These three days are a mixed blessing. I have three days of no appointments, reverting me back to my very normal, very everyday routine with my girls and our little schedule that we run on. Baby Sister is here and we have a comfort and an ease as we move about the house, trading off kids and duties and car keys. She’s picking up all of the mundane: laundry, sheets, dishes, cooking. I focus on Maren and Greta and am laying foundations, new foundations, for the road that all of us will start traveling on Friday. My friend came with me to watch Maren’s soccer practice so that I could be normal Soccer Mom for Maren, and also connect with my friend and make use of every moment. Brad and I stayed up late last night talking and connecting. I can forget, for minutes at a time, about the battle.
A dear friend has set up a system to organize all of the help and advice that is being offered to us. All of the contacts will go to them, as administrators, so that the help can be real help and not another logistical challenge for me to conquer. Thank you. A friend also sent me words yesterday morning that summarize these three days, this wait, perfectly. It is what I have been thinking about whenever cancer does come into my mind.
I got this picture of the fight. It’s like a boxing match. You and cancer have been announced, and you are standing in the center of the ring while the referee is explaining the match to you. You are staring down cancer, and studying that sneaky little bitch. You are learning the weaknesses of your opponent, you are gaining confidence, getting ready for the fight. Then, just as you are about to go back to your corners for the bell to ring, cancer sneaks in an upper cut to your face. (Like I said, she’s sneaky). You’re walking back to your corner dazed and dizzy. That punch hurt. This fight is going to be harder than you thought it might be. You lose a little bit of confidence. You’re stunned. Your trainers in your corner grab you buy the shoulders and here is what we say.
“Snap out of it champ. The fight hasn’t even begun yet. That little bitch may have gotten a lucky punch in on you, but just wait until the bell rings. She has no idea the fury that is about to be released on her. All that punch did was piss you off. It is not a good idea to piss you off.”
We haven’t even begun the fight yet. All we have had so far is time to learn our opponent’s weaknesses. Now we know a lot more about the fight. When the bell rings on Friday, you’re bounding out there throwing haymakers at this thing. And we in your corner are going to be hurling rocks at her (’cause that is totally legal in this fight).
I’m praying for your heart this morning. Don’t lose hope.
See? Doesn’t that resonate? The imagery is strong and powerful. I am strong and powerful. God is strong and powerful. The verses and encouraging words that are being tossed at me via comments and emails texts are my strength. His strength. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.
In the early days of the Internet, we joked that my mom lived on the Information Super Driveway. Eventually she made it to the Information Super Cul-de-sac. Sorry, Mom, but I’m still not sure if you’ve made it on to the Highway yet. It’s probably that darn merge–it always gives you problems. I blame it on the fact that you learned to drive in Australia and you could do it calmly if you were allowed to drive on the other side of the road. At any rate, my blog knowledge is definitely sub-par, of the cul-de-sac variety. I understand roughly 4% of the features that WordPress has to offer. I assume this is quite obvious to most of you. Last night apparantly my “followers” (not totally sure what defines a follower) got an email about “Blog 91”. Can I just say ooooops, and leave it at that?
::This is real time people.:: I wrote the above message and was about to send it. I read it back for typos and revision. I decided I would read Psalm 91 (Blog 91?). And boy, I’m glad I did.
I have some important loving to do today. I hope you do too.