To remember what this season was like, here’s a typical day out of my week during treatment. This was yesterday (Thursday, 3/21). I’m currently living with Mom in her Issaquah apartment; Greg is living in our home in Des Moines, and the kids are going back and forth between us. I have them Wed-Sat pm, and he has them the rest of the time. All feedings, meds and liquids are via PEG tube.

Wake up at 7:30am. Hear Mom coughing and suctioning in the night, but she didn’t ring for me, so I got to stay in bed all night. Help the kids with breakfast. Prepare Mom’s 8am feeding & meds. 8a-8:20 feeding. Apply facial creams to her radiation site to help heal the burning. Teach Jonathan how to handwash breakfast dishes. 9am – eat breakfast. Suction Mom’s trach. Dump out water & secretions from machine and wash canister. Get dressed. 9:30a – prepare to go for a walk, but nutritionist calls to talk about possible change to her diet. Talk with nutritionist for 30 minutes, find out why insurance won’t cover a healthier, natural formula. Figure out next steps. 10a – prepare 10am meds and water and feed Mom. Write down that you need to schedule her follow-up with Dr. Kim. Text Keith to see when he’s coming over for trach care today. Read Titus a few stories. Prepare the kids for their time while I’m gone at radiation and hydration. Suction Mom again. 11am – find out there is more paperwork to fax to long-term care insurance. Fill it out. Try to figure out the scanner. Mom helps. Scan the documents and fax them through. Faxes fail. Resend. Fail again. Resend once more. Faxes go through. Call the home care company you’re trying to work with. Talk with the care coordinator and schedule a few appointments for next week. Good news: there is a caregiver who can be delegated to handle trach, peg and meds! Will need to onboard her next week. Suction Mom again. Lots of secretions. Help Jonathan and Caleb make copies for math. 11:45a – prepare the 12pm feeding and pack the suction equipment, creams, gloves, water, cups, syringes, cloths, meds for 12:30 departure. Pack a few snacks and water for me. Running out of time for a shower. Push it to tomorrow.

12pm – Feed and meds for Mom. Last instructions for kids. Keith comes, picks up the trach supplies while we gather everything else. 12:35p – Leave for the hospital. Walk across the street with Mom and Keith. Check in for 1pm hydration appointment. Once settled, I ask Keith if he can hang with Mom while I go for a walk. He covers me for 45 minutes – I walk around the hospital and get some cardio and fresh air. Come back, find Keith and Mom finished with trach care and coloring. I join them; 2 minutes later Mom gets another coughing fit, needs suction, fanning, peppermint oil to help her calm down. Return to coloring. 3pm – Keith leaves.

3:15pm – done with hydration. Pack up and walk directly over to radiation. Mom changes, suctions, and gets called back quickly. I wait. Texting Grace’s ride to ballet and Grace to give her instructions on where to go if I’m not back before she leaves. 10 minutes later, Mom comes back and is done. We pack up, say goodbye to the front desk team, and walk back to the apartment. Home by 4pm. Just miss Grace, but she gets picked up safely for ballet.

4pm – say hello to kids, prepare 4pm meds and feeding. Feed and meds for Mom. Radiation cream round 2. 4:45, figure out shopping list and dinner. 5pm – Greg comes and picks up Jonathan for baseball practice. I suction Mom, take Caleb and Titus to grocery store for dinner. I get there, realize I left my wallet at home, and come back. Scrounge for dinner fairly successfully, put shopping off until tomorrow. 5:45pm – feed Mom. Take boys down to pool, let them swim for an hour or so. 7:30pm – come back upstairs, get boys ready for bed, read stories. Put them to bed. 8:30pm – meds for Mom. 9pm – do dishes. 9:30p – put on radiation cream once more. Prepare 10pm meds. 10pm – meds for Mom. Suction. Prepare syringes for the next day. Write down the next day’s schedule. 10:30pm – get ready for bed. 11pm – go to bed.

4am Friday – get called by Mom because she’s choking on mucus. More suction. Head back to bed. Keep hearing her coughing, but no calling for me. On and off sleep until I wake up at 8:30, realize I’m 30 minutes late for the first feeding of the day. Oh well. Adjust schedule and move on.

This is a pretty average day. No day is the same. There have been worse; there have been better. The highlights were coloring with Keith and Mom, and taking a walk. Low lights are the choking episodes and hearing Mom struggle to sleep during those coughing fits, knowing I can’t help.

Now it’s 10pm Friday and I need to prepare her final meds. Until next time.

Disclaimer: this is a personal processing, cancer care update, journal-type entry. Ways we need help is at the end of the post, if you’d rather skip to the practical needs section 🙂 I take no offense. Writing helps me process, and I’ve not done as much as I probably should have lately.

I’m counting 11/20/23 as the start of this cancer journey, though it was in the works for years previous with issues Mom was experiencing with her tongue. 11/20 is when we got the diagnosis after a few months of more urgently seeking out answers for the increasingly problematic symptoms. 11/20 is when we realized we were dealing with cancer, and our lives have changed. Now we’re in our 4th month. I don’t know what phase to call this next one, but I’m realizing we’re turning another corner. After diagnosis came treatment options and questions. Then came prep for surgery. Then came surgery, ICU, and hospital recovery. Then came discharge and recovery at home. Then came radiation and chemo consults. Then came chemo treatment. Then came moving Mom back to Issaquah. Then radiation treatment. That brings us to the next stage.

I’ve had a good session of respite this week, thanks to Jason flying in from Alaska and his willingness to learn PEG tube feedings and general help and care. Also due to my brother learning trach care so I don’t have to drive to Issaquah every day. A deep breath and chance to recover. I’ve gotten time with my kiddos. Greg and I even got in a date, thanks to Mom gifting us some tickets she couldn’t use. Played in our worship band for the first time in a few months, and said hello to some wonderful people. Greg is giving me this afternoon off, so the breath continues a little longer before this next phase starts up tomorrow.

So…..introducing Phase 9, perhaps? I don’t know. It may not be helpful to give these phases a name or number. I’m learning that suffering doesn’t turn off and on, or have a clean beginning and ending. It is something you walk through, like life. You can’t plan it. You can’t control it. You have no idea when it will “end”. It may not end, but ebb and flow. It’s a journey. It’s why God says we walk through the valley of the shadow of death. One step at a time. It’s a daily, moment-by-moment existence. So we’re walking. And I see a bend in the road. This bend is care for Mom while she goes through treatment, living in Issaquah.

She’s living there instead of with us for multiple reasons: the main one being that her treatment is across the street from her apartment, and she can walk to appointments. When you have at least 7 appointments/treatments a week, proximity is gold. It’s also nice to know emergency help is within a block. Obviously it’s not ideal (as nothing is). Greg and I live 45 minutes away. Her trach needs daily maintenance. Only two people in her world are trained to do it currently: Keith and me. PEG tube feeding on your own is a full-time job, and Mom has other things she needs to do besides feed herself. Sometimes her mucous is so thick, it gets hard to breathe, and it’s scary to be in that place on your own. While the hope was to have a caregiver with her 4x/week (for the days I can’t be there) for 8 hours/day, LTC insurance will only cover half of what we were hoping for with caregivers for Mom. We can’t afford the out of pocket expense of a caregiver, so we’re looking to see if a shorter shift is both 1. possible and 2. available. Along with that, Issaquah is a hard area to staff, and nurse delegators are short, and not many delegators can do trach maintenance. So the pieces are falling into place, and I’m starting to see what the next few months may look like.

Treatment for Mom ends on April 15. Then she needs time to recover. This may take up to 3-4 months (July/August). We have no idea when her trach will come out. Maybe at the end of treatment, maybe after 3-4 months post-treatment. My current goal is to get her through treatment. Then, if she needs continual trach care, at least she will be done with 7 appointments/week and we can move her back to our house if needed. I was able to live with her for the first week after she moved back to Issaquah because my husband was able to work from home. Now he needs to be back in the office three days a week. It feels as if I need to be in two places at once: with our kids Wed-Fri, and with Mom. For this week, I’ll be with Mom Monday night-Tuesday, Wed-Fri during the day, Fri night – Sun night.

So how to get her (and our family) through treatment? Well, if you read 1 Chronicles 19, you’ll see something that amazingly related very strongly to our current circumstances. God’s people are being wrongfully attacked from all sides. Joab organizes the army into two groups: one led by him and one by Abishai. He tells Abishai, “You go over there and fight that group. I’ll go over here and fight this group. If you get overwhelmed, I’ll come help you. If I get overwhelmed, you come help me. We’ll fight with all our strength for God, his people and his cities. And may the LORD do what seems good to him.”

Greg and I are Joab and Abishai. We’re going to divide our strengths to fight for one of God’s daughters. One with Mom, one with our kids and home. We’re going to do this with all our strength and resources. If one is overwhelmed, the other will come and help. And may the LORD do what seems good to him. The outcome is out of our hands. Reading that encouraged me so much. Joab’s faith is what I want. I’ll go ahead and make battle plans, and keep knocking on doors, and trying to use every resources we have. And at the end of the day, God controls the outcome. That gives me tremendous peace. He’s not a safe God. He doesn’t promise my mom (or I, or my family), will come out of this unscathed, or even alive. He promises us much more than that. He promises that he is with us in the fire. He is with us in the valley. He won’t ever leave. He’s with Mom in every radiation appointment when she’s strapped to a board, in every chemo session when DNA-killing medicine is flowing through her veins. He’s with me in the chaos of each day. He’s with our kids while I can’t be. He also promises this life is the worst it’s going to get for us. Eternal glory in exchange for temporary suffering. I’ll take that any day. He’s not a safe God. But he’s good.

The thing Joab and Abishai had, too, was an army. We’ve had an army helping us from January to now. Meals, rides, groceries, prayer. We still need these things. At first I thought we just needed help for January. Then I thought, well, maybe February as well. Then March came and I’m realizing we still need help. It’s humbling to admit that. It’s humbling to be in need for so long. I can only imagine how Mom feels. Yet we still need our army. Perhaps some of you need to retreat and gain strength. Perhaps some of you are new troops fresh for a battle. I know God will send us what we need. Are you up for joining the army to help us? While so much is still unclear, and I tend to live day-by-day now, or sometimes week-to-week, here are a few things Greg and I could use until May:

• Daily prayer. Talk about daily manna. I get it now. I can’t do one day on my own.
• Magdsick home help on Wed-Fri during the day. I may need to be with Mom, and we need someone at home with our kids while Greg is at work. Another option I’m considering is bringing them with me to Mom’s Wed-Fri, though there are complications to work on that end, as traipsing into Swedish Oncology with four children for radiation treatment isn’t helpful to anyone!
• Rides for Grace to and from ballet on Tuesdays & Thursdays from 4:15-8:45p window, for 5:45-8:15p class, starting 3/26. This takes a load off Greg and lets him be home with the boys on those weeknights, giving them a decent bedtime hour.
• We still have grocery help (thank you!!! You know who you are!)
• Anyone in the Issaquah area (or willing to drive there) who is willing to learn how to maintain Mom’s trach and/or do PEG tube feedings.
• Financial support is always welcome to cover the extra cost of gas & take-out.
• There are probably other things we need I am not aware of or have just forgotten. If you see anything or have other ways to help, yes please!

So here we go, making plans, fighting with all our strength, knowing things will most likely change and we’ll need to shift and be flexible and make new plans. And may the LORD do what seems good to him.

To my church family:

First of all, I want to thank those of you who have been Jesus’ hands and feet to me, my family, and my mom while we journey through her cancer diagnosis and treatment. You’ve brought meals. You’ve donated funds. You’ve given rides to our kids. You’ve come over and been an adult with them while they do school. You’ve taken on our grocery runs. You’ve prayed. You’ve met me at the hospital. I know we’re far from done, but thank you for your presence and help thus far.

It’s a horrible existence. Feels very hell-ish. A roller coaster. We’re facing death head-on. Fear, grief, anguish, deep darkness, numbness, intense pain, exhaustion, anger: they’re all there and all part of our daily life. The emotional/mental side combined with the physical side makes this season tremendously difficult. I keep trying to put it into words. Probably partly to express it so I may process it, and partly to help others understand.

I want to help others understand, because, sadly, some of my church family has been hurtful and insensitive. I say this with all the grace Jesus has given me, because I know their intentions are good. I know those who have hurt me have been trying to help. I know this because I have also been that person. Many times. In my ignorance, in my thoughtlessness, in my immaturity, I have said and done things (or failed to say or do things) to grieving, suffering, hurting people which have added to their burden instead of sharing it. I can see and hear the loving intention, too, in the midst of them hurting me, and I need to continue to forgive and extend grace. I don’t want to end there, however. With this blog post, I also want to extend some loving truth to help others improve in bearing burdens. This is something I wish I sought out years ago. I need to grow in loving grieving people, and learning how to bear their burdens, and I want to help others grow in burden-bearing.

My experience isn’t unique. As I’ve tentatively shared my pain with others, I’ve been met with multiple people who have gone through the same thing. One angel God sent me in the ICU had also been there previously with a family member in dire circumstances. As we were talking about “miserable comforters”, she laughingly observed, “Christians were the worst comforters” (just so you know, she and I are both Christians). One of her most painful moments was when someone asked her if she’s prayed about her painful situation, implying it must be painful because she hasn’t prayed about it yet, or perhaps she hadn’t prayed properly. Another friend said that the silence of people in her world hurt the most. A horribly painful one is asking if my mom has any unconfessed sin in her life, causing this cancer to spread. If you’ve ever read Job, perhaps you can recognize some patterns of what Job calls “miserable comforters”. The messages implied are, “it’s your fault”, or “I don’t care”. There are also ways our pain is minimized. “God is with you, so don’t be so sad.” “God is using this for good.” “Remember Jesus.” All true things, but so unhelpful and unfitting. Unfitting because these truths, given to me in a dark place, act as an attempt to prematurely pull me out of processing my pain and grief. Look through the Psalms and you’ll see plenty of grief and questioning. Those truths are things I might need to hear, but you won’t know unless you’ve listened to me and know where I am for more than just a few minutes. As Proverbs 12:18 says,

“There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”

Those are the more obviously hurtful statements, or sword thrusts. Not surprisingly, there are also some subtler ones. It’s getting pretty easy to forgive and laugh at the obvious ones. It’s harder for me to deal with the subtle ones. Perhaps because there are much more of them. It’s one of the reasons I don’t want to come back to church. It’s not possible for me to go yet, anyway, but to be fully honest, I’m dreading it. I feel out of place. I feel unsafe. I feel additionally burdened when I go. I don’t doubt anyone’s intentions, but there are sword thrusts waiting for me, nonetheless. And since my current burden is so heavy, I don’t have much left to deal with additional burdens and pokes. On Sundays, I would so much rather come and be present and meet with God, and if possible, be supported by his people. I still want to come meet with God, but I’m struggling with his people, because instead of support, I feel additionally burdened by many sweet, wonderful, well-meaning people.

I’m going to share some of the subtle sword thrusts, and then share some things which have been healing to me.

Some subtle sword thrusts:

• Other people’s cancer stories. While this may seem like you’re trying to relate to me, in reality it distracts and takes away from our personal journey through cancer. As my mom said, though there are always similarities in cancer stories, every person’s journey through it is unique. Hearing about yours is an added burden at the time. I know you mean it to be encouraging, but it seems to make it about you, and I don’t have the capacity for that. It’s human nature to relate, but please understand it’s very unhelpful and adds to the already heavy burden I’m carrying.
• Telling me what worked for you in your hard season. Again, this relates to the previous point. You’re taking away from my personal journey and making it about you. You and I are completely different people. If we’re only talking on a Sunday morning, chances are we don’t know each other well at all. You don’t know my story, and I don’t know yours. What worked for you may not at all work for me, because we are unique individuals with unique stories. Perhaps there is a time to hear what worked for you, but now is not the time. Now I need a listening ear, or silent, empathetic presence. I need people who can pray for me, because I often don’t have the strength to pray. However, there is an exception to this. When this is offered from a trusted person who has listened, been present, acknowledged the difficulty, empathized with me, and knows me, this is very welcome. A family friend modeled this for me in letter form, sending me exactly what I needed to hear. It was from a place of seeking to help, from being present, listening and empathizing with me, and it was God-given encouragement. When given more randomly, from someone I don’t know well, it’s well-intended and burdensome.
• Asking questions about how I am doing or how Mom is doing. I’m glad you want to know how I am. If our relationship isn’t super close and we mainly interact on Sunday mornings, however, these questions add to my burden. Usually there are usually 10-15 people asking me the same thing in a very short time period. If I could walk into church, sit and be present just as I am, with tears running down my face, sitting down for worship because I don’t have the strength to stand, knowing I’m free not to sing because I don’t have the strength to, then I’d be fine. Sadly, that’s not been my experience yet. One Sunday there was a line of people waiting to see me and talk with me. While I appreciate that you care, and I could tell you did, answering how I am multiple times over to people who are not deeply invested in my life and grief adds to my burden. The deeply invested people are the ones who will be supporting me through this season. They’re the ones who have already been with me through hard seasons, through the ups and downs of life. They’re the ones who will ask me how I’m doing because they are already caring and supporting me.
• Giving advice. Copy and paste what I said above, but put in “giving advice” in place of “asking questions”. Usually my Sunday morning line-ups were mixed with both questions and well-meaning advice. Both of which tired me out immensely, and weren’t useful. As I write this, I’m reminded of something I read in “The Road Back to You” by Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile. They write about the Enneagram, a tool used to help understand the various types of people in our world and how we think, process, operate well and poorly, etc. It was in the chapter about Fours (which I am). One of the strengths of a Four is that they are empathetic. On page 161, the author states, “Fours instinctively know how to honor and bear witness to the pain of others. They know there’s nothing they can do to help other than be in solidarity with you until whatever afflictive emotion you’re experiencing has finished its work in you. So when your dog needs to be put to sleep and you can’t bear the idea of going to the vet alone, don’t call a Two. They’ll show up with a casserole and a new puppy. Fours will drive you to the vet’s, stand alongside you and help hold the dog during those final moments, and give you nothing other than the ministry of their presence.” With that said, what I’ve been realizing is that many people with their strengths and weaknesses have been seeking to help us. We need help in many ways. If we only had casseroles, we’d be missing the emotional support. If we only had Fours coming over to cry with us and listen to us, we’d be starving and really dirty. In my current experience, church family seems to be really heavy on the casserole side, and really light on the “weep with those who weep” side. I don’t expect everyone to have the strength of a Four. However, we desperately need to grow as a church to learn how to better bear each other’s burdens and make a way for grieving, suffering people.
• Ignoring me. I have had people who I thought would be there, but have been silent. No texts, no words, no calls, no meals, nothing. Perhaps they react on social media to a post or a picture, but that’s it. Even hearing, “I don’t have any capacity to help, but please know I’m thinking of you” is better than silence. Or, “I don’t know what to say”, is a great thing to say. Doing or saying nothing is an additional sword thrust.

It’s not been all burdensome, though. Below are the few ways I’ve been helped emotionally by church family. Words and actions of healing. If these were more common, I would feel much more comfortable coming to church while I’m hurting.

Healing words & actions:

• Letting me walk into church without asking me any questions. Perhaps if we are not really close, leaving me alone on Sunday and helping in practical ways like meals or rides would be the best way you could support me.
• Telling me you’re praying for me. This doesn’t ask anything of me, but gives me something.
• Actually praying for me (please ask first!). And be sensitive. If there’s a line of people surrounding me, know that I’m most likely overwhelmed and wanting to escape. Stop and pray about whether to approach me. Ask God to search your heart. Are you approaching me because He’s leading you to, or are you seeking to do it for yourself? Satisfy curiosity? Make yourself feel better that you’re doing something? If so, that’s not what I need.
• Reading my mom’s caringbridge website if you are interested in how she is doing instead of asking me or Greg. Imagine needing to answer, “How is your mom doing?” 20 times before leaving the church building. Another friend of mine simply stopped going to church because she was continually asked about a traumatic event in her life, and reliving it multiple times in a morning was too much. If you read my mom’s updates, then you can say, “I read _________ and I’m praying for ___________.” This doesn’t ask anything from me and lets me know you care. https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/laurieshealthjourney2
• Listening. God wasn’t kidding when he said to be slow to speak and quick to listen. Some may assume this means asking me lots of questions, but you probably understand that I don’t mean that! Those who are already invested in my life have given me this space, and are listening to me. One friend in particular comes to mind who is out of state. She doesn’t ask anything of me, understands I’ll call when I can, and she listens without loading me up with advice. This takes strength. This requires taking on discomfort or pain on yourself. She doesn’t load me up with platitudes to relieve herself from that discomfort. She just bears it. That lifts a load off me.
• Empathy. This first requires listening (See my bullet point above). Putting yourself in my shoes and feeling some of my pain. Some wonderful people have done this for me. I have no idea what their belief system is, but they’ve been such a gift. One such person was my neighbor I happened to meet on a walk. She had lost her mother, and knew a friend with a similar cancer, and that knowledge and experience somehow didn’t lead into advice or questions, but empathy. She told me she knew how hard this season was. She cried. She hugged me. She said to reach out if I needed anything. The sweet dog she was walking actually gave me a hug from the back while she hugged me from the front. Hugely healing.
• Asking nothing of me. Reaching out to Greg if you have additional questions about how to help.
• Don’t expect me to respond to texts, phone calls or emails. Since I’m full to the brim, my spare time is usually spent sleeping, resting, eating, showering, or other life basics. I appreciate hearing from you, and I appreciate that you know I’ll reply when I can. Understanding that about me helps tremendously.
• Read some books about grief if you want to learn more. I’m currently walking through “Dark Waters, Deep Mercy” by Mark Vroegop. Greg recommends “Someone I Know is Grieving” by Ed Welch. In order to become a person who grieves with others well, it means doing a good amount of personal work.

We Christians can be miserable comforters. We can also grow to become wonderful, empathetic comforters. Don’t take it as any condemnation if you’re terrible at it. I certainly was. Yet by God’s grace, he’s making me more like him. In this season, he’s taking me through a crash course on grieving with my mom. The real trouble is if we self-protect, if we ignore, if we resist him, if we are prideful and don’t see any need for change or growth in us. Then that’s cause for concern.

If you are terribly brave, ask people who know you, particularly people who are suffering or have suffered, what has helped them in their pain, and what has made it worse. Listen. Be open to God pointing out where you are weak and need to grow. And please, for the sake of the gospel, and for the sake of hurting people, please seek to learn how to grieve well and bear each other’s burdens well.

Of course, I am speaking to my own experience. It’s very likely this isn’t every grieving person’s story. It’s only one. However, enough stories have come my way that makes me think I’m not alone. I have a feeling many hurting people would come out of the woodwork and come to know Jesus through his church if we grew in empathy. I have a feeling there are more hurting people who haven’t felt comfortable in church or welcome to come as they are. Not because they lack faith in God, but because sometimes his people bring sword thrusts instead of healing. Or sometimes, because there isn’t space made for them. I firmly believe Jesus loves his church. I’m not going to leave because I’ve gotten hurt. Family doesn’t do that. Family sticks it out through the pain and insensitivity. Family gives grace to one another and seeks to build each other up. I’m going to stick with my family and go the more difficult and more rewarding route, and try to be part of the growth. Jesus said, “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” I hope and pray the church becomes more and more of a place where the heavy-laden can experience God’s rest through his people.

If Mom’s health allows, I hope to see my church family in March. If I sneak in and sneak out, you’ll know why 🙂

We’re on Day 8 of home care for Mom after discharge from the hospital. Things have settled into somewhat of a routine. One of the things I’ve realized in this season of surgery recovery is that most of my time and energy as caregiver are devoted to keeping Mom’s meds, feedings, and wound care on schedule, and communicating with the various members of her care team (surgery, PT, OT, to name a few). I have very little time to process any feelings of my own. When people ask how I’m doing, the most honest answer I have right now is “I don’t know.” And if I do try to start figuring out how I am, it feels like opening the door to a floodgate of feelings that don’t have names yet, and I don’t have the energy to feel them and name them.

Mom needs food, water, or meds around the clock currently: 1am, 7am, 10am, 11:30am, 1pm, 3:30pm, 7pm, and 9pm. She’s working on building up her strength post-hospital stay in order to be able to shower, dress, walk safely, and eventually feed herself through her PEG tube. It reminds me of the time in ICU: the changes seem very small and unremarkable, then before you know it, you’re out of ICU and on the regular floor talking about discharge. Time appears to move slowly and more quickly.

We have a mother-in-law apartment in our home, which is where Mom and I are living currently until she’s able to be self-sufficient. It’s one of the reasons we bought the house we did: we wanted it to be a place where we could house people who needed it, mother and mother-in-law in mind. Obviously we didn’t realize when this would happen or that we would need it so soon. I was imagining empty teenage rooms and sweet, gray-haired women who needed their children to care for them. Instead it’s my youthful, 63-year-old mother who gets mistaken as my sister (obviously I don’t age as well as she does!), because cancer is attacking her. While this isn’t how I pictured it, this is what Greg and I wanted to do. And thanks to God and all the people helping, we’re doing it.

There are a few moments I’m able to get away and do some self-care. As so many people have told me: taking care of myself is taking care of Mom. I go for walks in our neighborhood for exercise, I take showers, I sleep when I can, and yesterday I got to connect with Greg for a few minutes. The kids come down and say hello every so often, have a movie night with Grandma or play card games. Greg brings me my meals and comes down often to wash syringes and cups for me (I go through many of those each day). We’ve had multiple people offering their time to come hang out with our kids during their homeschool hours during the mornings, along with meals, rides for Grace to and from ballet, housecleaning, volunteer caregivers to give me breaks, grocery shoppers, and probably so many other things I’m forgetting. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

After Mom recovers from surgery, it sounds like her oncologist is recommending chemo and radiation. So this season right now is temporary. I’m learning to be grateful for every minute I get with her, and working on the guilty feelings I have when I leave her or take time for myself. My cancer caregiver support group has been a tremendous help already. They live in this world which I have trouble describing, and the freedom to be honest with others who get it is a gift. It’s also scary. Today in group, we were talking about the “cave of death”, looking at what many of us and our person are facing. This really is a valley of death. One member who came on today just lost his wife. Another has a spouse who has terminal brain cancer and knows the end is coming at some point, just don’t know when. Others have people in treatment or in remission. I’m the new kid on the block, as Mom got diagnosed so recently compared with others who have been here for years.

While scary to face the possibility you never want to see happen, we also talked about how weirdly helpful it is. Being able to know death isn’t the end. Suffering doesn’t get the last word. I read Habakkuk this morning, and wow, did it ever speak to me. Especially 3:16. I don’t have time to get into it (I think I wrote a whole post in my journal on Habakkuk), but this part is what God spoke to me.

I hear, and my body trembles;
    my lips quiver at the sound;
rottenness enters into my bones;
    my legs tremble beneath me.
Yet I will quietly wait for the day of trouble
    to come upon people who invade us.

From that I heard I’m in good company with the prophet. It’s okay that my body trembles when I see my mom suffer. It’s okay that my lips quiver when I think that she might never get to see her grandchildren grow up. It’s okay that rottenness enters my bones when I watch cancer ravage her body. It’s okay that my legs tremble beneath me when I wonder how I can do another day. Yet. Yet, one day cancer will be irradicated. Yet, one day, my mom’s body will be fully renewed. Yet, one day, Jesus will come and will finally cast out all sin and sickness and death and struggle, and the glory waiting for us isn’t worth comparing to the suffering we’re going through. Habakkuk was told that the righteous will live by faith. That point, “yet”, is where my faith comes into play. It takes faith to go through the valley, believing the valley isn’t the end. Habakkuk needed to watch an evil people come ravage the Israelites. And in the previous verses, God told Habakkuk that this valley of his wasn’t the end. The Chaldeans would eventually see God’s judgment for their evil. Would God take away the evil day coming for his people? No. Yet the valley isn’t the end. Habakkuk put his faith in God while experiencing the gap suffering creates between who God says he is and the evil we experience. We see his faith in action as he says he will wait quietly for the day when the most awful wrongs will be made right. The book ends with this song:

Though the fig tree should not blossom,
    nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
    and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
    and there be no herd in the stalls,
 yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
    I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
 God, the Lord, is my strength;
    he makes my feet like the deer’s;
    he makes me tread on my high places.

To the choirmaster: with stringed^[d] instruments.

God the Lord is my strength in this valley. God the Lord will give me what I need. And because he is my shepherd, I shall not want. Even if my worst nightmares come true. Even if my mom dies a horrible, painful death. It won’t be the end. Death doesn’t have the final say, because Jesus conquered death. My mom’s life is tied to his. Since he rose, she will. That’s our final hope. And this is worth repeating: having this hope does not take away the pain of the valley. Jesus didn’t cry out on the cross as he experienced the intense pain of death by torture and separation from God: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” Or “God is for me!” Or “Hallelujah!”. He cried out a psalm of lament, Psalm 22. In his suffering, he cried out why. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Don’t take that away from us grieving people. Let us grieve like our Savior did. Let us cry out while we bear our cross. It doesn’t mean we don’t believe in our final hope of resurrection life. It means we’re grieving. And our suffering Savior is so near to those in the valley.

And so we begin. On the edge of two seasons: almost done waiting and almost ready for surgery. I’ve handed off and prepared everything I could in order to be fully present with Mom through the next phase of surgery and recovery. I’m humbled and grateful for the dozens of people who have picked up various parts in order to support our family so I’m free to do this, and for the community supporting Mom.

There are further seasons to this cancer journey, but I can’t see past the one step ahead of me. The ironic thing is that we often fool ourselves into thinking we can indeed see many steps ahead, yet we can’t. Nothing is guaranteed. I have a new understanding that I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But I do know the One who holds all things together. So I may wail, but I won’t despair. I may be struck down, but I’m not destroyed. I may be sorrowful, and I will hopefully learn to rejoice. As Christians, our bodies hold the death and life of Jesus simultaneously. It seems counterintuitive, or flat out impossible at first, but it matches where we are in God’s story. Sealed with the Holy Spirit, yet waiting for final salvation from God’s wrath. Adopted, yet waiting for the arrival to our new home. Made fully, positionally righteous, yet struggle with sin daily, waiting for our righteousness to be made perfect. Seeing in a mirror dimly now, and one day seeing fully.

My strong emotions don’t mean I don’t trust God. They mean I do. I trust him enough to feel them and to bring them to him. I used to live very shut off from my feelings. God has continually called me out of that numbness because it was self-protecting, and in so doing, self-harming. I was living as if I knew best, and distancing myself from God, thinking how terrible he was at protecting me from pain. Yet I was keeping myself from the very One I needed most in my pain. You see, I didn’t realize the truth of being a Christian that Jesus reminded us of often in Scripture. You need to take up your cross and follow him (Luke 14). Provided we suffer with him in order that we might be glorified with him (Romans 8). Through many tribulations we will enter the kingdom of God (Acts 14).

There are moments I feel God’s word to be true. And there are moments His promises feel very hollow, as a friend so aptly put it. If my faith were based on my feelings, I’d have stopped believing in Jesus a long time ago. No, he’s the anchor when my feelings toss me around. I need God himself, and I need a God who is great, wise, powerful, just, good, steadfast, loving, and holy, to name a few, more than me or any other human or created thing is able to be.

I’m in a storm, and I’m going to cry out. Jesus isn’t asking me to just grit my teeth and bear it. He isn’t asking me to recite Bible verses about how good he is. He isn’t asking me to put a smile on and fake it til I make it. If he’s really God, Creator of the Universe, Savior of all who trust in him, dead and risen again, Lord of everything, holding the universe together with the word of his power, King of kings and God of gods, and if he really is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit, if he really is for me and has engraved my name on the palm of his hands, if he really will walk with me through the fire and flood, then I will be brokenhearted. Then I will be crushed in spirit. Then I will enter the fire and flood. Then I will cry out. Let’s see if he really is, and really will. I’ll keep you posted.

It’s been five weeks. On Monday, November 20, we got the results from my mom’s biopsy on a growing lesion & lump on her tongue that she has cancer. This came after months of issues with this lesion, and multiple misdiagnoses as she sought help for it. Even writing that it’s been five weeks (almost six) feels surreal. It feels like a previous lifetime ago. I went from thinking “my mom just needs to find the right Dr to figure out what’s going on and get her the right medication so she’ll be back to normal”, to “our lives have changed and will never be the same again.” In so many ways.

I’m my mom’s primary caregiver. It’s an honor to be that for her. As some of you know and some of you can imagine, there’s been very little time for me to process this news personally. Reasons for this are:

1. The overall time from her diagnosis to where we are today is so short for the amount of work needing to be done and grief, pain and suffering felt.
2. We have four children ages 4-11, and we homeschool them.
3. Thanksgiving & Christmas.
4. Mom’s health seems to be rapidly changing and her needs increasing rapidly as well.

We are 7 days from her initial treatment of surgery, and I’m sensing it’s time to write and do some processing for myself, as well as to share with the people who are far away and more disconnected from my reality but care all the same and are keeping us upheld in prayer. My mom is journaling throughout her process on this caringbridge website, which you can check and follow if you want her health updates. https://www.caringbridge.org/visit/laurieshealthjourney2

The words that come to mind to describe how I’ve been feeling and what I’ve been experiencing are all over the board. Confusing. Heart-breaking. Helpless. Angry. Broken. Overwhelmed. Devastated. Grieving. Hurting. There is no rhyme or reason to grief. There is no schedule. I find myself falling apart in the car most often, probably because it’s the only place I am alone. One day a few weeks in I was pulling into Fred Meyer’s parking lot for my weekly grocery run, and “Even If” came on the radio by Mercy Me. That was the first good ugly sob session I had with God. No tissues in the car, of course, and I was on a time schedule to get home, so yes, I went shopping with an inflamed red nose and puffy eyes and a snotty sleeve on my coat, and got a few weird looks. I couldn’t care less.

Then there are times when I can’t fall apart, though everything inside me feels like it’s breaking. Sitting in my mom’s oncologist/surgeon’s office, receiving the news that she will need a glossectomy, reconstruction of her tongue from a portion of her arm or leg, removal of her neck lymph nodes, a trach and G-tube, loss of regular speech, no guarantee of much after the surgery because so much is unknown, was probably the microcosm of what this looks like for me being Mom’s caregiver. I feel as if I’m dying inside, yet my mom has been hit by this shocking news and needs me to be strong for her. So I took notes, asked questions, wrote everything down so we could remember outside of the shock of the moment, and found space later on to cry. One time I was able to cry with my mom about the news. More often I’m finding she’s leaning on me for the strength she doesn’t have due to lack of sleep, increased pain levels, emotional distress with facing this upcoming surgery and her unknown future.

This is all new to me. I’ve never walked with a close family member or friend through cancer. I’ve never known anyone with tongue cancer before. I’m learning in leaps and bounds what it means to be someone’s primary caregiver. As one of our social workers put it, taking care of Melissa is taking care of Laurie. Apparently I need my own support system to help carry my mom through this. I knew I did, but having our social worker and others who have been a caregiver confirm it has been so helpful. Part of the last few weeks has been slowly building that care team up. Finding the friends who can listen and support me. Connecting with a cancer caregiver support group. Organizing rides and care for our kids. Putting a meal registry together (we’re a vegan family, y’all! How difficult is that? Yet people are signing up for meals!). Talking with other caregivers. I’ve been particularly encouraged by Beth, one of my mom’s old friends from my childhood Vermont days, who has been an ongoing caregiver for her disabled daughter for as long as I’ve known her. She gave me words of life that felt like drinking from a pure well of water after a marathon in the desert. They came from her experience, from her own valleys and tears and grief, from the comfort and wisdom she’s received from God, and I am so humbled that God made a way for me to sit and receive them.

I’ve also learned some painful lessons. There are a few exceptions to this, but both Mom and I have experienced that many of us simply don’t know how to walk with someone through deep pain and grief. Our culture isn’t equipped to do so well. Even speaking from a Christian perspective, the church doesn’t know how to do this well. And I don’t know how to do this well. I can’t tell you how shocking it was to go from one Sunday at church, not grieving, to the next Sunday at church, grieving, and see the difference. It’s as if I had lenses taken off and I saw the situation more clearly. I felt so out of place. I felt like I didn’t belong. Like one Sunday I could see and the next Sunday I was blind, and I realized the whole church service and way we do life together caters only to the seeing people. Not because the people don’t care, but because they’re not blind. They haven’t thought about what it’s like to be blind. They haven’t given it much thought because they haven’t had to. Previously, I certainly didn’t. I had experienced deep pain, but not to this level. When someone I knew was suffering, I remember well my multiple reactions: discomfort, helplessness, not knowing what to say or do, glad I wasn’t going through what they were going through, would tell them I would pray for them, and I would, but overall I remember a basic lost-ness. I didn’t know how to join someone in their grief, and sadly, I didn’t seek to learn.

Now I understand better. None of us choose deep suffering and grief. It comes upon you when it does. And you walk differently. You do life differently. You’ve changed. To follow my analogy above, you’re blind. And it’s not going to change. I can’t go back to who I was. I never will. So how can we learn to open our doors to all people, not just the seeing people? How can we make space for deeply grieving people? How can we learn to weep and mourn well together? To lament, which I’m learning is grief directed to God? I could make a list of things that have not been helpful and what has been helpful thus far, but perhaps another time. Everyone I have talked with or interacted with as I’ve been “blind” has had wonderful intentions, and I see that. At some point I would love to help us grow in joining each other in our grief and sorrow.

So here we are. I want to close with giving you an idea of what my days are looking like and what we’re heading toward. For my Jesus-loving friends, please keep my mom and all of us in your prayers. She’s going through what I consider as close to hell on earth as she’s going to get. She’s in constant pain. Her pain meds keep her at a 6-7 level at best (and yes, I’ve been messaging and calling and on top of the pain management discussion with her care team). This type of pain is normal for oral cancer at her level, so sadly she just has to make it through as best she can on her current pain meds (she’s on three right now). We don’t know the stage of her cancer yet, but should in a couple weeks when her pathology report from surgery gets back. What we do know is that she went from being able to talk clearly to not being understood in a matter of three weeks. Her tongue is now mostly immobilized. She’s on a liquid diet of puddings and protein shakes. Eating and drinking are a struggle. We’ve just received bloodwork back that shows she may be dehydrated, so tomorrow’s adventure is getting her IV fluids. She’s not able to sleep more than an hour or two at a time. As you can imagine, the lack of sleep, emotional turmoil, implications of the cancer, and pain are playing a huge number on her ability to cope and her rational thinking. Her surgery date is 1/5, and it will be a 6+ hour surgery in the OR, removing whatever portion of her tongue that contains cancer, and reconstructing a mound of tissue where her tongue was, along with the lymph node removal and feeding tube & trach placement. Her hospital stay should be 7-10 days depending on her recovery, and then if she’s well enough, she’ll come live with us while I take over her home care. She may have a trach and G-tube in at that point, so I’ll be trained on how to feed her and maintain her trach. Because so much of this surgery is dependent on what is currently going on in her body, we don’t know how long her recovery will take. Best guess is 4-6 weeks out from 1/5, she’ll start radiation. Right now so much of my days are getting ready for me being with Mom full-time, organizing life for our home to run without me for at least January, communicating on Mom’s behalf with Drs and other appointments, and helping her through one day at a time.

So with all that said, this is my new season. This is my new normal. The bad dream that doesn’t go away has started to feel like my everyday life. It feels a little less shocking than the first few weeks, but every day gives us something new. I’m learning that helplessness is a normal feeling for the caregiver of someone with cancer. It’s a most awful thing to watch someone you love suffer and to not be able to alleviate it.

Some descriptions of this new season:

1. I’ve never been on my phone so much in my life.
2. I’m having very intense and weird dreams.
3. I’ve learned that you can feel Christmas joy and dreadful agony in the same day.
4. Mom and I can still tap dance together.
5. I am capable of doing hard things, things I never thought I could do.
6. Crying out to God really does help, even when circumstances don’t change. He changes you.
7. The suffering “blind” people make themselves known, and they surround you with all the love and prayer and presence that your soul needs. They just know what to do and say and not say, because they’ve lived it. It reminds me of how Paul says that we can comfort others in their affliction with the comfort we’ve received in ours. I’ve received that comfort. Thank you to our faithful comforters, and for reaching out to us while you are still hurting, too. I want to be like you.
8. I’ve discovered there’s a whole other type of music out there for grieving and lamenting people, and I love it. It’s what my soul needs to hear, not that peppy stuff right now.
9. I really married up. My husband has been a rock through this whole thing.
10. Life is so short and unpredictable and out of our hands. There really is a whole level of peace I’m experiencing knowing that God is holding all things together, even though I have no idea how he will bring good out of something so horrific. This is faith in action, being sure of what you hope for and certain of what you do not see. I don’t see how God is good right now. I don’t see how he loves my mom. I don’t see why he doesn’t just lift this burden since he’s capable of doing it, and he isn’t doing it. So I cry out to him and I work to trust who he says he is when I don’t see it or feel it. I think that’s faith. If I didn’t believe in him, I wouldn’t cry out to him.

If you want to help us with any meals, we’d really welcome them. PM me for the link.

If God prompts you to help in other ways, feel free to reach out to Greg or myself. I will not be very available for awhile, so Greg is probably your best bet.

Until next time. Thank you for reading and caring and for being part of our lives. It’s really impossible to do this alone, and a big part of how you can help and walk with me right now is the acknowledgment of my pain. I’m “blind”. It doesn’t help to have anyone ignore that or gloss over it. I’ve changed. I’m in it. Knowing you see me and you hear me is tremendously helpful. I don’t need advice or your story of how it all worked out for you. Maybe I will at some point, but not now. I need what one dear sister offered me on Christmas Eve. She saw me, came up to me, told me her heart was aching for me, and she prayed. She had been through this valley in her own life, but she didn’t tell us all about it. She was present with us, she cried with us, she prayed with us, and hugged us. One of the best presents I’ve ever gotten.

Last year I wrote a blog post about why my husband and I are choosing to stay in our city while many current Christians have left it for various reasons. This is a continuation of something I wrote in that post. My hope is that this relates to and helps anyone identifying as a Christian who is struggling to live where they are living, due to the “darkness” or the difficulties that arise in a city that rejects what God says. Particularly to those raising families in a place where Christians are few, I hope to encourage you where you are.

For definition’s sake, at some point I need to define what I mean by “Christian”. That word has many connotations to it and has been used and misused ad nauseum. For this post’s sake and for the sake of those reading this who have their own filter of what Christian means, I’ll attempt a one-sentence definition, one I would tell a child. A Christian is one whose greatest treasure is Jesus Christ, who lived, died, and rose in order to save and redeem anyone who puts their trust in him.

The question at hand today for my Christian friends is this: why stay in a godless city? Why raise a family in a place that holds values opposite to the Bible? Why stay when laws are unjust and unwise? Why stay when the schools are suffering and teaching a political agenda? Why stay when the darkness is so….well…..dark? The short answer is: we stay because it’s dark! Hopefully I will unpack that further and provide a launching point for some robust conversations. If you live near me, I’d love to grab some coffee with you and chat some more about it.

I recently came back from a workshop in downtown Seattle, equipping women teachers in biblical exposition. It was like three days of fresh air. We met new faces and heard about what God is doing in various churches in the area. We joked and laughed together about the ridiculous (and very humanly relatable!) characters in the Old Testament stories we were reading, because we could see ourselves in Saul’s excuses to Samuel. We cried together. We worshiped our risen King together. Being with other sisters in Christ who love and worship Jesus with you was invigorating, refreshing, and life-giving. In some ways I just wanted the sweet time of fellowship and training to continue. It felt really good being with other people who believe the same thing I do.

Perhaps I’m not alone. Have you also felt that way? Honestly, as a Christian, looking forward to the glory coming, our resurrected bodies, seeing Jesus FINALLY, worshipping him with no sin and no brokenness, fully redeemed creation….it’s no wonder when we get together that we love it and want more. We like being surrounded by other Christians. It’s comforting and encouraging. It’s also necessary for the building up of our faith (Hebrews 10:25 being one of many examples). However, it’s not the only piece. It’s not the only thing we were called to do and to be. Jesus also commanded all his disciples to be witnesses to him in all places and to all people (Matthew 28). We’re a sent people with a witness to Jesus.

With that in mind, we need to ask a question. Who is your Lord? Meaning who has the right and authority to tell you what to do with your life? Whose word has final say in your heart? If you claim to be a follower of Jesus, that means Jesus is not only our Savior but our Lord, and in being our Lord he has the ultimate authority to tell us what to do. A sign of our love for God is our obedience (John 15, “If you love me, you will obey my commands.”). This doesn’t mean we will never disobey, but it means our deepest desire is to do what Jesus commands, and when we fail to do so, we repent and try again. If Jesus is our Lord, our lives are no longer ours anymore (Galatians 2:20). our lives must be submitted wholly to him for his purpose. His commands are our very joy to obey. His word is our utmost priority. Who and what he values and loves is who and what we must value and love. What he hates we must hate. And when his commands and word rubs us the wrong way and reveal the idols in our heart, we must lay them down. We can’t serve both God and ________.

What does this have to do with living in a dark place, or raising a family in said dark place? Over the last couple years, I’ve become aware of a group of people identifying as Christian who are mourning and grieving that the US is no longer a Christian nation. They are saddened by the lack of love for God and desire to live in his ways. They pull their kids out of school because of their concerns over what children are being taught. Some believe the answer is the right president, or better laws. Some believe the answer is to homeschool and raise up a Christian generation to “take this country back” (just so you know, this is not why we have chosen to homeschool!). Some believe they need to prepare the more conservative parts of the country for what’s coming. Some are moving away from the darkness into places that still look or seem “Christian”, or perhaps more accurately, conservative (which does not equal Christian). It doesn’t take long reading the gospel accounts of Jesus’ life to understand that he united people of differing races, along with social & political beliefs, and this includes our red and blue bubbles today.

I can understand the grief and the fear these people have experienced. I share many of their concerns, particularly the ones regarding the quality of our educational systems. As a Christian, it’s hard to live alongside sin. In some ways, the brokenness should grieve us. But according to God’s story laid out in Scripture, culminating in Jesus,, it should grieve us toward the lost, not to a political agenda or a “save the country” campaign. Jesus’ good news is salvation for sinners, not salvation for the United States of America, or for the US to be a Christian nation.

If your heart is grieved over the state of your city, or your country, take a moment and consider your response to the darkness around you. Consider what your response reveals about your heart. Do you ultimately want the lost to be saved, or do you simply want to live in a country which holds the same values as you do? Do you ache for God’s kingdom to come to the unredeemed, or do you ache for your world to be a comfortable, Christian-ese one? Now, to be clear, that ache to live as God intended us to do is good! It’s wonderful when laws reflect God’s heart and will. And it will be fulfilled, praise God. At the end of the age. For eternity. We need to recognize that laws don’t change people’s hearts; the transforming work of the Holy Spirit does. Right now our command from Jesus is not to make a Christian nation, but to make disciples. Look to the heroes in Hebrews 11. They died in faith, not having received that which was promised to them, but greeted it from afar. They lived as sojourners on this earth, still waiting for their homeland. Because we already have a homeland and an inheritance waiting for us there, now is the time to pursue people and invite them to that homeland. They are God’s image bearers, heading for destruction and unaware of the God who loves them so much he gave up his Son to win them back. And so many of them don’t know him because Christians aren’t inconveniencing themselves to love and welcome the lost into their lives, homes, and churches to introduce them to Jesus.

As we consider our heart’s response to the sin and darkness around us, it may be that idols of country and nation, our idea of comfortably living in a “Christian” nation, state or city, are being revealed. If Christians are moving away from darkness instead of into it, I wonder if we’ve forgotten who we are, and who we serve, and under whose authority we live. I wonder if we’ve lost our purpose. I wonder if Jesus were walking among us if we’d find ourselves on the side of the religious do-gooders who wanted nothing to do with him because he was eating and drinking with the social outcasts and sinners of the day. I wonder if we actually love him, or we love something else instead. God may be loving us right now by revealing the sinfulness of people claiming Christ while huddling together and failing to go out and feed the lost the Bread of Life. Being theologically right is nothing if we are not also just as loving, as Jesus so beautifully demonstrated both grace and truth. The harvest is plentiful. There are so many lost people who need the gospel of Jesus Christ! What we need are laborers.

If we have the heart of God, we then have a heart for the lost. We are not surprised by people’s godlessness and sin. We expect lost people, and we go and serve and love and share Jesus with them. And while you find lost people everywhere, guess where a lot of them are: dark places! Isn’t a dark place where so many people don’t know and love God exactly where a Christian should be?

Parents, isn’t this a great location in which to raise your kids? They get to see your faith in action as you love your neighbor, as you be his witness, as you have the gay couple next door over for dinner to build relationship, as you pray with and for people, as you minster to the homeless, as you volunteer your time to help your city, as you work with the public schools to be Jesus’ presence with the kids and families, as you pray for opportunities to talk with your coworkers, as you strive for racial reconciliation in the community, as you grieve with the hurting and listen to them. In a spiritually dark place, it’s a wonderful opportunity to teach your kids what it looks like to be a Christian. Kids are smart. If they see being a Christian as Sunday attendance, youth group or Sunday school, prayers before meals, rote “Christian” things to do while your life doesn’t match the words preached on Sunday or the life Jesus called us to live, they will notice. They’re experts at identifying hypocrisy. And if they’re smart, they’ll want nothing to do with it.

Kids need to learn to love others who are different from them. They need continual opportunities to do so, to practice and then debrief with parents who love them and are doing the same thing. This is not possible if you seek to surround yourself only with others who think like you. Sometimes in trying to protect our children we fail to equip them. Growing children are not mature yet. Of course they need our protection. And they also need our example, our instruction, and ultimately our release as they grow. We need to them make decisions and choices and experience the consequences. Ultimately, my point for parents is the fruit of living a Christ-like faith in front of them is priceless. Sadly, a lot of kids raised in a Christian home learn more about categorizing people (“us & them”), to huddle perpetually with like-minded people, to go to church and do good things, but in doing all this they miss Jesus. I’ve heard many a testimony of someone raised in church but didn’t know Jesus. In a dark place, where Christians are rare, it’s very hard for that to happen. You don’t get comfortable benefits for being a Christian in spiritually dark places. Just like Jesus does with his upside-down kingdom, the darkness and hardships tend to build a stronger, deeper faith in Jesus.

I’m not saying we should go at this alone. God did not design us to live in a “Jesus and me” type of relationship. God saved us into a family, and made us to flourish within a community of others whose Lord and Savior is also Jesus. We need to encourage and be encouraged, reminders of truth, correction when we’re off, teaching of God’s word, rebuke when we’re in sin. We can’t walk with Jesus alone. In order to be part of the body, we need to live as part of a body. What I am saying is that we need to be aware of all that Jesus told us to do, not just part. We need solid theology and solid outreatch. We need to become aware of our blind spots, our idols, and our weaknesses and ask God for a heart of repentance and growth. We need to ask God to give us his values and heart for lost people. This will hurt, by the way. I’ve prayed that prayer, and if you are brave enough to do so, it will break your heart. And it will also move you into a deeper, more intimate, more joy-filled, more glorious existence than one chasing comforts or other lesser things.

As Jesus united people of differing social and political beliefs with his kingdom good news (which we don’t have to dig very deeply into the New Testament to see that he did), then I argue that Jesus’ kingdom good news is greater than our biases or social/political convictions. If his good news of salvation is for all people, and our eternal dwelling with God is secure, then I argue where we live now does not matter nearly as much as how we live where we are. If our call as Christians and our command from Jesus is to make disciples, then I argue we should seek to do that wherever we find ourselves. In particular, if we understand God’s heart for the lost, we see a dark place and instead of running from people “because they don’t believe what I believe”, or “they aren’t living the way God commands us to live,” it should prompt us to run toward them. What movie or great story has the hero running away from the brokenness of the world? If Frodo never took the ring to Mordor “because he would encounter a lot of enemies along the way”? If medics on the battlefield stayed in their foxholes while their comrades bled? The most important example is Jesus. What if he never came to the broken? What if he had never come to find you to bind you up and bring you salvation? Thank God, he did.

As I close, I want to recall the beginning of the book of Acts. We’ve been reading Acts together as a family during the mornings. Many Christians fled out of Jerusalem in the days of the early church, when persecution rose through Saul and others, and their lives were in danger. God used this to spread the gospel to others who had never heard it, particularly the non-Jews. Not knowing their heart condition and motivations for leaving, I can’t speak more to their fleeing, other than to say I trust God is at work in every movement on this planet to continue bringing his kingdom. Praise God, he works his will through every one of our successes and failures, and he will complete his word. Perhaps the best thing that could happen to our country is the end of us being a “Christian nation”, and the rejection of hypocritical Christianity in our culture. This darkness spreading from coast to coast could spark true, living, abiding, fruit-bearing faith in Jesus, and rid us of religiosity, our idols of politics and nation and comfort. Persecution spread the gospel for the new church. Maybe a spiritual revival is coming, just not in the way we had expected. Perhaps the best thing we can do to “prepare” is to begin by bending our knees and ask God to search our hearts. Repent for the ways we have failed to live with Jesus as our Lord, and surrender any idols we have been carrying. Then pray earnestly for more laborers for the harvest, and for God’s heart for the lost. Let’s surrender it all for Jesus, as he did for us. Let’s inconvience ourselves for him. Let’s give it all for him. Then let’s see where God takes us.

There is an exodus that has been happening throughout the last couple years. Perhaps you know of it. You may be on the leaving end, or the receiving end. Maybe you are one who has left, or one who has stayed.

Speaking personally, as a resident of the Pacific Northwest, we are from an area from which a lot of people are leaving. It has become so common in my circles to move that I have been asked multiple times if our family is moving, too. One reason I am writing this particular post is to state clearly our intent and our heart behind it. Spoiler alert: we are staying. Another reason I am writing is to encourage those who are staying to continue fighting the good fight and to endure hard times for the sake of God’s kingdom.

*Disclaimer to those of you who may not yet know this about me: I am a Christian, and this specific blog post is directed to other Christians. What I say may not make much sense to you, but I welcome you here and thank you for reading. Please continue reading if you’d like; “try on” what I am saying. My door is always open if you want to talk more about what I believe and why.

So we are staying. Objective #1 of this post is completed. Objective #2 is to answer why. Why stay? I can certainly relate to and understand many of our friends’ reasons for moving. The top three I’ve heard are as follows: Financial. Political. Family-related. The cost of living in Seattle is quite high. Many of the politics and handling of COVID oppose what our friends (and us at times) believe is right. They wish for a safer place to raise their children, one where most of the people around them value what they value. There are other reasons, but these are the most common ones I have heard. As I said, I can relate. It is getting harder to live here. The darkness seems like it’s pressing in and getting personal. It’s not “out there” anymore; it’s affecting our children, our neighborhood, our schools, our finances. Recently I got to travel to Portland and chat with many women from various churches in Oregon, and I heard much of the same. People have been feeling the shift, and some are choosing to leave.

So why stay? No, it’s not because of the scenery or weather, the restaurants or cultural opportunities. It’s not because we agree with all the laws, decisions, and values of our area. Yes, we’ve certainly been given the freedom and opportunity to move somewhere else, where the politics are more in line with our beliefs, where our children can have acreage to roam and play freely, where we get more bang for our buck than we do here. Why stay when it’s hard? Just like our friends who have a combination of reasons to move, we have a combination of reason we stay.

1. We stay because it’s hard.

That may seem like a weird reason, or a sick one, where we stay because we enjoy difficulty and pain. No, we’re not as sadistic as that. We don’t like pain or challenge more than the average American, but God has grown us to understand that our character, our faith, our ability to endure and persevere, our love; in short, the fruits we want in our lives have been formed through difficulty. In Luke 9:23-24 (NLT), Jesus says this:

Then he said to the crowd, “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must give up your own way, take up your cross daily, and follow me. If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it.”

There are many other examples in God’s word of this. The point is this: we Christians know that in order to follow Jesus, we must also take the path of suffering and rejection, even to the point of death. Our lives are not our own anymore. All the other things we wanted to pursue before Christ are now secondary, tertiary, or submitted to the will of God instead of our will. We must give up our own way. And when our hearts are overtaken with the beauty and majesty of our Savior, this is just what we want to do, with great joy. Specifically in our context, we’re not facing death for our beliefs in the US. However, if the people around us deride us, exclude us, judge us, or hate us for loving what God loves and hating what He hates, we are walking Jesus’ path after him and have eternal cause to rejoice. Yes, it’s hard to live here as a Christian, and the very fact that it is hard to live here due to our faith tells me we’re doing something right.

2. We stay because we are a minority.

As you will see, there are overlaps in our reasons. This reason is a continuation of Reason #1 above. Consider the context of the early Christian church after Jesus’ ascension, which is the context of Acts, the epistles, and even Revelation. The early Christians were quite a minority in their culture. Rome certainly did not govern solely by biblical principles. Churches were scattered (by persecution) throughout a world that believed in many gods; small pockets of believers within a society that didn’t understand them. Now consider God’s people in OT context. I know that’s quite a spread, but to throw some names out there to get you thinking: Noah, Abraham, the Israelites in Egypt, their receiving of the Promised Land during Joshua’s time, the Babylonian exile, the return to Jerusalem. Is there a time God’s people were the majority in their context?

While it is a good and holy ache to be with other believers, and a necessary part of walking in faith and building each other up, we are also not meant to all huddle together in the same place. At some point, we need to leave the huddle and get in the game. I’ve seen too many times this “huddling” has led not to mission but to judgment and a critical spirit, looking at the people who don’t live and think like they should, rather than being God’s instrument of change, love, mercy, grace and truth. We were meant to be sent out all over the world, to be Jesus’ witnesses, to be salt and light. The very fact that there are not many Christians here encourages us to dig in, be involved in our community, and be a channel of God’s presence & hope to a hurting, lost and blind world.

3. We stay because we feel the darkness increasing.

Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it? Even as I write it, I feel as if I’m painting a portrait of us living vicariously in a superhero story where we as Captain America and Thor are fighting Thanos in the dark, hopeless wreckage of the Avengers headquarters. No, the battle in which we are engaged is even more profound than Endgame. Our enemy is real, yes. He is Satan, the devil, and he is furious, knowing his time is short. His target is those who hold to the testimony of Jesus and keep his commandments (Rev. 12). Though he is furious and making war against the church, God also shows us in Revelation that the victory belongs to the slain and risen Lamb, Jesus Christ. He has defeated Satan already, and will finally and forever conquer him, sin and death at the end of the age. This is why we can endure the darkness, church! This is why we can continue holding fast to the testimony of Jesus and keep God’s words. Jesus is standing in the midst of his church (Rev. 1), and he is victorious! The darkness around is not in us! The Light has come (John 8:12). By his Spirit who lives in us, we are the light of the world (Matt. 5:14)! Just as I said earlier, it would make no sense for the light to huddle together in the same place like some sort of enormous power plant while the rest of the country (or the world) is in darkness. Of course it’s dark here! Before the Holy Spirit opened our eyes, we also walked in darkness. People around us need the light. We need to be a light in the darkness because Jesus has conquered and will conquer at the end, and we want to be found doing our Master’s work.

Another bonus to staying when it’s dark is that God’s glory, goodness, character, power and steadfast love tend to shine out through his people in times of struggle and darkness. Loving our enemies and praying for those who persecute us requires being in relationship with our enemies and enduring persecution.

4. We stay because we’ve been given the financial ability to stay.

This is a practical reason, part of discerning God’s call to stay or move. Not everyone can live here. The housing market is pretty ridiculous here, as it is a lot of places. If you don’t make a certain amount, you won’t be able to live here. It’s a reality to consider. On the other hand, we’ve personally experienced and heard stories of God’s provision when income was dramatically below average for this area. For example: we were able to live in West Seattle, newly married, while my husband was a barista for Starbucks and I worked 4 hrs a week as a personal trainer. What we’ve learned is if God calls, He provides.

Another thing to consider is that even though we are financially viable with city living in the PNW, we could easily get more square footage and more perks of higher-class living if we moved elsewhere. I understand the draw; I spent some time on Redfin just yesterday to see the quality of living we would have in another state. It’s tempting to want to increase your standard of living. Yet for us, we get more excited about the opportunities to be generous and do ministry here than to get comfortable in a temporary stopping place just for the sake of status or ease. It’s not what we are called to pursue. It won’t make us happy. All these lesser comforts, fine in their place, are not worthy of our pursuit. Where our hearts are; our wallets follow. And we want to pursue first the kingdom of God and His righteousness.

There are other reasons we stay, but these are four out of the five main reasons. A fifth one is so lengthy it needs its own blog post, but I’ll give you a preview: we believe this is a great place to raise our kids. (Did I just shock our whole homeschool community?!)

Obviously not everyone is moving. Many are planted and committed. I’ve met a few new arrivals who have moved here from California, Texas, and the Midwest. Throughout the last few years, I’ve panicked and repented and understood yet again that God loves this part of the world, as He loves every part of His world, and He is not abandoning us. He is continuing to make the name of Jesus known to all people, as we disciples of Jesus are faithful to proclaim it.

Church, if I could remind you of anything as I close this post, it is this:

God has chosen to do His work through His church. That means you and me. If we assume “someone else will do it”, we’re missing it. If we think someone else will love the struggling neighbor across the street, we’re missing it. If we think someone else is going to be the voice of reason at our child’s school, we’re missing it. As weak, flawed, sinful, and struggling as we are, we need to understand God knows our flaws, and has not recruited us because we’re so amazing. We’re not. He is. It’s His Spirit in us that will accomplish His work, if we would only walk with Him and submit to His leading in our lives.

You may be called to stay where you are. You may be sent elsewhere. If you are going, go with a heart for the lost. Go in good fellowship with the church in the place you are leaving, praying for them as they continue the work of the kingdom. Go in prayer for the people you are leaving and the people to which you are going. Go as God’s ambassador. Go not in search of comfort, but to follow Christ. Go with a heart of willingness to be wherever He calls you to be, however long He calls you to be there.

If you are staying, copy and paste the above, inserting the word “stay” where it says “go”.

This really is the best life of all. I hope and pray it’s yours.

Oh, and if anyone wants to move to the Seattle area to do God’s work here, please come 🙂 We have a place for you.

February 5, 2022

Greetings. Our Master sends you his good wishes, as well as instruction and encouragement. As head over the divisions assigned to families, he wishes you to know that overall, your efforts are most definitely having an impact. Primitive though they may be, you mentioned statistics in your last communication. I disagree with using them as a measurement for our success, as they tend to be unreliably skewed, incomplete, and limited; yet I have grudgingly found they have a place. Without going into details, yes, the divorce rate has been falling slightly, along with the number of marriages. Cohabitation is still quite popular. Though the average length of a marriage is around 8 years, the divorces in older couples continues to climb. Even though these divorces are late, we may still celebrate this as a win, as it has the power to greatly affect the younger generations of the affected families. Better late than never, I believe some humans are fond of saying.

Enough about the statistics. Obviously your division has many facets to it, and not every facet is under your control. I want to reassure you that our Master knows this, and is only holding you responsible for existing families with children in the home. Rawmooth is overseeing the younger generation and working specifically to discourage marriage, to redefine it. In doing so, the hope is that we can so change its likeness from our Enemy’s original intent for marriage. We are hopeful that soon this goal will be realized. Soon, by our hard work and our Master’s will, the world will no longer see examples of our Enemy’s ridiculous sentimentality and weakness he calls love. As you are aware, there is a whole other brigade deployed to redefine that four letter word. Though we have much ground to gain, they have had tremendous success in the West recently. I must tell you, I find this particular work to be most enjoyable. It is almost entertaining, how quickly some minds are swayed. Lemmings, I believe the humans call them. Or the herd mentality, if you prefer. Whatever vernacular we use, if an idea becomes popular, we can easily sway thousands. It does not simply take a popular idea, of course, but the combination of a popular idea and demonizing the opposing side will win many. It’s rare now to encounter a deeply questioning mind and openness to another point of view. Thank the Master for that!

But I digress. Back to your specific department of families. Another specific encouragement for your division is technology. I should say the best kind of technology use. We’ve certainly seen over the last 2000 years how our Enemy has a unique and, dare I say, almost unstoppable way of using anything to his advantage, including technology, but do not fear. We have gained ground. Both parents and children are spending more time in front of their screens than ever before. Kids are disconnecting slowly but surely from other people, under the guise of “connecting with others”. A big thank-you to Anwler for birthing that idea. The parents are falling into that trap as well, though I prefer to celebrate with more vigor the victories in the younger generations. They are the ones who will shape priorities, values, laws, and the norms for the next few decades, as well as the next generation they raise up. It’s imperative we continue to pursue them as priority. To that end, since children are most influenced by their parents, it’s a joint effort toward both. Keep up the good work. Children are slowly losing the ability to think critically, to hold lengthy and vital conversation. They are developing addictions of various kinds. They are seeking to be entertained. They are depressed and anxious. You may indeed celebrate, as they are being crippled for our Enemy’s use.

As for the parents, the good news is that they are busier than ever. How easy it is to perpetually keep these humans busy for years, until the damage has been done! Schedules are too full for them to make those deadly connections with their kids. They are reporting less enjoyment of their children, and more stress, worry and strife. Teen rebellion, sex, drug use, depression and suicide is blamed on hormones or circumstances. They don’t yet understand it’s the fruit of the earlier years. Discipline is seen as outdated, cruel, or simply misunderstood, and therefore misapplied or not applied at all. There are some who consistently discipline their children well. This is certainly an issue. However, one good technique to use if you run into that particular family is to send the message to those connected that the family in question simply has “naturally good children”. This keeps the other families from questioning the methods, and keeps the poison contained. You may also play on the theme of individuality, which keeps many Western families from asking for help. Pride is always a good one. It’s humbling to their egos to admit they don’t know what to do, or that their children are running crazy.

Keep the parents busy. Keep them from enjoying their children. Keep them managing the disruptive behavior instead of addressing it. Keep the parents aimed at survival as their highest vision for the family. With luck, that can last you until the teens hit. “I’ll do it later” is a helpful one to plant. Or you may try, “We still have time.” Keep them away from vulnerability and honesty, particularly with their kids. Keep them tied up in whatever forms of twisted normalcy were given them in their youth (harshness, anger, distance, etc). Do your best to encourage those norms to continue, which carries on your predecessor’s work. Keep parents thinking that their children simply need the tangibles like a house, food, and clothes. The intangibles such as love, forgiveness, repentance, time, willingness to listen and change, are deadly to us. Keep them in the material world. When they are tired, push entertainment, distance, or strife. Remember that most people have not connected the dots about the effect of healthy families on society. With luck, good planning and execution on all our parts, they won’t.

One final word about the problem families. I know many of your troops are struggling with those who resist our general onslaught. They are aware of many of our tactics. They are aware of the battle. They are fighting back. They are deep in the Enemy’s counsel. Don’t give up hope. There are still ways to fight. Though the temptation is to lash out, we must remain subtle. It is possible to catch many in the shadows. Even the most watchful parent has their weak spots. Get to know them, and work with them. For example: I’ve had contact with a family whose mother reads the Bible, has entered counseling for her issues, is facing her demon’s influence from the past, and is eager to change. It’s okay if they read these books and take in the Enemy’s words, as long as you keep them away from change. You’ll find adults are resistant to long-term change, much more than children. This woman had just read a book which gave her tools to fight us, and she was planning and scheming on how she would put them to use. I deployed distractions through her children, busyness in the family schedule, illness, and focused on her learned patterns from childhood (one of hers was sitting back and waiting for others to do the work for her). Use the basics and combine them to deal with her energy toward change. The subtle attacks work wonders. Stay consistent. Not many will choose to declare all-out war on us for the long-term, simply because it’s difficult. You’ll find this to be true of many. “Avoidance of pain or discomfort at all costs”. ‘Tis the fruit of immaturity and idols of comfort, among other things.

Pray for our success. Anwler sends his greetings, as does Grewless and Rawmooth. Keep up the good work. Report back soon.

Draglowe

Through my life thus far, one of the things I’m grateful for is relationship with older, wiser women. As it is with many of God’s gifts, He knows what I need when I can’t even articulate it. Often I don’t even know what I need, and yet He gives me his best, even when I don’t ask for it. This is true with the few older women who have taken me under their wing for a season. They have poured into me from the richness of decades of walking with Jesus. Long before I met my husband, I was showered with jewels from the marriage treasure chest of one such woman, who had mined them in the decades of her own marriage: how important forgiveness is, some keys to a healthy sexual relationship with your husband, why respect is such a big deal, and many more. Another gift of a woman has helped me navigate significant conflict, parenting struggles, the power of prayer, and shown me what it looks like to be Jesus’ witnesses wherever we go. My mother has been one such woman as well, showing me the value of a soft heart to the Lord and perseverance through trials.

I could elaborate on these lessons for another few hours. The point I want to make is this: all the older women I have aspired to be like, who have the kind of character I want, who live imperfectly, yes, and also honorably, boldly, humbly, sacrificially, with faith, joy, love and purpose, the kind of women you want to follow around and ask them questions because good things spill out of them every time they talk to you, all those women I have had the pleasure to meet have one significant thing in common. They are women of God’s word. They have spent decades of time growing in their understanding and grasp of Scripture. I don’t mean the type of legalist who reads her Bible because “it’s the right thing to do”. To be real, they certainly have had their seasons of dryness in their walk with God. However, it’s not only habit or duty with these women. No, these women are saturated with God’s word because hearing His voice and being with him is their life and breath. They love their God, and so they spend time with Him. They want to listen to Him. They have grown to depend on Him to the point where His words are more precious to them than fine gold. Though there are multiple ways God speaks, the most clear way He does is through His words – the Bible. These sages, these wise women know this. They memorize His words. They think about them. They study them. They hear God speaking to them because they’ve spent decades listening to Him. And they don’t only listen; they obey. God’s words are their ultimate authority. I see it in their lives. When they come to a part of Scripture that really presses them the wrong way, they don’t skip past it or ignore it and move on. They don’t say, “Well, I know God’s right, but I don’t like it, so I’m doing it my own way”. No, they stay there and ask God to teach them and shape them. They bring their struggle with that particular verse or idea to God. They let God use His word to work on their hearts and change them. They have done and are doing the hard work of submitting to God when it’s hard. You see the results of this dedication over time. When they are approached by others (like me) who are lost, confused, struggling and seeking counsel, they give wise and good counsel because it’s not theirs; it’s God’s. They pass it on, because they’ve come to know how trustworthy and precious His words and truth are.

The concept is so simple: the more you spend time with someone or something, the more of an expert we are on that person or that topic. It’s how we learn. It’s how we grow. How many of us Christians are experts on our favorite topic, and fledglings in our faith? If we were to catalogue our thoughts and meditations during the day, of what or who are we becoming an expert? On what do we meditate? Who do we pursue? How do we spend our time?

At the end of the day, there is grace for us. We’ve all fallen short and used our time poorly. We can always and will always have opportunities to grow in our relationship with God our Father, Jesus, and His Holy Spirit. God knows this, too, and He extends us grace. This grace is one that both cleanses us from our unrighteousness, covers us in Jesus’ righteousness, and purifies our desires to help us change now. It’s not continual forgiveness and cleansing so we can continue in sin or poor choices. God gives us grace that transforms death to life. Romans 8:11 hit home to me years ago when I felt I was stuck in my sinful habits: “If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you.”

The power to change is not ours. It’s the Spirit of God who brought Jesus from death to life. He can easily transform any heart from apathetic, lukewarm, or flat-out rebellious to one of humility, repentance, and passionate love for God. After all, He’s the one who loves us “with a never-stopping, never giving up, unbreaking, always and forever love” (Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones).

That’s what I have loved about getting to know these women. They don’t look like the world. They look like Jesus. It may take decades for us to resemble him in that way, to become a sage in the ways of God. That’s okay. Why not start now? Do we have something better to do?