There is a place between the good and the bad. And for now, I think it’s called survival.

Writing has become a dreaded task as I both wait for the final word from all the teams and try and process what happened today.

There is more growth.

But Chase is stable.

But there is more growth.

I have no place in my head or heart to understand all the negative words like “growth”, “larger”, and “most likely wait for surgery until they’re pushing on the brain” and then mesh them with positive words like “stable” and “overall, it looks pretty good”.

I feel the need to fight, but I don’t know what to fight because Chase has no symptoms and seems fine – well, okay, “fine” – even though there is more growth. And nobody seems to be completely sure what’s unfolding right now. 

So, we wait for the final word from all the teams, which will most likely and ironically be to keep waiting and do this again in a few more months.

Remember last night when I was talking about the brokenness being a chance and a choice to walk with a loving Christ? Somehow, in this minute, I’m wanting to carve out a third path that’s neither self-condemnation, nor total reliance, but rather and simply: deep weariness. And perhaps path is a misnomer, for it would go nowhere, so maybe it’s best to refer to it as a pit. But that will bring visions of Princess Bride’s “Pit of Despair” and then I can’t help but smile.  Perhaps the worst torture is not a water torture after all; but rather a regular scan schedule with inconclusive answers that slowly wipe figurative years off our lives…

Wow. What a terrible spiral this self-pity becomes. I pretty much and inadvertently just compared our teams to the six-fingered man. But, oh dear ones, tonight, in the rawness of these new results and words, I’m weary.

Tomorrow, I’ll pick up the pieces and move on in the moment by moment, but for now, tonight, I’m sitting here just trying to process what we heard and filter it through what life should look like, what we should look like, and who our God is to us when things don’t look the way we desire.

I absolutely don’t want to leave you with what’s become a bizarre moment of tying together Princess Bride and and the Christian faith, so please, end the night with a smile as I started the morning with one…

Today was quite possibly Chase’s smoothest MRI to date.

He was an absolute pro in the pre-op (even with the needle!) despite his fear, and even though his behavior has gone down with the sun, he woke out of sedation in the best, funniest mood I’ve ever seen. He made airplane noises, had absolutely ZERO short term memory (which lead to intense sessions of repeat questions), and kept telling the post-op nurse that Bob and I were in college and that she (the nurse) was very young and that they would be best friends “for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever…” (He may or may not have been under the influence of Teddy Grahams…)

I can’t help smiling just thinking about it and so, once again, we live the truth that weeping is for a season, but joy comes in the morning…or, in five minutes with a bag of Teddy Grahams attached.  

So, I’ll sit in the hole of weariness, I’ll laugh at the antics of love and life, and somehow, we will all move on in untiring Strength.

Moment by moment.