Plans + Steps: A Health Update

 “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” 

~ Proverbs 16:9

Plans and steps have been kind of strange words for me lately.

I always thought of these years of older kids or even post-kid-raising as full of potential. I had lots of ideas. Lots of dreams. Lots of plans. I was so content and grateful to be at home full-time when the kids were little. I tried never to take that for granted. But as the nest continued to empty I just really thought I’d have a lot of opportunities outside the home ahead when things slowed down within. And maybe I do. But it’s been a struggle lately to put one foot in front of the other. 

Literally. I am struggling to walk these days. And this is a new turn in my health status. Early this summer I woke one day with pain in my right knee. I didn’t do anything to hurt it or cause a problem. It was just suddenly painful one morning. After a few appointments and scans the doctors determined that I had a complex tear of my meniscus. It didn’t make sense. I haven’t exactly been out doing anything super athletic or rigorous. But I was experiencing some pretty good pain in my right knee and unexplained or not, it was debilitating. 

An MRI showed that I not only had a complex tear of the meniscus, but also that I have significant loss of cartilage and the knee is in a serious degenerative situation. 

I have never had knee issues. Why now? Well, it’s a pretty well known fact that taking the estrogen blocking drugs I take to fight my cancer happen to also cause significant joint pain and deterioration. We need estrogen to keep things healthy and working right in our bodies—Everything from our skin and hair to our brains and organs to our joints and bones. I can release the skin and hair stuff, but the other body parts and functions are pretty important. I’m in a crazy catch 22 of sorts. My cancer is estrogen fed, so we have to block it best we can, but I am incurring some significant side effects because of this blocking. See what I mean? It’s a little tricky. 

Early in July, an orthopedic doctor gave me a cortisone shot and that helped immeasurably. It provided great relief right away and I was able to navigate some fun trips and travel through the summer with the pain mostly under control.  

Unfortunately, in early August, the cortisone wore off and the pain came back. Even worse. And now, strangely enough, it was in both knees. Same thing as before—all of a sudden it hit me and since it's return even walking has been a daily challenge.  Especially early in the day. Getting out of bed is the hardest. Once I'm moving a little I can walk so it looks almost normal, but there's still a good bit of constant pain. I feel like I'm suddenly about 85 years old. My dad has knee issues and is looking at a TKR (total knee replacement). Maybe together we can work some kind of father-daughter deal. Funny, not funny.

We haven’t imaged the left knee yet, but I am assuming it is the same issue. Scans and appointments will take place soon. 

So now I am the owner of two bad knees and I am at loss for next steps. The doctors are also a little at a loss. I am meeting with several, but there’s this weird bridging that isn’t always clear between oncology and orthopedics. We need to address both concerns simultaneously. Surgery or a total knee replacement would mean stopping my cancer treatment for a while. The treatments which seem to be keeping my metastatic cancer sleepy, So, as you can imagine, halting this seems a pretty big risk. As much as the cortisone shot helped, that is only a quick fix, and can’t be used more than a couple of times before it begins to add to the problem. So it really is nothing more than a flimsy type of bandaid.

The diagnosis of cancer in my bones and lymph nodes has been a lot to deal with. The heaviness of my worry over cancer’s progression feels often like it is beginning to just flatten me. I am not myself. I don’t feel like myself. I realize that social media paints a different picture. Let’s just all agree that social media does that for most everyone. But the truth is, I am struggling big time trying to carry this load. I know Jesus carries it for me, but it still requires me to continually hand it over and remind myself that He has it and He has me. It is a daily talking to myself and a constant taking of myself to the foot of His cross.  

It was one thing dealing with the loss of my clean bill of health, but now I feel like I am in yet another state of loss as my mobility and independence feel threatened. 

The things I was distracting myself with in these past couple of years are seemingly being stripped away. It is hard to care for our yard and gardens and chickens and home and family and myself with what’s happening to my knees. And I fear there’s no end. I fear this is the way it is going to be. We don’t suddenly heal from degenerative issues. And, I’ll be honest, the distractions have been really, really helpful. Nothing helps me more with anxiety or fear then going out to my yard and digging in the dirt or burning the dead brush from our woods. I know that might sound weird, but it’s how I am wired. These activities have been a cathartic kind of salvation for me. If I was stressed or dealing with something I went outside and I Did Things. Friends and family like to joke that I work like a man in our yard. I do. I did. Right now, I can’t. And it is kind of breaking my heart. 

And that’s the outside story. Inside we have some things for which to solve. We have stairs everywhere in our home. How am I going to continue to navigate this set up? Is it realistic? What if things get worse? I wake in the middle of the night with these questions coming at me like relentless, pelting rain. I sometimes feel absolutely suffocated by the fear and the what ifs. I have been living with those nasty what ifs since being diagnosed, but lately I am sitting with the “what nows.” What in the world do we do now?

And so I am asking you to pray with us and for us. I am asking you to stay on this journey. We are doing our very best to keep our eyes on our Good Shepherd and to keep placing our trust in His plan and His purpose. We are. It’s just that we feel pretty weak and weary these days as life isn’t looking like what we had hoped or planned. 

I assure you there’s much for which we are grateful. So much. It’s not all gloom and doom. I try to walk that line candidly and honestly with you, my friends. I want to be honest about the hard stuff, but I also want you to know it is my heart’s desire to find the the silver lining and to highlight the purpose in the pain. Not because I have to, but because I want to. I want to find the glimmer in this grave disappointment.

And so that is my main source of exercise and encouragement these days. I have specifically asked that the Lord would remove the “why me? why now?” feelings and give me only praise for His plan and His purpose. 

Maybe you know a little of what it is I write. Maybe you too have been in a similar place of wondering and waiting. A place of questions and concerns. A place of anxieties and unbelievable angst. Maybe the plan for your life is turning out a little different than you thought and hoped it might. There’s a million books out there on the subject, but only we can walk the personal roads of our own dashed dreams. 

So, pain or not, let’s keep walking. Let’s keep journeying together. Even if we can’t walk very well. Even if every step is fraught with fear or pain. Let’s keep going. Keep asking. Keep searching. Keep listening to the words of Jesus who has told us so many good things.

Like, “but He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. … ‘that is why, for Christ’s sake I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” 2 Corinthians 12: 9 + 10

Like, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1

Like, “For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” ~ Jeremiah 29:11

Like, “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” ~ Deuteronomy 31:8

And maybe my favorite in this season I’m in …

“Listen to me … you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born. Even to your old age and gray hairs I AM HE, I am He and I WILL carry you; I WILL sustain you and I WILL rescue you.” Isaiah 46:3-4

Counting Stitches. Counting Blessings. Counting on Jesus.

 

Dearest Mimi Grace,                    September 2, 20024

I began this counted cross stitch one year ago—the week you were born, my dear granddaughter. 

And all this year I have counted and stitched. Counted and stitched. One small x stitch after another. The cloth traveled with me everywhere -- all over the world, in fact. Back and forth to Europe - twice this summer! Out west for a wedding. Up to Ohio for a quick visit. Down to the beach with our family. Over to the Smoky Mountains for a weekend away. 

It traveled with me on countless airplane trips and every long car ride when I wasn't required to be the driver. It went with me to doctor appointments and even once to one of my infusions. I took it everywhere. 

I have stitched sitting on the quiet of my back porch and on the sofa  watching movies or church or elsewhere in the house just listening to music. It has been my constant companion. My sweet connection to you as you moved from month to month, milestone to milestone.

In this first year of your beautiful  life, I have stitched and I have prayed for precious you. I have counted the many blessings you have already brought to our family. I have prayed for all the blessings you will encounter as you grow and develop and become everything God designed you to be. Because though I am the stitcher of this small fabric, He is the One who holds the full tapestry of lovely you. 

The project is finally finished. My stitching is complete, but I promise my praying will continue all the days of your life.  All the days of mine. You can count on that, dear one! 

But even more so, my hope is that you too will learn to count on Jesus. Jesus—the very one who stitched you together—He is your greatest hope. Count on Him. Always. Wherever you go. Whatever you do. Whenever you can. Count on Him.

 That is my greatest prayer for you.

“I am counting on the Lord; yers, I am counting on Him.  I have put my hope in His word.” 

~ Psalm 130:5

With Love, Your Birdy

Always Prepared

I miss my mother-in-law. Yesterday would have been Marilyn’s 79th birthday. She never saw her 70s. At 69 she was diagnosed with undetected colon cancer the week of Thanksgiving and gone by January’s end. 

It’s important that I tell you she did everything right. She was a nurse for over 40 years. She knew all the things. She ate well and exercised. She kept on top of her health. She did all the screenings and all the scans. They just—somehow—missed it. 

Of course Marilyn did everything right. That’s the kind of person she was. Always prepared. Always well planned. Always on top of everything. But most important, always gracious.

If the paper towel holder was empty, she had plenty of replacements waiting in the wings—or the garage shelves. Oh those garage shelves! Peanut butter all gone? No problem. Pickles? She had them. The amount of bandaids and Tylenol beneath her bathroom sink could have cared for a small village. For the rest of their lives.

Though a trained nurse, she joked often it was really about being a good girl scout. The Girl Scout motto is “Be prepared.” And she was for everything. Other than that unseen cancer in her colon. But even in that surprise, her girl scout ways proved true. She was completely prepared to meet Jesus on that January day when He called her home. Of that, I have no doubt.

She spent her life following Him and serving His people with joy. And I am certain she is taking care of things up in heaven with efficiency and enthusiasm. 

I remember specifically how patient and attentive she was with her aging parents and her own mother-in-law. She would fix a big meal and do all the dishes and be in charge of most everything and then at the end of the evening escort her mom and dad back home to their apartment nearby. I never once heard her complain. I never once heard her sound cross. I didn't realize what I was watching. I am sure I didn't acknowledge how exceptional she was. 

All of these things are so true of Marilyn, but I miss her for selfish reasons too. I miss her wisdom. She was a really good listener and always seemed to know the right thing to say. She rejoiced with those who rejoiced, and she wept with those who wept. I would love to be able to pick up the phone for both the rejoicing and the weeping. 

Life has gotten so incredibly messy in this past decade. More than ever before. So many different things. Yes, my own cancer diagnosis, but much more than that. Relationships. This world. So many issues. So much brokenness and pain and dashed dreams. Some fears. I feel overwhelmed by it more easily than ever before. Some days it simply feels like too much. 

And I wish I could talk things through with Marilyn like I used to do. I know the very first thing she would tell me is to keep my eyes on Jesus. To trust Him with the hard and the holy. To abide with Him in His word and in prayer. And to continue claiming His truths no matter what. 

She modeled that well. Without ever compromising her convictions or beliefs, she was able to love others and move through difficulties with an unbelievable amount of grace. Not that everything was easy and always smooth, but she lived out her faith. Years after she was gone, I, one day, started to thumb through her bible. The way it was underlined and highlighted told me exactly where she found her source of strength. It is such a treasure. 

I don’t think I always received her encouragement especially well. I was young and married to her son and raising her grandchildren and probably trying a little too hard to prove myself. I suppose I was insecure. I’m sure I wanted to impress her. But with this past decade behind me and middle age all around me and my own role as care support for my parents, her words continue to press in deeply in new and different ways. I think that’s what they call leaving a lasting impression. 

Marilyn left a lasting impression. In her quiet, graceful way, she impressed so many things upon me. 

I guess I’m writing this morning to process, but also to praise a familial role that doesn’t always get the right recognition. Mother-in-laws have historically been easy to poke fun at and stereotype poorly. I know lots of you have amazing relationships with MILs. Cherish and protect them.

My encouragement if you’re reading this is to go out and find someone— find a mother-in-law or a girl scout or at least someone who knows how to be prepared. 

Prepared with a kind word. 

Prepared with a willing ear.

Prepared with an open heart. 

Prepared with well-earned wisdom. 

Prepared with God’s truth.

Prepared to rejoice and prepared to weep.

Like my dear mother-in-law, Marilyn.

I'm pretty sure Marilyn would not miss this opportunity to also tell you to start thinking about being prepared to meet Jesus. 

Out of a Job

Funny how this happened to occur on the morning after Mother’s Day, but it seems I have worked myself out of a job. For over 26 years I have been in the steady employment of driving one child or another (or many) to and from school. Every school day, of every year, for decades, I drove. When one graduated to the autonomy of their own automobile and driver’s license, another was waiting in the wings--or kitchen-- for Mom’s Taxi Service. 

For the most part, our kids attended schools without buses and so for all of these years I have been the veritable big yellow school bus leaving faithfully each morning from our garage and returning just about every afternoon for pick up—give or take a few. 

But this morning something miraculous and marvelous (and a little emotional) happened and our youngest child bid us goodbye and drove herself down the driveway and off to school All On Her Own. We released the reins a bit and, with a little trepidation and a whole lot of prayer, watched her head off into the wild blue yonder … or at least into the wild Atlanta morning traffic. 

It marks the end of an era for me. 25+ years is a good run in any job, wouldn’t you say? I received no engraved plaque or flashy watch piece. I just watched. I could only watch. This baby of ours who can now come and go on her own with her keys and her coffee and, perhaps, a tad too much confidence.

It was a big moment for this mama. I know my job as mom never quite ends. They’ll always need me in some capacity in some way. Our older four are essentially out on their own and adulting rather well, but they still let me know I am not completely obsolete.  At least they don’t make me feel cast aside or forgotten. It’s a different role with them these days. I don’t do for them the things I did when they were all little — but there’s still plenty. There are phone calls and questions and advice asked and sometimes just time spent. And I am more grateful than ever.

But this driving thing is different as it has consistently been a very daily and tangible item on my to do list. For many years I kind of had to plan my day around it. 

Plan or not, I admit, I didn’t always do it super well. There were times, on occasion, when I came late. There were seasons when I was for sure one of the last cars in line … or I flew into the parking lot on two wheels and a little too hot. There might have been a time or two when signals got crossed and someone was, unfortunately, forgotten. Not so proud of those moments, but definitely thankful for the gift of driving my kids. I tried not to take it for granted. Even when it felt like all I had accomplished some days was driving multiple kids to multiple schools. Back and forth. Forth and back. 

But I think back to the times when they talked to me and told me things about their day simply because we were stuck in the car together and they could not escape to the backyard or the television set or their bedrooms. They were trapped with their mother and she might have had her eyes on the road, but her ears were free and she could listen. And so I learned to listen.

The car was a place where I learned to listen better and then learned a little bit better about my kids. Sometimes I learned about their friends. Sometimes I learned things I didn’t want to learn. It was a day-in-and-day-out safe place for things to be shared. It was also a time when I had their full attention and I could give them a good talking to should they ever need it. They sometimes needed it.

I believe I gave one child “the sex talk” because I was able to lock the car door and not let her out until she heard what it was I had to say. 

One of my favorite car moments happened many years ago after I had just dropped off the older three kids at their elementary school and was left with our youngest (at the time) in his car seat behind me. As soon as the car door closed, Connor’s little 3 year old voice piped up, “Well, mom, it looks like it’s just me and us now. Just me and us, mom.” To this day we still say that. Perhaps part of him was glad to see his big brother and sisters leave for the day. As he said it best, it was just me and us. 

There are so many funny memories and moments in all of my years of driving. I did some pretty weird things. I tried to use those car-opportunities best I could. After one child forgot to wear her panties to preschool a few times and another couldn’t remember socks, I began keeping a bin in my back with both extra underwear and socks—just in case. There was also a period when I began storing dental floss and vitamins in the glove compartment because it seemed the only time I could remember to make them floss their teeth and take their vitamins. That didn’t last very long though. I’m pretty sure the chewables melted in the Georgia heat and the floss got lost between the back seats.

Speaking of between the back seats: There really is no place in the world quite like between the seats of a vehicle which is responsible for transporting multiple children multiple times a day. There should be a Netflix documentary done on this specific thing.

There was always food debris to be found. Petrified or worse. Once my daughter found worms in the seat pocket because someone had left food and that’s what happens when it rots. That was a proud moment. How do you even explain to your husband you have worms in the backseat and could he please do something about them?

We’ve had bowls of cereal and extra large cups of red slushies spill. We’ve had phones and keys slide into open coffee cups. Permanent markers leak. Crayons melt. Homework wedge into tight crevices and forgotten. Stinky socks and shoes abandoned making the next morning’s drive most miserable. School projects crumble. Body parts stuck in strange places. Tears shed. Blood shed. The dog shed. And, for sure, too many lunchboxes left to even count. 

Once I was driving a neighbor child home and they asked me why my car was so dirty. That was nice. I left him on the corner and told him to find a cleaner car and some better manners. (Just kidding). (Maybe).

One morning I forgot to the baby in his crib and had to turn the school bus back around when my oldest daughter informed me at a neighborhood stop sign that Connor was not in his car seat. Please don't judge. That might have been worse than the worm incident. Maybe. 

When we were in one of our best seasons—meaning at the beginning of the school year when we were fresh and full of hope—we attempted to use our time well. I would ask them to recite their math facts or Bible verses. It helped them, but so often it was me that most needed those Bible verses. Not the math facts. 

My kids tease me that I have so much random knowledge rattling around in my head now days and such passion for interesting and strange facts … I attribute much of that to these years as a driver of kids. They loved to tell me stuff and teach me. They didn’t realize the education they were giving their mom. 

And, so, this morning all of that finally and officially came to a close when our youngest daughter drove herself off to high school. She has joined the ranks of her older siblings.

BUT … I know she will come home later today and she will ask me what’s for dinner or if I could please pick her up an item from Target. She might even crawl into bed with me at the end of the day and unpack a story or two and she will unknowingly remind me that though she didn’t need me to take her to school this morning, she still needs me. 

I still have a job.

And I will be grateful. 

A Light in the Dark

Anyone else out there feeling some strange sense of relief that we are finally well into January? Feeling also a measure of guilt. A bit of a betrayer. Christmas came this year a little harder than hoped. For a few different reasons. 

One, It was the “off” year with our married kids so they wouldn’t be home for the holiday. That missing of kids at Christmas thing isn’t ever easy for any of us as parents. Even though we know it’s how it goes. Even though we are incredibly grateful for the wonderful in-law families provided our married children. We still miss them. Once someone said to me, “But, Jody, you have so many children, surely you don’t miss one or two.” Umm, No. That’s not quite how it works. I promise. Anyway, we know we need to share and we do. And we really try not to inadvertently put any kind of pressure on our kids in the process. Well, we try. 

On top of that, Rick and I both had the flu over Christmas. It crashed over me right in time for Christmas Eve. And made for quite a week. So that meant the kids who were planning to come the day after Christmas also could no longer come. Which meant no sweet grand baby girl under my Christmas tree this year. Plans derailed. Again, these things happen to all of us. I get it. But I didn’t like it. And I guess I just let it all get to me. 

So many people struggle in the holidays. In ways so much worse than some kid missing or flu getting. Loneliness and lack and sadness and sorrow can grow deeper when the rest of the world is rejoicing. I'm not sure I always got this or empathized very well, but this new season of life with cancer has marked me with a new understanding.

I’m not really sure I have words to explain how the holidays can feel for someone who has been given a statistical expiration date on the short side. I know I am not a statistic. I know God is in control of that date and all my days. He’s ordained them and knows the very number, but still, the weak, frail, human side of me flirts with the future in a not so nice way. And for some reason the holidays highlight this hesitation over my future.  I felt this way last year as it was my first Christmas stamped Stage Four and, I suppose, this year, it was much the same. Try as I did, I wasn’t able to completely combat or avoid it. 

There’s something so momentous and milestone-ish about a big holiday or a birthday or a brand new year. It's a clear marker of time. One Christmas to another Christmas. One year to another year. 2023 to 2024.  Resolutions and goals and Happy New Years. And all that “The Best is Yet to Come” stuff. All happening every time 12 months rolls around.  All of it feeling so sprightly pronounced. So brightly proclaimed. So big. 

I tried to keep it small. Manageable. Controlled and calm. But between the sadness and the sickness, I let it grow unmanageable and, most definitely, out of control. I found myself in a dark place. An angry place. An easily angered place. And though embarrassed this morning as I write, I confess, even a “poor me” kind of place. Pitiful.

I typically look on the bright side. I mostly try to find a silver lining and a sliver of hope. That eternal hallelujah in the hard. I try. But, is it okay to admit that doesn’t always happen as it should? As I want?

Maybe you have felt that way at times too. And wondered what’s wrong with you (with me)? 

Why can’t I get my emotional health together? 

Why can’t I pull myself up and out of this funk, this hole, this hurting.

Why is the darkness so dark? The anxiety so anxious? The sadness so sad? The struggle so real?

Is it a lack of gratitude? A lack of grace? A lack of grit? Or perhaps just a lack in general? And, by the way, if you weren't already spiraling downward, that kind of thinking will get you there really fast.

Is this how we all feel at some point, in some place, at some time? Maybe. 

Again, I’m embarrassed to admit it. I have so much for which to be thankful and grateful. So much. And I mostly keep that gratitude close by. So who am I to feel abandoned by God or doubt His goodness? Why am I so easily brought down? 

What is this weakness within me? 

But that is exactly it! There IS weakness within. Great weakness. And God knew that in my design. And He knows it in my day to day. And He sees it in my darkness when it comes screaming or seeping or crashing or creeping. He sees it. 

But, He doesn’t just know it and see it, He promises to meet it even in the very depths of my sorrowful soul.

He promises. And He proves true. Over and over and over again.

Psalm 139. I read it this morning and the words which I love and know well met me in a new and encouraging way.

“Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (vs. 12)

My darkness. My sadness. My valley. It is nothing for Jesus and His light. Even the darkness will not be dark for Him. There is no place I can go too dark or too deep for my Savior. 

“If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, EVEN THERE your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.” (vs. 9-10)

Why? 

Because He, “created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb … My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I woven together in the depths of the earth. You saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (vs.13-16)

I could go on and on with this chapter in Psalms. I encourage you to read it. Read it when you are in that pitiful place of poor me. Read it when the darkness feels too dark or the depths too deep or the sadness too sad. 

Read it when you feel weak. Alone. Angry. Afraid.

Do you know why this passage met me so poignantly this week? Because I had been in a dark place. Sometimes we must feel the dark before we can fully see the light. This is true in science, this is true in self. One makes the other better known. A symbiotic revealing which happens in this relationship. And because I have the light of Jesus within me, I cannot stay in the dark places of my soul, no matter how sad. I just can't. Even when I had selfishly decided to go ahead and let myself be depressed, I could feel the flicker of His light within. 

Oh, dear ones, it is a battle through and through. It is a digging in and most desperate place in the world of spiritual warfare. It is real. It is relentless. It is ruinous. And, I fear, in this God forsaking world, it is running rampant.

You can read all of the self-help books and make all of the most hope-filled new year’s resolutions, but none of it will make much a difference without knowing that Jesus is in the dark and in the depths right with us. The dark is not dark for Him.  Not one bit. 

“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for YOU ARE WITH ME.” Psalm 23: 4

The flicker of this reminder was exactly what was needed to dispel the dark. Nothing else was going to work. No amount of bootstrap pulling up or happy face putting on or bright side looking at. 

Only. Only. Only the light flicker and finding of Jesus standing, sitting, weeping, wrestling … and being with me in the dark. 

"I am The Light of the World. 

Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, 

but will have the light of life."  ~ John 8:12

 

Unfinished for Christmas

I opened my computer early this morning and up popped a calendar reminder: Christmas Day Tomorrow. As if any of us need a reminder. It is almost innate, this internal clock which starts ticking from the time the turkey day dishes are properly put away. I imagine most of us—children and adults—keep track of the weeks and days pretty well.

And then it is upon us. And we are down to hours. And counting minutes. And we know there are certain things which just won’t get done by this all important day. At least for me there’s always a thing or two I thought I’d accomplish or finish before the 25th arrived. Always.

What is it this December that you didn’t complete in time for Christmas? 

For me it was a cross stitch sampler for my new granddaughter’s nursery. I started it the week she was born in September and thought surely I’d have it to wrap up for her (and mostly for her mommy) by Christmas morning. I was certain a Christmas deadline would be no problem for me. And yet here we are on Christmas Eve and I’m not quite 50% done. This gift won’t be wrapped up and under the tree tomorrow morning. 

There was a day when I’d have stayed up late and gotten up early for weeks at at time to finish. I don’t do that any more. I know it’s just counting stitches and pulling a threaded needle through little holes. It doesn’t require that much. It’s easy enough, but when life isn’t so easy, even counting and stitching can sometimes present a challenge.

But, the truth is, every year there’s something that doesn’t get checked off the list. For all of us, I bet. Maybe it was getting a family card sent or baked goods for the neighbors delivered. Maybe it was just getting some semblance of ribbons and bows on all the gifts. Maybe it was that one special gift you wanted to find, but kept coming up short. 

Maybe it’s harder things—Fixing an estranged relationship or bringing back a prodigal child. Maybe it is restoring a restless marriage or surrendering an unhealthy addiction. Maybe it is coming home from the hospital or feeling well enough to get up off the sofa.

Because baked goods and bows don’t much matter when there are harder hurts and deeper discouragements.

We will all greet tomorrow morning with something that failed to get done or fixed or repaired or reclaimed. Some small, some big. But, dear ones, let that unfinished something serve as a reminder. Though we don’t need a calendar reminder to tell us tomorrow is Christmas, we all need to be reminded that Christmas is Christmas because a baby was born in Bethlehem so many years ago. God came down in infant flesh because there would always be something about us unfinished and undone. Always something incomplete.

That baby lying in a rough wooden manger would point to our God on the much rougher wooden cross come to save us from all of our own undoing. 

Every thing we cannot finish, He tells us, “it is finished.” 

Finished because of His perfect love.

Finished by the work of His blood.

Finished for us.

Every broken, bruised and battle-weary thing. Every best intention, hopeful plan and lofty goal. 

Every attempt to fix. 

Every desire to repair. 

Every shred of pain. 

Every moment of loneliness.

He came for it all.

If this Christmas you don’t get all the presents wrapped or the cross stitch sampler stitched or the cookies baked, I want you to give yourself grace and let it go. These are not the things which matter most.

But, dear ones, please don’t go into Christmas morning missing the beautifully finished gift of God’s grace and love. The best news: It requires no work on our part. Only turning our eyes to Jesus and bowing down before that simple manger in Bethlehem.

Merry Christmas!

[And—lol— for those of you still wondering what in the world even is a cross stitch sampler.  Please let me explain: It is needle work which through little thread Xs, creates a picture and includes the baby’s name and date of birth. It is not a very popular craft these days--gone with stenciled walls and gingham country curtains--  but something I wanted to do for our Mimi Grace.  It will be finished in time for her first birthday next September]!

Instructions for Christmas

Decorating for Christmas is always one of my favorite things. And this year feels much the same, except I keep coming across notes tucked into my holiday storage boxes.

Last year, after Christmas, as I spent extra time taking things down and putting them away I was facing another round of scans in early January. Scans do something unkind to a stage 4 cancer patient’s mind. Scans mess with us. I’ve always been a person wired to hope for, and even, expect the best, but these past couple of years have introduced me to a new, more skeptical side of myself. Unfortunately, at times, a more anxious side. I still hope for and pray for and ask for the best, but I have this self-protective thing in me which, I notice, on occasion, attempts to manage my expectations and keep in check my slightly Pollyanna-ish personality. 

So those scans had me on edge last January. And as I put away my Christmas decor after the holidays I started writing out detailed directions on how to install the garlands on the railings and the candles in the windows. I left written and typed out sheets of paper in the boxes before I stored them in our basement. I left diagrams just under the lids. I told myself it was to make it easier on myself next year, but if I had been completely honest, I would have admitted it was also for a "just in case" kind of scenario. Just in case 2023 happened to go awry. Just in case I wasn’t able to be the person to hang that confusing garland on the front porch or place those electric candles in the right windows. Just in case. We will leave it at that. 

Super dramatic, right? I agree. And I really try to stay away from that kind of thinking, except I have a terminal cancer diagnosis and so sometimes that luxury affords me not.

Trust me, my attitude is very positive for a girl wearing these kind of statistical shoes and fighting this kind of undignified diagnosis. Most of the time I have ridiculously high hopes and every reason to believe I am going to keep fighting this disease for many, many years. But, as I mentioned above, there’s this new, slightly more skeptical, side with which I’m constantly confronted. I have statistics. I have too many stories of stage 4 patients. I know things. I see things. I fear things.

This is what living with stage four cancer sometimes looks like. The part you might not notice. So I'm telling you. 

And the mother and wife and woman in me wants to be ready. She doesn’t want her family to throw down that garland in frustration because, “only mom knows how to really make it fit the space.” She doesn’t want the dining room tree ornaments to end up on the family room tree or the stockings to be hung in the wrong order or the wreaths to be on the wrong doors. (gasp!) She doesn’t want a holiday season to come and not be well celebrated because, “only mom knows how to…”  I fully realize that all sounds pretty silly in the face of  cancer... or really anything. I know none of that stuff is a truly big deal, but in some weird way, for me, it was. Is.  

And I know when the day comes where I may be sick or weak or weary or (hopefully) old, I will want my family to carry on with all the courage and creativity that I’ve spent decades trying to pour into them—cancer or no cancer. 

Because life is brief. There are no guarantees. And as mothers we never know what lessons have really been learned. What traditions will be carried on. What memories made. What things remembered. We can’t imagine not being the one to wrap the presents or choose the yearly ornaments or plan the menu. We can’t fathom a day where we won’t be in the kitchen baking cookies and barking orders and checking on the turkey.

But for all of us, sooner or later, that day will, indeed, come.

Last year as I removed the ornaments and folded the stockings and wound up the garland and lights, I allowed the King of Lies to take hold of my very human, very fragile, heart. I allowed The Liar to whisper what ifs into my uneasy ears. He scared me. Of course he did. He is really good at his job. 

And, somehow, I thought if I wrote out directions and detailed a lot of drawings, I would be able to silence his insidious plans to sabotage my peace.

But he is a liar. And those were lies. And satan isn’t in charge anyway. Not one bit. He wants to keep me unsteady and unable. He wants desperately to make me incapable and ineffectual. He’d like nothing more to shut this girl down well before cancer does.

It’s a truly weird balance as we consider the brevity of our days—each one of us—and yet, place our full confidence in the perfect timing of Jesus. I know. I don't get all of it either. But it bears considering.

And that’s why I so desperately need the Truth of Jesus. Every day. Every hour. I think of the hymn I heard my grandparents sing so often growing up. They sang it a lot. I think because as older, wiser people, they knew. They got it.  Like I know now. Like I (mostly) get it:

“I need Thee every hour

Most gracious Lord

No tender voice like Thine

Can peace afford

I need Thee, O I need Thee

Every hour I need Thee

O bless me now, my Savior

I come to Thee.”

Annie S. Hawks, 1872

I don’t really fault that Jody from early last January. She likes her ducks in a row. She always has. Rick and I laughed a little as we pulled out those storage boxes this year. He was actually pretty impressed with my uber organization. The man loves a good diagram and chart. Trust me, it’s not easy to impress a #1 on the enneagram when it comes to organization. But impressed, he was.

Speaking of Rick, he’s been amazing this year in helping me get the house ready. Though he does a ton around our house daily, the holiday decorating was always my thing and he mostly just cheered me on and enjoyed the end result. But this year, he didn’t hesitate to jump in. He has been like my own personal 6 foot 3 1/2 inch elf. It’s been fun and he’s been a fantastic help. But, please, for his sake, no Buddy the Elf jokes! =)

But this morning as I sit here in this first week of advent and think about my many feeble attempts to be Christmas ready and prepared, I have to kind of laugh at myself. A decorated and ready house is so incredibly insignificant in life. But a dedicated and ready heart is what this season is truly about. It’s eternal life.

It’s not about preparing my rooms, but preparing room for my Savior and the celebration of His birth. 

In the words of Isaac Watts’ famous 1719 Christmas carol, 

Joy to the world, the Lord is come

Let Earth receive her King

Let every heart prepare Him room

And Heaven and nature sing.

You probably know that carol well, but did you know Watts wrote this hymn based on Psalm 98? 

Sing to the Lord a new song,
for he has done marvelous things;


his right hand and his holy arm
have worked salvation for him.

The Lord has made his salvation known
and revealed his righteousness to the nations. 

He has remembered his love
and his faithfulness to Israel;


all the ends of the earth have seen
the salvation of our God. 

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth,
burst into jubilant song with music; 

make music to the Lord with the harp, with the harp and the sound of singing, 

with trumpets and the blast of the ram’s horn—
shout for joy before the Lord, the King. 

Let the sea resound, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it. 

Let the rivers clap their hands,
let the mountains sing together for joy; 

let them sing before the Lord,
for he comes to judge the earth.


He will judge the world in righteousness
and the peoples with equity.

What a beautiful psalm full of resounding seas and clapping rivers and singing mountains. As a lover of nature, this resonates with me deeply. I get it. But, dear ones, we cannot ignore that final verse. “For He comes to judge the earth. He will judge the world in righteousness and the peoples with equity.”  He surely will. As much as I'd prefer to focus on the pretty and bright things of Christmas, that day of reckoning is very much a reality. 

As much as we want to prepare our hearts for the sweet Baby Jesus who found no room in the inn, we must also consider what we are doing to prepare our hearts for the Righteous One who will return and who promises to judge. 

We must. 

Even at Christmas. 

Especially at Christmas.

Even when the images are pastoral and idyllic and so lovely, we must remember being ready has to do with so much more than our holiday preparations. Let all these wonderful details point us to the most important details of all -- our heart preparation. 

Joy to the World, the Lord is come.

Joy to the World, the Lord will come again. 

And the good news is we don’t need to do anything. Unlike with Santa, we don't have to be good enough for Jesus. That's why He came. For us. Out of love. For us. We don't need typed out instructions or detailed drawings, we need only bow before The One who truly does make heaven and nature sing and worship Him.

Flight Talk

It was an early morning flight from Atlanta to Cleveland today for my cousin's funeral. Being last minute, our seats weren't together. As we approached our place in the plane, Rick asked the man in the seat next to mine if he wouldn't mind switching with him and moving back one row so we could sit together. The man quickly and nicely obliged.

Friendly chit chat went on for awhile between our two rows. We established that between the four of us we had one Steeler, one Eagles and two Browns fans. We joked about football and then the plane settled in for our take off. 

After a few minutes of quiet, the obliging man and his new seat mate struck up their own conversation. 

I tried not to eaves drop, but my seat was directly in front of them and I couldn't help but overhear a good portion. 

Two men sitting together. Different football teams. Different skin colors. But they began talking. They might have started with football, but quickly moved on to the topic of politics and, yes, even race. They shared their opinions and seemed to agree on most everything. 

From there they waded pretty fast into the waters of religion. No, that's not right. Not religion, but their faith. They talked about Jesus. They talked about what it looks like to follow Him. They talked about their fathers and their upbringings and their families. They shared details of their lives and what led them each to a relationship with Him. They discussed God's word and they encouraged one another as brothers in Christ. 

I really wasn't trying to listen, but at some point, I just resigned myself to the fact that I didn't have much a choice.

I listened. 

Because, sometimes, we should.

These two men talked for the entire two hour flight.  They talked and they laughed. They might have shed a few tears. And it blessed me. It blessed me immensely. It was the very best of what can happen when two people begin talking. When two people begin sharing what's similar and listening to what might potentially be different. One question I heard asked by both of them several times was, "what do you think about this?" 

I loved that. What if we all sat closer to strangers and asked that kind of question. And then listened. Really listened and let that other person talk. What might this world look like if we had more positive airplane conversations?

Because we know flight talk can sometimes be pretty weird. You have this time where you are kind of stuck with someone you typically don't know. A forced proximity for a set amount of time. The question always is: Do you engage and invite an opportunity to connect with another human being or do you put on the headphones and hide in your own stuff.

I realize sometimes we all need to put on the headphones and hide out a little. I get that. But not maybe as much as we think we do. 

I'm just saying that today two men on a plane from Atlanta to Cleveland connected in a powerful and meaningful way. 

And it was beautiful. 

We are heading to the funeral of my cousin, Marc, today. A diehard Steelers fan, yes, but more importantly, he was a man who loved to converse and connect and debate and discuss. He loved people and he loved to engage with them. 

He would have really loved listening to these two men today on the airplane.

Every Reason

This afternoon I have my next PET/CT scan. It's been 6 months since the last one. I had been doing them every 3 months, but my doctor--in the hope to give me a break--pushed this scan a little further since things looked stable.  In the interim, we've monitored in other ways. I have every reason to believe this scan will again show my cancer as stable.

Every reason to believe it, but of course anxiety still knocks at the door.

Every reason to believe my doctor knows what she's doing, but I still wrestle with the what ifs. 

Every reason to trust Jesus holds my future, but still fear rises and takes my breath away. 

Every reason ... and, yet, that doesn't mean I don't feel the weight of this disease and it's daily burden of never ending treatment and consuming thought.

So, as is often the case, this morning's devotional passage met me right in this very place of struggle --desiring to hope + trust God, but still feeling anxious and unsure. 

Psalm 42

"My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, 'Where is your God?'

"Why are you downcast, o my soul? 

Who so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

For I will YET praise Him, my Savior and my God."

"My soul is downcast within me;

Therefore I will remember you ...

Deep calls to deep 

In the roar of your waterfalls;

All your waves and breakers have swept over me."

"I say to God my Rock, why have you forgotten me?

Why must I go about mourning, oppressed by the enemy? My bones suffer mortal agony as my foes taunt me saying 'where is your God?'"

"Put your hope in God for I will YET praise Him."

Can you just hear and see the wrestling of David as he writes this Psalm? Tears. Downcast and disturbed, even feeling forgotten ... but I will YET praise you. I will remember you, God. I will remember your character and who you are and what you've promised. 

Following Jesus doesn't mean all the human emotions just easily fall away and all is okay. No, it means we have a place to be held when we fall and things aren't okay. A place to go to when we are anxious, unsure, afraid, and yes, even angry. 

Jesus can give us a peace which passes all understanding, but He can also allow us to wrestle and wrangle with some very hard things in this life. Nowhere in His word does he promise an easy existence on this earth. In fact, He is pretty clear, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

And so today I'll scan at 2pm and then we will wait for the results in these next couple of days. 

As always, I would sure love your prayers. 

How can you specifically pray?

For clear and stable scans.

For my eyes to be on Jesus.

For my family. This is about all of us. 

For some tough side effects from current meds.

For a supernatural strengthening of heart + spirit as I am on this road for the rest of my life. 

And to "Take heart!" Because Jesus has surely "overcome the world!"

Grateful, Jody 🩷

The Eleventh

November 11th. Remembrance Day. Armistice Day. Veterans Day. Whatever we call it, it was on this day at 5:45 in the morning the Allied Forces and Germany signed an armistice agreement bringing World War I to an end. Fighting officially ceased later that morning at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month. 

Something in my wiring really loves that tidy “11th” kind of agreement. How precise and clean and controlled. The stuff of storybooks. Strange that it should be the way war came to a close. Feels almost a complete paradox.  As if we can ever gloss over something so grueling, so gruesome, and then quickly give it a nice name and a pretty package. 

But that’s exactly what we do. All the time.

When we make up. When we fix up. When we tidy up. In our relationships and in our real life.

I wonder about those people living through the first world war years only to be hit so soon with the second world war. Just a couple of decades later. Did they not want to stand up and shout out and shake a fist — “Wait just a minute here! We all agreed to get along.” Didn’t they remember that eleventh hour on that eleventh day in that eleventh month? That agreement?

How quickly we forget. 

We are war forgetters.

We, even more so, are peace forgetters. 

There is little remembrance in fighting or in trying not to fight. Not when the lines have been crossed and the crosses lined up. We forget.

We move on after our troubles and our trials and our tiffs. We claim willingness to work hard and harder and harder still.  We sign armistice agreements all the day long with our children and our spouses and our colleagues and our neighbors … and then back to war we go. We are warring people. In our countries and in our cul-de-sacs. In our nation and in our nature. 

Like we cannot help ourselves.

We claim to be progressive and improved, more enlightened and less entitled, and yet war on we do. Conflict and chaos bedmates to our broken world. We’d like to think we have a measure of control with our policies and positions, but like that tidy 11th-ish package on that November day in 1918, we can call it anything we want, it won’t change the challenges of our humanity.

We are like dogs who return to their vomit. Even more instinctual than our tidying up, is our throwing up. Throwing it down. Down. Down. Down.

And there is little remembrance at that moment of rage and rift. 

When Jesus gathered his disciples in the upper room for the last supper and the first communion, he offered bread and wine saying “do this in remembrance of me.” 

And when he had given thanks, He broke it and said, “Take, eat; this is my body which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of me. In the same manner he also took the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.” 1 Corinthians 11:24-25

His body broken. His blood shed. For us. For you. For me. 

Knowing the brutal hours ahead of Him. Knowing the spiritual and physical war surrounding Him. Surrounding us. And yet he offered a most perfect agreement. A New Covenant. A chance for all those who believe to truly have peace. True peace. Lasting peace. Eternal peace. 

He took our place on the cross. 

He died the death we deserve. 

He surrendered His body for the sins we commit. 

Because He knew there’d be no way for us to keep an armistice agreement or any agreement on our own. No matter how tidy. No matter how hard we try. 

We are way past the eleventh hour of everything and if nothing else shows us our need for a Savior this day of remembrance surely does.  

So today we give abundant thanks for those who served and sacrificed. But let this day lead us to remembering the ultimate sacrifice of the One "who did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." Mark 10:45