from an article originally posted July 30, 2014...
Two years ago, Jason and I were sitting quietly on the back porch of our new home. The house was scented with smoke and new paint. We had just moved into our new home, then the fire came screaming down the mountain, and we were turned away from our new neighborhood and sent running for shelter.
We were still ruminating from the stress of that calamity only to be introduced to a new struggle. Jason and I were quiet on the back porch silenced by the new news. The pathology had been confirmed and I was given the new diagnosis as one carrying an aggressive cancer. The PET scan was scheduled to see which corners my cancer had invaded. We were sitting in stunned, broken silence. Jason and I broken beside one another.
All at once my happy, second-born daughter joined us on the porch. She’s a dreamer. She’s a talker. She’s a planner. I mean a planner. Here she came leaping, twirling, and dancing in her sweet snack-sized body and dreaming over the moment she would turn 10. She was whimsical, full of hope and enthusiasm for the moment she and I would run away together like I had done with her big sister. The twinkle in her eye could not see the tears in ours.
At that moment, that awful painful moment, Jason and I could not imagine if I had these 2 years or not. We were harboring silent fears that the PET scan would find me full of cancer. Those 2 years until my singing second2born turned 10 felt too far off, too impossible, unreachable.
But guess what? I bet you already guessed it!!!I did make those 2 years. I fought, I hurt, I swallowed the treatment, the pills, met the snorts, found the bottom of me (this far), and I’m here. Two years later, I’m here. And since September in Colorado can be unpredictable, and my cancer has advanced, we are running away a bit early.
Jason and I looked at the calendar, we found the week where I enjoy a week without the endless swallowing of the hard chemo, and we planned this weekend for Harper and me to run away.
Praise you dear Jesus, praise you for answering the twirling prayer of my second born. Praise you that I’m here limping along, but I’m here. I do not take lightly the gift of this moment you have given us. This weekend, this connecting, this time alone—it is a gift to the heart of my daughter cherished. It is a gift to me. Thank you, dearest Jesus. Won’t you join us? Won’t you grow in us a bond deeper than we already enjoy? Would you emblazon moments of love upon the heart of my daughter that will carry her all of her coming days? Would you provide endless giggles, energy for all the words this weekend? Would you direct our moments? Where the first daughter craved food and adventure, this prize craves words and beautiful art. Won’t you love us and join us on this trip? You provided the time, won’t you join us on this special retreat together? You are so welcome.
I have struggled to hope for this moment. But I’m going to begin to dream bigger, greater, and pray for more. Lord, you know I want more. You know I want to join each child in this moment. This sharing of life. This important moving toward double digits. I know Jason gets to take Lake, but wouldn’t you allow him and me special time as well as the littlest among us? But more than making it to 10, would you help me meet each of them in this moment? Today. Will you help me to engage today, the hearts of my children, and point them to the one that provides each beautiful moment?
What do you hope for that feels bigger than you? What dreams are you afraid to dream? In what ways has God met you in those fears? Those painful edges, He’s there... Do you see Him?
Tomorrow I will tell you what these special 10-year-old trips include. We intention a beautiful weekend of sharing about adolescence, life, and what we expect of our lovely charges. I can’t wait to tell you what we have done, and invite you to join us in creating a special time with your children. Also, I can’t wait for the ways you meet your children in the changing seasons of their lives.
