CHASE AWAY CANCER

This Is The Week

This is the week.

This is the week I’m going to write more.

This is the week I’m going to have brilliant insights.

This is the week I’m going to take better care of myself and those around me.

…the week I’m going to be more intentional about the words of Jesus.

…more intentional about parenting.

…about a child with special needs.

…about my neighbors.

…my friends.

…my spouse.

This is the week.

This is the week that nobody is going to get sick.

This is the week that all the meals will be beautifully home-cooked – even the last minute ones.

This is the week that I’m not going to raise my voice.

…that nobody is going to cry.

…that life isn’t going to seem like such a struggle.

…that the joy will outweigh the hurt.

…the pain.

…the terminal.

…the endlessness of it all.

This is the week.

This is the week I’m going to solve things.

This is the week I’m going to be ahead of the ball.

This is the week I’m going to spin all the plates.

…I’m going to make it look easy.

…find my groove.

…get it right.

This is the week.

This is the real week.

In this real week, I can’t find words that I haven’t already said.

In this real week, I don’t want to write about all the silly frustrations that hamper and shame.

In this real week, I’ve already given up on self-care before I started because there’s just too much to do.

…I already plugged a fiction book into my headphones; reaching directly over my untouched bible to push “play” on my phone.

…And then I yelled at my kids to be quiet.

…especially the kid who can’t hardly control his volume.

…while I closed the blinds to the neighborhood.

…and let resentment fester that work was keeping my husband out of the house and away from the family again.

This is the real week.

The reservoirs of joy, thankfulness, and intentional living are on empty…or beyond empty (if there is such a concept).

This week is dead on arrival and it isn’t even here yet.

Call the code. Throw in the towel. But wait…

There may still be a week.

There may still be a week because it isn’t about me anyway.

There may still be a week because my story is not really my own.

There may still be a week because any good thought I have is a God gift.

There may still be a week because I can ask for wisdom and it is promised to me.

…because I have a merciful high priest in Jesus.

…because the mercy is new every morning.

…because my life is atypical for a glory reason I don’t yet see.

…because I plan things and then Jesus directs it all.

…because while I have breath, I can still surrender.

…my family, my neighbors, my friends, my spouse.

…the pain, the terminal, the endlessness of it all.

This is the week.

This is the week formed by Perfect Love – just like the last week and the one that comes next too.

This is the week with glory purposes that have yet to unfold.

This is the week that dawns moment by moment in grace.

This is the week…

…the day.

…the moment.

…the breath.

…that the Lord has made.

Rejoice.

The story is bigger than the week.

~MbM~

When Five Days Turn Into Five Weeks

Sometimes I sit down to write and five days turn into five weeks when the sickness and weariness go long and the days are short.

Sometimes all it takes is five seconds to forget – from one breath to the next – that God has sustained this far and will continue to do so. And in those five pin pricks of time, well then, that is when the discouragement creeps and says “It isn’t enough…YOU aren’t enough.”

But here’s the truth: that voice of discouragement is both right, and terribly, awfully wrong (Praise God!). It’s true that I’m not enough, but…BUT…I don’t have to be enough. GOD IS ENOUGH and when I am at my weakest, he shows his strength to be most beautiful and right.

Boys getting ready for school and being, well, boys.

And into these struggles fall the crazy but normal business of little kids (some of whom are suddenly not so little), my first engagement speaking at a women’s retreat (!), another writing assignment, and of course, the random child who stamped the name “Chase” on the family room window sill and refuses to confess.

Keep finding joy…

Keep breathing…

Keep remembering that He is enough…

Keep letting go of all the moments I think I have to be strong…

Preparing to speak with my amazing retreat-planner-friend, Carley

During an incredible weekend spent with some amazing Christian women at their retreat, I got to address some of these feelings and scratch the surface of what God has been teaching me in regards to living in authentic community with himself and others. Here’s just a hot second on applying what He gives us in suffering and love equally (the vertical) into our relationships and interactions with others (the horizontal):

“The concept of GRACEFULNESS is a necessary balm for the open and honest life. I’m not talking about the ability to walk without tripping, but rather, a GRACE-FILLED life – graciousness, really. Ephesians 4:29 takes us through what our speech should look like with others – nothing unwholesome, things that edify – GIVING GRACE TO THOSE WHO HEAR. Think of those around you almost like an immune compromised cancer survivor – it doesn’t take much to inflict damage and pain. Being authentic frees us in AMAZING ways, but it also makes us very, very vulnerable, and to this end, we bless and encourage each other to remain open by grace-filled treatment of one another. 1 Corinthians reminds us that love “bears all things, believes all things, and endures all things”. Think about applying this to your weekly interactions with others. Do you believe the best of others? Do you have the ability to see them or interact with them outside your pre-conceived notions? Practicing graceful living is a crucial part of Spirit-filled living and will help encourage an atmosphere of authenticity in any community because we will genuinely, dramatically be attempting to see each other the way Christ sees us: not without faults, but precious in the redemption plan all the same.”

Post retreat weekend rest with my “bald boy”

So back to your regularly scheduled programming, and somehow, even though five seconds turned into five days and then five weeks, my heart is full because God is love, he is enough, and this sustains the next breath.

I hope as you progress in this already passing-too-quick week, you are encouraged to find his strength enough to help you and that you find ways to live in authentic community with others and the ONE who loves you best.

Moment by moment.

**If you are interested in having Ellie speak at an event, please contact her by email at ellieewoldt@gmail.com**

Free

Dear ones, this last month has been full of speaking and writing projects, but I wanted to go back in time just a little because I miss you and it’s been a long four weeks. I originally wrote this in the Easter season of 2013 while Chase was in treatment and I’d recently received some very critical feedback on desiring to find joy in suffering. A dozen times, I sat down to write out a “So there!” defense of where Bob and I stood, but there were no good words…until Easter. My freedom to write isn’t bound up in who I am (I need no argument or plea!), but rather, in who God is.

Free to write, free for joy, free in Christ because of the cross.

I hope you are free this weekend, this year, and this life too.

Our weeping is for a season, but joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5).

Waiting for the Eternal Morning!

~ E

As a Christian, Easter is one of the most important times of my year. It’s the season I set aside to celebrate what Jesus did for me, but this year is more precious as I consider how the events of Easter fit into our cancer world.
I believe with all my heart that Jesus is the son of God, that the Bible is true, and that the promises it contains are real and this is why I so often include verses in my blog posts–to remind myself of what I know to be true when my circumstances are overwhelming (which they often are). In those moments, I literally have the physical sensation of drowning. Believing as I do doesn’t change the pain of cancer or anything else in this life, but it can and does change how I face the drowning moments.
Often, like the thief on the cross next to Jesus–not the mocker, but the other–the weight of life and pain (some self-inflicted, some not) closes in and I cry out. And then comes the reply,
“Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
That’s it! This is the answer to the agony. The pain and suffering is only a season, because death is swallowed up in Jesus’ glorious victory and its sting is gone. One day soon I will be with Jesus in Heaven!
Because I know God made me, and I will be in Heaven with Him forever when this weary life is over, I am freed from the drowning to feel joy in sorrow and peace in chaos. Death may be sad, but it need not sting because this life is not the end, but the beginning.
In the midst of this cancer world, there can be incredible, inexplicable peace because my ultimate struggle has already been resolved. My sin was taken care of on the cross by God Himself! All that happens in my life is what He lovingly allows for His pleasure and glory. Someday I will be complete and lacking in nothing and with Him forever in fullness of joy.
This is my cancer foundation. This is my life foundation.
Moment by moment.
“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelations 21:4

Amazing Easter thoughts that encouraged my heart today ~

Ann Voskamp writes from the perspective of the mother who watches her son die… How Good Friday Meets All Our Hard.

Greg Morse shows how A Savior Stepped Forward on the Desiring God blog.

Dear Sister-Mama

Dear Sister-Mama,

Welcome to the trenches.

I know I’ve said a lot of this before, but today, it needs to be said again: Each despairing, awful pit looks slightly different, but we’re all down here, in here together.

Your emotional and physical survival of everything from the next breath to the next decade will be almost as trial-and-error-ridden as your sweet baby’s treatment journey – just know that right now and know it’s okay too. It’s normal. Well, more “normal” really. Life circumstances just tried to cut you into tiny pieces with words alone – words like “cancer” – and continuing to breathe in these days is a victory not to be discounted.

Self-care when your baby’s in the ICU seems wrong and even selfish, but it’s not, I assure you. No matter how your inner voice wants to condemn you for anything short of laying yourself out next to them in the same pain they’re experiencing, please, please remember that your darling child’s care is only as strong as you are. You are the advocate and the voice, and 99 times out of 100, the responsibility of medications, schedules, feedings, sterilizations, etc, will fall to you. I’ve found it’s much easier to deal with it when I can see straight.

So, with that in mind…

Rest when you can. Trust me, there’s a reason sleep deprivation is used as an alternative questioning tactic in military protocol. When Chase was in treatment, I would have confessed to anything and actually had to stop driving because I was seeing wavy lines and shadows in the corners of my vision. Having a pediatric cancer patient is not unlike having a brand new baby in this way – please try and sleep when they sleep. You’ll need it.

Walk out of the hospital. For real. Even just down to the sidewalk in front of the building and then back. It sounds like the tiniest thing, but if you don’t make a conscious effort to incorporate the outside world in even minuscule ways, it will shrink and then go away entirely – leaving you with nothing but the cancer – which isn’t mentally healthy. And, let’s face it: who among us wants to give this awful terrorist of a disease that kind of credence in our lives? [hint: not me]

Seek a community. Church, friends, family, other cancer patients. Get involved on some level. Don’t let cancer take up all your mental and emotional energy. It doesn’t deserve that much from you. See also: my previous point on world-shrinkage.

See your dentist. Yes, I said it and meant it too. There’s a reason I don’t like to smile with my lips open. When you spend days being shuffled from room to room for appointments and rushing to emergency rooms, you’re just trying to remember to breathe, and maybe if you have an extra second; eat. There’s very little time for thoughts of flossing. So, from me to you: treatment will take it out of you on so many levels, but if at all possible, remember you have a dentist.

Have a mental safety net. Whether you see a counselor, talk to your spouse, or sit down with a dear friend, have someone there to keep you from feeling like you’re going crazy. Cancer is truly a war of it’s own kind. Your body responses will become conditioned to incredible long-term, high-stress scenarios and evidence points to this type of emotional and physical toll not being healthy for the brain. Some universities and medical institutions are even starting to pick up study links between traumatic pediatric care-giving situations and high rates of post traumatic stress – the same thing soldiers who’ve been to war face. This area is no joke, dear sister-mamas. Don’t be afraid to get help. You’re not going crazy. Your life is crazy. And no matter what you’re feeling, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

There are so many other things I secretly want to throw out for you: go out with friends, have friends come to you, eat chocolate, read a book, cry, laugh, write, take a long walk… But the last thing you need right now is one more person telling you something you need to remember – yet one more alteration you’ll be making to your life. Psh… Chances are good you’ve already experienced enough alterations to last for three life times.

Whether you’re arms will one day be empty or atypically full, life is desperately short. No matter the kind of cancer story you’re called to, it will undoubtedly be a life-long marathon, not a sprint. So, stay the course, dear sister-mama. You are not alone.

All my love from the trenches,

Ellie

Oh, dear ones, thank you so much for all the love and prayers today!
First we were blessed by a modified testing regime – minimizing Chase’s seizure risk and bringing the test closer to three hours instead of four or more.

Chase is surrounded in the intense search for a working vein.

Then, we were completely overwhelmed by nearly two hours of IV drama – at one point, Chase’s bed was surrounded by vascular access specialists, child life counselors, nurses, and parents all trying to save an access point after four failed attempts.

And finally, we were so thankful to get to see lots of wonderful nurses and friends who cared for Chase during his chemo days.

Chase and his nurse today – one of his very first nurses ever – Meghan

Knowing me, I’ll write more later, and for now, we wait (our favorite) for results and a plan.

And how I wish you could have seen the boy once the pain and tears of all the needles were behind him. He practically swaggered through the halls, ordering people around and smiling with an engaging “Heelllooooo, Ladies” to any and all nurses who passed by.
It’s been quite a day, and it’s a good thing he’s so charming.

Moment by moment.