My fear for our son

That precious face is my pride and joy.

That little two-year-old makes me alternately want to scream in frustration and yet also in exultation at his accomplishments.  He makes me laugh, and I shed tears over him often.  I spend much of my time thinking about his character, his integrity, his heart, his future, his needs, his happiness, and his hurts.

I also spend a lot of time thinking about how he could lose his father.

And I just can't imagine what it would be like to grow up like that.  I had both of my parents - still do.  All of my friends growing up were children of two-parent families.  I have no frame of reference for what it is like to be raised as the only child of a single parent.  And to suffer the excruciating loss of a parent at an early age...no, I cannot identify with that whatsoever.

You see, I have come to a certain level of acceptance of what the possibility of Ryan's death could mean for me.  I know in my head - no matter what is ahead of me tomorrow, I will have abounding grace to tackle it.  Whether that is the weariness of being a cancer caretaker for many, many years, or the heartache of burying the love of my life - I know that somehow, some way - I will endure that.

But the thing is, I am in my late twenties.  I have been a Christian long enough and I have been in this situation long enough to know that God will sustain me through any pain that might be in store.

But that sweet boy that is pictured above - he doesn't know that yet.

And likely, I will be one of the major people in his life to introduce him to this concept of contentment despite heartache, and commitment to God through any circumstances.

Gulp.  No pressure, ya know?

Ultimately, I'm afraid for my son and his future.  I'm afraid he might grow up bitter if he loses his dad.  I'm afraid that he will always feel an aching and a profound sense of loss that no male relative or family friend will ever be able to begin to ease.  And I'm afraid for myself - how would I ever provide for my son's emotional and spiritual needs?  What if I fail my son?

What if I fail my husband and his expectations for our son's upbringing?

"God is an ever-present help in trouble." Psalm 46:1

"A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling." Psalm 68:5

As much as my head can start spinning when I consider all of the possible outcomes and all of my shortcomings as a mother (and a person in general), I have to just stop.  STOP.

My God is sufficient.  For me.  For my husband.  For my son.

For you.

And - deep breath - no matter what is in store, God is going to support me (us), hold me (us) upright, gird me (us), and defend me (us).

Psalm 23

A psalm of David.

1 The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.

2     He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

3     he refreshes my soul.

He guides me along the right paths

    for his name’s sake.

4 Even though I walk

    through the darkest valley,

I will fear no evil,

    for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

    they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me

    in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

    my cup overflows.

6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me

    all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of the Lord

    forever.

Thank you, God, for being enough for me.  For Ryan.  For Colton.

Thank you for protecting all three of us.  And I know you will continue to, no matter what lies ahead.

Panic at the Home Depot

Full disclosure: I am really, really struggling with fear right now.

Yes, I know Joshua 1:9 tells me to not be afraid.  I've been commanded.  I know that my God is a strong tower in a storm.  I know that the He has plans to prosper me and not to harm me.  But with very important scans staring us in the face and my husband mysteriously has dropped weight recently, I am almost at full-scale panic attack.

My meltdown this afternoon came about very strangely.  I had a lot of time to kill between parent-teacher conferences, so I decided to go wander around and enjoy the beautiful warm air, so unlike a late October day here in The Mitten.  I walked into a Hallmark store and began to browse around.  I picked out a couple of Christmas ornaments for friends with new babies, and I was scanning the aisles for other treasures.  Suddenly I came upon a rack of recordable books, the tagline "Recordable Books - for when you're not there to read it yourself".  All of a sudden, I had this "flash-forward" (kind of the opposite of a flashback), envisioning my son listening to one of those books at seven years old with his father's voice coming out of the book.  Because his dad isn't there.  Because his dad had died of cancer.

I froze.  Dropped the ornaments right there next to the books and hightailed it out of the store.

My mind a jumble and my nerves shot, I decided that Home Depot would be a nice, big place to get anonymous and lose myself in admiring appliances.  But I could not shake that image of my son listening to his dad's voice through a recorder.  I actually began to cry (in public) while standing in front of carpet samples.  I was horrified and I'm pretty sure that the Home Depot employees were, too.

I trust in you, Lord.  I know that no matter the outcome of these scans this week, that your will should be done.  And it will be.  But I'm so darn scared.  I'm so darn scared of that image of my precious son, fatherless.  I beg of you, God, please heal my husband.

My igloo

A storm is swirling around me.

I don't know what the storm is bringing.  High winds?  Lightning?  Hail?  Snow?  I'm not sure.  I can't see a weather forecast, so I'm clueless.

All that I know is that the storm is going to be hellish.  Painful.  Scary.  I have to protect myself from the storm somehow.  What should I do?

There are a couple of ways that I could go about this.  I could stay outside and chance being struck down or injured.  If I stay outside and pay attention to what's going on, I will feel the storm.  I will feel the full brunt of the rain.  I will sway on my feet as the winds scream about me and threaten to knock me down.  On the other hand, I might catch a glimpse of a beautiful rainbow when the storm is done, or appreciate the way the thick clouds swirl around me, appreciating the beauty in the midst of the pain.

But that's not what I've chosen to do.

I've chosen to build an igloo to hide in.

Slowly but surely, I have gathered large ice bricks.  Clink, clink, clink.  I laid the foundation of ice carefully, ensuring that no strong breeze would knock over my igloo.  I sealed the entire igloo, so that no rain or wind can come inside.  The ice is thick.  It is cold.  It is protective.  The ice is so thick that when I sit inside of my igloo, I cannot hardly see or hear the storm.  I also cannot see those beautiful, dark clouds that display incredible power, nor can I see even the most brilliant of rainbows.  It is dark in here.  It is blank, all-encompassing darkness.

Inside my igloo, it is quiet.  It is so cold, though.  I have gone numb inside of my igloo.  Long ago I stopped shivering.  I just wait inside of my igloo with my eyes shut, ignoring the faint sounds of wind as the storm approaches.  Wait.

When will the storm end?

I have no idea.  It shows no signs of letting up.  The rain and snow and sleet are coming down in wide sheets, pelting the ice barrier around me.

But I'm beginning to have second thoughts about this igloo.

Yes, it has protected me so well.  But what am I missing outside?  How have these thick ice bricks blinded me?

What joys of the storm have passed me by while I sit inside my protective ice shell?

What joy have I missed that the Lord has gifted me, while I've numbed myself to the pain?

Lord, give me the courage to step outside.  Give me the courage to break down these walls of ice that I have so carefully constructed.  Allow me to dance in the rain while the lightning strikes around me, trusting that even in the midst of shrieking wind and punishing hail, that Your protective hand is around me.  I want to experience the joy around me, and even catch sight of that most beautiful promise, that exquisite rainbow, a promise of peace and provision.

It's not easy being a caregiver.

So for all of the bravado about how I trust God no matter what He chooses to do, the pats on the back that I get for being so brave during this journey, and the compliments I get on writing blog posts, there is one truth that remains...

I'm just a normal girl, stressed out of her mind, living in abject fear of losing her husband.

I had a bad night recently. I was laying in bed and it felt like the room was spinning. No, I had not been drinking. I was conjuring up all sorts of thoughts about the future, about how alone I could be, about how hard my life could be, about how much I'm going to miss my husband if he dies, and also just how busy and hard the upcoming week was going to be...and it just got totally overwhelming.  I thought I was going to throw up.

So what did I do?

Naturally, I ran out of the bedroom and out to Ryan, who was engrossed in furthering his education via "Swamp People" or some equally edifying television show.

I cried and sobbed and snotted all over his shirt as I lamented how scared I was.  He listened and we had a great talk.  He shared scripture with me that brought me back to center. I felt a lot better. I didn't feel great, but better. He even turned off the TV and came back to bed to scare off any boogey monsters (or bad thoughts) that I might have.

But I couldn't help but think to myself...

What if there is a day when I don't have Ryan, and I can't run to him with my fears?

Oh gosh, thinking about that can make me sick to my stomach all over again.

But seriously...what if?

I'm not immune to this "what if" stuff.  It literally keeps me up at night.  I know that I'm human and that it's normal to have thoughts like that.  I think it's even excusable.

And I also know the decision that I'll eventually make, again, to trust God when things feel hopeless and like life is falling apart around me.  And I know that the grace that He gives is sufficient for today, and that I'm not to worry about tomorrow.

But for all of the Superwoman front, I must confess that I'm scared out of my ever-loving mind. And there you have it, the full truth.  I am not bulletproof.

Sigh.  Pray for me.  This is not easy.  I have good days and I have bad days.  This is just so hard.

Also, this week is just one where prayer is necessary at every turn.  Please pray for dr. appointments this week - positive results from scans - and peace/comfort no matter what happens.

Goodbye, doubt. Hope wins.

I have had a ghost in my classroom.

It has been hanging around in my red notebook, in which I often write down my students' scores.  I take the red notebook to team meeting on Tuesdays.  I take it to professional development and sign my name into it 100 times and draw daisies (I swear that I have undiagnosed ADD).  My red notebook goes everywhere with me.

On the first page of the notebook is a running score of a game of rummy between my husband and I.  I won't tell you who won this rummy game, but I'll give you a hint - their name rhymes with Bendra.  But the second page of the notebook brings me much fewer smiles than my rummy victory page.

You remember how I mentioned that the red notebook goes everywhere with me?  Yeah, it went to Minnesota with me this past year, too.  If you remember back to April, we didn't exactly take a vacation.  We went to the Mayo Clinic.

The second page of the notebook has my notes from the only meeting that we had with a real doctor during our three days at Mayo.  It is virtually the only memory that I have of that place, besides meeting two awesome people (the Halvorsens), running outside in 30 degree weather with short sleeves on and catching a cold, drinking Caribou Coffee, and buying a lot of hand soap at Trader Joe's.  I also remember waiting a lot to get into this highly-anticipated meeting with our first oncologist.  As you can see from the page, the meeting did not go well.

As I was writing these notes, my stomach had the weirdest feeling, like it was going to leap out through my throat while simultaneously dropping out my bottom.  I blinked back tears and yet I felt like I was too stunned to cry.  I remember staring at my husband, half-expecting him to act sick.  But he didn't, which only added to the surreal feelings that I felt.

When I open up my red notebook, I see this page too often.  The same pangs of fear, uncertainty, and doubt creep into my head.  Hey Kendra.  The doctor may have been a little off on his timeline, but no doubt he'll be right!  Cancer is coming to GET you!

Of course, I can remind myself of the blessings that God has poured out, how He is a God of miracles, and how Ryan's response to treatment has been overwhelmingly positive lately. I can tattoo Psalm 91 on my arm or something. But that stupid paper drops in from time to time, taunting me with its memories and its nay-saying. To say the least, this page has derailed my attitude on more than one occasion.

I remember hearing a sermon once when I was a baby Christian.  It was all about removing "stakes" in our lives that keep us from reaching our fullest potential in Christ.  At the time, I realized that I needed to distance myself from certain friends that weren't healthy for me.  At this point in my life, I am realizing that I am only able to have faith in my God's healing ability until I allow the medical profession to have more power over Ryan's cancer than He does.  This is precisely why the paper can't win anymore.

It has outstayed its welcome.  I think it's time for some closure.

Goodbye, doubt.  Hope wins.

What do you have in your life that strikes doubt in your heart or keeps you from being able to fully trust in God?  Maybe burning isn't the answer, but I think that there needs to be a cleansing of that thing from your life in some way, shape, or form.

Man, I feel better already.

Trust (or a lack thereof)

This past weekend Ryan and I got into an argument.

I know.  You're shocked.

Either you sensed my sarcasm in that last line because you know Ryan and I well enough, or maybe I might have actually surprised you.  You see, just because we are now living life in high definition, does NOT mean that we are perfect or that we have learned all of our lessons.  We didn't fight for about a month and a half after diagnosis, but different situations (including going back to work, adjusting to new rhythms in life, figuring out how to divvy up household responsibilities now, and just the plain stress of cancer life) can really make us edgy.

So here's what it was about.  Basically, Ryan wanted to go for a horseback ride with Colton and I.  That sounds innocuous enough, but it made this mother's blood run cold.  HORSES?!  Those wild beasts.  What if the horse bucked?  What if Colton was thrown from Ryan's arms and he drowned in a pond?  What if a deer jumped out and Colton and Ryan were thrown off from a rearing horse and Ryan broke his back and Colton broke a bone too?  What if Colton got too cold?  What if he cried?  What if the Abominable Snowman, the Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot all converged on our hapless little riding party and the Snowman ate Ryan, Nessy ate Colton, and Bigfoot ran away with me and forced me to marry him?  What if?  What if?  What if?

Now that you've seen the crazy side of me for a second, let's go back to reality.  Ryan was asking to go on a horseback ride with two completely trained, well-broke camp horses from Grace Adventures that routinely carry tiny children around with no incidents.  In all reality, there was about zero reason to worry.  He had the situation handled.  But I lacked trust in my husband, whom I know and love with all of my heart.  In my head, I know that he always has my son's best interests at heart.  But for a minute, I doubted.  And HOO BOY, it created an argument. :)

I know that I've written on this before, but I have had to work on overcoming worry and fear almost every day.  This is something that is on my heart constantly.  I also know for a fact that I have some friends that struggle with worrying even worse than I do, and I'm ninety-nine percent certain that they read this blog.

"Worry is the result of a lack of trust in God's care and providence."  This quote, just read recently, really sums up the lesson I've been learning.  My worrying about our future is directly related to the amount of control that I'm trying to wield over the situation and my lack of faith in God's care of my family.

None of us have the assurance that our lives are going to be easy.  I see lots of my friends around me with stable, comfortable lives and I wish two things for them: #1, that they thank God for that blessing, and #2, that they practice living out their trust in God in the midst of a lulling peace.  Nobody knows when their lives will be flipped upside down, when God is going to call them on a horseback ride through a dark, scary forest.  When God calls your family into danger, are you going to trust that He really does desire for you to live lives of peace?  Jeremiah 29:11 does not promise us that our earthly lives will be devoid of problems.  But it does give us assurance that there is a future of hope, even though the current situation sucks.  The Israelites were being called to wait, and to have faith that at the end of their captivity, there would still be a blessing.  Even if they (I) lose everything, God will still be God and He will still be good.

Beth Moore's Esther study summed it up like this: "If _________ happens, God will still be faithful."  You can fill in the blank with any of your worst nightmares.

I would like to happily report that we went on a great horseback ride and we had a fabulous time.  Ryan was right.  Things were just fine.  I'm so glad that we didn't miss the blessing of a great afternoon because I was too scared to allow us to enjoy it.

Live in the moment and do not worry for tomorrow.  Count your blessings.  They are so numerous, my friends.  We are so blessed.  We are so blessed.

Ever feel like you're in a cyclone?

Anxiety.  Fear.  Sadness.  Grieving.

I'm only seven weeks into this process.  My husband is healthy and for the most part, we are enjoying a normal life.  Things could be a lot worse, I know that.  But for the first time in my life, I am beginning to experience anxiety in a very real way.  The emotions that I'm feeling - overwhelming thankfulness for his (relative) health right now, joy at little moments that we share together - and then the paralyzing fear when a sad future creeps into my mind - are like a roller coaster.  Have I mentioned that I'm not really into carnival rides?  They make me sick.

Today the anxiety amplified when I was notified that I won't have a job next year.  I am very sad about this, not just for myself but for my students' sake.  I love public education and believe that public education is a great opportunity for children to reach their fullest potential.  It breaks my heart to think that my students, who have verbalized how much they hate being in large classes and being in chaos, will be in class sizes of upper 30s next year.  The cuts that are going on in Michigan are very frustrating, and not at all what is best for kids.

But through all of this, I am trying to continually remind myself of a few things.  Trying.

We serve a big God.  Huge.

He is Jehovah Jireh, my provider.

He has a plan that is unfolding, and at this moment I don't understand the big picture, but someday I'll be able to, I'm sure. His ways are higher than my ways, his thoughts higher than my thoughts.

He has plans to prosper us and NOT to harm us.

He is a God of miracles, and he works them every single day.

A woman touched Jesus' robe one time and was healed.  If we have faith that Ryan can be healed, darn it, we have a great chance of that happening.  Or God could just speak and he will be healed - hey God, however you choose to do it is fine by me!

My dear, dear, DEAR friend Lee told me recently that when fear strikes, let it drive me right back to the Lord and dwell there instead of in my fear.  Today when I woke up, I tried doing that instead of letting anxiety attacks control me all day long (like they did yesterday).  And ya know what?  It helped.  Today wasn't great.  Anxiety came and went.  Bad things happened.  But fear didn't rule my day.

Hallelujah.


And in related news, as I write this I can see the Sears Tower - NO, not the Willis Tower or Willetts Tower or whatever people are calling it these days.  We are on our way to Zion to meet with our oncologist and Ryan will start round 2 tomorrow.  Here's hoping for a TKO to the cancer in Round 2.  As the dear friend Lee's husband said at the beginning of round 1, "I can hear those cancer cells crying here in Michigan!"

We won't be getting any scans or real information for three weeks yet.  Please pray for minimal side effects for Ryan after round 2, pray for productive meetings with our care team (we have lots of questions to ask), and for safety while traveling.