acquainted

Welp, here’s an update that has been a while in coming, and I’ll dive in with some health bits, as things have shifted in the last few weeks. There’s a symptom sliding-scale that the hospital asks patients to fill out with every check in appointment; it asks you to rank symptoms like pain, appetite, breathing, etc. I’ve been doing this every 2-3 weeks for many months now, but I began to notice in the last chunk that several of those markers seemed to be deteriorating slightly.

Suddenly, several of the symptoms that had been tracking consistently through my previous treatment and this period of rest seemed to be sliding in the wrong direction. My pain, energy, and appetite have all been noticeably worse, and then at an appointment last week my bloodwork also reflected the concerning trend. Unfortunately, these shifts indicate that the immunotherapy is no longer working to hold things steady, and are most likely a signal that the cancer is growing.
As a result, my doctor strongly recommended returning to a new course of chemotherapy, and after taking a quick beat to process, I am now scheduled to start back into treatment tomorrow.

We were absolutely hoping and praying for more of the resting space that we’ve been experiencing over the last couple of months. It has been lovely to have some mostly normal life, and for me to be fully present in the rhythms of our family. As it happens, the rhythms of chemo treatment are also familiar to us, but it’s not a place we’re eager to return to. It’s all been pretty rotten, and hard, and heavy to take in.

The treatment will be similar to my previous chemo. One of the drugs is the same and the other is new, and each round will be two weeks again. It means a reprise of the chemo-bottle fanny pack, the helper drugs in all their mayhem, and generally a known, but wholly undesirable rhythm of feeling rotten almost as much as I don’t.
Nonetheless, we are grateful for treatment options, and hopeful that the chemo will help to decrease some of the pain and other symptoms that I have been experiencing. We know that it’s a good choice to continue to halt the cancer’s growth as much as we’re able. We also know that as we return to some of these yucky, familiar places, that God goes before us, behind us, and with us at every step.

Ever since Easter, the phrase “a man of sorrows” has been rolling around in my mind. It’s found in Isaiah 53, a chunk of scripture in the Old Testament that is talking about Jesus. These verses describe the future Saviour as “a man of sorrow, acquainted with deepest grief.”

It has been comforting to remember that in the times I feel like I’m wandering in the land of sorrow and grief, that it is also a place Jesus has been. Jesus knows the feeling of completely not wanting to be in the midst of a hard reality, and then also demonstrates what it means to trust and surrender to God right from the middle of that place.

He is familiar with deep grief, yet he is held in safety and rest because of God with him.
He is acquainted with sorrow, but he is fully found in the love of his Father.

Lord, how I pray this would continue to be the truth of my life and my heart as well.

I have become more acquainted with pain. Pain in my body that tells me something is wrong. From persistent discomfort, all the way to pain that demands full attention and won’t allow other thoughts to form.
I have also become more and more familiar with the places of feeling my deep need and fragility. The ups and downs of grief that rush in and then recede. The feeling of being overwhelmed, of having nothing left, of feeling certain that I cannot do it again or anymore.

And yet, and yet…
I am reminding myself that although these places, these feelings, these hard, hard realities are all so terribly familiar, that they are not the places of my deepest knowing.
Instead, it is within the vast truth of God’s love and goodness that I am fully known and fully found.

A couple of beautiful songs by Amanda Cook that I’ve listened to on repeat for the last couple of years sing out in my mind and soul with their resonant truth:

When I doubt what I used to believe
And I drown in my anxiety
You are here in these waters with me, as always
My despair doesn't scare You away
Nor my demons, my questions, my pain
Your compassion outlives all my shame, as always
Always

You are here
Closer than the heart in my chest
Truer than the thoughts in my head
Even in the shadow of death I know You're with me here
Catching my tears in Your hands
Lifting my head when I can't
Redeeming in seconds the life I thought was wasted
You make Edens out of wastelands

These places of difficulty are familiar, but I am continually learning not to despise them.
Because they can usher me into even more dependence on God. As I stand in honesty about how hard this is, acknowledging the truth of how much I don’t want to face this next part again, I feel my own fragility in a way that allows me to be broken open, ready agin to receive all the goodness of God’s care and comfort.

The other Amanda Cook song goes like this:
Honestly
I'm weary
Honestly
I'm empty

But here at Your feet, I'm held, I'm healed
I am at home,
Here at Your feet, I'm filled, I'm found
Where I belong

This is the truth I’m soaking in again. Nothing for me to do but be honest about how I really find myself, to come to the feet of Jesus, to be known, be held, be found in him.
And that’s a place that feels okay to be.

While I may be acquainted with these places of difficulty, I will continue to make my home in the fullness and truth of who Jesus is.

During these months of rest and reprieve from treatment, our family was able to get away for a trip to lovely, warm Aruba. One of my favourite things that we did while we were there was walk together though a prayer labyrinth that was nestled behind a tiny church overlooking the ocean. It was quite gorgeous and a very special experience together. I talked with the kids about some of the rich symbolism that comes out of walking the path of a labyrinth. Different than a maze, the labyrinth only has one path, so you’re never lost. But interestingly, it does sometimes feel like you can’t possibly be going the right way. You weave in and around the centre, feeling like you’re getting closer to the desired destination, only to be turned fully away from it again, following the path in the opposite direction from where you thought you were going.

Oh goodness, the feelings of disorientation, frustration, and grief can be very real along the way.
But there were also markers as we went, little painted signs that acted as guideposts of truth to hold us we walked: compassion, love, peace… the heart of God with us and for us as we go.
And we’re never lost. We’re never forgotten.
As we give our attention to him again, we will find ourselves to be ever safe within his love.

For despite all the things, all the many, many things…
We are more than okay.
In fact, with are people of victory and joy because of Jesus and his deep love for us.
For there is nothing -
Not life or death, no worries for today, nor our worst fears for tomorrow,
that could ever separate us from God’s abundant love. (Romans 8:37-39, a definite paraphrase :))

Praying it for me, praying it for you - that we would all soak in and deeply know this truth more and more.

Laura xo