He's Passed Over // N.E.D.

I've been cleaning for days, trying to uncover any last remaining bits of leaven from this house. But today, it seemed longer than the rest. Passover Eve and still so much to do. I'll be honest, I didn''t do it all as cheerfully as I ought. Something was dragging me down. Chaining me. When life throws so much at you, sometimes you can only function in a fog. 

By now it's past 10:20 at night and I'm bone tired. Exhausted and barely able to keep standing at the computer. But we've been waiting. All evening we've been checking, waiting for my brother to finally tell us what his good news was. Waiting. Waiting. 

I didn't expect much. I know that now, because what he said put me in shock. 

He said the three most beautiful letters in the alphabet. 

N.E.D. 

The three most beautiful letters in the alphabet that I never thought I'd ever hear. N.E.D. No Evidence of Disease. I stand there in shock as mom starts rejoicing in the kitchen at this late hour. Did he just say...? My brain can't comprehend it. The only word it comprehends is HALLELUYAH. 

In that moment, the shackles fall from my ankles. The world rolls off my shoulders. 

My brother's living another day. Amazing how three little letters can change your world. 

I fall asleep with a praise on my lips. In the midst of the night, something disturbs my slumbers. I squint. Why is my room flooded with sunlight? It's 3 in the morning. I groggily pull back a corner of the blind. It's been months since I've seen such a bright moon. But in that moment I remember...

It's Passover. It was under this same bright moon thousands of years ago that Yehovah lead the children of Israel out of bondage. He lit their path, made clear their way. Tonight? He has passed over us, too. 

My mind screams "N.E.D" over and over and over again. If Ryan didn't live clear halfway across this great state, I'd beg him to waltz me around the room. To dance before the Father. No, Ryan is not the firstborn- but the Father has spared his life another day. Passed over. Passover. 

He's leading us out of Egypt. 

Raw Blessings

I started this blog so I could have a place during this cancer journey where my heart could bleed out words- so that it could heal through setting them free. My writings are raw because I tell things the way they are, the way they feel, the way they effect myself and my family. Cancer is not a happy topic- no hardship, illness, or trial is.  You can't sugarcoat heartache or emotions. Because of that, I will not tell you to lighten up through the trials you're facing. I will not tell you that you just need to get over the hurt and pain. However, I will tell you this: you have to wrestle through it- claim Him as your God, no matter what happens. I can tell you that, because I've gone through it. I could list pages of hurts, trials, disappointments, tears, frustration, and then some that this cancer journey has handed me. 

But I could also list pages of blessings. 

I can tell you the blessings of learning to wrestle in prayer, the blessings of treasuring every day as a gift from God, the blessings of loving and serving my family, the blessings of LIFE, the blessings of tears shed together, the blessings of someone's arms around you for comfort, the blessings of the Body of Christ coming together to encourage you and pray with you, the blessings of memories, the blessings of knowing how to help others in the same situation you're going through, the blessings of having nothing left to cling to but His promises, the blessings of a deeper and richer walk with Him as He walks you through the valley...

Sometimes, our biggest blessings...they come through raindrops. Tears. Sleepless nights and fears. The raw heartache. Emotion. 

This woman, she knows. The song "Blessings" was born through her husband's battle with a brain tumor. This song wrestles through all the things we want, the things we view as blessings...but comes to realize that maybe, we've had the wrong definition of blessings all these years. He's showering us with gifts, even through the storms. We just have to choose to see them as such. 

It's a feeling and a knowledge that I cannot describe in words. You'll only experience it when you're the one walking through the valley. I'm not just talking of cancer- we all have our shadows of darkness that we must walk through, whether it be broken relationships, job loss, death, or defeat. It's in those moments when you realize that your relationship with God is not fluff, it's not fancy words, it's not the glamorous blessings of prosperity...

...it's that He's there with you. Carrying you. Causing you to see that He is your all in all- everything you will ever need. Showing you how to cling to His promises. Knowing that even though we're blinded by our human instincts of frustration and anger and doubt, He's standing strong before us- guiding us and lighting our way. 

And that is the greatest blessing of all. 

(let's make this a declaration, shall we? share your raw blessings in a comment below. declare the promises you cling to. no matter who you are, whether i know you or not...we're all on this journey together. so let's praise Him together, yes?) 

Ponder Me This

There's a lot to ponder about in this life.

Some things, they're worth pondering. Others, well, they just aren't. So I ponder myself this:

What's wrong with this Body? 

Why do we have division? Why do we have strife? Do we all need to walk through a cancer journey in order to realize that we only have one life, only one shot to be His love, only one try to show a dying world who He is? Do we all need to sit in the cancer ward with our lives flashing before our eyes or have toxic orange fluid drip into our chests and burn away all the worthless pursuits and meaningless time killers and petty disagreements? 

Do we care more about being right and being on top that we forget that we are called to be children of Peace- to do anything and everything within our power to make peace? And if we're not children of Peace- who's children are we?

It's like Ann recalls- we're looking more like Christ's Estate rather than Christ's Body. We're divided by fences and lines rather than joined together by the sinews and veins. 

So when are we going to put down our signs, cross over the lines, and love like He did? And I'm not talking about the outside world here- it seems we can love them fairly well. We gladly put on smiles and extend hands of love in attempts to build bridges with the lost. But inside this Body? 

We just keep on building fences. 

Have we so quickly forgotten the second greatest commandment? Do we forget that it's LOVE- love that covers over a multitude of sins? That we must first show love to our brother before we can show our love to Him? And if we paused before we eagerly look for the spec of dirt in our brother's eye- we'd see the beams of filth in our own life? 

Is this what Christ died for- so we could all just trample grace and refuse to give it to our hurting brother and keep on building fences? 

It doesn't have to be this way. It shouldn't be this way. 

So what are you going to do about it?

This is our responsibility. It boils down to us individually. What are we going to do to restore unity, to be a healing balm and gracefully begin restoration within the Body? 

Is it an e-mail? An apology? Time spent on your knees in tears, begging the Father to break your heart like this dysfunctional Body breaks His? Is it inviting that person over to dinner, or meeting them for coffee, or writing them a note of grace? Is it a hug? Saying "You're needed in this Body"? A gift? Going out of your way to make sure that person feels loved and needed- regardless of petty doctrinal disagreements? 

How are you going to break the fences and link arms once again with your fellow sisters and brothers? 

(please, go read this post. ann's words ring so true. i had "Holy Spirit Bumps" chill my arms as I read. take it as a challenge- and be the change. do something to bring this Body back to unity. because in the end? it all starts with you and me.)

Hope // Flood Me

"We have this HOPE as an ANCHOR for the SOUL, firm and secure." 

-Hebrews 6:19a- 

It's underlined in purple pen, the silhouette of an anchor penciled next to it. The pages worn, a spot in Hebrews that always falls open without much prompting. A secure hope. A promise of His that binds my soul, like a grappling hook from my heart to His- a way to bring down these promises, a source of constant hope. 

But sometimes? The storm blows, and the anchor starts to tug away from the cleft in the rocky seabed- and my heart bobs at the top, like a buoy tossed helplessly from the controlling wind. 

Hope. 

How can you live without it? What is there to look forward to without it? Why am I trying to live without it?

Hope. 

Ironic that such hope comes from links of metal, a solid weight, something that drags. We picture such things as bondage, as slavery, as children destitute to hopelessness. But these chains? They're a lifeline. Something sure in this storm, something we all must grasp until our knuckles turn white like it's the only thing left. 

Hope. 

When the cancer consumes and we're sitting here not knowing what to do next, when we're left alone and those you thought would stick around have abandoned you, when you've been tossed back and forth by these waves for weeks and months and years, when you're in the midst of all this- it's hard to see a break in the clouds, a glimmer of sunlight...a ray of hope. 

Hope. 

This hope, it's prayer. It's the certainty that Yeshua has entered into the Inner Sanctuary, petitioning on our behalf. It's praying and tossing this anchor into the heavens, praying His kingdom down. 

Hope. 

I struggle with it. The winds of fear blow me until my vision is blurred and my head is swimming. But I must have hope. Hope that the Son will come. He will shine from the Sanctuary, that the Father's mercy is not exhausted- His Hand is not too short to save me. And sometimes- no, all of the times- He's got us in the deep end for our good. To teach us, to grow us, to stretch us. 

Hope. God, flood me to overflowing. 

(hey you- keep clutching the anchor. i know it's tough. i know it's hard. but cling to Him 'cause He's not going anywhere. firm and secure, girl- those are His words to your storm-battered heart)

Please do // Please don't // How to best help cancer families

Please do pray fervently  //  Honestly, this is the most important thing you can do for cancer families. Don't just tell us that you're praying- do it. Take even just ten minutes out of your day for undivided prayer and wrestle in prayer for us. Beg the Father to give us the strength, faith, trust, and courage to go through what we're going through every single day. Ask Him to pour out His mercies on us. Yes, do pray for the miracle- but also pray that we are humble enough to accept His will as good. Pray for our doctors to have wisdom. Pray for us to have wisdom. Pray for you to have wisdom on how to best be an encouragement to us. Ask the Father to reveal to you what you should do and what you should say- and then do it. 

Please don't say these things  //  Don't say you understand what we're going through because your sister-in-law's father's cousin twice removed has a co-worker who had cancer five years ago. It's so not the same as having a brother, a son, a parent, or even a grandparent or other close family members go through cancer.   Don't say that it'll all work out for the good and not to worry about it when we're sitting in the surgery room. We're human. We get scared- it's our loved one under the surgeon's knife and against grim statistics. Don't say that there's always hope when we've just gotten the news that the cancer has taken over the body. We need to face realities, not fantasies. Don't say that our medical choices are wrong. If we choose to do chemo or choose to do natural remedies, it's because that's what we've prayed about and researched about and we don't need to be condemned for it. Words have much power, to hurt and anger others or to give them comfort and encouragement. If you are at a loss for words, tell us "I have no words to say." Sometimes the most comforting thing is hearing you say "I don't know what you're going through- but if there is anything I can do for you, I'm willing to do it." 

Please do respect our emotions  //  Cancer isn't just physically exhausting- it's mentally and emotionally exhausting. If we look tired, then know that now is not the time for a long chat over tea about the latest treatment plan that has been chosen. Know when to give us space, and when we need to be alone with our loved ones who are battling this disease. Don't be offended at this- we want to spend time with you, too, but know when it's time to say goodbye for now. 

Please don't be a prophet  //  We don't know the mind of God. We don't know what His plan is. So don't tell us, "I am already praising God for entire healing." Don't say, "I have the faith that God is going to give you back your loved one completely cancer free." Let's face it- most of these cancer journeys do not lead to complete healings and normal lives. Please be sensitive to that. This is a life and death journey. We cannot demand anything of God. It's hurtful and it can shake our faith when you say things that God has not said. 

Please do reach out  //  Please do drop us a note, comment, e-mail, text, letter, package, phone call, (you name it!), especially if you haven't heard from us in a while or if you know that we're going through another rough spot. We treasure these forms of your support. If the Father has laid something specific on your heart to do, please do it. It's so comforting to know that you're there, that you're thinking of us.  If you aren't sure of how to help, don't be afraid to ask us "What can I do to help you?". Also, take initiative. We can get overwhelmed with so much going on that we can't think of what we really need help with. Be specific. Ask if you can bring us a meal, or if you can watch the kids for a doctor's appointment. 

Please don't shy away  //  Don't be afraid or uncomfortable or overwhelmed or hide in the corner because you don't want to face the problem or don't know what to do or say. We need you. We can feel alone, and we need encouragement. We need your love. We need your support. Really and truly, the best form of comfort is just being there- take the time to sit with us. Don't think that you have to keep a conversation going the whole time. There doesn't need to be a word spoken. Just be there. Be available to be a shoulder that we can cry on, a hug that warms our heart, or even someone who will pray with us when we have no more words of our own. 

Crushed // When the Cancer Strikes Again

Crushed. That sums up just about everything this morning. Crushed. Like a boulder that has been tottering on the top of this mountain we've been climbing just started rolling and smacked us with it's full force. 

Can I say it? Can I be angry? 

I hate cancer. I despise it. 

We were on the top of the mountain. Rejoicing in God's miracles for a miraculous healing from Ryan's surgery. We've been praying for his faith to be strengthened. But this fire we're walking through? I feel like we're all just going to turn to dust. 

When you wake up with this news, and you go downstairs and you hear your parents crying and you listen as your father tries to convey something over the phone but his voice is just too choked up to be understood....

Crushed. 

How do you still believe in miracles? When your dad comes in to kiss you goodmorning and his eyes are swollen from crying, and he has had the faith of a warrior that the miracle would come? When I can do nothing but shake like I'm cold but it's all just shock? 

I can't process it all. I can't. I can't. 

It's here that all you can do is just beg the Holy Spirit to intercede with groans beyond human comprehension. I have no words. I don't know what to pray. As a cancer family, you go from the top of the mountain to crushed in the valley in a matter of hours. It's too much. Just too much. 

And yet He promises He will not give us more than we can handle. 

I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to be angry. More than that, I don't want my brother to be bitter or angry. I refuse to turn my back on God. Refuse. I will cling to Him because just one miracle is enough. I pray that He grants us more. But I have to believe that He is still good. I cannot demand only good from Him. I need to let Him walk with me through these flames. I cannot let my faith be burned. 

I must still say, "You are God, You are good, You are faithful." 

I'm crushed. We're all crushed. But we still have to trust that He will bind up our wounds. He will bind up our hearts. He will make Himself so known to us through the fire. This is in His plan. He knows what's going on. His heart breaks for us as all these emotions rage war against our bodies. But He wants to teach us. To have us grow so closer to His heart through this. 

We are crushed, but not abandoned. 

Please, pray for us all.  

Beautiful Brokenness

How do you put into words the beautiful brokenness that this journey gives you? 

Sometimes, I just have to sit back in silence to see what Yehovah has done. To breathe. To recall, to remember. To claim His promises in the dark, to hold on to the flickering light of hope. 

This journey is painful. It burns. It strips away all that I thought was certain and sure. It causes me to let go of what I hold dear. I don't want to. My flesh, it wrestles against it. I want my will. I want my desires. I want to demand of God to give me what I want, what I think is best. 

But oh, His ways are so much higher than mine. 

And you know? It's worth it. It's worth it to be humbled to this place of surrender. It's worth it to be able to stand boldly on the promises of the Most High. It's worth it to have faith- a deep, undying faith that cannot be shaken. 

This cancer journey, it's been filled with brokenness. Broken emotions, broken dreams, broken hearts. But, it's in this brokenness when we're vulnerable and able to share openly with each other without reservations. There is so much deep beauty in that. 

The memory I treasure the most from our Texas trip was holding my brother's hand after he came out of surgery, the way he lifted his head to kiss my cheek, the way he told me over and over that he loved me and squeezed my hand as we talked. 

But my next favorite memory? It was beautiful brokenness with my cousin. 

I have always admired, respected, and looked up to my cousin. I don't think I've ever seen her not put together. That gal looks beautiful even after she just rolls out of bed. She always says the right things, beautiful things that somehow make you just spill your heart out to her. But that night before the surgery, as we all line up to say goodnight- and goodbye- to my beloved brother...she sits there. I kiss my brother, and I wish I could hold him forever...but I see her in the corner of my eye. I see the tears. I see the brokenness. 

And God moves me. My arms wrap around her, and the broken prayer comes forth from my faltering lips as she cries and I fight the tears and I ask the Father to help us because I am so broken and worn and tired. It was brokenness...beautiful brokenness. To hold this amazing woman that I love so much and to be able to cry together to the Father. This, this is what the journey is all about. 

Falling at His feet....humbled that He works in our lives. 

And today? My bestie and I sit on the floor, and we pour our hearts out in joint prayer over so many things that are laid on our burdened hearts. And all of the sudden, the tears burst forth from my soul. I start sobbing as I pray, and she wraps her arms around me. There's so much on my heavy heart, so many loved ones that I'm crying out for. I'm worn from praying, from wrestling in prayer. I'm so broken. So unworthy to come before this Mighty God. But there's so much beauty here. Broken sisters. Vulnerable together, laying down burdens before His Throne. 

Oh, it's beautiful. Because we don't have it all together. We're human- we're broken. We fail. We aren't perfect. We aren't humble- but He knows how to humble us and to show us just how Mighty He is. It's in the fire that unyielding trust and confidence is forged in Him. He doesn't give us these trials to inflict pain upon us- He's so merciful to allow these things into our lives to cause us to dive into a deeper relationship with Him. To allow Him to hold our hand and to walk us through these things. To allow Him to teach us. To shape us. To use us. 

It's beautiful to be broken. 

Faith // Flood Me

Faith. 

When plan A goes right past plans B and C and on through plan W and we still don't know what we're doing, when we're doing the things He asks us to and yet we're not completely sure why, when you're walking downtown and you don't just see "the homeless"- you see their faces and you hear their voices and would you still have the faith to proclaim the name of Yehovah and speak of His goodness as that man did today when I walked in the park? Would I?

Faith. 

When you're jumping elevators trying to climb to the 22nd floor, when you wonder why drawing near to God couldn't be this easy too, when you're overlooking this vast city and feel so small towering high above the stadiums and hospitals and high rises, when you feel even more insignificant knowing that all this, this is no more than mere specs in the palm of the Creator, and how can we ever feel like we're truly somebody?

Faith.

When you sit up there and wait for the sun to set and never doubt that it will, when you're standing this tall above the world and never question that the floor won't slip out from under you, when you have the courage to let your heart spill- through music, through conversation, through a life lived without reservations- or will you just hold it all inside from fear of the unknowns?

Faith.

When the cancer patients gather here, when they emerge from their rooms to watch this glorious glow of fire, when you know that some must wonder if this sunset will be their last, when you listen in the silent hush to the two cancer patients behind you as they encourage one another to believe His promises, that He's always been enough, and how many times a day do I doubt His sovereignty in my perfect little world? In things so petty?

Faith.

When you're talking to the 36 year old woman who has only known since last June that cancer is wrapping itself around her body and engulfing her liver, when you listen to her say that she still believes in miracles as she sits there with feet tucked up underneath her and more monitors on the pole than I've ever seen before, when you see her beautiful face and yet your stomach is sick because why do these things happen? And how can she keep this faith aflame?

Faith.

When you're angry because you just can't fix all these problems, when you pray and the words come stumbling out, when the head hits the pillow and sleep finally falls- and now here goes the fire alarm, and we all go crazy out the door, and what are the most important things to grab? What do you grab in 10 seconds without your mind thinking? Adrenaline soaring?

Faith. God, flood me to overflowing. 

Faith and trust. They go hand in hand. So God, give me the faith to trust You, and the trust to have faith in You...come what may, day by day, for You, You alone, are more than enough for all my needs.

(tomorrow we say our goodbyes to Texas and head back home. prayer appreciated! and don't just keep Ryan in your prayers- keep 36 year old Kelly there, too.)