I am sitting in the children’s bedroom practicing omnipresence.   To anyone less than two years old, this is the amazing feat a mother has of suddenly appearing the moment he puts his feet out of bed.   To the older children, who can see me in the corner behind the suitcase, it’s good amusement.   But to Wesley, the determined and unsuspecting culprit, I am indeed God-like.   We’ve been practicing catechism with the children, and one of the questions is, “Can you see God?”  “No, but God can always see me.”   Wesley includes me in that one… his omnipresent Mommy, hiding behind the suitcase, waiting for his wee tootie-toe to even THINK about getting out of bed!

Someday he’ll realize I’m a bit more human than he currently understands.   I kind of feel that way about the people around me.   I hear comments like, “You’re so strong, you’re so inspiring.”  Trust me, when you’re in my skin, you’re not very inspired by yourself!   It must be because…. Excuse me, we interrupt this blog post…. 

Okay, make that two culprits back in bed.   I guess Kate is young enough to fall for omnipresence even when I’m in plain sight.

Anyway, It reminds me of an old Twila Paris song I loved as a teenager, “Warrior is a Child.”  The chorus speaks of dropping your sword to cry for a while, and looking up for a smile, “Deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child.” 

I guess the picture is that our opponents are always larger than we can handle.   I’m sure that’s how our enemy the devil likes to play it, make our battle big enough to totally overwhelm us.   I guess in some ways he’s as silly as Kate, not seeing the obvious outcome to getting out of bed when Mommy is sitting in the corner.  Doesn’t he see how Almighty God uses his strategy against him?   If we are just wise enough to see that we can’t fight it and run for refuge… we have such promises… assurance that these trials will strengthen and refine us.   The very thing sent to destroy us is used for our blessing.  Like Jacob wrestling the angel, blessed by his attacker.

I mentioned running for refuge, and I’m learning a new lesson… that sometimes there is no refuge in sight.   It never shows up.   The battle comes, and goes, and it seems that the reinforcements were never sent.   I guess that’s where Nathaniel and I have been the last  while.   I think before cancer I glibly thought that there was always a hero’s rescue before things got too dark.   Now I firmly believe that there are things that cannot be reconciled this side of heaven.  It doesn’t make God less the hero, it just reaffirms what I always knew, that His ways are not mine, but I WOULD choose them if I could see from His perspective.

I don’t know the answer, and maybe that’s why I know I’m not strong or inspirational.   I’m uncertain at best.   Well, uncertain of what I can see.   I’m not uncertain of what I KNOW.   A wise person once stated to never doubt in the darkness what you knew in the light.  

I know that God’s Word is true and full of life.   I know that He uses trials in His children’s lives.   I know that He has allowed His children to face hard… even unthinkable things here on earth, but promises that this life is just a vapor, and that eternity will make it worth the cost.   I  know from looking at the lives of other’s that trails can turn to gold, I can look back on stories like Joseph and see that his heartaches were not wasted.   It still doesn’t make me want to have cancer for the virtue of it, but it assures me that I am NOT exposed and abandoned, even though I may feel like I am.

Hmmm, I’m not sure if I wrote that for you all or for me!   The room is growing more quiet, and restless bodies are being stilled and I can hear the sound of thumbs being sucked.   It’s a blessed thing to drift off to sleep, safe and warm and unconcerned.

Enough rambling, let me fill everyone in on the last little while.   I’m not sure how to do it in a concise manner, there’s so much going on!   I’ll try to be brief…

My visit at the Ireland Cancer Center in Cleveland went well.   We liked the doctor and received some good insights.   We’ve pretty much had a general consensus that I should do these two lighter doses of chemo.   One during radiation and one after.   I actually started on the Xeloda last night.   I didn’t start immediately because I needed a sense of peace that it was the right thing to do, and I was honestly so tired and overwhelmed I didn’t feel up to dealing with any side effects that might occur.  Gratefully, I seem to be okay so far, just a bit of an upset stomach.

Radiation started just over a week ago.   I’m starting to get a bit red, but nothing severe.   I go every afternoon, and so far it has been fairly uneventful.   I have a few other health issues... it may mean some testing, but hopefully all is okay.   Honestly, I just wish I could be an ostrich and stick my head in the sand when it comes to tests, taking my vitamins, everything.   Can I quit yet?   Okay, just had a mental parade of five sweet little sets of blue eyes... I’ll take my vitamins again.

We were very blessed with a phone consultation with the Deputy Physician-in-Chief for breast cancer programs at Memorial Sloan-Kettering in New York.   It seems we have a mutual friend, thanks Isaac! :)  His recommendations were encouraging on one side, distressing on the other.   He wants me to do a pretty heavy chemo after radiation, and the side effects can be pretty extreme.   He was very strong in his encouragement, and we value his advice, but also know that these final decisions need to be ours.   Please pray that we will know what to do!   We have a month or so to decide.

Our biggest battle just now is that Nathan is now back in Alaska.   I found myself with tears just under the surface all day today, feeling a little lost and alone.   I miss him so much, but with much prayer and contemplation, we felt that this was the right decision.   He will be coming back in just over five weeks, at the end of my radiation.  How blessed we are with phones and computers and video chat!  

Noah summed it up as he cut his pancakes the day before Nathan left... “This pancake was perfect, just like our family, but now it is all cut.... a ..pa..r..t.....(dissolve into tears)”   Even my little ones are learning what it is to have sorrow for a companion.   She is not altogether unkind, however.   And their resilient little hearts are doing well.   Please pray for us in this time apart, though... and thank you!

Just a quick update on our friends Paul and Kathy before I close... they were in the accident I told you about in my last post.   Gratefully, Kathy passed the dangerous place where her life was threatened, and they are beginning to heal.   The process will be so extensive so I am sure they are grateful for continued prayers.  

Wow, it all makes me just wish to remind you to keep the bulk of your treasures of the eternal variety... and all else you have hold loosely.   This isn’t our heaven.