I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up (How He Continues To Use Ann Voskamp To Bless Us)

Meeting Ann Voskamp at the women's retreat

I have been keeping an extensive journal during our walk through the valley of childhood cancer. I made careful note of everything, since details fade so dramatically with time. I don't want to forget the "little" miracles, God-stories and blessings He has given us along the way. The gentle reminders that He is there. However, in recent months we have had some experiences that are so unlikely, so completely crazy, that I am creating a new category entitled, "I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up," and last weekend I added another unbelievable story to that file.

I had plans to attend the women's retreat for our church. I'm an introvert with the busy job of raising four kids, so my idea of retreating is a weekend by myself, or maybe with the hubby...but the thought of 600 women can be a bit draining for us quiet types. This time though, there were a few compelling factors that made the decision less murky than in years past. Ann Voskamp was the main speaker, Paula Rinehart would also be teaching, Laura Story was leading music, I would be attending with my wonderful discipleship group and we would be staying at a girlfriend's lake house. 

They had me at Ann Voskamp.

It was an incredible few days. Ann speaks as she writes, so beautifully poetic. The worship time was wonderful. Hanging out with my d-group ladies was hilarious and good for the soul. We laughed so hard. But I came away with something else this weekend, something utterly unexpected. I was completely humbled by what God is doing with our family's journey. It is greater than I ever imagined.

I had been asked by our church to be one of several ladies who would give a video testimony regarding our experience with Ann's book, One Thousand Gifts...about how it affected us in our time of trial, what we learned, the impact it made. I began reading One Thousand Gifts less than a month after our 11-year old daughter, Bailey, was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. I was still numb, barely breathing...but God had made it clear in various ways that thankfulness was a topic He wanted me to pursue. Just short of one year later, a year that included a grueling chemo regimen, an unthinkable amputation decision and watching our daughter suffer in unimaginable ways, I found myself shooting this retreat video. I spoke of how God used the book during this time to show me His Truth in a kind and gentle way. To remind me to give thanks in ALL things. It had a dramatic affect on my journey. Even though it was a deep valley, I would search for a few things every day for which I could be thankful...even in the darkest times. 

After each session of the retreat, a video would play of a different woman's story. I did not know which night mine would air and I had not yet seen the video. But on Saturday evening, after dinner, it flashed on the screen. It was not a cheery, feel good story. I tried to be open and honest, as I have been throughout our battle, and the focal point was being thankful in the middle of the suffering. What I did not realize was that this video would set off a chain of events that would leave me feeling overwhelmingly blessed and incredibly unworthy. As it faded out, Laura Story began playing her hit, "Blessings." What composure I had left was completely gone.  Bailey and I had clung to "Blessings" while she was ill...it captured our feelings perfectly and Laura's song gave us words when we were too weak to find our own. There was one day last summer when Bailey was practicing the song on the piano...with her bald head and half a leg. I could have collapsed in a puddle in the kitchen as I heard her sing and play, "What if your blessings come through raindrops, what if your healing comes through tears..." 

A mom's heart...rejoicing and breaking simultaneously. So to cap off the video with this song, though hard, felt completely perfect. 

If you missed the video, it can be found here:

A Holy Experience 

Following Ann's session that evening, I was given the special opportunity to meet her. She hugged me and wept. Truly wept. So tender. Such compassion. She listened as I retold our story. She seemed genuinely interested. We talked for a bit and she wrote a precious note in my tattered and underlined copy of One Thousand Gifts. The entire evening felt God-kissed...special...to treasure for always. 

I returned home after the weekend and quickly jumped back into life, but I did feel relaxed and refreshed after my blessed few days away. I had felt God's arms around me and I was grateful.

But there was more. 

Late Sunday evening, I learned that Ann wanted to post my portion of the video on her blog, "A Holy Experience." 

Seriously. 

I know that God was working for something bigger than simply making me smile, but this book-loving, always-reading mama almost fell out of my chair. Ann Voskamp? Really God? Are you kind enough to be in the details?

He is. 

One Thousand Gifts was the first book I read after we had begun our hospital stays last spring. In the dark and lonely room, late at night, machines beeping, my girl heavily medicated, my heart aching...I read Ann's beautiful words. I firmly believe that God used this book to set my attitude for our journey...to encourage me to wrestle for thankfulness and joy, so that I could use them to beat back fear and doubt.

The video was posted on Ann's blog and shortly after, the messages began to come. As I have learned throughout this journey, if you are authentic, people respond. The irony is that although I have spent recent days bombarded by encouragement and by people telling me what a blessing we are...I know that we are truly the ones being blessed. To watch a child in agony is unimaginable and many times, on this side of Heaven, we don't get to see what God is doing.  But this was another one of those times, when He pulls back the curtain for just a glimpse. To be given even a small peek at how our story is encouraging others is unexpected. A reminder that He is working. There is a bigger plan. That He's got this.

What a gift the last few days have been. I am overwhelmed by what God has done. I am embarrassed that I didn't pray bigger. I am amazed by how He is using Bailey's story in spite of my very small faith. 

I am completely humbled. 

Thank you Ann for letting Him use you once again, to bless and encourage my soul. 
 

One Year Later

Bailey's 10th Birthday (November 2011)

Disney (February 2012)...we had no idea Bailey was sick, but her knee bothered her the entire trip.

This time one year ago was hell week in our house. Bailey's persistent knee pain led to a Sunday x-ray, Tuesday MRI, Thursday biopsy and ultimately, a Thursday afternoon, March 15, 2012 diagnosis of bone cancer. The fear was startling and suffocating. Even now, after all we have walked through, it still feels like this bizarre dichotomy between acutely real and unbelievably impossible. It seems long ago, but I cannot yet read old journal entries without feeling physically ill. Almost overnight, we were brutally hazed into this cruel world of childhood cancer and we can never go back to how it was before. 

Never. 

Many have asked how we are doing, how I am doing, as we approach this anniversary. There is no simple, short, small-talk, feel good answer to this question. I suppose if pressed...thankful, battle-weary (yes, still) and profoundly different would suffice...but those words barely scratch the surface and they are a grossly inadequate description of the journey we have been on. There are so many emotions, both good and bad, and it is difficult to boil an authentic answer down to a socially acceptable response time.

How are we?

We are no longer who we were.

Suffering brings questions for everyone. However, if you are a person of faith, I think those questions are much scarier because they threaten the fabric of your belief system. It is very easy to claim that you cannot believe in God because a good God wouldn't let this happen. It is far more challenging to concede that His plan has suffering in its design for a very specific reason and at a particular moment, that suffering involves your child...yet you still choose faith. It is easier to write Him off completely...than to spend night after night confessing your anger, doubt, confusion and absence of trust in His plan - sometimes lacking even the strength to pray - uttering only groans...yet to still choose faith. It is easier to pick a few favorite verses about God being good, stamp them over the issue at hand and and deny your feelings, rather than violently wrestling for truth. Many times well intentioned loved ones want to throw theology at the problem, but during the darkest nights of the soul, theology can feel like nothing more than salt in a raw wound. Grappling with the fact that He is good regardless of of the outcome...living the agonizing reality that "good" can mean something very different than safe, healthy and happy...that there is a much bigger puzzle being assembled and we are only a small piece...this requires tremendous effort. To every day choose anew to actively trust what you know and not what you feel...it is an epic struggle.

We are no longer who we were. 

Biopsy and day of official diagnosis...osteosarcoma (March 15, 2012)

Bailey had port placement surgery and began chemo the very next week.

Her hair began falling out about two weeks after the first chemo.

Bailey decided to go ahead and go bald. (April 2012)

We have a precious daughter, born with two healthy legs...who is now an amputee. We have watched this now 11-year old turn into a woman-child before our eyes, as she experienced things that would make most adults crumble. We have seen the horrors that come in the name of a "cure." We have spent over 50% of nine months in the hospital....watching our daughter miss school and friends and life. Our family has been separated and we have tried our best to keep everyone's life "normal." Although early on, we realized that this was both a ridiculous and impossible plan. Eventually, we settled on the goal of simply filling each of the four love tanks as they became too depleted...because "normal" was nowhere on the radar, nor was it even remotely attainable. Our active, athletic child has not run a step in over a year. We watched her handle hair loss, nausea and amputation like a warrior princess and some days, we were able to keep going simply because she did. We have learned about chemo and prosthetics and long-term side effects and probabilities. We have been connected to so many other cancer families and we will continue to walk with them, because that is how this world works. You can't truly understand the horror of childhood cancer until you have lived it. To see one of your children in agony and not be able to give them relief...it does something to your soul. We knew nothing of childhood cancer and now we are passionate about raising both awareness and funds. We are also learning to live life in 3-month increments...from scan to scan...battling for joy and against fear with each day. 

We are no longer who we were.

We managed to squeeze in a few days at the beach before surgery, but it was not a vacation. (May 2012)

"Good-bye Leg Party" the night before surgery in Gainesville. Bailey swam laps that night until she was exhausted.

The morning of Bailey's rotationplasty. I'm not sure how she managed a smile. It was a very difficult day.

  (June 5, 2012)

It is done. The tumor is out. Time to move forward. (June 11, 2012)

We have seen a church and school carry us when we couldn't stand...showing us how the body of Christ is designed to function. Fourth grade boys shaved their heads and fourth grade girls made a precious quilt that we will forever cherish.  Food miraculously arrived at our door for months. People sent gifts and notes of encouragement almost daily. Flowers were planted in our yard. Acquaintances I hardly knew were some of the most faithful prayer and support warriors. Professional athletes made the time and effort to bring a smile to Bailey's face. Miss McConaughy and Miss Robbie came as angels from heaven here on earth. Everyone prayed. We were overwhelmed by the active outpouring of love and service and surprised by the numbers who were standing in the gap for us.

We are no longer who we were. 

So to sum up in a sentence or less how we are doing...it can't be done. You cannot walk through the valley, yet be continually loved and lifted up and not be profoundly different. If you ask me in passing...I'll probably give you the one sentence easy and incomplete version. But be assured that internally, my brain is whirling and spinning and wrestling...still trying make sense of the magnitude of the last year and of our new normal. It will take time to continue to process and adapt...there is much that is different and much to sort through. There does seem to be some truth to the idea of post-traumatic stress disorder as it relates to a cancer battle and we are still learning how to live in the after. I read as one mom described her "white knuckle grip on gratitude" as they walk their journey...and I am adding joy to that grip as well. It is the only way to move forward, but there are still days when that joy and gratitude feel slippery.

Suffering is not something I would wish for. Only the super-human could desire that sort of pain because they know that growth is the ultimate result. I am human and selfish and sinful...happiness...and the avoidance of feeling as though my heart is being ripped into pieces...well those are my preferences. :) This is also not some nice, neat suffering story wrapped, done and ready to file away. This journey is dynamic and has left us with permanent scars and issues that we will be dealing with forever. Grief and pain are very personal and our path will look different than that of others. Everyone must wrestle with God in their own way and at their own pace. But if I compare the "me" now vs. the "me" of a year ago...there is a marked difference. I am more patient, more empathetic, faithful to spend daily time with God, stronger, a better mom, more intentional, more in awe of my heroic daughter who is oozing joy and Jesus out of every pore, more selective in how I spend my time, more aware of those suffering around me, more content in the mundane, better prepared to help those who are hurting, better at living in the day...even...more joyful and more thankful. I am still a work in progress, but if I honestly take inventory...there is fruit blossoming as a direct result of the last twelve months. It was hard. The pain was intense. Much of the brutal agony has subsided, but we still have bad days and I'm certain the cycle of ups and downs will continue. Even though it has dulled now, the heartache has been a constant, but the blessings...they too are ever-present. 

We are no longer who we were. 

The new leg! (October 2012)

Even after everything Bailey has been through...still smiling. (January 2013)

Three-month scans...no evidence of disease! (February 2013)

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking in anything. "

-James 1:2-4