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| 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.
