Four Years Yesterday

Yesterday, February 3rd, marked four years since I was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. Hard to believe. Actually, still hard to believe. Actually, still really hard. 

On February 3rd, 2022 my life changed. Some of you know of what it is I write. There’s a date you hold as well. A date when something happened or some news was given and life as you knew it imploded. Exploded. Everything changed—your perspective, your approach, your trajectory, your outlook, your mindset … maybe, even your future. Changed. In the blink of an eye. Just like that. Altered. 

I had just pulled into my parking spot at Home Depot when the doctor called me and said, “I’m so sorry, Jody.” I have no idea what it was I was heading into Home Depot for, but I know, whatever the item, it didn’t get purchased that day. After ending the call and sitting in stunned silence for a few minutes, I somehow managed to put my car in drive and get myself home. I almost stayed right there in my parking spot and called my husband to come get me. But I just couldn’t break that news to him outside a home improvement store. This news wasn’t going to improve our home in the least bit and the irony felt too much. 

That was a heavy day. But let me skip ahead to the next day—February 4th—when I woke up and weakly opened my devotional and read these words: 

“Every day you preach to yourself some kind of gospel —a false “I can’t do this” gospel or the true “I have all I need in Christ” gospel.”

Please take a minute to read the entire devotional in the picture attached. You’ll see where I notated the date 2/3/22. 

That line: “When you face a disease that you thought you’d never face, what gospel will you preach to you?” That was the question I was faced with on the day after a grim, but certain, diagnosis. And what a message to read the morning after receiving this life changing news, right?

God didn’t waste a single moment. From day one of diagnosis He made clear my marching orders in this battle: Preach to yourself the true gospel, Jody! Preach the gospel that propels you toward courage and hope, not despondency and fear. Tripp in his “New Morning Mercies” devotional writes, “No one is more influential in your life than you are because no one talks to you more than you do.” So true. The constant conversation we have with ourselves fuels so much of what we think, feel and believe. That little voice inside our head has such an enormous impact on our lives. It is exactly why we must run toward truth. God’s Truth, not our own. The world so wants to convince us that we must pursue our own version of truth. Dear ones, there is no greater lie. We simply cannot achieve hope and courage from ourselves. Not even deep down. Not digging deep. Not trying hard. Not being strong. Not keeping on, keeping on. Sure we might for a minute or two muster up a few brave attempts. But not when the hard stuff hits. No way. After four years battling the mind game of stage four, I am more convinced of this than ever. 

These four years have stripped me of myself in so many ways. The fact that I can continue on with joy and purpose and hope is a testimony only to Jesus. Only to the power of Him at work within me. It has nothing to do with Jody. Oh yes, be sure, she used to pride herself greatly on her ability to hold it all together pretty well, but this diagnosis has completely crushed that flimsy, little crown.  And praise be to God. Praise God that He reminds me daily my fleeting earthly crown has been exchanged for an eternal one. I do not celebrate cancer, no, but I am convinced there are lessons learned and gifts given which prove far greater treasure because my flimsy crown of self-reliance has been utterly decimated with this diagnosis. And, again I write, praise be to God.

But … sometimes I do miss me. I miss that girl who could get it all done. I miss her confidence and capability. I don’t like being weak and having to rely on others. I hate the constant fatigue and feelings of never-ending exhaustion. I hate the attacks on my peace. I don’t like limping along like I am these days. But what if God is gifting me something greater than myself? What if your struggles and your hurdles and your hardships are doing the same for you? What if? Will it be worth it? Maybe not worth it right this very minute, but if we have eyes turned toward eternity it surely will. It depends entirely on our perspective—earthly or eternal. The here and now or the then? That. Is. Everything. 

What is the gospel you preach to yourself? Is it one of hope and courage or are you feeding yourself the evil one’s lies of despair and fear? And if so, how do we change the narrative in our heads? Will it take a life-altering diagnosis—I hope not—but there is a choice, even now. A choice to hear God’s voice through His Holy Word and His Holy Spirit. Ask Him. Ask Him to help you preach the gospel of truth to yourself. What do you have to lose other than your own flimsy, (good-for-nothing) earthly crown?

Go ahead. Ask Him. He will answer you and He will change you.

“I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry. 

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire;
He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.


Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in Him. Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord.” 

Psalm 40:1-4

Scooping Ice Cream

I was nothing more than a scooper of ice cream today. An ice cream scooper. That’s it. An old, and rather worn out mom serving high school seniors scoops of chocolate and vanilla on this cold Tuesday in January. That was it. That was all. 

And yet it was everything. 

Today was “senior treat day.” A day where the class parents do a little something special for the seniors—this group of kids that will be graduating in 17 weeks or so. Our children who we have been following closely from kindergarten who will be moving away from the school participation of their parents very soon. 

It’s not too soon. It’s exactly as it should be. The timing is, if not easy, then right. It is perfect, in fact. These kids God has given to us to steward and shepherd and bring treats to along the way of childhood. It has been a gift and a privilege. It has been my greatest calling as a woman.

How many cupcakes have we, if not baked, at least brought to our kid's class for birthday parties or Valentine's Days or some kind of something special program? Donuts, cookies, rice krispie treats. Can we even begin to tally it all up? It was never just about the treats, but about the touchpoints in the lives of our little ones. The times when our kids got to see us show up in some little way.

They may have gone through a cooler season where they rolled their eyes or hardly acknowledged our presence, but we came anyway. We got to walk through the doors and be the mom (or dad) with something in our hands for some always hungry school kids. We could see it in their eyes. Eyes and a smile which said, “this is my mom and she brought us something special today.”

I remember times when I barely got there. Times when I burnt the muffins or dropped the cupcakes or forgot the gluten free option. I remember the many times I had to balance the baked goods with a toddler in tow. Even times when I completely forgot to send something in altogether. It’s all a part of parenting.

I’ve been doing this school-treat type of dance for decades. Three decades, in fact.  And now only 17 weeks remain of our youngest’s senior year. I’m pretty sure bringing treats to her class in college won’t be a thing. Though I might try it out next year and see how that goes. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Professor, but I have a plate of peanut butter cookies for the class. It will just take a me minute to pass them out and then you may continue."  Can you imagine? Maybe.

Please don’t worry about me, I certainly have plenty of other things which occupy my time and attention, this is not out of nothing else to do. I am writing today because it is just one of the many simple, small things which we get to do while we still have kids under our roofs. It is actually OUR treat. 

And I am also writing today to remind those of us who have begun our countdown calendars to make the most of these 17 weeks we have ahead. These ice cream eating kids will soon be donning graduation gowns and then going off into more grown up lives. As they should. 

So scoop that ice cream. Bake those brownies. Pack that lunchbox. Wash those favorite jeans. Have that late night chat. Crawl onto their beds and listen to whatever it is they will tell you. Do the small things. They are the big things.

Treat them. 

And treat yourself.

New Things, Old Cancer

our most recent (Christmas card) photo

I started seminary this week. It might take me three years to get my degree at the pace I’ll have to go. And maybe that feels a little odd for a woman stamped terminal to set her sights on something so far off in the future. I know. Trust me, I get it. I’ve wrestled with the idea of seminary for a long time. Wanting to do it, but wondering if it was wise. I decided recently I just can’t worry about that whole future thing. I’ve got to let it go and just go. So I went. It was a wonderful first class. 

Next month I will (not)celebrate the fact that I am 4 years into this stage 4 diagnosis. Four years at stage four. Back then everyone told me not to google it, but at some point I gave in and I googled. I had to know what a metastatic breast cancer prognosis looked like. And what it was was shocking. Three to five years. 3 to 5 years is what google gave me. I remember wanting to throw my iPhone across the room. Instead I threw myself on the sofa and sobbed. It was outrageous. It was criminal. It was uncalled for, unfair, unpalatable, unacceptable. It was UN-everything. 

It wrecked me for awhile. Even with my doctors assuring me new treatments were coming and  everyone’s story was different. It is hard not to crumble under the weight of those words; under the thought of three to five years. After scraping myself off the sofa, the do-er in me wanted to immediately begin sorting through the piles and boxes and corners of our life. Organize, order, arrange, purge and pare down. So much to do. So much to get on top of. So many loose ends of living. So much to consider, contemplate, corral.

My dad jokes that he is old enough not to ever buy green bananas. He’s 86. I’m 57 and, yet, I get that. The future has been a hard thing to consider at times. I tend to keep my eyes down a bit these days and don’t look too far ahead. I can’t. It scares me. I stare at my feet and I remind myself, “just one step at a time, Jody. That’s it. One foot in front of the other.” And even in the midst of feeling rattled and wrecked, I know that’s how Jesus told us we are to live anyway. One day at a time. “Give us this day our daily bread.”  Manna from heaven. Just enough for today. “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34

The birds of the air and the lilies of the fields—Our Heavenly Father feeds them and robes them and cares for them. He provides enough for each day. He does. He does. He will. He will. And if He cares for the birds and the flowers, how much more does He care for His children? 

It is not that we aren’t supposed to make plans. Plans are good. Goals can be great. It’s just that we all need to know life is fleeting and not forever. Make plans, but hold them loosely. We have today. We have no guarantee of tomorrow. Stage four or stage zero. 

I am about to be four years into this gig and I am still doing a super weird dance with it all. Life marches on. Even with a dire diagnosis and poor prognosis. I haven’t quite figured it all out. But I am daily asking God to show me. Daily asking for grace and strength and direction. And daily, more and more, aware that it has very little to do with me and my abilities and everything to do with leaning into Him and His power. 

I sat tonight thinking about the many good things He has allowed me to begin since receiving the bad news of a closer end. I decided to write them down and remind us all that it’s never too late to start something new. Even when stamped stage four. 

The list isn’t anything super stellar, but it’s mine, and I’m pleased that it points at a woman who has kept going. At least a little. Not by her own efforts. Not at all. Not one bit. But leaning heavily on Him even as she limps along. 

Since becoming stage four I have ---

Started a vegetable garden

Began keeping and caring for chickens

Taught myself to make sourdough bread

Became a grandma to Mimi and Fields (thank you Emily and Austin!) 

Traveled to 9 new countries

Brought my parents down to Georgia and taken on managing their care

Watched a couple more of our kids graduate college

Enjoyed our youngest and her 4 years of high school -- almost over!

Planned a few more galas for Promise686

Launched a small business with friends teaching Mahjong

And this week, started seminary!

Please, let me be clear. This isn’t a “yay Jody” list. This is a Thank you Jesus list. And I hope also an encouragement to YOU if you're battling the fear of starting something new. The truth is, all I really wanted to do (and still want to do quite often) was/is curl up in a ball, cry my eyes out and throw myself a pity party. But, dear ones, no matter what sucky circumstances we've been given, we have to move on and march forward. We simply must.

It’s a constant wrestling. Sometimes I do feel a sense of pride and sometimes I feel downright pitiful. Isn’t that how it goes for most of us though? This weird wrestling between prideful and pitiful? I think we all do it in some ways on some days. It’s kind of woven into our human nature. Neither very healthy, but both pretty real. 

Ephesians 2 reminds us, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” 

There’s nothing here to boast about, except Jesus. It is the grace He gave when He first saved me to new life and it is the same grace which sustains me and helps me to keep living this rather precarious life.

Anytime I begin to feel a little boastful about myself, this disease brings me quickly back. It keeps me humble. It keeps me hobbled. But it also keeps me held close. The truth is, if I was given full rein I know my fiery personality would take every single inch. It’s how I’ve always been. Always a get-it-done and do-it-myself kind of girl. Just ask my dad or my husband. I drive them both crazy with my independent, strong-willed spirit. 

So even though the Lord has allowed me to do some new things in these past four years, the lessons He is teaching me are gifts which far outweigh chickens or countries or gardens or galas. 

His daily words: Keep going, Jody, but keep leaning on me alone. 

“Not by might, nor by power, but by MY Spirit, says the Lord of hosts.” Zechariah 4:6

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Specific update: Today I have another PET scan. I just typed PEST scan accidentally. I had to laugh as it certainly does feel a more appropriate spelling. After four years of scans you’d think they’d be old hat. Not really. This one is especially ugly as I have recently received some lousy bloodwork which points to cancer growing somewhere in me. We’ve got to find it. But, of course, would rather not see anything new on today's scan. I am not sure quite what to ask you to pray for, but I bet those of you who pray will find the right words and, for that, I am so very grateful.