Rollercoasters and Treasures

It's been a while since I've written a blog post. Ok, like years really. It's not laziness or apathy. It's not that I'm too busy, if I'm honest. I think it's probably because writing blog posts was not on the list of priorities. When I very first started this blog at the beginning of our homeschool journey ten year ago, my thought was to document all of our sweet, little, learning moments and adventures. Ha! That didn't last long. Lack of follow-through and the tyranny of the urgent got in the way of that vision.

Through my great mental health crisis of 2017 and breast cancer diagnosis of 2019, however, blogging became an outlet. More than an outlet really. As God was teaching me, shaping me, sanctifying me, the Holy Spirit was prompting me to share. Words and concepts would be rattling around in my brain, and I couldn't focus on much else until I put them in black and white and shared them publicly. I never wrote anything unless that burning urge was present. 

And so, I haven't written much in recent years because that urge was absent. Life leveled out. It was stable again. Predictable. Comfortable. The calling changed. I was able to be involved in various in-person ministry opportunities again. Our time these past few years has been spent leading multiple small groups, mentoring middle school students, doing premarital mentoring with young couples, serving on the prayer team at church, serving on the board of a non-profit, and yes, still homeschooling. 

Then, in an instant, on a Friday night via a medical app, I saw the biopsy report that flipped everything upside down. Again. 

Again, my ears were ringing. Again, my heart was racing. Again, my whole body was shaking. I asked Jake if he would go for a walk with me (so I could tell him the news and process it without our kids hearing); he knew something was wrong. We made it a few steps down the driveway and ended up sitting in his car.

And so began the rollercoaster ride. Highs and lows, twists and turns, in every day. Once you're on a rollercoaster - strapped in and starting to move, there's no escape. There's no rip cord. You can't get off; your only option is to hang on and ride it out. Screaming, holding your breath, or throwing your hands up in the air, regardless of how you ride it, you're stuck on it. 

Seeing the biopsy report that Friday night was the rollercoaster's plummet after that initial assent. Our time sitting in Jake's car included pouring over every line of the biopsy, talking to a nurse practitioner friend, and sharing the news with the couple we do life with. 

The report was easy to interpret because it was very similar to the first diagnosis: invasive ductal carcinoma (IDC), ER/PR+ (fed by hormones), HER2- (growth not related to a certain protein), Grade 2 (medium level of aggressiveness). I sent out two SOS texts: the first to one of my oncologist's nurse practitioners who I serve on a board with, and the second to our friends Marcus and Lauren. Marcus and Lauren texted that they would call as soon as they got home, and in the meantime my NP friend called. She assured me that it would be ok and that they would take care of me. She had just gotten home from a breast cancer convention and told me about how there are some really exciting and promising treatment options. Phew, I started to breathe again.

Then Marcus and Lauren called. I don't remember all the details of the conversation, but I know they cried with us, sat in it with us, and held it with us. And then, just like last time, Marcus prayed over the phone. The first time around, he did the same thing, and it was a truly pivotal moment - the moment I got off the floor so to speak. This time around was no different, only it came much quicker. The first time around was a day or two after the news of the diagnosis. This time around it was minutes after. Emotional and Spiritual muscle memory served me well, and at the end of the prayer, there was an acceptance, a resolve, and a renewed hope in the Lord. I don't remember all of the words, but I know he prayed for the obvious specifics - that this would be contained and that God would heal me, and I know he prayed that God would make His presence known. 

I survived the initial terror of that first rollercoaster drop. Jake and I decided we wouldn't tell the girls anything until we had more info, so we sucked it up and went inside. We played games, watched a show ("The Promised Land" - so good!), and had a family campout.

The next day we spent our Saturday Sabbath at Sgt. Jasper Park. There was so much beauty and laughter! It was a gorgeous weather day; we did one of our favorite family activities which is to have a photo contest; we were outside and moving (hard to get started, but the best thing you can do when you are down). We were in that loopty-loop part of the rollercoaster. The part where my stomach isn't dropping, and I can find joy in the midst of the ride. 

There are moments from that day that I truly treasure. Like when Ivy's legs got tired and she wanted a piggy back ride from Jake...but it became abundantly clear that we have outgrown that phase. The laughter pouring out from all of us was genuine and carefree, even as the weight of the news lingered in the background. Then there was the moment in the car where Jake and I blasted the Lady Gaga song "Hold my Hand." We were singing it at the top of our lungs, feeling every lyric as we quietly held the news, but the girls didn't know all that. They just plugged their ears and cringed at our lovey-dovey antics. And we laughed. 

God has been so gracious to us. Again. From the moment we found out until now, He's answered prayers, and He's shown us His presence in tangible and truly remarkable ways at every twist and turn. Some things I've posted about on social media. Some things I've shared with friends. But some things I've just held on to and treasured in my heart, like Mary (Luke 2:19). I've wanted to write blog posts because I want every person to know just how good God is, but the words didn't come like they did last time. So, I didn't.

Last time around, in 2019, my word of the year was "rejoice." My word for 2025 was "discipline." (And my 2026 word is "hope") "Discipline" was a weird choice, but then again, I don't really choose my word - God reveals it to me through prayer and reflection. I've been seeing already in multiple ways why He might have given me this word, one of which comes into play with this blog post. I've wrestled a lot with how to spend my time in these days of isolation due to an immune system suppressed by chemo. I'll probably write more on this later, but the main thing that has risen to the top is: "stay on mission."

The question is, How do I stay on mission when I can't be around people? Well, the mission of telling people about Jesus - how He loves them and genuinely wants a relationship with them - hasn't changed, but the method has. I may not be able to serve, mentor, encourage or witness to people in person (and let's be honest, as an introvert I wasn't really great at that last one anyway), but I can still do all those things...just in different ways. One of the things I'm focusing on is lifting certain people up in prayer every single day. Another thing I'm focusing on is calling and texting to check in on and encourage others. And that witnessing piece - the thing I'm not great at anyway - I do better with in written form. Because of that, I'm going to try to discipline myself to get the things on "paper." I have so many truly awe-inspiring stories to tell already and tell them I must. Even if words are hard now because of a very really thing people refer to as "chemo brain."

Lord willing, there will be more posts to come, and hopefully I will be able to articulate them well enough for you to feel the gratitude and pure awe at the love of God that I have felt. I've also wrestled. A lot. I'm thankful that slowly and gently, the Lord is continuing to peel back the layers of my heart and teaching me new things. Hopefully as I get them through my thick brain, I'll be able to share those too. 

Stay tuned. :)