God’s faithfulness – Page 9

Today

Today, I walked into a huge medical facility bay and stared down a gigantic white truck structure. The MRI.

Today, I watched my loving husband carry my darling son up into the structure as he spoke calmly and quietly, and Chase, red-faced and teary, clung to him and cried that he couldn’t…just couldn’t…do this right now.

Today, I stood in the bay as only one parent could go inside with Chase, and my heart ripped just a tiny bit at the sound of his screams and then it was silent but for the pounding of the machine. And I would learn later that though he screamed in the room, the minute the scan started, he became peaceful and still and stayed still for the whole test.

Today, as I held my breath and prayed for Chase in the sound of the machine, a man came up and introduced himself – the husband of a beloved proton radiation nurse who had cared for Chase nearly two years prior – what a small, beautiful world it is some days.

Today, I watched Chun, the camera man (because yes, we have a camera crew here with us now – so much more on that some day soon) peer around the corner of the machine and flash me the “thumbs up” – Chase was okay and he was done. He did it!

Today, Chase descended out of the gigantic white structure, held his arms out to me and shouted “Mom! You came back to me! I did it and I was SO brave!!”

Today, we – Bob, Chase, the camera crew, a friend from the hospital, and me – we all waited in quiet anticipation to talk to the neurosurgeon.

Today, we all stood in the small exam room to hear that the growths, though changed and grown a little more, are considered stable.

Today, we talked of movies, and keeping up with small children and their energy as Chase went through the paces of touching his nose and myriad of other normal things that may not always come easily to him and Dr. Alden knows this and watches out for him.

Today, we heard that we get to wait to look again until January and enjoy our holidays and that we don’t need to think about biopsies or treatments right now.

Today, we heard that January is most certainly a necessity and that at least one of the growing places on the MRI is still a concern.

Today, we talked about nobody having all the answers and how frustrating it is when we ask and the doctors long to reassure with decades of concrete research and can’t.

Today, we were reminded that if we see any, absolutely any changes in Chase, we need to report them immediately.

Today, we chafed against the wait again and found our spirits wanting.

Today, we were given the day, and we’ll take it…

…moment by moment.

“We were made to run through fields of forever, singing songs to our Savior and King.
So let us remember this life we’re living is just the beginning of this glorious unfolding.
We will watch and see and we will be amazed if we just keep on believing the story is so far from over and hold on to every promise God has made to us…
We’ll see the glorious unfolding.”

Steven Curtis Chapman

Waiting for the neurosurgeon and mildly questioning Dad's ability to assemble a Transformer... — Waiting for the neurosurgeon and mildly questioning Dad’s ability to assemble a Transformer…

Of Looking Back, Looking Forward, and Very Loud Noises

“I’m afraid, Mom. It’s going to be really loud, isn’t it?” Chase, cuddled on the couch this chill December afternoon, voices his worries…

Three quarters of a century ago today, terrible things happened half a world away and boats sank and people died and the country went to war again. December 7.

Six years ago, late in the evening, as the sounds of the Christmas music barely faded in the halls of the church, I rushed to the hospital and Aidan was born and there was joy and a new baby son. December 7.

And now, we sit on the couch under the shadow of the almost-winter clouds and there’s another shadow too. Tomorrow comes the MRI and we sit and talk because today, on December 7 – day of all sorts of remembrance – we sit and look ahead and not back because tomorrow they’ll peer inside his white head again and see if there’s been any change in six weeks.

It’s poetic and strange how life weaves the beauty and pain in every memory of each moment and they’re all mixed together in a life symphony that requires unending grace.

Chase is scared and rightfully so. Tomorrow will mark his first “awake” MRI in two years. It’ll be mercifully short, but for 5-10 minutes, he will have to face one of his worst fears. The noise. It will surround him and he knows it and he’s frightened. He can’t escape it and this child who is never still must lay perfectly quiet in his terror for 5-10 minutes or an eternity – whichever comes first – yet another time in his little cancer life when the only way out is through. And how our hearts wish to cover him from this, but we cannot. So, through it, he goes. And he says “Jesus will be with me…and Daddy too.”

As you think of Chase tonight and tomorrow, will you please pray for him? Pray for peace to surround him as he goes into this very hard place and does this very hard thing? …and then, pray for us as our challenge comes moments after the MRI when we speak and decide over the pictures with his neurosurgeon.

Moment by moment…

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” Isaiah 26:3

The Second Year

Tuesday, July 31, 2012…

Two Years… Two whole years since the early morning panic gave way to a living nightmare on the day Chase was diagnosed.

What struck me most as I looked through the pictures and memories is that life can feel complicated now, and yet, as I look back over the last year and see such crazy hard times, I realize that I’m apt to forget what it looked like in the shadow of whatever the here and now happens to hold. I can tend to see Chase’s deficits and struggles and not realize how healthy and robust he is now compared to the emaciated waif that was. The truth is that much has changed. The truth is also that there are many uncertainties ahead. The truth is that God’s goodness and faithfulness to us have never and will never change. And Chase is still living and breathing with us two whole years later.

We’ve spent many days listening to Rend Collective’s newest album. Our family’s favorite song is “My Lighthouse” and I truly can’t think of better words to sum the year…the two years…or, the lifetime:

In my wrestling and in my doubts
In my failures You won’t walk out
Your great love will lead me through
You are the peace in my troubled sea

In the silence, You won’t let go
In my questions, Your truth will hold
Your great love will lead me through
You are the peace in my troubled sea

My Lighthouse, my lighthouse
Shining in the darkness, I will follow You
My Lighthouse, my Lighthouse
I will trust the promise,
You will carry me safe to shore
Safe to shore

I won’t fear what tomorrow brings
With each morning I’ll rise and sing
My God’s love will lead me through
You are the peace in my troubled sea

Fire before us, You’re the brightest
You will lead us through the storm

Even if we know nothing of what lies before us (and we don’t), we can look back and see the joy in so many ways.

Trusting He will lead us through the storm… moment by moment.

**Look back with us and find joy…**

On The Unknown Road

The cold snapped in the air as the sun shone distant and too bright through the windshield of the car as we traveled along the road. Chase’s first day of therapies. A new building, new people, new things to be learned…the start of a new chapter. And with the new, came the old and familiar: the fear of the unknown and the question – what lies ahead? Always that question.

Chase’s high voice pierced the questions gripping my mind like my hands holding the steering wheel. “Mommy? Where are we? This is not the road to my hospital.” For this is how Chase tells direction. There is the road that leads to his hospital and then there is every other road ever made. I answered and assured him that this road was a good road and that it was the way to his new therapy – therapy that would help him grow strong.

Silence followed for a brief second as he processed what he’d heard. Then; “But Mom, are we late?”

“No, Chase. We aren’t late. We are right on time.”

Another moment of silence, then his voice again, this time with anger, “But Mom, this isn’t the road and we’re late!”

Steeling myself for the familiar exercise of reasoning with the irrational; I responded: “Chase, this is the road and we are not late.” I received nothing but an angry growl and the reiteration that I was in error.

How many times would I need to speak truth to him before he heard?

Finally, this; “Chase, do you trust me? I know this road and I can see the clock. I know where we’re going and I know that we’re not late. You don’t know this road, but I do. I’ve driven on it before and I know where it goes. Chase, you’ll just have to trust me.”

The petulant retort; “Mom, I can’t trust you because I cannot see the road and I cannot see the clock. You can; but I cannot.”

Suddenly, his voice was mine….mine to my Creator who speaks truth to me and calms the questions and fears at every turn. He tells me that even though I don’t know the road, He does. He knows where it goes and what’s along the way. He knows the timing of it and how it will take me to places that will be hard but will make me stronger. And I sit, petulant child that I am, and question trusting Him because I don’t know what He knows and somehow, in my small heart and mind, that makes Him seem less good and my fears seem more justified.

In that moment, that silly short moment of driving across the city, in the child voice from the back seat, I was reminded how good He is to me and that I don’t have to know what lies ahead to trust and follow.

Moment by moment.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11

Stable

In pre op waiting for the MRI to be available so Chase could proceed with anesthesia

After a very long day that included an inner ear procedure, waiting over an hour for the MRI, almost three hours under anesthesia, and a painful peripheral IV in the arm (instead of accessing Chase’s port), we received an early, unofficial word from the hospital last night: Chase’s MRI results were still being read, but there was no evidence of new tumor growth. However, there was still a question about the areas of fluid retention and cavernomas (effects of surgery and radiation)…

This morning, we received the second and final call. The official word is “stable” on all fronts!

There may have been some very minor changes to the cavernomas, but nothing of concern at this point and the areas of fluid are virtually unchanged. We will have the chance to view the MRI and discuss all of this more in depth next week with Chase’s neuro-oncologist and his neurosurgeon in his routine follow ups.

Taking vitals in post op recovery - and getting to eat for the first time in 9 hours! — Taking vitals in post op recovery – and getting to eat for the first time in 9 hours!

Praising God in awe. Some days, I still can’t believe Chase has survived 21 months after an advanced AT/RT diagnosis.

Thank you again for your prayer and encouragement as we take this…

Moment by moment.

In the car, on the way home. A long day for a very brave boy.

Tag: God’s faithfulness

Today

Of Looking Back, Looking Forward, and Very Loud Noises

The Second Year

On The Unknown Road

Stable

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