It's. Not. Cancer.
3 days before we were expecting any news. Before I even had the chance to jump every time the phone rang, waiting for the test results that would change our lives. I had been so busy taking care of my little girl that I had not allowed myself to think beyond the moment, until I laid down at night and sleep wouldn't come. So I stood there in the dining room, letting the words sink in. It's. Not. Cancer.
I had imagined how I would react if I heard those words, and I thought I would be overjoyed, giddy even. And while I immediately felt relieved and grateful, I also felt exhausted. Once the weight was lifted and I didn't have to be strong, I think it just all hit home.
I walked into the room where Isabel was snuggled up on the couch, and shared with her what we had just heard. She immediately replied increduously: "What?! I almost had cancer!!! I would have died!" And then she and her sisters (ok, and me, too) broke into a fit of giggles, because when Isabel laughs it's infectious and you can't help but join in, regardless of how inappropriate it may be.
So now we go back to "normal" life. With normal people problems like broken vacuum cleaners and dirty carpets and kids that talk back or argue or hate to do their homework. But after all that we've been through over the past few months, doing normal just doesn't feel, well, normal. We have this long list of things that needed to be done but we just kept putting them off until after the surgery and whatever came next. So now I'm looking at this "To Do" list and I'm not sure how to get started. It's hard to care about replacing your mismatched kitchen chairs after stroking your baby's face, scarred and swollen from surgery and wondering all the while what you would do without her.
But while I'm absolutely exhausted from it all, I wouldn't erase these past few months even if I could. Which sounds so cliche and absolutely ridiculous, so you're just going to have to take my word for it and trust that I mean it. People always say that when they go through really difficult times, it's in those heart-crushing, soul-searching moments that you find yourself so close to God that you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He is real and present and holding you close. Now I get it. I understand what Paul is talking about in Philippians 4:7 when he promises that "the peace of God, which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Over the past few weeks, we have been so incredibly amazed at the emails and calls and conversations we've had with people who were praying for our little girl and for our family. And not just mentioning our names in a routine mealtime prayer, but truly interceding on our behalf. I know that those prayers made a difference. Before we left for the hospital, our families met us at our house and we spent some time in prayer and I was just overwhelmed at how blessed we are. We have this incredible faith community of family and friends who stood in the gap for us and carried us through a difficult time that could have been so much worse. I don't fully understand the mechanics of how this prayer thing works - obviously God is all powerful and doesn't rely on our prayers to get Him up in the morning. But to stand in the middle, surrounded by people who's collective faith offered up in prayer hits you like a hurricane, well it's just indescribable. It may seem a bit trite, now that I'm standing on this side of things, but I just had this overwhelming sense of God's presence with and for us. Romans 8:31 says "...if God is for us, who can be against us?" I truly can't fathom how people get through life without God, without knowing and feeling that, as it says in Psalm 139:5, "You hem me in, behind and before. You have laid Your hand upon me."
A few nights later, I was up late with Isabel and we were talking about her scar. It was the silliest thing, but when Matt and I first saw her after surgery, lying there unconscious and so very small on the hospital bed with the tube still in her mouth and her face red and swollen from the tape they had just removed, the thing that struck us was her scar. It seemed so big on her tiny little neck and she's so beautiful and it was so ugly. But as I was fretting over it again later, the story that came to me was the story of Jacob. Now that guy was drama, so he has lots of stories. But the one I was thinking of is in Genesis 32 and it talks about how he wrestled with "a man until daybreak." So I explained the story to Isabel, how Jacob was going to meet his brother, and when he stopped for the night he began wrestling with this man and they wrestled through the night. Finally the man touched Jacob's hip, which was enough to later make him walk with a limp. But Jacob still wouldn't let go and insisted the man bless him. At which point there's an exchange that results in Jacob's name being changed to Israel because he had "struggled with God and with men and have overcome." (v 28). Jacob then realizes that he had seen God face to face, had wrestled Him even, and his life was not only spared, but he received a blessing. Isabel thought the whole story was pretty interesting and we compared Jacob's limp with her scar. Because in the way that his limp was a reminder of his struggle and his blessing, her scar would be a testimony of how she had been afraid, and how God had rescued and healed her. Every time someone asks her how she got the scar, she will be able to share her story - God's story. How she "almost died!" as she so eloquently put it, but how so many people rallied around her and prayed for her and how her God moved and her life was spared. Let me just say that had things turned out differently, her story would still be God's story and His story is always one of redemption, and His promises are no less true when they don't bring the answers that we pray for. God is still God and He is still good regardless of whether there is healing in this life or the next. I say that confidently now with a sigh of relief, and while I didn't endure disease or death, I walked through it's shadow and I felt peace that can only come from a God that is as real as the scar on my daughter's face.
The other day Isabel shared this amazing story of how God spoke to her a few days before her surgery. It's a great story and deserves it's own post so I'll share it soon!
I don't really know how to do normal yet, but that's ok. We'll limp around for awhile, and we'll remember what God has done, for us and in us and through us. And we'll celebrate His story and the part that He has invited us to play. Wherever you're at in your journey, whatever your going towards or leaving behind, ask yourself this question: what's your limp? What points you back to who God is and what He's done in your life? And if you don't have one, roll up your sleeves and start to wrestle. Grab onto God and don't let go until you come up changed. Who needs normal anyways? It's totally overrated if you ask me.
