Wednesday, May 28, 2014

A Bomb Squad Truck Told Me So

To fully understand the awesomeness behind this next story... I have to tell you that for years - almost 6 or 7 years - we've referred to our family as "The BomSquad".  It's a cute derivative of our last name.  My mom actually came up with it when she was helping me think of a name for our first blog - a family blog that I religiously (and obsessively) have kept updated for years.  The name has not only "stuck" - it's become our call-sign as a family and most of our friends and family refer to us as such.  We've since added email addresses, updated our mailing labels, even used it as part of our home decor in a few places.  It is who we are as a family.  I love my "bomsquad" - and that's just what they've proven to be... tough, brave, we face explosive situations together and we hold strong...

May 16, 2012... I was sick to my stomach.  Nauseated. The puffiness surrounding my bloodshot eyes was indication that it had been a particularly rough few days.  Eric had been diagnosed just two weeks before and the whirlwind that ensued had been emotionally crushing and physically draining.  We had gone through the process of interviewing doctors and had chosen our Oncology team - then proceeded with the endless battery of tests to stage him.  A whole new vocabulary of words and terms had been presented to us, then there was the reading. So much reading and learning to do.  The constant poking and prodding, scan after scan - a bone marrow biopsy. Appointments now dominated a calendar that was once filled with lunch dates, play dates and gymnastics. Awful doesn't even begin to describe the feeling of erasing a soccer practice and putting an Oncology appointment on instead.  The questions that remained unanswered during this time plagued us. How bad is it?  Did we catch it early?  Are we saying the right things to the kids?  Do we have the money to weather this? Is Eric going to die? Am I going to be a widow with 4 little kids? How will we EVER do this?  I would rate those couple of weeks as some of the scariest, most emotionally intense of my life. 

During those two weeks, prayer took on a whole new life within me.  No longer was it the standard, same-old going-through-the-motions kind of prayer.  It became an emotional, pouring out of the brokenness from my heart to the Almighty, begging for Him to have mercy on us. At times I doubted. Was he REALLY there?  We are a good family.  How could He let this happen to us?  As we drove to the Cancer Center that day to get the results of Eric's staging... I continued my pleading; heart pounding nerves reached new heights and I'm pretty sure my blood pressure was on overdrive.  Knowing what I know now... I think the Lord was shaking his head lovingly at my wavering faith and smiled knowing what little treat I was about to find.  And boy, was it EVER a treat, the coolest divine treat you can imagine!  It's a gesture I'll never forget -  the moment we pulled into the parking lot, He made Himself known.


I am not kidding. When we pulled in... a "Bomb Squad" vehicle was parked right in front at the drop off area. We both saw it immediately and reacted with total surprise. What in the world was a Bomb Squad truck doing at a Cancer Center?  There were no other emergency cars around, no sirens... NO POSSIBLE reason this truck should be there.  Eric and I looked at each other; my jaw dropped and he smiled. We were thinking the same thing, "Hey... WE ARE the BomSquad!" Nerves shed effortlessly from my body and we totally busted out laughing.  At that VERY moment, in this big wide world, during THE MOST STRESSFUL moment of our life yet... God had sent a fun and very personal message that He knows us, He knows our family (even what we call ourselves)... and that He knows VERY LITERALLY where we are and what we are going though.  A Bomb Squad truck at a Cancer Center... at precisely our appointment time, right when I was about to loose every last marble I had?  A smile spread across my face and I undeniably realized that we were in the RIGHT PLACE at the RIGHT TIME, that God was absolutely with us and that all would be well.  For the first time, I realized that I can do this.  I can barely describe how it felt as calmness and gratitude flooded my body... seeing that truck was as good as God reaching out and hugging me Himself.  Being the blogger that I am - I always have a camera in my purse and I remember Eric winking at me and saying... "Soooooo... are you going to take a picture of it?"  Me... "Ummmm.... Yeah. I would say so!"  It's a moment I'll never forget and I'm so glad we were there together to see it.

Tender mercies are all around us if we just take a moment to notice them. Our life never really got easier, in fact... that day started a two year battle for Eric's life that has rocked us to the core... but I think of this day often. I think of that "divinely placed" Bomb Squad vehicle all the time and it has carried me through our toughest days. It's been a literal reminder of how personally the Lord knows me and I've never questioned that since.  He's knows us each so well... and if we are mindful and pay attention, we'll all see the beautiful "signatures" He leaves for us to find. He wants us to know He's there... we just have to be willing to look, willing to see.  I believe when I look back at my life from the other side, I'll look at this as one of my most favorite life experiences... as it was the day I knew, unequivocally, that God was there, that He loved me and would be with us every step of the way.  

Please know that He's there for you, too.  That is something I know for certain... for a Bomb Squad truck on a hard day in May told me so. :)


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Saturday, May 24, 2014

Do small things with great love...



I have so many cool stories I can't wait to share about how others have shared our burden, come to our rescue and shown us amazing, unconditional love. In fact, I could write nothing BUT those stories and it excites me to begin the process of recording them. One particular experience has been on my mind today and I knew it was time to write it up.

I have a friend at church named Sue.  She's a mother and grandmother - and the woman seriously has a heart of gold.  She's unique... a bit quirky maybe, but compassionate beyond description. I've grown to love and respect her very much and know few others that love as unconditionally as she does. Another thing I love about Sue (and this might sound odd) but she always has yummy gum. As in like... remind-you-of-your-childhood-super-delicious sweet-watermelon-flavored gum.  Just chatting with her, you can smell the sweet scent and you can't help but smile while your taste buds scream for a piece.  On more than one occasion, I've complimented her on this lovely aroma and have been rewarded with a stick to enjoy.  Kind of a silly, insignificant thing, but a fun connection I have with this sweet friend.  She'll even pass me (or my wild 8 year old) a piece between pews if I wink and give her a signal! :)

I was at church, it was probably only a Sunday or two after Eric had been diagnosed for the second time.  I always hated those initial weeks - the first time you see someone, it's either emotional or awkward and I dreaded the duty of individually breaking that ice with everyone. It's just hard. When the meetings were over that day and I was be-lining for the door, she stopped me.  She grabbed my hand and immediately I could see her eyes welling up with the biggest tears you've ever seen. As if she'd had it forever and had just been waiting for the right moment... she put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a package of her famous "Watermelon Twist" gum. Not just ANY old pack... it was a gift; adorned with a small bow tied with baker's twine. In her soft, choked up voice... she said, "I'm so sorry. I just didn't know what else to do when I heard."  She hugged me so tight and in my ear she pleaded for me to call her when I needed help with the kids; a promise that her husband could bring her over anytime I needed her. Understandably, my eyes welled up too when I realized how much she loved me, cared about our family and how much she had wracked her brain to think of the right things to do and say the first time she saw me. My heart melted, not really over the pack of gum, but because she thought of the one personal thing that connected us and used that to show her love. Her gesture that day was nothing short of perfect and I think of it often.

I love you, Sue.  Thank you for teaching me that small things, done or given with great love, can make the biggest difference - even if it's just a .99 cent pack of gum.


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Friday, May 23, 2014

Loving the present...



Rewind to November 12, 2012...  It was a rainy and dreary Friday. We had just finished Eric's 12th and final round of chemo from his first diagnosis. To add insult to injury, we were also going on DAY 12 with no power, heat or running water from the havoc wreaked by Hurricane Sandy. I know. Brilliant timing. The physical and emotional exhaustion after 8 excruciating months of chemo on all of us is impossible to describe and to come home to an empty, cold house was almost more than I could stand. I had farmed the kids out for the weekend to stay with friends so that Eric could sleep and recover by the fire in the family room; the one room in the house that we could keep warm. I'm NOT the "farm your kids out" kind of mom - I'm like a hen, I like my chickies close.  So coming home and having them gone was like the icing on the cake of hitting rock bottom. After I got a fire started and had Eric settled in, I laid there in the dark listening to the logs crack and the tears I had been working so hard to dam up began to rush.  In a matter of minutes, I was drenched with my own tears and my body convulsed as intense emotion and despair finally overcame me.  It was in that moment that I truly knew what it meant to weep. To really, really weep. As the hours went on, well past midnight - I remember pleading, absolutely begging the Lord to put my life on fast forward.  I didn't just want our current circumstance to be over, I wanted to be past it.  I wanted to be so far ahead that the sting of it all was forgotten. I would have offered a limb, a million dollars, my soul - if only to fly past one year, JUST ONE YEAR to get this awful hell behind us.  

I eventually fell asleep and morning came. Two days later, the power was back on and the kids came home. What followed the next few months was a slow, but welcomed recovery. By January he was back to work and little by little it seemed we were getting back to that "normal" we used to love. The better and better he felt, the better I felt. The whole feeling in our home turned from anxiety and stress to laughter and fun. The sweetness and appreciation for each other, for life, increased 10 fold and those 3 or 4 months were awesome.  I felt the skip in my step return, I no longer had to just "grin and bear it".  I started designing again and my creativity exploded.  Eric felt well enough to travel. I painted. We had moved into our new house just a few weeks before he was diagnosed, so I was anxious to decorate and put my stamp on it. We even went on a vacation to Washington DC.  Life was seriously awesome. It was a new kind of normal, a new kind of awesome, and although the fear of ongoing scans loomed in the background - and I appreciated every second of it.

Then... in a unique moment, just about a year later, suddenly the remembrance of that awful night flooded back to my mind. The experience had been so vivid, I could almost smell the fire and I physically cringed just thinking of it. I remembered how I had BEGGED for life to advance past the turmoil we were in. Ironic that now, about a year later, we were back in the hospital.  Months had passed since a second diagnosis robbed us of that new found relief and Eric was sleeping, hooked up to a centrifuge collecting his stem cells for transplant. I almost fell over when I realized it.  Had the Lord granted my wish to advance a year - we would have missed those precious months of bliss before he was diagnosed again. We would have missed the wonderful feeling of remission and the relief and happiness that came with that.  We would have missed the growth, the gratitude and the quality that LIVING IT had added to our life.  By all accounts, one year from that awful night - we were now in a much worse, far more serious and life threatening situation.  I couldn't BELIEVE I unknowingly WISHED for that!!   It was in that moment that I learned how important and ESSENTIAL it is to live in the present. Today is a gift. Who knows what tomorrow or next week or next year may bring?  It was that day that I chose to appreciate each day for what it was, no matter what.  Wishing away today would be a huge mistake!  Looking back... I might even realize that those days, the days I wanted to end so badly, were actually some of the sweetest days.

From that day forward, I vowed to no longer wish away my circumstance... but to embrace it.


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