Today I prayed something that I have held in (not just close to) my heart since the days and weeks of mastectomy recovery and chemo…the days where I prayed for the end because the next 5 minutes were just too brutal to even think about. The days where I couldn’t imagine surviving. The days where grace was heaven, not earth. And in some ways, “those days” isn’t only a reflection of the past, cuz, surviving is hard, folks. Yes, “but you’re alive,” certainly is a coat of sugar but surviving is all sorts of salty. I guess it’s a both+and of sweet and savory in the same dish.
This side of heaven is no doubt hard. People hurt. People are broken. People break other people. People love. People are redeemed. People help repair other people. And most of these people are one in the same. Me. You. We. Earth. Life. Life on Earth. All of it – a both+and of salty and sweet. . . Today is a mess. Today the fray of sin is ugly and chaotic, manipulative and evil. Today my heart is heavy for a hundred reasons and then some.
But the same prayer that I’ve prayed over and over and over and over and over and OVER again, while laying in bed, especially during chemo Round 5 when I literally wanted death, I would look up, tears overflowing, body sobbing, heart clinging to these words, I would take that breath. Because either it was my last and Jesus would meet me there or I’d breathe again and He would meet me there. Either way, I knew the end-game.
My prayer then. My prayer today:
“Mention of Your Name” by Jenn Johnson (this is a portion of the lyrics; for the whole song, search on google or YouTube)
You’re here with the grace of the Savior, with the heart of the Father, You’re all we need.
You’re here with the hands of the Healer, with the power of Your Spirit, You’re all we need.
At the mention of Your Name, every chain will break, I know everything will change.
Jesus! Just the whisper of Your Name will silence wind and waves, at the mention of Your Name.
You’re here, You’re the Provider all I’ve ever needed, Jesus You supply.
You’re here, with wonder-working power, everything You breathe on, coming back to life.
You are my strength. You are my anchor. And You never fail. You are my hope. You will deliver. Emmanuel.
You’re just a breath away. . .
There will come a day when this prayer is no longer prayed in desperation, rather, it will be a praise proclaimed to the very presence of Him…a presence that I can touch. I know the end-game.
(Another incredible song, another incredible prayer: search “It is Well” by Kristine DiMarco on google or YouTube)
What is your prayer today?
Today I…
Sunday: Learned
Monday: Chose; said yes/no to
Tuesday: Loved
Wednesday: Prayed
Thursday: Was challenged by/to
Friday: Am grateful for
Saturday: Saw grace in
*Post 1011
Blah :: 1/6/18 :: Post 129
The day consisted of sitting. And sleeping. And trying to eat.
I’m weary. I haven’t slept well in days. I’m ready for relief….and it’s just far enough away that it’s hard to see.
Blah. I just feel blah.
Live :: 1/6/19 :: Post 481
We are seeing the fruit of our labor… We so desperately wanted to downsize our lives and responsibilities so that we could LIVE life instead of manage it…
The road to minimizing was so hard and cancer got so in the way and we had to be so focused on the prize at the end of the race to keep enduring…
But here we are. And it is everything we wanted for so long. Because we endured a hard season of patience and focus and trust, we were able to more easily make a last minute decision to road trip it to Woodland Park for a family overnight because Cate’s volleyball team had a tournament there today. It was so fun. Family game night last night in a hotel, family memories today in a gym cheering our girl and her team on, 80s music in the car, beautiful mountains, so much goofiness and laughter, reminiscing on funny family moments, me and the girls being super silly and running and skipping through the halls of the hotel (and me feeling well enough to do so)………..
Grateful. Like beyond grateful.
Especially Lost :: 1/6/20 :: Post 841
Today was a follow up appointment at my oncologist office. I could already tell last night, as I was tossing and turning and struggling to sleep, that I was anxious. Not because I felt bad news was coming, but more about how in 8 (and then 7 and then 4 more hours) it was going to be the routine of waking up, getting ready, making the drive along I-70 with Chris while talk-radio was playing, neither of us talking and instead deep in memories or thoughts, finding a parking spot, walking in and riding the elevator up to the 4th floor…a series of events that I’d done over and over and over again, all intertwined with difficult emotions and connected to difficult memories. I was pensive and my stomach hurt…my joints extra flared up and angry. I was dreading the waiting and then the vitals and then the IV because today came with the infusion of Zomeda, #3 of 8…1 year down, 3 to go.
As I sat in my same infusion chair, looking at the same view out of the window, hearing the same beeping of the IV machines and getting a hug from my same favorite chemo nurse, my mind was all over the place. ‘Strange that this is my reality… It was good to see Angela… I hate IVs… I hate being a hard stick, now… My stomach hurts… I wonder how Zomeda will hit this time… Man I’ve had some hard days here… My husband looks sad today… I’m sad today… This is taking forever… I just want to go home, but instead I have to go to work… I have to pee but going to the bathroom attached to an IV pole is annoying so I’ll just wait… I’ve seen so many seasons come and go looking out this window…’ Flashbacks of chemo, of going home knowing that in mere hours I was going to feel like death, remembering the awful taste in my mouth and the upset in my entire body and the sick in my face…
It was emotional.
It was reflective.
It was heavy.
And I’m feeling especially lost in survivorship.