The kids are finally out of school and summer programs are easing into projects and days at the pool, but there’s one thing that I’m still trying to wrap my mind around. I’ve shamefully fought it for three years now, dreaded it and done everything I could think of to ward it off. But this year, I’m giving into it…embracing it. It’s a part of us because he’s a part of us.
People with low executive function need boundaries – a daily paradigm, as it were. Or, at least this is the truth of Chase. And it’s a truth that makes summer and it’s loose, last minute plans a waking nightmare. Okay, perhaps not a complete nightmare, but it definitely ranges from marginally uncomfortable to “Mom’s going to sell y’all on E-Bay if you don’t give her a moment of peace!” For Chase, it’s not enough to know there will be a lunch, a dinner, and some kind of activity for the day. If he doesn’t know what’s for dinner, for lunch, what we’re doing and approximately when, he becomes agitated, confused, and will repeatedly ask (and by repeatedly, I mean every few minutes until we do whatever it is he’s asking about – so sometimes, for hours) what comes next. Without a doubt, low executive function and short term memory loss are a wicked combination. (and if you don’t believe me, please feel free to reference last month’s Facebook post on Chase’s burying his sister’s cell phone in the front yard)
For years now, I have only been able to cope with life by living in the moment. Not worrying about the next thing ’til it’s in front of me. If you don’t commit, then you will never be disappointed by what’s not going to happen, right?
And yet, now, I’m committing. Every day. For me. For him. For sanity. I’m committing to the day.
I will push him: he doesn’t always get to know every single event of the day in the exact time it will occur. But he will push me too: I need to have an idea and have it written out because it helps him feel safer – better.
This is love.
So, I will learn to plan the next day in faith and he will learn to live this moment in grace.
And we do it all in chalk so the plans are only ever dust in the wind…
Moment by moment.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take. Proverbs 3:5-6 (NLT)
The year I turned eight was the year my mom was pregnant with my last little sister. I was old enough to understand and be excited and each new and frosty December morning, I would run to my bedroom window to see if Miss Becky’s car was in the driveway. If her car was there, it meant my parents had gone to the hospital and my new baby sister had arrived.
Miss Becky went to church with us. I remember that her husband -Mr. Tim- was very, very tall to us, that one time, we went over to her apartment to help her get a cake in the shape of lamb for a baby shower, and that she had a huge smile and an infectious laugh. She also loved to talk about Jesus. But not how most people I knew talked about Jesus. She talked about him as if he was a precious friend, someone she really knew and loved and interacted with – much the same way I would talk about the friends I played with after school.
It was around the same time that I first have memories of her that Miss Becky got sick. She had something I had never heard of before, but I knew it must have been serious because I could see great concern on the faces of the adults when they spoke about it. They said my Miss Becky had something called cancer.
I remember that her hair looked different for a while but nobody ever told me that it was a wig. Kids don’t always get told those kind of things. And of course, I had no knowledge of things like procedures or chemotherapies, but almost every night, during our family times, we’d pray for Miss Becky to be healed from this strange thing called cancer.
Me with my precious “Miss Becky”
Our precious Miss Becky won her battle with what I now know was breast cancer while I was still very young. The years passed and she had children of her own and our families ended up at different churches. It would be years before I’d see her again.
When Chase was diagnosed with cancer, Becky was on the front lines of those who prayed for us and encouraged us. Cancer can make things very personal and re-knit friendships just in the shared experience. She knew what it was like for my Chasey to have the chemo taste in his mouth, the chemo-induced neuropathy that made his hands and feet tingle like they were asleep, and the hard, long days in the hospital. She knew and she prayed for us.
When Chase finished treatment, we saw each other at a party and I watched her watch Chase as he ran up and down the length of the gymnasium. Her, with the beautiful, big smile and marvel of his energy and life. And we talked about how she’d been free herself for twenty-six years.
We saw each other again last summer at the ball park and we picked up right where we’d left off. She always encouraged Chase in such a beautiful way, making a big deal about his battle even though she’d fought her own. And her smile was as big as ever and her love for Jesus was as real as ever.
Chase, Becky, Darcy and Karsten at the ball park
But not so very long ago, after twenty-eight full years, there were tests, and confirmation, and then a quiet picture of a beloved and dog-eared page of her bible –
“…that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many.” 2 Corinthians 1:9-11
Next to these words were written two dates – “11/87” and “10/15”. The implication was clear: the reprieve was over and Becky’s cancer was back.
Even as I write, she is in the middle of this second fight, but as it has unfolded and she’s let us have a glimpse into this second journey with her, it’s been an amazing honor to witness. She’s honest about the tears and weakness, but she’s also honest about her joys and her love for Jesus is clear throughout her words. After I posted a picture of Chase going to his hospital dressed as pirate last week, she sent me this picture in return…
Becky with her oncologist
Inspired by Chase’s fun, she’d found a fun way to show her courage and strength as well. And this beautiful woman clearly rocks a head scarf like none other.
All these seemingly flailing string ends, pieces of lives and stories so senselessly hit with diseases like cancer; I believe they’re being braided and woven into a tapestry we just can’t see or understand yet and it includes tiny bits like pirate costumes.
Because sometimes, it takes an eye patch to get just a hinted glimpse of the goodness of God in weaving our lives together – even in the pain.
Becky’s twice-proved courage, Chase’s strength, and God’s grace . . . moment by moment.
“That which tears open our souls, those holes that splatter our sight, may actually become the thin, open places to see through the mess of this place to the heart-aching beauty beyond. To Him. To the God whom we endlessly crave.” Ann Voskamp
** For more on Becky’s life and faith, visit: https://byfaithbecky.wordpress.com/ **
