class picnic

I can hear the voice of True begging his Daddy to take him to the class picnic on time.

He doesn't know that there really was no plan for him to attend at all. 

I had written it off as too hard for me in all the headachy yuck as I am in the midst of post 'very fun weekend away'. Huz worked today on his day off and came home with more phone calls to make and a heavy load on his shoulders thanks to me being in bed and pretty useless child wise.

You see when I am unable to do, well, whatever it is, then there is always one, two or three littles who need to be taken care of.

And Huz just came into my room and said, 'I'm going to go. True really wants to'. And I love this spontaneous lets-just-do-it thing he does, and his daddy heart feels what my mummy heart feels too.

True misses out on enough as it is. Give the kid a class picnic if that's what he wants.

And so True, you are going my little. You are also begging for different clothes to wear instead of the school uniform, and you don't really get that Dad is working up until the last minute he can before he races with you there, races his boy (the one we would cross oceans for, the one we love more than chocolate) to a class picnic so that you wouldn't miss out on anything else.

I feel the weight of all that you miss out on.

It's the playdates, the ones we don't offer because how can we when it's all I can do to look after the three of you littles in my own way without adding in any extras.

It's the weekend adventures as a family to farm barns, outdoor trips, car rides into the unknown, meeting new friends, eating lunch all around the place, opening our doors wide in hospitality that you little men miss. And I wonder, do you notice this? This missing?

It's the missing out on what I expected we would gift to you that has made me sad these last few days. The gift of class picnics was on my list of what you would miss. In the fog of my head aching I hear your little voice say to Nana, 'Dad's just gonna chill out'. 
(Hmm...really? I've never heard a parent rave about how relaxing it was taking three littles to a class picnic just before bed time. Anyway. Just sayin'.) 

You are excited to go, and even though it's not me making this happen for you in any way...I'm just in bed...I feel a little part of the sad flake away, fall away, as I'm counting all the missing out. 

You are happy this afternoon to be like the other seven year olds in your class. 

And that's just how it should be.

Oh happy day!

Oh happy day!

Here am i listening to the tinkering of rain on our tin roof (did I ever tell you that I almost refused the option of having extra insulation in our ceiling because I so love this sound) and I have my Brave next to me doing his own tinkering, choosing from the kids apps I have on my phone. He's so sweet all bundled amongst my white doona and pillows piled high and his oh so lovely little self just come to be by my side on this taste of winter afternoon.

And these really are my favourite days where boys are happily entertained (and my heart might burst as I think of my sweet sis-in-law Miss N and my two nieces who have made that possible today Miss N and Miss B - I'm so grateful to you girlies).

This morning was the birthday of that man I most admire, most love of them all. Huz. The one without whom I could never live. I mean it. I couldn't. He could live without me I just know it to be true, but not the other way around. I need him like I need air to breathe or chocolate by my bedside.

Huz you are an un-negotiable luxury  You are way more than I deserve on my very best day. I knew I married out of my league and you have proved me right every day since. And now you are busy loving me in all the 'cancer-y-ness' of this 2015, the way we never dreamed it would be. 

And when i think on the sacrifices you have made in loving me through the thin and the thick (mostly thick) of cancer it is piling sky high and it just keeps growing that stack of love, and I suspect will do until my dying day. I'm so very glad to be the object of your affection, baffled by it though I am. 

This day is your day, although on the surface it has not felt one skerrick of how I wanted to celebrate you. And you know (you didn't say it this morning, but you know) that it's the biggest birthday fail from my hands yet, but please don't let it trick you into thinking you are anything but my favourite person in all of this beautiful world, the one I race to for advice, the opinion I hold above every other, the heart who I hold as most dear, the one without who I could never be myself because we are so wrapped up together in all the best ways and none of the worst.

You're my favourite.

Happy birthday you. Well done for getting born, (well, actually that shout-out goes to my very dear mum-in-law. Thank you for such an amazing husband mum), for growing up and being you as only you can be.

I wouldn't trade you for anything.

True's sydney trip

 

Last weekend was to be True and my secret trip away. A beautiful friend of mine had mentioned how she had taken each of her littles away for some time just for them to be together and enjoy some fun, and I have been busy planning fun adventures for myself and each of the littles ever since.

I had booked tickets to Sydney, and a gorgeous hotel with a pool as I knew how much True was desperate to swim swim swim. On The Rocks, we would be based super close to everything so that my tired self could handle getting around. Perfect plans.

All set.

And then I realised how rubbish I was feeling, this bossy cancer pain shooting through my back and legs, and how if I had a pain crisis while we were away there would be no way I could hide it from my little guy, no way to get myself sorted out and it would end up being completely traumatic instead of wonderful for True. Hmm. Time to think again, and get Huz onboard.

So of course, Huz who is amazing at making all my dreams come true (you know you are Huz - I don't need 'MakeAWish' puz I have you!) agreed to come along, and True also invited Brave to join us. That part makes my heart want to burst. That my boy would want his little bro' to come too. Oh my goodness. That's rad.

So.

Off we set for 24 hours of just hanging with ma' hommies. And although I felt super, horribly, terribly awful about leaving little Soul at home, it kind of had to be that way due to the short nature of the trip. So, I really am sorry my darling Soul. Am planning some kind of fun adventure just for you and me to do really really soon.

Just arrived at the hotel - these two ran like crazies

My littles first buffet breakfast. Pure delight over the decadence. 

Brave and I at the pool. Huz and True are in the spa behind us

The littles loved the Sydney Aquarium. Brave's fav fishy.

And we did swim swim swim, and we ate and walked and discovered, and took a heap of train rides, ferry rides and plane rides. 'Twas so lovely. And tho it wasn't just True and I after all, having Brave and Huz along made it super fun especially at the Italian restaurant we ate at the first night, and the boys snuggling in bed in the hotel room over my iPad for the early morning. 

Tho it is magic to be home, I'm so glad for mini trips with my loves, for the fun of seeing True and Brave live out all the fun of a plane ride, and see through their eyes how it is to touch a sea-star at the aquarium or even just watch as they try with all their might to wait to be served at a restaurant. 

I store it all up in my heart. It's good medicine. 

the long goodbye goes on...

I'm still in the midst of my long goodbye.

Wanted to write that sentence differently. More like I'm in the middle of my long goodbye, but that feels a little too optimistic at the moment.

This week has held lots of bad news. Well, it's felt like bad news. Huz and I have both felt crushed in different ways, and are walking around bruised and battered to some extent. I would have guessed that one becomes more resilient to difficult news as time goes on after being diagnosed with a Stage IV cancer, but somehow it has worked in the opposite way, with my heart feeling less resilient, and less able to be upbeat. 

My combo of 'VanillaBean' and Xeloda has stopped working. It's been very good to me and provided absolute bonus time after a bleak 2014. I do have to remember that. Remember to be grateful and so glad for drugs that gave me life for 6 months. And when I think of all we have packed into that time. Oh my God. Thank you.

The part of this news that is devastating is that I have now chewed through my second line chemo. The more I read about the implications of this, the harder it is to digest this news. 

I just really can't work out if I'm a 'glass half full' or a 'glass half empty' gal. Maybe I swing between the two. Whatever the case, my mind is almost always on the idea that this is one of the last chemo options that will actually work. Third line chemo is a bit hit or miss, although this relatively new drug, Halaven has had some good results, so this is a good thing.

You littles are shielded from much of this news. Huz and I have processed this mostly after you three have been tucked in for the night, and we sit half watching TV and talking on the couch with sparkling cider or a coffee, and we talk. I cry. Lots. More than you may think is possible. Huz doesn't cry. His eyes don't leak water like mine do. Whatever. 

Yesterday as we were driving home from church you asked me Brave about why I am tired at the moment. I couldn't not say. I just couldn't. We wonder if you boys have forgotten how sick I am because I really have been doing well for months now. But to go in and burst that sweet childhood bubble again. Goes absolutely against the grain. Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

So I explained again about how the medicine I'm on works until the cancer gets smarter, and now the cancer is getting smarter so I have to change chemo. There was a short silence, and then you said that really the right thing to do would be to keep using the same chemo because then we would never run out of chemo if we needed it. 

Oh Brave. What could I say. I wish you were my doctor.

And it's the pragmatic way you talk about my cancer Brave that undoes me. Makes me wonder if we have been 'real' enough with you littles. Makes me wonder what you wonder. Makes me wonder if you ever lie in your bed with fears tucked in next to you without me knowing.

And the other two listened. I think True said something along the lines of, 'yeah, that's what I was going to say too'...But then you say that about lots of things right now True, it's just your thing. 

And then there's little Soul, sitting between the two of you with snuffles and snot and holding some little booklet you had coloured in your Sunday School class. And I know you don't get it, can't get it. And will that be easier in the end? Easier not to have any lead up, easier to be the youngest with a different filter on the whole 'mummy's sick' reality.

And today our pastor at church spoke about a lens, about the filter through which we see life. It's critical what lens we have, and this analogy is so rich, I'm mulling it over today still, hoping with all my hope that we have gifted our littles with a lens with which to see how present and kind and here-in-the-now is our God. It's what got me through the car ride conversation. The conversation that feels so surreal and so much like 'this just has to be somebody else's life and not my own' kind of conversation.

And Huz took our new pup and Brave outside for some man time. Some kind of de-brief on that car ride conversation. And he came back pretty broken, (Huz that is) I'm not sure over the content or how real it all becomes when we talk to you littles about it all.

Yuck. Not the stuff of a relaxed Sunday afternoon. Not at all what I want for my littles to think over, to be unsettled by, to keep deepening their understanding of. My childhood was so very innocent and sheltered and rich in playing and fun and being loved and living simply.

It's so different for my boys, and it's only just begun. I mean, I'm still here.

And so the long goodbye goes on.

And the long goodbye has afforded me many many luxuries (if I can call them that). The luxury of crying over coffee with my sisters, reminiscing over our beautiful shared childhood, the luxury of watching one last time those Super8 films that my Dad poured all of his love for me into. The luxury of having my parents care for me with all the love and protection and joy that can be mustered in the light of it all. The luxury of letter writing, legacy leaving, gift giving, snuggled talks with my littles. The luxury of a marital bond articulated and celebrated and mulled over and reminisced over and cried over together. The luxury of a million scillion hours laying in my feathered bed praying for my loves and wondering how Grace will meet them when I am gone, hurling loud and fierce prayers into the ear of God on their behalf and wanting badly for these prayers to mean something beyond the now.

The luxury that many many people would have wanted and chosen for themselves if only they could have instead of being suddenly ripped from their lives as happens for many in death.

In some ways there is a desperation for the hard to be over. For my suffering to be done. For the pill swallowing and pain to be finished. For the endless heating of heat packs to have had its day. This is cushioned by the joy there is in the long goodbye. It's joy disguised.  It's grace disguised.

Home grown apples from my lovely friend M! SO delicious. Thank you!

morning moments

I used to be a morning person.

Dead set. I loved, I lived, I longed for early mornings.

But I have been dreading them these last few weeks, because they contain the most potent dose of pain and discomfort that I've regularly experienced. And I'm waking up to it in groans. And it's a dream sequence of wheat bags and oxynorm softened with spotify- music for my soul to drag me through it all. Until I sleep again in fits and starts. You boys coming in (coming in coming in) asking me where socks are, wanting shoe laces done up and crying that offences have been made against you and only you by your brothers. Then deeper sleep, or perhaps it is just sleep gifted by drugs-will dampen the pain, and I dream (I don't know what) and when I wake the house is quieter as you littles have gone and my Huz has gone too. 

Sometimes I can hear one of my mums cleaning and tidying and sorting and washing and I remember its my two mums keeping this house ticking over, stopping it from teetering on the edge of madness. It's the two of them and their hard work that keep clothes clean and floors clean and all the rest too.

Also they keep me from spinning off the edge of my axis. Tell me that having a tidy house doesn't matter and I will heartily disagree! It's grounding. It's peace giving. It's calming, and it's not giving this rubbish disease the upper hand by making our lives a big old mess.

You see my littles, this morning I didn't want to get out of bed with my bucket next to me and freshly changed sheets (thanks Ma). Too hard. Too hard.

But today I'm learning that I get to show up even though I'm sick. 

I don't want to check out early. I want to be present in the moments I'm given to be here. And those moments may be given 'post horrid morning hours', but they are given nonetheless. And how foolish of me to even consider not grabbing those moments by the horns and riding them till I'm thrown violently off my proverbial bull.

There are so very many moments, hours even that I'm busy just trying to push through pain, and yet there are little moments and great moments on difficult days. And that has to be enough. It's more than enough. And it didn't take cancer for me to notice this, to long to take hold of the little moments that matter even if they are given in the context of large, ongoing difficulty. Because who doesn't have difficulty in their life. I don't know even one. And the other day I walked through Marion and looked at all the beautiful people and thought it again: everyone you meet is walking a difficult path.  It may not be stage four cancer, but this is not a competition for 'hardest story'. There are many, many types of 'hard' after all.

can you believe these are 'supermarket roses'? It's my new discovery - beautiful cheap flowers!

And yet grabbing those moments in the midst of it all has been a wildly exciting discovery. 

Much like finding beautiful roses in Blackwood Foodland. But I digress. 

That these weeks and months can be full of joy and meaning and connection and love. And that's only as I'm setting my hope on looking forward to Heaven and being with my Jesus soon. Fixing my eyes on Him and on all the beauty He has placed in my life instead of the cancer stuff. It was one of the only bible verses I ever memorised that made this click in my heart a while back. I am so sadly poor at memorising, well, anything actually. Even before the convenient 'chemo brain' excuse was at my fingertips! I tend to have a 'feel' for a text I've read, or a street direction or google map I've studied. Remembering it word for word not so much. I guess you know who to thank when you're in year 12 my darling boys and can't commit to memory all of that info for your exams. You're welcome/I'm sorry.

Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, Who for the joy set before Him, scorned it's shame and went to sit down at the right hand of God. 
Hebrews 12.2

Boom yeah!
Typed that out by memory. 

Let my littles be suitably impressed. And a big thanks goes out to my best buddy through all high school Miss N who inspired me to remember that by heart. Thanks N!

So, that's what I'm doing I guess. Fixing my eyes not on the difficulties but on Jesus. Sure doesn't come like first nature. But that's like everything about following Jesus. Hard but good. Not easy but totally life-changing.

I'm hoping you'll let Him change your lives too my dear hearts.

Mum xx

brave's 6th birthday

Brave's 6th birthday week was fun. Based on all the times he sought me out to wrap his arms around my neck and tell me 'I love you Mummy', I think he felt pretty loved on. 

Balloons hung in the doorway so the birthday boy has to walk through them first thing in the morning

Mission accomplished.

This year wasn't a 'party year' as we call them, which has become more devastating since the littles have realised that other friends at school have a party every year. oh well. I'm the worst mama in the world, I know I know, it's just how it is.

So. This year's celebrations included all of our birthday traditions like hanging up our birthday banner and balloons for the morning of, so the birthday boy stumbles into the balloons as he comes out of his bedroom, and then pancakes for breakfast after madly opening presents and leaving bright beautiful wrapping paper strewn all over.

And this year (because I'm breaking all the rules this year) I took him out of school for the morning and we hit the shops with his new wallet and birthday money, and after long deliberations found the perfect toy to buy, topped off with a "happy" meal before heading into school carting along brownies (also his absolute favourite) to share with his class. 

Brave's favourite food is lasagne, so I made a morning of it with my thermie and together we cranked out a tasty lasagne -a personal accomplishment as I haven't cooked in over a year. I poured all the mama love into this lasagne possible. And I like to think he tasted it in every bite. Ha!

And so we gathered around our new dining table with Nana and Granddad and also a favourite cousin and aunty (hooray!) and luckily for me Nana remembered that one often eats cake at a birthday (I had completely forgotten about birthday cake) and she had made a very yum banana cake with sprinkles and candles for dessert. So yum.

So with full bellies for all and a day of being spoilt and loved on in the bag, Brave happily went through his day using and re-using his own joke he had made up, 

'I'm feeling really six today' (get it, get it? not sick but six).

It was a good day.

And I wrote him the birthday letter I do each year, and realised that as I wrote I kept smiling. Every time I think about Brave I get this little smile on my face. He's that loveable. That sweet.

And I'm so glad the dimple has stayed around. It thrilled me the day he was born, and I am just as in love with it now.

Happy birthday, and love you more than chocolate Brave!

just getting up

Somedays my boys it's hard to get up. It's just hard to get up and out of bed.

I'm slowing weaning myself off of the steroids I have been on for pain relief. I am switching it up a little and giving this body (and swollen face) a break, but the process is draining, and sleep inducing (hello sleeping until noon everyday!) and Daddy is carrying the load more than ever, and you three seem fine with a mummy who mumbles in response to questions hurled at her from 7am.

early morning antics

I wonder today if you have begun to see this as normal, this pattern of a mama in bed all morning as you race to find school uniforms, hats, communication books and shoes. Always shoes. Doesn't matter how organised I try to be the night before it's always those pesky shoes that can't find their partner in crime in time for you to race out the door. 

The 'pink slip' constantly chases us these days - a reminder that there's some level of disfunction present in the mornings. But I've always thought those pink slips are a slap on the wrist for the parent. How responsible for getting to school on time can a year 1 & year 2 child really be?

I don't like that thought. Not the pink slip so much, but the thought that you three littles would think I don't want to be in the mix of getting you sorted in the mornings, being the keeper of milk jugs overflowing into cereal bowls piled way too high, and hair that's doing a crazy cocky thing at the back, teeth needing to be brushed, notes signed, dishes packed tightly into that dishwasher. All of it.

But I don't do any of it.

So I sleep on (well, if you count sleeping as being asked by Soul repeatedly where 'teddy has gone away' or you two older ones asking if it's an OSCH day or can you have ice block money?) in that dreamy way, with breakfast in bed bought in (thank you thank you Huz) along with hot water bottles and heat packs to dampen the morning aches until the myriad of medications I have downed with orange juice kicks in.

And I have my phone next to me playing songs that will soften the waking up: music to my soul. It's good.

So it's not the way I planned it. You know, planned the whole, 'I'm the mama and you three are my littles, and here is my guy next to me and here we all are doing life together' plan. And it's not going to plan. But then, what has? There are so very many ideas and plans and hopes and vague thoughts that have catapulted through my mind over the years, and rarely has any of them gone 'to plan'. The 'to plan' I come up with sometimes has mirrored reality, but more times than not I've been glad when what has actually happened has been better than my original plan.

This time not so much.

But then, in the mix of all the yuck, here you three are, and that's amazing and excellent, and Soul you are the cherry on the pie, the added bonus, and Daddy will tell you all about that down the track. And so, all up, it's ok. The mornings are hard, and yuck, and I want to be 'more' for you than I can be in lots of ways right now. Can you understand that chooks? Can you wrap your minds around that?

True, you are brilliant at understanding beyond your years. You extend love beyond what I can imagine seven year olds often do. I'm so thankful. In years to come, you three littles can know that in the middle of the messy mess, you guys have been some of the best, yummiest, most authentic, unpredictable, welcome comfort I've ever received. 

Thanks my littles.








































So I'm sorry my babies that this snapshot of our day is not normal. It's not what I thought the 'good story' would be. It's not the way I planned it. 


I'm determined though to see beauty, hunt it down and gather it to myself. Because there just has to be beauty in all of this mess. Call me the beauty hunter if you will. (you know what I'm talking about Aunty L - you're my inspiration) Because if it has to be like this, if Jesus has called this the 'good story' for me then I'm in. I'm diving in. 

And the beauty I see is you three lovelies with your sweet sweet eyes and hearts gathering to my bedside when I can't come to yours, and who's kidding, because you guys get up waaayyyyy before me anyway don't you True - you early bird you - and I get to pull you up and snuggle you under my warm covers and ask you about your dreams, 'were they good dreams Brave?' and then you can tell me everything that you can think of before racing off with your brothers. 

I get to not have to govern the extreme use of Oatflakes and determine who is deserving of a second helping of Weetbix, so there's a plus right there. Don't know that I would have gone to the extreme of having stage four cancer to avoid it, but there it is. Hunting the beauty.

And you are all off at your places. We all have our places to be today. And I'm glad thinking I will see you in a few hours and get to hear all your news as you do our secret knock on the front door so I know it's you. And I get to knock back cos that's our thing, and then there is the outpouring of cuddles and news and often a new rock or two ('for the collection mum') and it's all on then, and you three are glad to be home, glad to be next to my side. 

I feel it too. We belong together you littles and I. 

Waiting for your knock!

thank you internets

So for whatever reason, I just keep feeling the pull to write here.

It's not really like me at all to want to make myself so vulnerable, but somehow when I get quiet with Jesus, He reminds me that my story is what I have right now to tell. For my littles, for the speaking-it-into-the-future, and for what it might stretch into for my boys who are fast growing and will be men one day, reading droplets of words and heart of mine. 

Here's hoping that these word droplets meet them when I cannot.

Words have a longevity that I don't. They can be a fixture when I cannot. They can (hopefully) communicate some of my mummy heart for later when right now the little ears I need to be listening are much too little for my today words and my today tears.

real tears from Brave...can't remember exactly the offence of Soul, but here it is all captured for future generations. You're welcome boys.

In more ways than I want to be true, we are passing in the night these boys of mine and little old me.

I'm trying to 'hang around', trying to live beyond this expiry date I've been handed so I can more than just 'pass by' you. I want my life to impact and drive deep into your little persons so my incredible imbedded wisdom will serve you well in twenty, thirty, forty years time.

No. Just jokes. No imbedded wisdom. But I do want more than what I'm getting time wise that's for sures.

But then boys, you will already know that as revealed by all the embarrassing Super8 footage taken over my life, combined with the stories Daddy will tell, and this little blog. All of which will seem outrageously irrelevant by the time you take a look. I mean, I have no idea what kind of technology, or way of communicating will even be a 'thing' in twenty years time. Whatever it is will make my attempts here look quaint and old fashioned. 

That's ok. As long as you hear my heart. 

And I lay awake the other night (not at all like me - as soon as my head hits the pillow I'm out to it) I finished pulling together in my mind why it's so hard to think of writing you littles birthday cards that stretch into the future. Cards for when you graduate, words for you for significant dates. 

And then I remember the beauty of how mamma's grow with their littles. I have naturally grown as you boys have. I have been ready to parent a 3 year old when you turned three True. Before you were 5 I had no idea how I would meet all the emotional needs of a boy this age. How would I know what to do, what to say, how strong to be, when to be gentle of heart. And yet, when you turned 5, I graduated as a parent too. I was made ready because we had journeyed those months, the small days making up weeks, months, and finally years. 

It feels presumptuous to write cards stretching years ahead of where I have grown as a parent. I have taught hundreds of students in their teens, yet I have never mothered one. Maybe as this year goes on I will feel the pull to do this very thing, to write cards for you boys. If I do not though, this is the reason, and this is the rhyme to it: I am not ready to reach into the years ahead and hand out advice, or lend wisdom to the moments God hasn't granted me to live alongside of you. I am full (too full, I know I know) of advice and thoughts and revelations and ideas for you littles today. Today. 

Beyond this, beyond the days I'm here to live and love on you, I guess we will see.

Mum xx

puppy love

It's only four weeks until we will have our first puppy at Robinvale!

I am dreaming of sweet puppy love, licks and fun.

Such joy.

Only a few more weeks to wait, and then we will all meet him at the airport because his first home has been in NSW.

I'm SO excited!

All the boys are going to be thrilled. Each of them love animals, and a new puppy is going to be the recipient of much much love. Probably too much. We are going to need to give him some space I'm guessing. There is going to be a lot of love. 

But the one in particular I'm thinking will have his heart full to the brim with puppy love will be Brave. He was made for a dog. This boy of mine has from the very earliest age simply adored animals, and for the last three years straight has been begging for his own to love, every single Christmas and Birthday. Up until now he has been content with stuffed toy dogs some of which have barked if I remember to put fresh batteries in. And he has never complained as such. He accepts that pretending he has a dog is how it will be for now.

So I can't wait to surprise him!

This puppy will be a family pet, but I'm guessing that Brave will do the lions share of the work and care for our newest little guy.

And this new adventure ticks many boxes for our family right now. I'm looking forward to company during the day when I'm at home, and maybe even some motivation for a daily beach walk too. For our boys, a pet to love and adore and look after is just right, and for my Huz this puppy will be a shared love of ours for the now, and a great comfort and companion in the lonely evenings in the days to come. I'm thinking this puppy is going to be pretty special for all of us.

We think we will wait a few more weeks to tell the boys so that they can be excited about getting him, but not have to wait a whole long month. A month is a long time when you are three (or five or seven). And I have a feeling that if we do tell them this far in advance, that everyday for the next month I will be woken in the morning by Soul asking if today is the day we get our puppy.

Now to choose a name. I'm thinking something regal and 'Downton Abbey' esq...

dreaming about forever

Taking the time this evening to dream a bit about my 'forever home'.

I've been reading Mundane Faithfulness, Kara Tippetts blog for a few years now - compelling because she is also treading out this cancer life day by day. She too has been mulling over what heaven will be like, feel like, sound like.

It blows my mind if I really let myself go there. I mean, it makes me wonder how I can ever claim to be sad over this letting go of my wonderful, dream-like life here. Makes me wonder how I can edge toward panic in my heart thinking of how my three littles and my guy will be without me when in the blink of an eye and we will be together again. All will be put right.

And when the pity creeps in, when 'the-sad-and-so-very-sorry-for-me-wave' washes me under in its unexpected torrent like it does, and when the pull to the sandy bottom insists I see myself as 'unlucky', then its my cue to think again about the place of no more tears, and know in that deep Jesus way that this is where I'm headed: not for disaster as my mind can mistake, but for this place of utter peace so deep and full that worry feels like an abstract concept. A place where joy is the 'water in which we will swim' and will be as automatic and natural as breathing in and out. A home so inviting and warm that the best celebration I've ever been invited to is pale and cold to compare.

This is home. This is my forever home. This is more than fairytale or hopeful nothings. This is it.

And my Jesus is there in person. Jesus. The One and the Only.

Again. Mind blown.

And it's this tension, this discontent between desires met and unmet here that compel me yet again to imagine afresh my forever home as an answer to the deep longings.

Deep calls to deep.

And how many times have I trawled Pinterest scanning images like binge eating lollies as I find perfection layered on perfection in kitchens, dining rooms, exteriors of homes so inviting that I want to beg to come in, and I long to make my spaces the same, possessing the same warmth, the same beckoning to 'come on in'. And I've wondered it before, years ago really, why the decorating of a space, the getting ready of a place was ever something that mattered to my heart. Why should it? Why is it anything that matters? Perhaps it really doesn't.

But somehow the longing persisted, and the joy of it sat firmly in my soul.

And I think this is why. This longing for my forever home. This longing to come home to the ultimate in warm, the ultimate in welcome, the complete and utter 'come as you are, we have been waiting for you, you are so very welcome'.

And my fingers are more than crossed that in heaven these longings will be answered absolutely.

So perhaps this is just me justifying the chandeliers that are 'shining happy people holding hands' (remember that song?!) or the french provincial joy I can't contain, but my forever home is set to answer some of these longings in all of the best ways. Oh my goodness I'm excited for that.

Mostly, when I think about flying away, about my time here being done, I think about the enormously beautiful life I am saying goodbye to. And the beauty of this life is wrapped firmly in the insane gift of my Huz, our littles, of our incredible family and friends.

And the ache to stay is all consuming. It really is. I didn't anticipate being asked to 'wrap things up' this soon in the piece. It still shocks me. And yet I know that I will live not one day more than God has planned. So it's not a matter of having years of life taken away from me. 

And I'm deeply comforted by that. Deeply comforted that each day is known, is portioned grace, is important. So the seeming randomness of stage four cancer is not something I fear. My Jesus is bigger than all this and He could take my cancer away in a snap, in a heartbeat. If He doesn't then it is off to my forever home.

And imagining my forever home is good for my soul. Takes the panic and puts it in its place.

I adore this life. I adore it completely. And even the difficult parts are welcome these days. I guess that's what you call perspective.

And yet when I fly away, this heaven, this forever home is calling big and beautiful.

Thanks Jesus. I love how you know me so well, and get how much I need to imagine the beauty ahead on the hard days. And it's all because of you dying on the cross that I get to say 'yes' to you and 'no' to following my own way. And I'm desperate to go your way. Mine is so dark and drab. You give life, even when it looks to everyone else like I'm busy dying, you are busy letting me, waking me up to, calling me, prodding me, to LIVE!

So it's all life. All of it. The here. Our forever home. The getting there...that's the mystery...but when we are actually there, with Jesus, we will be free at last. Free at last. Love it.

Oh my boys. There is so much to say on this. I know you will busy yourselves mulling it over because once I've 'flown away' then you will feel more of a draw to your forever home too. I must remember to talk always with you about this beauty-fillled place so you can hear from my lips just how real I believe it to be.

And it won't be the same without you there.

And I promised myself I wouldn't cry at the thought that you might not be there. You simply must be. You must. Please don't push Jesus away. He will be calling you to Himself your whole life, longing for your heart, pursuing you in every way you let Him. But you get to choose for yourself, and heaven is for those who follow Him. There is no other way. So babies, follow Him. For every other reason under the sun, and for this one too: come be with me in this forever home.

I love you tonight as you sleep all tucked up in beds just next to me, and I will love you all my days even when I am in our forever home waiting for you to come.

I'll get it ready for you!