Welcome to the Fight Club

"So what you're telling me is that my brother has cancer?"

I needed clarification.  It's the question Michael had to answer for me five weeks ago when he called to tell me the news he'd only just received.

There was a small lump near his right clavicle bone, at the base of his neck.
He went to the doctor.
The doctor sent him for a CT scan.
The scan revealed a second mass near his heart.
Conclusive diagnosis: textbook Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

My younger brother, my only sibling, is 36 years old.  He's in the best physical condition of his life.  He's had no symptoms, nothing, to indicate he has cancer.  Except that suspicious lump.  Thank God for that lump.  Thank God he went to the doctor about that lump.

The news felt like a really, really painful kick in the stomach for me.  I can't even begin to fathom what it felt like for him or for his wife, Dana. 

But just like in any other situation my brother deals with, and according to his God-given personality, he picked himself up, rebounded from the news, and prepared himself to fight.

He's already had all the preliminary procedures: echocardiogram, bone marrow extraction, PET scan, and surgery for the chemo port.

Tomorrow is his first day of chemo.  He'll sit in a room for four hours while the poison chemo makes its way through his body.  He'll go through eight rounds before it's all said and done. 

A mutual friend, Caroline, a friend who's walked her own excruiating, yet victorious, journey through leukemia, sent my brother these words...

 

"Welcome to the club. 
The club that nobody wants to join."

Truth.

Recently, many have asked me, "So, how's your brother?"

From the few conversations we've shared recently and even today, Michael is good.  He's still Michael.  Still loved by EVERYONE.  Still cracking jokes, making us laugh, like he always has.  Still light-hearted and still so incredibly charming. 

Understandably, he's also antsy and restless, especially since he was supposed to start chemo last week but couldn't because of all the ice and snow.  He's anxious to get the process going.  Ready to (officially) begin the fight. 

Proof of his postitive fighting spirit?  A text from Michael to my husband last month...

"With God's help, I'm going to beat this."

We believe he will.

So, yes, Michael is now a part of a club he never wanted to be a member of, but I believe there is another club to make mention of here.  A "fight club" of sorts.

It's one in which we, Michael's family and friends, join together for him, for Dana and for his three kids.
It's one in which we fight with him and for him.

And it's done through prayer.

Every time we lift them up.  Every time we bend our knees.  Or bow our heads.  Or petition the Father.  Or whisper Michael's name to the One who created him and knows him full well, we fight.

We fight for strength.
We fight for wellness.
We fight for joy.
We fight for endurance.
We fight for peace of mind.
We fight for mental clarity.
We fight for healing.
We fight for a miracle.

In this way, we help carry the burdens of my brother and sister-in-law, his soon-to-be caregiver, to the ultimate Burden-Bearer, our Strength and our Warrior.

As we pray unceasingly, we trust.  We trust God's very own words, His promise to fight.

I know Michael and Dana have been overwhelmed by the enormous outpouring of support since his diagnosis.  I know they are grateful. 

I'm not sure they (or any of us) could've imagined or predicted the high level of love and concern so many of you have shown them and the rest of our family this past month.

So, thank you. 

Many of you have walked similar roads yourselves or with someone you love very much. You've been a part of other fight clubs or had fight clubs supporting you. You know the drill. You know what to expect.

Thank you for your words.
Thank you for your prayers.
Thank you for showing you care.
In these ways, you've proved your membership, your place in this fight club. 
Thank you.



Beautiful Things Out of the Dust

I opened the book and began to read some basic facts about the infamous volcano to my girls.

Washington state.  1980.  Eruption.  Mount St. Helens.

If the pictures of the mountain before the catastrophic event were worth a thousand words, then the comparison photographs after the explosion were worth two thousand.

Complete and utter devastation. 

Fifty-seven lives lost.  Hundreds and hundreds of homes, bridges, and miles of highway destroyed.  Wildlife obliterated.  Left in its aftermath was an enormous hole in the side of the mountain, hardened lava and layers upon layers of dust and ash.

Pristine rivers.  Gone.  Lush plants.  Gone.  Wild animals.  Gone.  Towering forests.  Gone. 

My girls and I were stunned by the stark difference in the mountain's appearance before the explosion and its appearance afterwards. We were quieted by the power of the event and its effect on the land.

Then...we turned the page in the book.

The image we saw in the very next photograph caught our attention. Budding forth from its resilient shell was a tiny green sprout, stretching toward the sunlight, unhindered by the hardness and dust enveloping it.

Where death and destruction once reigned, life now returned.

My eight year old made a pretty profound statement.  A truth she'd gleaned from church.

Looking at the book she said, "Mommy, that's a picture of hope.  Believing something good can come out of something bad."

Who would've thought any kind of growth, any kind of life, any kind of hope could come after such an explosive event? 
Who would've guessed wild animals would return to roam the mountainside? 
Who would've thought plants could grow and thrive in the midst of those conditions? 
Who would've thought any good could come out of something so bad?

Meet my beautiful friend, Misty. 

Having lunch @ the Cheesecake Factory - Spring 2012

Misty and I met at Shorter College almost nineteen years ago during my freshman year.  She and I hit it off right away.  We spent most of our time laughing in class and soon became fast friends.  When I pledged the same sorority she was already a member of, she chose me as her little sister. 

Shorter College White Rose Formal - Winter 1994

Not only did we spend our college days living the good life, but we were there for each other when the circumstances of life were not so good.  We encouraged each other's walk in the Lord and truly became sisters in the faith.

We served as bridesmaids in each other's weddings. We supported each other as we both entered the realm of motherhood and we did our best to stay in touch despite living states away from one another.

One of Misty's visits back to Georgia - Spring 2009

Then one cold January day in 2010, I got a heart wrenching phone call from my friend.

The Day family the summer before Misty's diagnosis - July 2009

She desperately needed prayer.  She was experiencing severe yet numbing pain in her lower back and had no definitive answers for the cause.  In the months that followed, multiple tests were run on her body and her blood.  At times, she was bound to a wheelchair, completely unable to walk or move without excruciating pain. 

The comfortable, content, care-free world she'd known erupted around her when she was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma, a form of bone marrow cancer.

In the last two and a half years, Misty has had to endure some of the most horrific tests, surgeries, and treatments out there for cancer patients.  She has fought with intense bravery.  She has fought with perseverance.  She has fought with Divine power.  And she has waited patiently while her Healer has fought for her. 

Earlier this year, she was told she was in partial remission.  Things were going well, but because the type of cancer she had was slow-growing, it was unfortunately also slow-dying.  She returned to the cancer institute at the beginning of this month for more tests and more treatments, fully expecting to resume the battle for another year or possibly more.

Then four days ago, she posted a picture which caused me to stop completely in my tracks.  The news caused me to jump up and down and bust out my very own happy dance!

Complete remission = CANCER FREE!

Following a devastating explosion in her life, a trail of destruction spread out for miles, and a hardened blanket of ash upon her, hope bursts forth from the dust!

The war she has waged for far too long is over.  Healing has won.  Hope has won.  Life has won.

The page has been turned.  And all things are being made new.

Hope - believing something good CAN (and WILL) come out of something bad

Thank You so much, Lord. 

In Your sovereignty, sometimes You heal; sometimes You do not. 
Thank You for choosing to heal my friend. 
Thank You for letting all of us "bring her to You" through prayer.

You are our Healer, our Hope and our Life. 
Thank You for making beautiful things out of the dust.

(There is a song called, "Beautiful Things" which makes me think of my beautiful friend and our beautiful Savior.  We just happened to sing it at church the Sunday after we read the book about Mount St. Helens here at home and a couple of days after my lunch date with Misty.)

Click here to hear the song. 

Daddy's Home

The door had only just opened when she took off like lightning.  As fast as her little legs could carry her, she ran.  Up the steps and straight into his arms. 

"Daddy's home!" she squealed in her most precious four year old voice. 

Forget the toys.  Never mind the sister she left to play alone downstairs.  

Nothing else mattered.  All her attention was centered on the one who'd been out of the house and out of her presence all day.

Sitting alone on the living room couch, I smiled. 

Silently, I thanked God for the exchange taking place between my youngest daughter and her daddy. 
I thanked God for my husband's safe trip home from work today. 
I thanked God that my husband comes home faithfully every day. 

Because so many daddies can't.  Or don't.  Or won't. 

Then I thought about all the children I know who aren't able to jump into the arms of their fathers today.  And I prayed for them.

For the little ones bravely waiting on their daddy's time of service--defending and protecting our country--to conclude.

For the children who must wait patiently all week for a chance to be with their father during his designated weekend of visitation.

For all the babies who've been abandoned and left alone, never experiencing the loving embrace of a mother or father, never knowing the security of home.

And just this week, for a fellow high school classmate's children, who will no longer feel the strength of their father's arms around them this side of heaven.  

Peace to you, little ones.  Know this.  Your daddy's home.

"I pray that from His glorious, unlimited resources He will empower you with inner strength through His Spirit. Then Christ will make His home in your hearts as you trust in Him.

Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong."  Ephesians 3:16-17

If home is where the heart is, then as believers in Christ, our heart is His home. 

So I pray these little ones will grow to know their Heavenly Daddy, who is always home. 

In heaven.  On His throne.  In the hearts of those who have trusted Him.

Run hard.  Run fast, little ones.  Straight into the strong and loving embrace of your Daddy.

Because Daddy's home.

Knocking Cancer Out of the Park

I can only imagine today was one of the most difficult and most challenging days yet for our precious friends, the House family.

This afternoon, six year old Brooks, underwent an extremely serious surgery to remove a cancerous tumor on his jawbone.  Back in June, Brooks was diagnosed with a rare bone cancer called Ewings Sarcoma and has been undergoing repeated rounds of chemotherapy to overcome this disease for the past three months.

(To get caught up with his story, read a previous post entitled, In the Storm.)

After an extensive, four-hour surgery today, the doctors were miraculously able to remove the tumor with clear margins, hopeful they eliminated all of the cancer from that area.  The bone graft was declared a success as well.  

Mom, Dad, big brother, Brady, and a multitude of family and friends, are currently rejoicing and lifting praises to God, their Helper and Healer in times of trouble.  Prayers have been heard and answered on behalf of Brooks and this sweet family.

"The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house (House family); yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the Rock."  Matthew 7:25

God, be praised for your presence, peace and comfort to the House family and especially to little Brooks today. We believe for continued healing in Brooks' body during the months to come.  Thank you for being the Rock, the firm place in the midst of storms in our lives. 

We ask that you give Brooks the ability and strength to knock this cancer out of the park, once and for all.  And as he crosses home plate, might we cheer and shout with joy, celebrating this amazing victory.  For your fame, God, and for your glory.  Amen.

In the Storm

Biopsy. CT scan. Surgery. Malignant. Port. MRI. Bone scan. Chemo. Cancer.

Not one of these terms ever crossed my friends' minds two weeks ago. Two weeks ago they were a happy, active family thinking only of all-star baseball, swimming, and making plans to get down to the beach. Now, less than two weeks later, they are striving to navigate the raging winds, the crashing waves, and the drenching rains of the worst storm of their adult lives.

Their six year old son is the one in need of rescue, in need of deliverance, in need of healing. And his parents are right there with him in the fragile boat as it’s being tossed about in the tumultuous waters.

Just this past week my dear friends' son was diagnosed with an extremely rare kind of bone cancer--Ewings Sarcoma. He had not one symptom before, but then a small, suspicious lump on his left jawbone became the first indication something wasn't quite right. Even after ingesting nearly two rounds of antibiotics, the lump continued to grow and consequently, more urgent action was taken.

Now this active little boy is experiencing things no child should have to face in his or her lifetime. He's being as brave and as strong as he possibly can, mustering courage neither he, nor his parents, even knew he possessed. He's already being described as a "hero" by those who know him and love him the most.

No one who has ever battled cancer wants cancer. Not one soul raises his or her hand and willingly volunteers to take on this brutal disease. Cancer is non-discriminative.  It doesn’t care who it attacks—male, female, adult, child.  Unfortunately, over and over again we hear stories of those who are now forced to face this vicious giant head on.  My friends’ son has just now been added to that sacred list.

The journey ahead of this family is unknown. Not even the physicians can predict exactly what will happen during treatment, in between treatments, and even post-treatment. They can only suspect what will transpire. They can only guess. The family can only imagine. And hope. And pray.

So, without hesitation, that’s what we do.  We pray.  We pray.  And we pray.  We appeal to our Father, carrying our burdens, our cares and our worries to Him. And then, we revel in the fact that in a host of unknowns, we know the sovereign One who knows it all-- how this chapter in the story of their lives began and ultimately, how it will end.

As believers in the risen Son of God, we have hope--great hope, “hope as our anchor, firm and secure.” We can trust all of the question marks in our minds to the One who pens the story Himself. We can fall back into His arms, letting go and letting Him hold all things together by His strong hands. We can rest knowing He sees, He hears and He acts on behalf of His children.

We are not left alone to fight these battles ourselves, because “the LORD is our warrior”. The Word promises He goes on ahead of us to prepare the way. We are told to stand firm, watch Him work and wait for our deliverance.

When we hear of these storms, these trials, these times of suffering in others' lives or we are experiencing them first-hand, we desperately need to hold on, clinging to the One who "even the winds and waves obey." We have to remember we are not alone. Repeatedly, His Word reminds us to "Fear not", because He is with us. His Word promises us we will not be consumed, even when it seems the waters and the rivers are rising around us, even when it seems we are walking straight through the fire. The waters will not sweep over us and we will not be burned (Isaiah 43).

Rest assured.  He is with us.  Always.  He will never leave us.  The "Father of compassion" and the "God of all comfort" is with us.  In the midst of the storm.  Especially, in the midst of the storm.