Grand Canyon, Day 1

Last Friday, we got the news that Julie's cancer has spread.  That it didn't do what it usually does and pop up in just one place.  Or two.  It's a lot to digest.  For me, this is the hardest go-round.  Possibly because it's the first time chemo has been in the picture.  Possibly because it seems unfathomable that it's happening again, when she hasn't even had a chance to heal from the last two surgeries and is so small and scarred and tired and I just can't bear the thought of her having to go through more right now!  But she does.  She got the first chemo treatment on the evening they heard the news. We have all sat quiet since then. 

I walk around my house, straightening and cleaning in a slow, thoughtless way, praying over and over, "Lord."  But nothing to follow that with.  Just "Lord."  I laid in bed on Saturday morning, self-talking:  "You aren't making any sense.  'Lord' is not a prayer. Stop repeating yourself and PRAY!"  I guess my heart has been praying, but my mind just can't make the words form.  I feel like a toddler who doesn't have the language to communicate what she is after.  So she points and grunts and gestures and hopes that the grown ups understand.  And that's how I have called to the Lord since last Friday.  Lord, look.  See?  Help!  And that's it.  I don't cry. Tears have threatened at inappropriate times, like at my daughter's EKG appointment and standing in line at the grocery store. But it has stayed stuck under my sternum, firmly lodged like a ball, not ready to come out yet, I guess. So I just take extra big breaths around it, and go about the days.

Lord, do you see Julie having to walk this hard road? 

Yes I know that it is what the Lord has allowed, and yes I know that it will be turned to good, but that doesn't make it any easier to watch her suffer.  It's like Mary.  She knew that Jesus was going to suffer, and she knew it was God's plan for His life.  She knew it had to happen.  But do you think it didn't rip her heart out to see her son tortured?  That's how it is to watch the surgeries and recoveries and treatments and therapies and unmanaged pain and all of it and never be able to do anything about it.  For 4 1/2 years.  I can't even let myself think of her husband and mom.  How ill with grief they must feel at times.  Those thoughts take me back to praying, "Lord" again, hurting for their hurt. I know He sees it.

Tonight I started reading a book about walking with others through suffering.  I am only 20 pages into it and already have about a dozen talking points.  I've been gutted by one of them and am up late now, wondering how to stumble less and support her family better and say fewer stupid things so they won't have to dole out so much grace to me.  There seem to be about a hundred more qualified people to walk this road with them.  I'm all awkwardness and bullish service and wrong words and timing. Feels more like stumbling down the road to me, and I just want to do better by them.

Julie seems good.  Not afraid.  Just waiting out the days to see what they hold.  And so far, this treatment has not caused any extreme side-effects.  Praise Him for His mercy.  There is much to be thankful for, and I really could type a long list of blessings and open doors and mercies that God has laid out in front of everyone during this season.  And I probably should, for how heavy-hearted I am. We do not despair, or question.  Only grieve.  That's what this is--grief.  There isn't any shock in grief this time, just resignation and readying for the road ahead.

God has never failed, and He won't start now.  All for His glory.