October 23, 2014…
Since the birth of my first daughter, I have written my journals in light of them one day being read. They are simply a family history. The small, silly moments captured, the hard journey in life we have traveled. The honest assessment of each day. So I have journal after journal capturing the essence of our life. One day soon I will reread them to remember those exhausted, amazing days of life with my littles. It was important writing, because in the midst of sleep deprivation, it’s hard to remember. I look forward to revisiting those most precious years I captured in my journals. One day my children may want to read that journey. Maybe not, but it will be there for them. I was always careful to journal with freedom. Some weeks I would write and write, some months the entire month would pass before I would write. But I gave myself freedom.
