be strong and courageous

My boy True has a soft heart that meets mine, sometimes on days when I least expect it. Yesterday his words broke me in all the best ways. Words hidden amongst a family drive-just a way to spend time together after a whirlwind of school holiday and work commitments drove us all in separate directions this past week.

My True had missed his Daddy who had been working late to meet a big deadline. I hadn't noticed the disconnect. But he was a little shadow to his Dad over the weekend. Keen to help on projects around the house, thriving under the kind words his Daddy threw over him like a warm blanket after being cold to the bones.

Driving to the bakery in Meadows we listened to a story together - the one about a heroic little crop duster who wins a huge race with a little encouragement from his friends. (Thanks Disney) When we arrived we had Brave a mess of car sickness, Soul keen to run around, and a True wanting to be given responsibility and be Dad's helper.

We grabbed donuts and coffee on the way to the playground, and the boys slid and swung and hurled themselves around despite the chilly day. Huz pushed them on swings, I sat and drank in the moment: Me out of the house and living life with my family - sweet sweet times. And I promise I didn't even whinge about the cold (which I absolutely normally would have) because who could be cross at bone chillin' cold when I was with my littles instead of waving them goodbye from the couch.

And we are walking back to the car when True says, 'This was the best day I have ever had in my life'. Oh my boy. My True. And he tells Dad first, and when he gets to me I whisper back in his ear so it's our secret, 'This is my best day too'. And I scoop him up in a cuddle because I still can. 

And then there's the part that breaks me again. The part where we sing loud and free to music on the drive home - that CD that never gets played anymore because that was what I used to do back in the day when life was normal, and Mummy cooked and ran the house, and that's when I would play these songs - hoping the Truth would sink into little hearts as the music beat out the Jesus story...

True and Brave remember the words - some of them - and we just sing sing sing. 'Be Strong and Courageous' begins, and I remember how my breath catches at the Hope ringing true in the lyrics. Then True's voice belts out the words, 

'Be strong and courageous
Lord of the Ages, 
Holds all His little ones safe by His side, 
Be strong and courageous, 
The Lord of the Ages
Holds all His little ones safe'.

And for all the reasons you can guess and all the hidden sadness too the tears are rolling, rolling down my face and they won't stop as I hear his beautiful, high, confidant, true voice ring out in the car reminding me that God will hold him when I am gone because doesn't He hold all his little ones safe? 

True has often times been too shy to sing out loud, but when I look into the revision mirror, he is singing with gusto. I can almost see the deep truths penetrating that heart of his.

And that's when it happened. The little family drive becoming sacred. The space to be together - just the five of us - and my boy True soars. His heart meeting mine and breaking me in all the best ways. 

fill their cups

I caught myself out.

Just realised what I've been doing. All of that sneaky loving on my boys. My heart aching to see them last night when they slept over with cousins. The need to hold Brave's hand in the car after I hadn't seen him for 24 hours. The counting down till I see True when I pick him up in an hour.

So, why is it so hard to stop kissing my boys, studying the intricate details of their faces more intently, and squeezing just a bit too tightly when we cuddle? Is it possible to maybe fill their hearts to the brim with my mummy love so that when I'm no longer here they will still know, still be tangibly in my love anyway? Can you do that? Like preparing in advance? A cup of love filled to the brim.

I've been trying.

And going grocery shopping today reminded me again how fatigued I get walking that trolley around Pasadena Foodland, and how I came close to leaving my trolley full of groceries in the line to find a seat to sit on when I started to feel weak. It reminded me that I'm not well. That I'm not healthy. That I need to squeeze tight and kiss too much and tickle these boys of mine everyday.

And it exposes my lack of faith that without me their lives will be full of the goodness of God, His presence, His guidance, and his biggest of all love. This big love that has wooed me all of my life. And He will woo them, and He can do this without me in their lives, and even just writing that makes me mad, because what could be better for my four boys than to have this mummy, this wife here-in the flesh here-to do what I love: do life together. 

And I can't even weigh up how it is better for me not to be here, for them to process the loss of a mother when this story I've been handed is too big even for me to walk out, much less my little men. And their hearts are so very young, so very tender. A good friend told me recently that God is very gentle with our hearts. It comforted me to hear that, and I have been praying that somehow these incredible boys of mine would see me walk this ugly thing out holding the hand of Jesus and seeing it is well with my soul. That my God is good, that He is to be trusted, that He will never ever leave me or forsake me, and that His heart is for them. All out, 100% for them.

And there's a desperation to wanting to stay with my Huz. I feel that desperation today. And it's so yuck that I'm the one going, and all that's being asked of him feels so very huge, and it comforts me that he will be here to raise the boys because he is an incredible father and the best, the very best man to love them, but it's awful that we won't get to do it together. Actually it's kind of unimaginable. We make such a great team. I almost don't know myself when I think about who I am without him. We are one entity in many ways…I can't process this leaving when it feels like leaving half of myself behind.

So the struggle to live this out is wearing. I'm weary from laying on my couch day after day. I'm weary from my mind constantly ticking over. I'm weary from the sadness that I've had to make room for in my spirit. It's demanded such a lot of room in my heart and life and the processing of this cancer, this not being healthy, this unable to grocery shop/drive/look after my kids alone kind of change is weary. I'm weary from what feels like being cut off from the people I love and the life I love to live.

But despite these things, it is well with my soul. It is well with my soul. I've got this on repeat as my broken heart is trying to fix eyes on Jesus. It is well with my soul.

mothers heart

I woke with the faces of my littles in my mind. Sweet, soft faces with huge eyes and questions, always questions to ask, and laughter that comes easily. Oh my littles. You are the three I sobbed over when I was alone falling asleep last night - you beautiful, frustrating, incredible darlings.

And it's these faces that turn the constant cog to write down all the small details of this beautiful life, because I am the keeper of so very many memories, moments with you three, and these moments are rich as gold and deeply precious, and how do I give them back to you when articulating it is so unbelievably daunting?

Moments like discovering the dimples in Brave's cheek when you were hours freshly made. Marvelling at the detail of how He made you, with the softest skin and eyes that met mine and never did look away. The boy with the name made up on the spot during labour - a perfect name for such a light as you Brave.

Moments like True finding worship at church irresistible to dance to when he was 2 years old-a dance from his happy place, a dance that in itself was his toddler worship. A dance that made my heart see the joy of abandoning yourself to the moment, and put to shame my inhibited, self conscious singing beside you. Small feet tapping and a body moving as one little unit. True joy.

Moments like the first smile Soul gave me from his hospital bed after he came out of cranio-facial surgery at 7 months old. Bandage wrapped swollen head, tiny tiny body, jagged stitches and a smile. I could breathe again. A tough fighter and dearly loved one. That smile undid me.

And these moments pile up in my mothers heart, and there are too many to dig through, carefully collected and counted and tucked away. Countless deeply happy, life is beautiful moments, of which I am the keeper. I have to believe that my Jesus will do something fabulous with such moments as these. They inspire my heart even in it's brokenness, they have made my life such a rich treasure, they will be carried in my mother's heart all of my days and into eternity.

But now I don't have too long to give the gift back to you my True, Brave and Soul. How can you know the way I drink you in, the way it refreshes my soul to be next to you doing this life. Can you know the intricate way I have studied your sweet faces, knowing each and every curve of the nose, small freckle on the cheek, cowlick and expression? 

And the moments themselves may look ordinary on the outside, but these moments cuddling in bed and eating rice bubbles at the kitchen table, tickling and sitting by the fire -these are the delicious moments full of the very best of life. These are the moments I ache over in all of the new knowledge. Knowing that I can no longer be gluttonous in my desire for endless days with my tribe of boys. I love our moments together. I have gathered them to me and I am the keeper and long to be now also the giver of them.

I just wish I could find a way to give the gift of all of these moments right back to you. So you would know that you know how loved you are by this lucky mum who counts it all as grace as the moments pile up. 

And this part of my story is hard, and you boys are the ones I fall asleep crying over and wake up smiling over. You are my portion and joy in this life.

I am more than blessed.

you love me so well

You love me so well. You who comes to all my appointments and chemo. You who takes time off work to drive the boys to school and childcare. You who makes school lunches at 8pm at night, and loads the dishwasher in the morning so I don't have to look and smell dirty dishes all day from my spot on the couch.

You love me so well. You who comes home from work when it's dark, and feeds the boys a sneaky taste of liquorice while you talk to them about their days. You who scoops up Soul and finds teddy and big red dog and his sleeping bag too. You who prays with the boys, and has secret talks with them by their bunk when you say goodnight.

You who asks me, 'what do you want, and what do you need?' when you know that it probably involves talking. Lots of talking.

You who finds me most nights at around 9pm a sobbing mess of barely articulated emotions. A stream of sadness. A dribbling mess of cancer related melancholy.

You who has found his wife dressed day and night in a dressing gown, explorer socks and pj's on for the last 5 months. Oh, and I'm bald. Not in the sexy way, just in the cancer patient 'I'm having chemo' way. You love me so well.

You who gladly drove me and the boys to a far off playground yesterday, and declared to them that it was a real treat that I was there with you. Because I can never come anywhere anymore. Even though I can only walk slowly, and I wore the most hideous outfit possible. You who has to take the boys on his own to church. You who is practicing the single parent routine while I am still here, talking and breathing. It breaks me. You love me so well.

You who has been my best friend, my 'take him for granted', always by my side husband for the last 12 years. You who has laughed with me and talked with me and taken my side even when I'm in the wrong, and who sees me when I won't let anyone else see my heart, see my brokenness. You who is grafted into my very being, my very heart. You who is a part of me in every facet. You love me so well.

You who is the most decent, deep and surprising man I have met. You who is accomplished at almost everything you put your hand to. You who melts me when I look into your eyes. You who is handsome and a little grey haired and perfectly tall and looks divine in a suit. You who holds my heart. 

You who has never left my side during my illness. You who has shown me the face of Jesus in my darkest moments. You who has never judged my doubt or need to give in to the overwhelming monumental sadness of what we face. You who has never made me feel alone in this horrible sickness. You have loved me like Christ loves the church. Your arms feel like home when I'm in them, and I'm having a hard time today imagining us apart. 

You who is my safe place. My happy place. My home.

I love you with all my heart.

feeling weary

It's Saturday lunch time, and I haven't had treatment this week.

I feel entitled to some energy, some clarity of thought, some break from the relentless fatigue.

But I'm just worn out today.

So when do I know I've got more get-up-and-go? First thing in the morning Huz and I hear Soul through the baby monitor that's still in his room. We can often hear him chatting away to himself or laughing, and when I go down to get him he's cuddling his teddies, or playing with his blankets - kicking his feet up into the air inside his sleeping bag.

And that's when I know. If I hear Soul and feel like jumping straight out of bed to get him then I must be feeling more like my old self. The me who loved to get up at 6am and go for a walk outside before coming into breakfast and to get the family up for the day. The me who used to work (from home) from 5.30-8.30am everyday at the kitchen table.

I love early mornings. 

The whole day is ahead and is delicious with possibilities. It's quiet and full of anticipation and my mind is at its best: planning and hoping and thinking through the day.

This chemo has made me understand Huz who is definitely not a morning person. You know the type: the alarm (or wife) goes off and the not-morning person will groan, turn over in bed and hide under the covers until absolutely the last second possible.

Now that's me too.

The primal desire for more rest, more sleep, more time in those cozy covers overpowers. 

The boys, (and in particular) True is my alarm, coming in at 7am on the dot and not often a minute later. My favourite mornings are the ones they are happy to sneak into bed next to me wrapping their legs and arms around me to keep warm, and talking in semi-whispered tones.

I love that time to be close, and have my favourite people near. Before the demands of the day get in the way and no one can find even one set of uniform pants to go to school, and there's a time out and only weet bix for breakfast instead of rice bubbles due to some offence. Before the crazy hits.

I like the quiet time before that.

But lots of time it's messy. Wee on the toilet seat and bathroom floor. Boys who make forts in their bedroom waaayyyy before morning. Arguments over who was playing with that toy first, or which of the older boys turn it is to have 'special time' with Soul in his cot. It's the messy and the beautiful intertwined, and I don't think they could be separated even if I tried.

Bottom line. I love my people. They're the best.

getting in trouble

Naughtiest child in the house at the moment?

True. Definitely True.

It's a cyclic thing around here. Usually the boys pretty much take turns, and the boys who are not currently the record holder for naughty behaviour enjoy what Huz and I call, 'taking the high road' which usually (but not always) includes frequent reminders to naughty child exactly why they are being naughty, and to watch out because they don't want another time out believe you me, and an array of other haughty-taughty 'holier-than-thou' kinda vibes get put out there too.

It'll only be a day or so until the roles reverse. Then aforementioned naughty child is 'taking the high road' and 'holier-than-thou' child is humbled and now deemed the naughty one.

Being 6 must be pretty hard cos True has been the naughty child for a little longer than the regular 1-2 day spectrum.

It can't help that he's smart enough to at times call my bluff as I attempt to discipline from the couch (!). Suppose it only takes a little while to see that whilst Mum sounds cross, looks cross and is demanding he goes to time out…well..now…what's she really going to actually do about it. Get up? Ha! She hasn't moved for a week now! She's not likely to waste her first move on hauling my sorry self to time out he thinks.

But this time he was mistaken. oh yes. Mum moved.

Perhaps it was the pent up emotion of being on that couch for so long. Perhaps it was the cheeky smile True gave me followed up by his signature scowl. Whatever it was, I had decided the offence demanded a smack. On the hand. Right here right now. That'll learn him.

So True begs me not to. 'I'm sorry Mum, really I'm sorry'. 'It's too late' I reply. 'When Mummy asks you to go to time out you don't argue' and with that I go to smack his palm…and pretty much completely miss. 

There is no satisfying sound. 

There is no lesson learned. 

There is still a little hand waiting for it's punishment.

There is just this feeling welling up in me wanting to burst out laughing. It's ridiculous all this being sick all the time and all this staggering off the couch, and all this failing, all this missing the mark.

All it takes is True looking at me with his big eyelashes a little confused, and my gaffawing laughter has me with head thrown back.

Poor True. He's confused. Then I draw him close and we cuddle and laugh. Just keep cuddling and we're still laughing.

Oh dear. What have I done.

Could this all be a little scarring? I mean, discipline is serious. Discipline is all about my True respecting adults and behaving appropriately, and I've just gone and ruined six years of…of…well of something important.

So that was that. Me back to my couch and True to playing with the cars.

It's such a beautiful mess this life of mine. Such a beautiful, blessed, messy messy life.

I am more than blessed.

mayhem

Mayhem just walked out my front door and took with it my three sons and husband. 

The sheer willpower it takes to get all three ready for school/childcare looking like their parents care about them (i.e. dressed in correct uniform, bags containing lunch, teeth brushed and hair even possibly combed) is a multilayered task that I am sure uses every skill set Huz and I have acquired with our four university degrees between us.

The negotiation and people management alone should qualify me for a high paying role in a big corporation somewhere. I'm thinking of updating my resume…

But when mayhem left so did the fun. 

I listen to their chatter and footsteps on the deck, and then the 'click' of the gate and they're off. My tribe.

Now its just me here, with my water bag on my lower back, and I'm nestled in my 'spot' on the couch with the white pillow. I spend hours on this couch in the days following chemo. Technically I shouldn't need to gravitate here today. It's a week off chemo, and I should be full of beans and ready to go out into the big wide world and do all those things I've been dreaming of the past three weeks when I've been feeling so awful.

But here I am.

Maybe a bit of confidence knocked out of my sails, maybe I don't know how to be 'normal' anymore. Maybe there's just not much that I feel like doing to drag myself away from being all cozy.

I think it's got more to do with what I don't like to admit. 

I'm exhausted.

From treatment, from the CT scan a couple of days ago. From appointments with Dr K, from port access and blood tests. From Tennyson Centre where I go to have all this fun. From the cough and cold that I can't shake for the past three weeks. From the ever present anaemia.

It's not just the medical stuff though. I'm emotionally exhausted from the constant processing of this diagnosis, of what it means to have breast cancer spread throughout my body, of what the images from the scan looked like with all the tumours in my liver and bones. With knowing that when my back aches it's not muscular, but instead it's the holes in my bones from the tumours that are the cause. 

Yuck.

The CT scan showed that the cancer is stable. A good outcome by Dr K's standards. By my standards, it just sounds like a C+ when I was really after an A + for shrinking tumours.

I promise I will study harder for the next cancer exam.

But then, that's the problem isn't it?

Doesn't matter how faithfully I turn up each week for port access, blood work, appointments and chemotherapy, with a happy face on and a great attitude, then back home to lay on the couch with exhaustion for the next 6-7 days before I face it all again…well…look who's cancer doesn't really care. 

Yup. My cancer doesn't care.

I guess cancer is a hard task master, and an unreasonable one at that. Best to not look him straight in the eye in case he gets mad. I'll just keep sneaking in the chemo to beat him back and maybe he won't get so cross in the future. 

10,000 points and nobody understands why

Oh my goodness, the life of a cancer patient is constantly bombarded by unwelcome, scary numbers.

I don't even care much for numbers. Maths at school was always my dreaded lesson, Dad spending literally hours tutoring me at home with his brilliant mathematical mind that left me behind daydreaming about how to escape having to ever use maths in my actual life.

Now it's my actual life.

Somehow Huz and I are still taken aback, and even shocked when tumor markers or CAT scans or MRI's come back with bad news. Yesterday it was a tumor marker of 10, 000 (a healthy number is about 130) that has skyrocketed from 7,000 even since last month, making my doctor question if the treatment is even working.

The scans I had only last month showed tumor reduction, but I'm still getting blood transfusions every couple of weeks and the numbers of my red blood cell count keep dropping, so something is very wrong.

My heart should know that this is what my stage IV diagnosis meant those four months ago. My heart should have done its crying and now understand that this number isn't 'newsworthy' as such…it's actually exactly what we were told would happen. 

Treatment works for awhile and then it stops working. Tumors grow. I change chemo's. I pray it will work. I know that my God has the full picture even if my doctor doesn't.

Numbers frustrate me.

Being in bed or on the couch all day with exhaustion frustrates me.

Dr K seems baffled. He told us he's never had a patient in 35 years who has remained anaemic for this long.

I guess I'm just that special;)

Let's just say there was a fresh round of tears from me last night, and a fresh reminder that it's God who holds me and I am completely out of control at this point. It's all I can do to keep holding His hand. 

Thank goodness I know He would never let go of mine.

at the feet of Soul

It's a Saturday afternoon and the five of us are gathered in the living room waiting for pizza and watching the movie, 'Turbo'. Somehow I've managed to monopolise the heater (my favourite is laying spread out in front of it) and you're next to me Soul. You are busy playing with a puzzle and some sort of sorting game.

And all in a flash flood of emotion I'm looking at your little feet, fresh out of the bath, and I'm wondering where these feet will carry you in your life, the places you will go, what your passions and desires will be. And I feel it well up like a flash flood, this longing to see you grow, and have those late night conversations, and glimpse your heart, and for you to hear me tell you I love you, and for you to be old enough to remember it, know it, be without any doubt that you are deeply keenly loved by me. And it overwhelms me for a minute, so I grab that little foot and kiss it, knowing that it's not in my destiny to be here for the milestones that will gather and see you a grown man…And the ache of this takes the rest of the movie to settle into deeper places in my spirit - not gone - just put away into a safer place that won't threaten to pop out at any moment like that 'Jack In A Box' one of you boys were given.

So here I am thinking about you Soul. How I love your cheeky expression when you get your way, or your quick succession of, 'sorry, sorry, sorry mum' when you know you've misbehaved. I adore your big eyes, your air kisses and your ever growing array of sentences. 

But I'm greedy.

I want to see you start school. See you join a basketball club. Help teach you how to ride a bike. I want to watch you grow into a gangly teenager who eats me out of house and home and who is much much taller than I am. I want to meet your first girlfriend, I want to be your confidant as you seek out who God has created you to be. I want to welcome your wife into our family.

Oh my goodness I want too much Soul.

And it's greedy of me because I longed with all my soul for you my darling after two miscarriages, and you are unashamedly the biggest miracle of my whole life. My joy was complete when I gave birth to you my third boy. God has big, beautiful, crazy, better-than-you-can-imagine plans for you.

I just ache because I so badly want to be a part of those plans.

So, here I am thinking of you, wanting to burn the memory of you into my very spirit, and wishing badly I could make all of the yuck that's happening/going to happen with me being sick just go away so we could always be together.

But I'll remind you as I'm reminding myself tonight that God is good and it's His hand that we hold as we go through this trial. We are not forgotten, and in the deepest part of me I am already looking forward to our family being together again in heaven. 

He Who has promised is faithful.

I love you Soul.

xx

anniversary

Huz and I celebrated our 'admission into the halls of highest human happiness' on the weekend! 12 years ago we were married at Blackwood Uniting Church with all of our dear family and friends by our sides. It was one of the best days of my life, and a day I will never forget as I married my one true love.

We spent two nights away at a hotel in the city and it was absolute bliss. Having Huz all to myself was unbelievable, and it was so very relaxing. With no schedule or places to have to be we just enjoyed two days of doing whatever took our fancy!

We managed to fit in a candlelit dinner at Vino's on Unley Rd, an amazing breakfast at the hotel the next morning after a relaxed start to the day, did some shopping, caught a movie, had a spa and champagne, and had lots of time for long chats and reconnecting after a hectic and stressful few months.

Our marriage has been a deeply happy one. Without a doubt I think we are the best married couple in the world. We have grown up together and enjoyed all the best life has to offer side by side. We have served together, renovated our house together, parented together, and enjoyed each other's company more than I can say. We have been truly blessed. It's a God thing.

I love our coffee's on the front deck. A chance to have a long chat about whatever takes our fancy. Huz is literally my favourite person in the world. He is an astonishingly wonderful husband, a great listener, he makes me laugh, he is loyal and kind and believes the best in me when I really don't deserve it. He has walked alongside me through thick and thin and he has my whole heart. I am deeply in love with this man.

Huz, I love you with all my heart. It's truly a privilege to have been married to the love of my life for 12 years.

You're my best thing. Definitely.

xx

new pjs = happy boys

Aunty S shopped for snuggly new pi's for the boys this week. It made them all kinds of happy crazy dancing about in their new bedtime wears!

I love bedtime around here. Boys getting into warm pi's in front of the fire, lots of stories read, snuggling together on the couch, sneaking in school readers too, and then into bed with prayers together, little songs to sing and sweet cheeks to kiss to sleep as we tuck them in. Fun.

This week I have been rocking out my new beanie with the 'pon pom' that Soul loves so much. Not as cute as the boys in pi's, but keeps my head toasty in all this fog and rainy weather we have had in lil' old Adelaide this past week.

I love snuggling up in my cozy blankets on the couch with the fire blazing while I listen to the rain bucket down. Now all I need is the energy to make a cup of hot chocolate and I'll be all set!

starting taxol with a side of transfusion

Taxol was pitched to me as a low maintenance chemotherapy drug -  or at least one with very minor side effects. One that would get down and dirty with cancer while I carried on with life pretty much aside from perhaps a day or two of feeling more tired than usual.

Umm...not exactly accurate in my case!

After my initial infusion almost three weeks ago I was overcome with fatigue to the point of not lifting my head off my pillow for any extended length of time until day before the next infusion. Every fibre of my being felt deeply tired. With a HG count of 71 instead of 100 it made sense. However, for whatever reason the blood transfusion has been unable to keep my numbers up. Dr K thinks this is perhaps due to the cancer in my bone marrow, or perhaps some very slow internal bleeding somewhere (what the?) but whatever the case I have had two more transfusions to boot, and today am still knackered. Sigh.

Only two months ago I was racing the boys around, running my household, and getting stuck into life. I really am chained to my bed or the couch at the moment. Just such a sudden and unwelcome aspect.

Praying for a heart that is anchored in Jesus during this storm. 

My daily work is to trust my Jesus. To not focus on the waves and the rising ocean, but to fix my eyes on Christ. 

This is such hourly, minutely, secondly work. I fail and I fall and I struggle to get up and trust Him. With each appointment and with each day of exhaustion, and with each day of seeing my family get on with life without me it is WORK to trust, because I can't make any sense of this thing and there's hardly any respite.The difficult days are by far outweighing the easy and light days and so it is work to put aside my interpretation of my circumstance and look to Jesus and in the deepest place in my heart trust Him.

But it is my daily work, and i will keep on. 

Glad God doesn't mind baby steps.

A trip on bikes to Glenelg the day before my treatment starts

Heading off to a party my sweet friends threw for me

sports day

True and Brave had sports day today at Belair National Park in the drizzling rain. It's the day that all the minutes of practicing hurdles (over kids picnic chairs on the front lawn) was about to pay off. 

I had told the boys I would do my absolute best to come and watch, but that if I couldn't come cos I was too tired, that I would ask Gramps to take some video so I could see it later. When Mum and I got there we could see Gramps with his camera following them around. He is the absolute best Dad and Gramps ever. Reminds me of how he captured almost every single minute of my own childhood on camera. All the mundane and the sensational. Love that.

Laying in bed this morning, and dozing in and out of sleeping and hot flushes and feeling disheartened I wasn't there cheering them on was one of those hard days when it's clear I'm not in control of my days and the impact on my boys is not one I would welcome. I wanted to be there the whole day, dammit. I wanted to be all up in the action, cheering them on, wearing red war paint myself. 

But it's ok. It's just not how I wanted it.

My lovely Mum drove out to the park in the hopes that the boys might be competing in events near where we could park the car so I could watch. We didn't manage to get too close, but with the help of some trusty binoculars (sorry other parents who thought I was keeping a sharp peeping Tom eye on your kids!) I did see True race and caught a glimpse of Brave play volleyball.

If only True and Brave had known mama was there.

And the deep sorrow of many years to come of mum not attending dampens my mood this afternoon. I've taken on some cares of tomorrow by the looks of my messy heart.

It's the skipping ahead days and months and years that will do my head in if I let it. The jumping ahead to sports days, and birthdays, and school awards that will make me feel ripped off and jaded that it's all going to be 'taken away'...

But nothing has been taken away because all of life, even this very day is a gift, a total gift, that I can't make happen myself or orchestrate even if I wanted. No one can add even one day to their life by worrying. And my Jesus said it so I know it can be trusted. I know that it is true. Besides, if I had a choice I wouldn't be adding a day, but a lifetime to cuddle and play and enjoy and give time outs to my sweet boy brood.

One extra day wouldn't be enough.

So I'll lay aside not being able to get out and cheer at sports day. I'll thank you Jesus for my Dad who is out there in the drizzle now filming the boys athletics. They will know they are loved, and it is a wider and deeper love than just what one mama can give: these boys of mine have the love of a Heavenly Father who will provide for all their needs, come what may.

A safer love than just what I can give them alone. And so my heart is thankful.

hair gone

I heard the door open and shut. I can't mistake the sound of my love coming home. I look forward to that sound all day. 

He's let in the cat, or maybe he's let the cat out; hard to tell, but the boys are making a fuss of it all. I breathe out slowly. I've remembered what we agreed had to be done today. My hair has started to fall out days ago. I'm covered with itchy, gross, wayward stray strands that won't stay where I want them anymore. I've begun to avoid running my hands through my hair at all...really don't want to pull out a clump.

He's quietly set up a chair and the razor in the bathroom. The second time he has shaved his wife's head. Not the maiden voyage. No uncertainty about how I will look. We have travelled this before.

Last time, two years prior, our little True about four years old at the time watched without blinking as the hair fell down, piles of long fair locks cascading down on the grey tile in ribbons. One minute a crowning glory and the next swept up and binned.

What a difference a day makes.

This time True and Brave begged for their heads to be 'made bald', and the night before they had followed through and the #1 all over had thrilled them to the core - running around the house in an excited frenzy-all baited breath over their new look. And the feel! I couldn't stop running my hands over those perfectly formed, sweet heads...eyes that looked ten times the size and sweet soft skin of cheeks softening the stark impression.

But me?

Freckled skin on cheeks, eyebrows threatening to abandon ship. Wrinkles around eyes deepening with lack of hair, and no protection for tired drawn expression thanks to chemotherapy and anaemia. 

And when I take my seat in the bathroom ready to just get it done, the last time floods back and it all tastes like deja vu and the tears I don't want to fall just come anyway, and it's pathetic, and Huz says he is so sorry to have to do this my love. And I know he is. Know he feels bad for me. But it doesn't feel like pity, just him being on my side. 

When he has cut off the longest locks his phone rings. A work emergency. He has to answer, but why now? Why when I look like a beast in this cropped hair? 

At least the boys have abandoned the jumping in the bath game they have played as they watched me and now they are watching 'Clifford the Big Red Dog'. I'm grateful they don't see the tears. But this time I don't cover my head as soon as I'm done. I don't bother. These boys of mine can't be protected from it all like I tried so hard to do last time. They must be made to see. Must be allowed to see the sickness in Mummy. 

And it breaks me. 

i love huz

Dear huz

I am all busy thinking about how well you love me, how deep we have traveled together over the past 11 years of our marriage. We have loved one another with all our hearts from the very beginning, and I can't imagine the person I would be without you. I actually can't imagine the girl I would be...most likely lots more fiesty ; )

I woke up all out of sorts this morning. The morning of Brave's 5th birthday party, and the emotional struggle I was facing in planning to go along. There will be many many more birthdays ahead that I won't be able to attend. So many celebrations I will miss out on. The sick feeling in my stomach gave witness to the desire to be there today and the fear of going and having to face countlless school parents with well meaning questions. I couldn't do it. Couldn't bring myself to go. And you knew Huz. The whole time you knew my heart and why I was a mess.

And when you just spoke it aloud to me, and I heard the thoughts in my heart reflected exactly, it just made me fall to pieces. And when you held me and just let me crumple up, there was a kind of healing in the deep hurting place I was protecting.

Truth is that I'm not very brave.

Truth is that I want to think I can just push on, but my heart has taken a big old beating in these last few weeks.

Truth is that when I talked to Brave about how mummy was really tired and didn't think she could come to his party he was totally fine with it, and said, 'I wish you could come mummy but I will tell you all about it'. 

Thankyou Jesus for the grace from a 5 year old, and the deep love of my husband.

I am more than blessed.

birthday pancake brekkie for Brave

extra chicken or a broom with that?

This week Grandad did a head count of our chooks. Came up as 6. Problem was that we used to have 6 chooks and then 'chocolate' one of them got sick and had to be buried a couple of months ago. Hmmm. Something had to be wrong with that head count then.

True helped Grandad bury that little chooky, so today he was super baffled and suggested we check the hole to make sure she hadn't come back to life!!

Turns out our neighbours chook went for a little walk across the road, and Huz and Brave let her in when they saw her wandering around our yard. 

Problem solved.

Phew. I was starting to wonder how they had begun to multiply before our very eyes!



Just a little funny quote to add: The boys were about to head out to Brave's 5th birthday party at the park, and I wanted to brush their hair after their shower. When I got out the brush, True asked me why I was BROOMING Brave's hair. 

Brooming! 

Oh my I really need to brush their hair more often!!

It's called a BRUSH my boys. A brush.

xx

a splendid day

One must wait until the evening to see how splendid the day has been.
Sophocles

I love this. Because you just never know what joys today might hold. And sometimes those joys don't surface until later in the day. 

I want to 'gut-believe' in the good touch of God. (Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts) 

But until it's my default to believe in His fierce love and protection, I am naming the good things He gives me each day to remind myself that even when the day is bleak, He is with me.

One of the clearest things God has ever said to me was when I had a long scan of some sort right back in 2011 when I was first being diagnosed with cancer. I was laying in this huge machine and got to about halfway through the 20 mins when I started to panic and wanted to just get out. 

I felt Him say, 'Beloved, I am here'. 

Immediately I calmed, my heart rate slowed and I felt entirely calm. 

He was here.

That was all I needed.

The scan finished up and I got out. To anyone else it was just a routine check, and I was the poor girl just being diagnosed. But I felt the presence of God, and He had made the inside of that machine holy ground.

So typical that my Jesus would make a moment so ordinary, so mundane and so ikky into something more. He's rad like that.

i feel good...I knew that I would now!

I am almost out of days until I start my next round of chemo, but am beyond thrilled that today I actually have started to feel 'normal'! Oh my, today I actually went out for coffee with my gorgeous friends Sal and Chelsea and it has literally been two whole months since I have been practically anywhere. (Sal and I even fit in a quick trip to the op-shop...ahhh bliss..I adore a good op-shop outing) 

It felt so strange to get dressed in something other than trakkies and bedsocks. I'm so glad they took me out though - It's been hard to keep perspective being at home in bed for so many days straight. When I got home I immediately wanted to go out again! Don't make me sit in my house unless I absolutely have to...i've had enough of being in my room to last a lifetime.

Then I read this as I was lazing by the heater in the afternoon:

'You would be very ashamed if you knew what the experiences you call setbacks, upheavals, pointless disturbances, and tedious annoyances really are. You would realize that your complaints about them are nothing more nor less than blasphemies - though that never occurs to you. Nothing happens to you except by the will of God, and yet God's beloved children curse it because they do not know it for what it is'.
One Thousand Gifts
Ann Voskamp

Hmm.

That is extremely challenging for me at the moment. 

I have lost almost total control of every.single.part.of.my.life. 

I have family and friends helping with everything from meals to childcare to transporting my boys around, to taking them to the doctor. We have just enrolled Soul in childcare, and True and Brave will be going to after school care a couple of afternoons in a row. Our church family and neighbours have been making us meals, and my beautiful mum and mother-in-law have been cleaning and washing and tidying and putting away on repeat for the last few months continually.

That overwhelms me.

That feels like I'm letting the 'we are healthy people' down.

Actually I would love to be able to help someone else the way we are being helped, but instead I am on the receiving end. 

That feels harder in some ways. I like very much to be self sufficient.

Anyway.

This experience which I'm walking absolutely feels like an interruption (that's an understatement) and I have complained sometimes aloud and lots and lots in my head about the hardship of this cancer.

And so, 'nothing happens to you except by the will of God'. This is pretty full on to take in. I need to change my theology! It has always comforted me that God is 'sovereign' and absolutely holds the whole world in the palm of His hand. I love that I can have this as the bedrock of my faith. God isn't going to change. He is in control.

But.

That leaves me reeling a little when I think about all the grief I am walking through thinking about leaving my boys so young, leaving my Huz when I want 50 more years of being married to my incredible husband. When I think of all the 'life' I'm no longer participating in as I lay in my bed trying to recover from awful toxic drugs pumped into my body. When I think about the revolting 'cloud of chemo' that shrouds me until the next time I'm due for the same concoction all over again.

It's easy to sink into self-pity. It's easy to want to jump into a big ol' pit and just stay there.

I don't think that's what the God wants for me. The butterflies in the pit of my stomach are showing my desperate desire to control some of this, to write it off as a huge 'interruption' to my life. In so many ways I don't like the thought, but there is a comfort to knowing that this is God's path for me, and He will not let me go. I need to keep holding His hand.

A very wise friend gave me that advice a few years ago when I was first diagnosed. 'I can't choose the circumstance, but I can choose Whose hand I'm going to hold'. This just about sums up the dilemma. And really what would I choose? Him of course. A thousand times Him.

I am more than blessed.

a saturday morning breakdown

Night sweats distort my perception, and the repeated waking makes the night feel tedious. I'm awake now, with boys needing breakfast, a husband needing peace and I'm unfit for duty with this heart all blurry and water coloured. 

It's a full time job to pretend I'm okay. 

I'm not.

Soul is knocking at my locked bedroom door. I've pleaded with Huz to let me have half an hour to cry and be on my own. Writing calms me, and lets the pain take a shape. It's less elusive than the big bad wolf of fear breathing down my neck. At least on paper I can search my heart and the places I've let fear be the hero instead of my Saviour. 

I need a Saviour.

This volume of pain must be measured beyond what I can manage. What must be tonnes and tonnes of heavy worry surely can't be just for me? 

The hours drag out when my bones ache, and my body just won't cooperate to heal. I count down the hours until I can have a bath as a distraction.

And I should really hit the delete button on this post because it's not masquerading as upbeat, it's just the cry of my heart...help me God for the waters are up to my neck.

My hope is being tested in the firey furnace, and I'm crouched on the sidelines with fingers and toes crossed I will come through.

I can hear one of the boys being put in time out. There's crying and wailing, and 'Dadddddyyyy...I want Mummy', and then it's only a second before this changes to, 'sorry Dad, sorry Dad, sorry'. 

Am I that much different from my boys? 

I would make this pain vanish in a second if I could. It's beyond my capacity. I can't choose the path, but I can choose whose hand I am holding as I walk through. 

And I won't be letting go of the hand of God. 

This I know.

murmuring thanks

I'm murmuring thanks soft. 

it's barely audible. 

Mustering up a gladness in my weary bones has been left to the side for the last few weeks, but it's my soul that's going bankrupt in the absence of the thanks. It's revolutionised me before this giving thanks in the mini blessings, the unseen music that I hear playing in the background of doctors visits, desperate prayers to be well, tears that I let sneak down my face when it's just me in the bathroom. Because it's not all sad. It's deep too.

When I swallow the thanks that sparks small and soft I am left empty. Because there's always thanks to be murmured to my Jesus. He sustains me when my soul is heartbroken and I don't know I can wake up and do another day. He is watering the garden in my soul, inhabiting my heart.

Yesterday I woke to terror. The terror of the night where fears roam free and take over, gaining ground and size. Too big for me to reign in, too big to wrestle. Huz held me close, spoke truth to me. It was still early, but True and Brave came in, wrapping little bare arms and legs around me on each side, snuggling as close as possible and showering kisses on my cheeks. 

And my God who sees it all gave this gift just when I was at my lowest. His mercies are new every morning. And I murmured thanks soft because I couldn't help it. And then I remembered how long it has been since I have thanked Him for anything. 

He hasn't stopped giving gifts, both the hard and the welcome ones.

Mothering is at once the hardest and the holiest and the happiest 
(Ann Voscamp One Thousand Gifts)

I never knew being a mother would revolutionise me, break me so I could be mended and see everything entirely differently. God's greatest gift to me in so very many ways. How could I have known? And it's taken me years to get comfortable in it, years to warm up, see how my selfishness needed to be broken into a thousand pieces by ways of little hands and hearts needing all of me when I have longed for silence, peace, less housework.

Jesus you knew what I needed so much better than me. I have been sanctified in so many ways through motherhood. What a gift.

And so this begins my list. My little list of thanks.