the c word.

Nineteen months ago, just three short weeks after Maggie and Gray were born, I left my house early one morning.  I hailed a taxi, checked myself into a local hospital in Bangkok, Thailand, and I awaited my turn for surgery.  While pregnant with Maggie and Gray, a technician noticed "something unusual" on my bladder during an ultrasound.  Even as they wheeled me into the operating room alone, I remained unconcerned.  But when that sweet Thai doctor stood over me in the recovery room and said, "It is looking like the cancer," my world shook slightly.  Fortunately, it was followed by words like "completely gone," "no treatments needed," and "low probability of recurrence."  In my mind, it seemed small.

But two weeks ago, I found myself on the other side of that conversation.  The boys and I were deep into a study of cells, drawing and labeling the parts, discussing our cells' amazing ability to decipher what belongs and what doesn't, and the phone rang.  It was both of my parents, and the conversation began with "We don't want to put a damper on your day but...."

They begin to replay the last few days of their lives.  "Doctors' appointments... mammogram... mass... biopsy... almost positive it's cancer."  The words just kept coming and none of them were lovely.  In those moments, all I could think of was what we didn't know.  

Two weeks later, we know more.  It's Stage 2 and will require chemotherapy for starters. Some sort of surgery will follow, but that has yet to be determined.  And while my earthly, sinful side wants to focus on the questions still at hand, the Lord is slowly reminding of all the things that I can be confident of.  He's softly whispered Isaiah 55:8-9 every day to me since that dreaded phone call: "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord.  "As the heavens are higher that the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts."  Though I don't understand why that spot showed up in her breast, I am confident that He does and He will use it for His glory.

He's shown His face in small and big ways already.  The sweet lady at the wig shop that asked my mom if she could pray for her before she left. The God-fearing doctor that had already prayed for God to direct His hand on the day that he placed the port, but also prayed with my mom before he even began the procedure to still her heart and her nerves.  Sweet prayers from my twelve year old for a "Gigi" that he loves dearly.  And reminders that life is short and to treasure every opportunity with her (and my dad!)

Most of you who read this have met my mom.  You know that she is one of the most generous people, always going out of her way to serve others and does it to the best of her ability.  If she's got it and you need it, she'll give it to you.  If you need help and she is able, she'll fix you up!  She's hard-working, caring, and loves people.  She's a gem, for sure.  But the thing about her that I've thought of the most since all this surfaced is that she loves Jesus.  And honestly, knowing that makes all the difference in how we face cancer.  It is not bigger than our God, it is not stronger than her salvation, and it is not going to thwart His plans for her!  In that I have confidence.

Today is Day 1 of a grueling couple of weeks for her, so I'm praying extra big prayers for her this morning- prayers of peace, prayers of healing, and prayers of comfort.  We go way back... 35 years and 6 months to be exact, and I'm planning on 35 more.  As I sit here hundreds of miles away, I can't do much physically to help.  But if you hear the faint sound of cheering and yelling, know that we Marlins are covering you in prayer and cheers today.  Here's to kicking cancer's behind!  I love you, Mama!