grace – Page 2 – CHASE AWAY CANCER

Eight Years

Ever since 2012, July 31st has been the hardest of lovely days to us because it ripped us apart and then stands to remind us every year that we are all still breathing. Because eight years ago, on July 31st, an emergency room doctor was walking into Chase’s room with tears in his eyes, speaking the words over us that changed everything:

“There’s a large mass.”
Tuesday, July 31, 2012

A few days before this strange anniversary day, Darcy and I were walking, trying to carve out a minute to ourselves, talking through the date, the memories, and how it still – even these eight years later – carves us open. [She, this sister girl child that we -perhaps foolishly in our own fear- told to stay in her bed in the dark, is a fourteen year old high school freshman and the sight of flashing lights outside her bedroom window as she curled powerless and scared still hold a vivid place in her mind.] But as Darcy and I walked, talked and processed again, Margaret pulled alongside us. She literally pulled alongside us in her car as we walked and she drove by and as we talked, friend Margaret, a wonderfully gifted photographer, smiled and said lovingly:

“We should take pictures. Eight years is a big deal and we should make it special this way.”

And so, a day later, we gathered at the local park, just Margaret, the kids, and me, and she walked them through a few minutes of life, with her words giving them grace and her camera catching them as they moved.
There were no showers, no hair cuts, no scrubbing up and making beautiful. Chase insisted it be “Cubs theme” and we just grabbed (hopefully clean) clothes out of drawers and went with it.

And suddenly, the shadow of late July lifted for a moment. We put aside the awful memories we experienced those eight years ago, and lived in the joy that is having eight whole years when you didn’t think you’d have any.
The perspective changed through the lens of a camera and a moment of stolen time.

We see the heartbreak, yes. Always.
But we choose joy.

And sometimes it takes someone pulling alongside you to catch the light a certain way and hand it to you when you need it most.

So here’s to eight years.
I will never stop being both horrified and amazed at this life of grace we’ve been given.

“Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me… let me be singing when the evening comes.”
10,000 Reasons (Bless The Lord), Matt Redman

Thank you for walking alongside us, dear ones.
Moment by moment.

[Please enjoy these beautiful, candid gifts that Margaret Henry Photography gave us this week ]

Sibling Speak, Pt 2 [VIDEO]

In some ways, for her, it is the hardest. She was the oldest and remembers the most. She is the oldest and sees the most.

There are many days she would gladly slay when he is manic and won’t get out of her face for so many reasons – too many reasons. But there are just as many days she would gladly slay as she sits in tears, horrified that we live in a world where people look on her little brother with anything other than love and acceptance.

In many ways, she is ‘other’ just as he is – her soul too old for her body, her eyes witness to many things kids her age will never see in their whole lives. She lives with the guilt of resenting something and someone who feels extremely and more temporary than most. She worries that her loved ones will always stay alive and only stay close.

And sometimes, she crawls into bed next to me and needs to talk through how once upon a long-ago July, I yelled for her to stay in her top bunk even as her dad carried a seizing Chase out of the bedroom and the emergency lights flashed through the dark of their bedroom window as her whole world changed before she knew it – before she even ever fully woke up.

The life of a cancer sibling is often a silent, supporting role. It has to be, and they do it so well. But here, in her own words, is a little of Darcy (with some “help” from Chase). This is raw, unfiltered, uncut – All heart, all sibling, all laughter, all pain, all in.

Moment by moment…

This post is dedicated to the siblings of children with cancer and special needs. Please never forget that we see your patience and bravery. You are amazing and beautiful in the struggle.

You Are Loved

“The faithful love of the Lord never ends! His mercies never cease.” Lamentations 3:22

“I can’t do this.”

His precious little mouth contorted on the one side – the way it always did when he became scared. “Mom, I’m not a first grader. I can’t do this. I need to go back to kindergarten.”

Behind his back, the window glowed with the last remnants of the sunset, signaling night…the night before school.

Chase shook his fuzzy, scarred head with each new sentence of voiced fear. After months of proudly proclaiming his being in first grade now and – including outrageous claims for privilege (“I should get to stay up late at night and watch Netflix because I’m a first-grader now, Mom.”) – the time had finally come and he felt himself unequal to the road in front of him.

His words flooded my heart as I heard echoes of my own timid voice in memory. Through his cancer, the ambulances, the hospitals, childbirth, even marriage… big things. Life things.

I can’t do this. God, I’m not ready for this.

I’m too young…

Too immature…

Too imperfect…

Too scared…

I need more time to prepare.

To get it right…

To be aware…

To make it count…

But here’s the thing with life… When I am blind-sided with my weakness and need, God is aware of the plan – my perfect life plan. And when things feel underdone and undone, out-of-nowhere, frenzied and stressed, He alone knows the ways to make them count for my good and His glory.

I knelt in front of Chase and put my hands lightly on his arms. Oh, how I wanted him to listen and connect with the words I needed to say. “Chase, you can and you will – because you are ready. It doesn’t feel like it yet, but you’re ready;” I paused, searching for the right words, “And, you are loved.”

You are loved.

In the hard moments when our brains acknowledge our good and His glory, but daily life throws gut punches that leave us lacking, gasping “I can’t do this”, it comes down to those very few words: I am loved; you are loved. These are the conduit from our head to our heart – from knowing what’s true to believing and resting in what’s good: His faithful love.

This had become a key sentence with my darling cancer survivor over the last several months. With his age and progression comes the increasing sense of “other”. He knows he looks different from those around him and often reacts differently too. He is strong, but it takes precious little for the remorse and regret to set in – and the fear too. I watch him feel unequal to the road in front of him and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that only perfect love can conquer this fear. And I know because I feel my own weakness, sadness and fear.

So, in the sunset before that August big day, as Chase lay his head down to sleep in that sixth year of a life we never thought he’d have, I grabbed the first piece of paper I could find (for it’s the words that are most important, not on what they are written) and I wrote what I believe…what I know and too often forget: You are loved. And then I tucked it, folded small into the blue top pocket of the crisp, new backpack to be found on the bus the next morning.

For truly, these words give a strength and joy like none other. And with these words, we are ready for anything life may bring – in His grace – moment by moment.

“See how very much our Father loves us, for he calls us his children, and that is what we are!” 1 John 3:1a

“Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up. Tie them to your hands and wear them on your forehead as reminders.” Deuteronomy 6:7-8

Of Joy And Grace In Pre-Op Rooms

You guys… The crazy coolest thing unfolded in the middle of this surgery day!

I’ve been posting pictures of people with their Chase Away Cancer books during this launch week, and I meant to bring my copy of the book to grab a picture of it with Chase in the hospital today, but between the stress and the 6:00AM surgery time, I forgot.

As we stood in the pre-op room, I lamented all of this to Bob. And the nurse working over Chase’s arm, looked up, smiled, and turning to the table behind her, picked up something small and blue, saying: “Well, maybe you can use my copy!”

You see, we met this wonderful nurse during Chase’s first surgery last month and she was so sweet to listen to us and comfort us during the surgery day, and then she went online and bought the book (!!). And she brought it with her today, knowing that Chase was coming back in. So he autographed it for her, and then she watched over him while he slept in post-op and recovery. And he even talked to her (a rarity for Chase with medical staff), asking her to remember to get him a popsicle after surgery and to please “keep it in your brain that I told you this”.

You guys… I’m just absolutely in awe of how lives weave together and how many times I’ve been filled with tears-in-my-eyes, goosebumps-up-my-arms wonder…IN THE HOSPITAL.

Don’t miss the grace and joy…

Moment by moment.

Nurse Carey, Chase, Panda Bear (on his best behavior), and Chase Away Cancer

**And seriously, Chase and all of us would LOVE to know where YOU are “Chasing Away Cancer”. Please post book pics to the Facebook site – they make our day!**

Burn It

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On a recent family walk, we noticed an area around the pond by our house where a controlled burn was taking place. Of course, being close to a fire was thrilling to the boys, but as I watched the gray-blue smoke rise into the sky and its sweet and sharp scent reached my nose, I was drawn into the scene as a good metaphor for my life.

The careful watchers along the edge of the burn area, they burned because there was too much unnecessary and it needed to be weeded out and swept away in order for the area to flourish. I want to be careful in this because I’m probably the least likely person to have a green thumb, but I started thinking about how this plays out. To me, proliferation equals productivity and even excellence. But as a favorite old movie quote of mine goes:

“Sometimes more isn’t better. Sometimes it’s just more.”

And it takes things like ER visits and eye surgeries to burn off all the things I want to hold on to, the things I think make me look better – the things that will only hurt me in the end and keep me from growing deep and healthy. The refining was never promised as a painless process, but it has been and always will be worth it.

So, nothing of great length or depth on this Spring morning… just the simple challenge from my own heart to yours:

What do I need to get rid of today?

What do I need to joyfully say “Burn it!” to in order to thrive?

Moment by moment.

“When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you. For I am the Lord, your God…” Isaiah 43:2-3

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Tag: grace